Covered in Blood

it's an odd transaction
your blood for my life
one that gives me a reason
a reason, i don't understand
i don't understand a lot of things
mainly the weight, that i'm supposed
to feel in your presence

then i wonder if the light will go out
is it fleeting, just like everything else
the coffee, good weather
the love, that amazing feeling
when the cum leaves my body

but it's still a wreck
You promise redemption
freedom, reconciliation
from my ugly past
to yourself

most of the time it's un-fucking-believable
but i sleep under your weight
that fastens my head to the pillow at night
i used to think i couldn't breathe
i used to lay awake at night
sleeping only occasionally
now the rest comes
even if in the morning,
i feel like i'm scared shitless

my friends want me to thank myself
for the good "job" that i've done
making this "life" for myself
but when i talk to You
i'm reminded of all i have destroyed
in your name, for my fame

in our conversations i'm reminded of your mercy
that this bloody exchange --
your life to save my own --
means i am loved
secure
covered in blood

paradoxically
i will lie awake at night
mourning the blood on my hands
rejoicing that You
wash my hands
over and over
again

The Stillness of Brutal Truth

this heart-wrenching scene
that I can't shake from my mind
on the way back to the hotel
from the Asian Art Museum
we argued about money
like we always do

you cried
I mean you really
fucking cried
in the pouring rain
you fell apart
and I was just so angry
that in that moment
you hated me
more than anything

Rock n Roll Capitalism

competing for time and space
you and i
we just can't enjoy it
anymore

There's No Such Thing As Love

cut my throat to make you feel like shit
i would look up at you as your dart like hell
from the kitchen, to try and save me
but you are far too late, and my poor dying heart
wouldn't give a shit

it's a scene i replay in mind
every christmas
and valentines
day

Hotel North Beach

she sits and waits on the edge of my plans
we laugh it off and wait for some mountain town
but we both know what it is
it's sadness that we don't understand
i've never had it together
but i've fooled everyone

but eventually it gives way
to what i have been
which is actually nothing
yet she hangs on
waiting for a miracle
waiting for Jesus
to motivate me
and change what I once was

but that's just crazy

Death With Integrity

tonight i'm feeling a little crazy
atop the mountain of failed plans
or, schemes, i think that's what they were
i didn't write them down
i just let reality act them out
while these ideas moved forward
while the rest of my life
was, in it's own way --
falling far behind

and i waited for the light to shift
as i lied to myself
and to those around me
when i said
that i was a big deal

i read Ecclesiastes
in the moonlight
at least once a year
and i heard that it was all meaningless
the concrete beneath my feet
is a frivolous waste
my sleepless nights
a waste
"Fear the Lord," Solomon says

another grey moment
in the good book
fear God, but exist
two very opposing ideas
that sync up lovely
with the rest of humanity
the failing triviality
of all the dead souls
inhabiting the spaces
that exist between walls

or, i just fear the inevitable
--what everyone avoids
with vitamins, and exercise--
is the one thing
that is unavoidably
honest

Cavalli's

stopped by for a minute
for a therapeutic stanza or two, or three, or four
because i read something
about helping the little kindergartners
with their smiles
it was something about
growing gardens
and composting snacks

yeah, i get it
this poem is too literal
maybe post-bukowskian, even
i wish i gave a shit
because poetry is one
art form that is the most
full of shit

so yeah,
kindergarteners and smiles
and all that hippy bullshit
i'm not really criticizing it
it makes sense
let them experience joy

some kindergarteners
have to deal with
some fucked up shit
like drunk dads
and perverted brothers
and shitty moms

their smile is not there
and much like my own,
their smiles will not appear
not even after a million composted snacks
and appropriately platonic student-teacher embraces

i'm not trying to shit on your parade, stranger
i'm just saying, that it's
not always as possible
as you might think
but then again,
this coffee is terrible
it's raining in San Fran
and I'm just fucking pissed off

Waiting For My Turn

as the headlines repeat
the same things
another icon has gone
and then another loved one
and i wipe the sweat from my brow
because i've dodged
yet another bullet

then a week goes by
then a month
then a year
then five
then another 10

i've had a few close calls
a few urgent "slams" on the break pedal
a few brushes with a piece of meat
jammed into my windpipe
yet i haven't choked
i haven't rolled the car

yes in many ways
i have been spared from tragedy
and yes, i know i'm in my late 20s
but i sit in this chair
waiting for the end
waiting for my turn
to go

Whiskey Rocks

finally
another worthless fucking poem
about throwing in the towel
locked in a world infinitely bound by
"He's" and "She's"
they both say that it's my
defeatist attitude
that makes me lose my brain
every full moon or so
they say, "look on the bright side"
i say, "fuck you, faggot."

it doesn't make sense
every verbally obese
rhetorical right hook
that i throw
at my closest friends
makes my heart
sink so deep into
my chest, it feels
like it has stopped beating

what bright side?
is it the rape and murder?
is it the world perpetually marked
by fear and pain?
is it the hopelessness
of doing anything?

fuck your bright side
and your constant
evasion of reality

i'll take another whiskey-rocks