SOMETIMES YOU WISH YOU MADE FILMS INSTEAD OF POEMS EVEN IF YOU COULD ONLY EVER DO IT HALFASSEDLY

i’m sorry i couldn’t

give more of myself to you.

and that my actions

were confusing.

i’m sure you have no idea

on what’s going on.

but that’s just it.

neither do i.

but i know that

i shouldn’t be

having to force

myself to do anything.

especially see

a person.

there will be

another.

there always is

and i can get tangled

in shit again.

but i did enjoy

the short time

i spent with you,

lying on the bed

in your room with

no fan

next to the 101 freeway.

breaking your bed

and now

your heart.

POEM

MY TEETH SOMETIMES HURT
A BAD DECISION IS TO HURT
A BAD LIFE IS TO LIVE WITHOUT
WATCHING A SUN SINK INTO THE OCEAN

MY MOST PROBABLE DEATH IS ALONE
MY MOST PROBABLE FEAR IS ALONE
MY MOST PROBABLE LOVE IS ALONE
BUT IT IS NOT

LET IT BE KNOWN
THAT ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH

POEM

IT’S ALMOST LIKE WALKING DOWN THE SHORE OF MORSE RESERVOIR
AT NIGHT, KICKING ROCKS
BY WHICH I MEAN I HAVE EARNED SOMETHING
BUT THE WATER MADE MY MOTHER SICK ONCE

SO I AM AFRAID TO WADE IN
AND THERE IS SOMETHING HERE THAT I AM AFRAID TO ADMIT
WHICH MIGHT BE LOVE
OR IT MIGHT BE SOMETHING WORSE

IF I TOLD YOU WHAT IT WAS
I WOULD BE AFRAID

BEEN PUBLISHED ON A BAR

SUNDAY MORNING TRADEMARK BUTTERFLY KISSES/E-COMMERCE

EVERY STREET I CROSSED TONIGHT
REMINDED ME OF A ZIPPER. THAT'S ABOUT IT.
EXCEPT, WELL, NOT REALLY. I HAVE TO
TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT THE HARD GROUND.
THE TRUTH IS -- IT'S NOT THAT HARD. YOU CAN
SCOOP IT UP WITH YOUR GRANDMOTHERS.
YOU CAN WHISPER TO IT AND IT WILL COWER.
THERE IS NOTHING BETTER THAN TO WHISPER TO IT.
TONIGHT WAS A BROKEN POWER CORD, THOUGH
ALL FUCKED AND FRAYED IN ALL THE IMPORTANT
PLACES. LIKE, GO BUY A NEW ONE, IF YOU CAN
FIND THE MODEL NUMBER. BUT WHATEVER, FUCK IT.
I AM HAPPY THAT THESE THINGS ARE NOT AS
HEARTY AS YOU'D LIKE. I ALSO WOULD LIKE TO
EXTEND MY CONDOLENCES TO THIS UNIVERSE
ON BEHALF OF THE HEWLETT-PACKARD POWER
CORD I FOUND ON AMAZON.COM. I'D LIKE TO
ALSO PLAY A GAME CALLED "HURT THE UNIVERSE"
LATER BUT I'M NOT SURE HOW TO PLAY. SOMETHING
WITH CARDS AND EYES AND STUFFING YOUR POCKETS
FULL OF JAIL CELLS AND PERFORMANCE ART? SOMETHING
ABOUT THE SMELLS OF YOUR NEIGHBORS? BUT THE BIG
COLLABORATIVE THING DOESN'T HAPPEN UNTIL LIKE
TOMORROW, SO YOU CAN JUST CHILL OUT TONIGHT.
I KNOW THEY SAY YOU SHOULD TAPER AT LEAST 3
WEEKS BEFORE RACE DAY BUT MY LAST LONG RUN
TODAY DIDN'T GO AS WELL ASI WAS HOPING.
THE ORAL SURGEON WHO DID BOTH MY BOYS --
WHO ARE RUNNERS ALSO -- SAID AT LEAST THREE
DAYS OFF SINCE RUNNING INCREASING PULSE/BLOOD
FLOW AND HE WAS WORRIED THEY WOULD BLEED.
DO MOST WOMEN BLEED WHEN THEY LOSE THEIR
VIRGINITY? I LOST MY VIRGINITY TECHNICALLY WHEN
I WAS RAPED AND I BLED THEN. YOU WHO ARE VERY
ACTIVE IN SPORTS, HORSEBACK RIDING AND WRESTLING --
A FINGER IS NOT THAT BIG SO WOULD NOT HAVE HURT
THAT MUCH. WE COMPULSIVELY GROOM OUR FACES
UNTIL WE BLEED AND WE ARE AFRAID TO VENTURE
OUT OF THE CORNER OF OUR CAGES -- WE AGE.

HOW TO DRAG YOURSELF AROUND, IF YOU MUST

WHATEVER GOES UPON TWO LEGS IS AN ENEMY

FOR THE STREETCAR THAT DRIVES OVER YOUR LEGS, FOR
THE MODERNITY IN THAT PITCH YOU REACH WHEN YOU GET
MAD. INTO KNOWING, INTO PITCHED FAILURE THROUGH US.
WILD, UH, WILD. SO KNOWING, SO TO YOUR LEGS FOR THE
MODERNITY IN THE CHEAP SUNGLASSES THAT WE MUST WEAR.

WHATEVER GOES UPON FOUR LEGS, OR HAS WINGS, IS A FRIEND

THE NIGHT YOU CRAWL INTO BED WITH ME WILL BE THE NIGHT
I HINT AT STREET LIGHTS, OR ELSE IT WILL BE US, HUDDLING
BEHIND A TOYOTA CAMRY, TRYING TO BLEND INTO SHADOWS.
IT WILL BE THE NIGHT WE FIND THE NIGHT IN OUR MARROW, ITS
BLACKNESS CRAWLING THROUGH US LIKE MOTOR OIL.

NO ANIMAL SHALL WEAR CLOTHES

HERE THE STITCHES FIND NO FREE PASS, JUST A BELATED TRUNDLING
OF TEXTURE. YOU X'S DITCH PAST THE COPS AND STRUGGLE OVER
THE RIVER IN TRUCK BEDS; YOU X'S STUMBLE THROUGH INTERSECTIONS
BREATHING LIES ABOUT POPULAR THINGS. HERE THE STITCHES GO TRUE,
PULLING THEIR EXILE BEHIND THEM IN A RADIO FLYER.

NO ANIMAL SHALL SLEEP IN A BED

THIS BEING THE HEARTBREAKING STORE MANAGER IN A SHRINKING
PARKING LOT, SMOKING LOST TIME. TUSSLING HAIR IN SENTENCES
AND PULSING BOUNCED CHECKS. THIS BEING THE MOST YOU CAN
WEEN FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN CHEWING AND SINGING. THOUGH WHEN
YOU SING, IT SOUNDS FOGGY, LIKE CAR ALARMS AND BRIDGES RAISING.

NO ANIMAL SHALL DRINK ALCOHOL

MONEY LAUNDERING SCHEMES DOTTED HER FACES LIKE THEY DOTTED MINE.
I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THE SOUTH. OR I THOUGHT I WAS BY MYSELF.
CORNER MARKETS DELIVERING, OH, FOR. FOR DELIVERING SERMONS IS PRAISED.
WE TRIED TO DANCE, OR, I MEAN, I TRIED TO DANCE WITH HER -- THOUGH
I WAS A PARKED CAR ON AN EMPTY STREET. OR AN EMPTY STREET UNDER AN EMPTY CAR.

NO ANIMAL SHALL KILL ANY OTHER ANIMAL

THE RIM OF A FULL GLASS IS UNLIKE ANY OTHER CREATURE IN THIS WORLD,
IT IS MORE LIKE A BRUISE THAT YOU DESERVE. FULL PLATES FOR EYES, SHE
GOES SHOPPING. IF SHE ENTERS THIS ROOM, SHE WILL BE SHOPPING. IN TIME,
TUSKS. SLOW GRAIN BARGES CAN NOT KEEP UP WITH THE STILLNESS OF A DYING
MOON, OR A FAIR PRICE. THESE POOR STITCHES KEEP DOTTING THE GLOBE.


ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL

THESE ARE NOT HANDS, THESE ARE LATCHES, THESE ARE DROP DOWN MENUS
AND THE CLOSET WHERE THEY KEEP THE COPIER AND EXTRA PENS. THOUGH
HEARTS ARE STRONG MUSCLES, THEY ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO AN XBOX.
THOUGH SHE TUGS THROUGH THE CRACKS IN THIS PLACE, SHE IS BARELY
DECORATION. BUT AT LEAST? BUT FOLLY, TO KNOCK HEADS.

THINGS TO CONSIDER BEFORE SEX DEATH / THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF KISSING AND EATING

THIS LONELY EARTH IS A WEIRD
MOTHER FUCKER BUT SOMETIMES
WHEN I HOLD MY BREATH I FEEL FREE
BUT I ALSO FEEL MY BODY START TO
FAIL, WHICH IS A FORM OF CONSTRAINT.
OKAY, SO I'M NOT HOPEFUL. APPARENTLY
FREEDOM IS JUST THE ILLUSION YOU GET
WHEN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH.

I DON'T WANT TO BE ONE OF THOSE
PEOPLE WHO END UP ALIVE WITHOUT
MEANINGFUL CONNECTIONS. DO YOU?
I WOULD RATHER MELT MYSELF DOWN
TO MY FUNDAMENTAL CHEMICALS AND
VOLUNTEER MY SLUDGE FOR CONSIDERATION
AS A PLAYSTATION CONTROLLER.

OH, GOD? OH, I MEAN, DEAD GOD?
ARE YOU THERE? HEY, IT'S ME, MEG RYAN.
ARE YOU THERE? HELLO? SHIT. I'M IN A
FUCKING TUNNEL. FUCK, I'M GETTING PULLED
OVER. HOLD ON. I'LL CALL YOU BA-

AM I INTERESTED? OR AM I JUST DISINTERESTED?
IT IS UNCLEAR AT THIS TIME -- THIS TIME
THAT I MEASURE IN NUMBER OF STEPS ON THIS
CARPET. "WE HAVE CLAIMS BY KIDNAPPERS
AND TERRORISTS AND BEHEADERS."

BUT WAIT, DO WE HAVE TO FILL EVERY SPACE
WITH EVERY CHUNK OF OUR DISGUSTING SKIN?
DO WE HAVE TO FIT OUR CHUNKS INTO THE VOIDS?
DUMB QUESTION.

BETTER QUESTIONS:
ARE YOU A POTENTIAL VICTIM? LOOK AROUND YOU.
CHECK FOR THE SIGNS. ARE YOU WATCHING UFC?
ARE YOU EJACULATING? YOU ARE PROBABLY A
SCAPEGOAT WHO IS SECONDS FROM LAUNCH
BUT HERE, LET ME KISS YOU ON THE CHEEK.

EVEN BETTER QUESTIONS:
HAS YOUR PUBLIC ENGAGEMENT CHANGED
WITH NEW MEDIA? WHAT IS YOUR
OPINION ON THE FUTURE OF NEW MEDIA?
CAN YOU ALTER THE TASTE OF YOUR VAGINA?
DOES MY BODY LOOK NORMAL OR IS IT WEIRD?
SHOULD I HAVE SEX WITH MY BOYFRIEND/GIRLFRIEND
IF I LOVE HIM/HER?

I'M RUNNING OUT OF HOPE

"FOCUS ON WHAT'S OFF ABOUT
THE RELATIONSHIP," SAYS DEBBY
HERBENICK, PH.D

"TILL YOU FIND OUT WHAT ACTUALLY
HAPPENED, AND WHEN YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR
TELLING THE TRUTH, YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE TIME
TO FIND OUT WHAT THE TRUTH IS,
AND THAT DOES TAKE TIME."

THE CO-FOUNDER OF THIS BLOG WROTE A BOOK IN CASE YOU DIDN'T ALREADY KNOW. THE BOOK IS FULL OF DRUNK SONNETS. HERE IS A PERSON READING ONE.

DANIEL BAILEY'S DRUNK SONNETS IN A BOOK

I HEART GOD NOISE

IF I AM NOT IN CONSTANT CONVERSATION WITH YOU I FEEL LIKE SHIT
I THINK THIS IS WHY SOME PEOPLE LIKE THE IDEA OF GOD
AND SOME PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE COMMUNICATING WITH SOMETHING
BUT FOR THE EXACT SAME REASON I LIKE FREEWAY NOISE
AND I TRY TO MAKE MYSELF DREAM ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF TERROR
FOR EXAMPLE, I TRY TO FORCE MYSELF TO DREAM I AM TWO PEOPLE, SPLITTING, SOMETIMES.

WHEN I SAY "GOD" I MEAN THE IDEA OF EATING VERSUS THE IDEA
OF SINGING. WHAT I MEAN, REALLY, IS THIS PUNCHING FROM THE CHEST
OUTWARD. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS A FIST. TO BE
MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS HER FIST. TO BE MORE CLEAR,
I MEAN HER FIST IS HER HEART. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN
THERE IS NO BLOOD BETWEEN US -- THIS IS CLEAN. THIS IS
A SIMULATION OF WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF THERE WERE TWO TANGLED
CIRCULATORY SYSTEMS TRYING TO ESCAPE A BURNING BUILDING.

THIS IS A TV ON FIRE

AND THIS IS A FIRE ON TV

DO YOU SEE THE DIFFERENCE? DO YOU SEE HOW YOU AND I CAN
CONVERGE IF WE PRACTICE TRACING EACH OTHER WITH CHALK ON THE GROUND
AND THEN IF YOU LIE ON TOP OF ME AND WE ASK SOMEONE TO TRACE THE TWO
OF US? AND IF WE ASK THAT PERSON TO LIE ON TOP OF US AND ASK ANOTHER
PERSON TO TRACE THE THREE OF US? AND IF WE ASK EVERYONE TO LIE ON TOP
OF US -- NO, NO. SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP. YOU
WILL FUCK IT UP, OR ELSE I WILL FUCK IT UP. IT IS NOT UNCOMMON.

HERE IS A POEM CALLED I LOVE YOU CALLED I LOVE YOU CALLED I LOVE YOU ETC.

LOOK AT A MAP OF THE EARTH
AND TRY TO FIND ME

I AM ALL OVER THAT SHIT
WHERE ARE YOU? ALL OVER
THAT SHIT TOO?

AWESOME

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?
MINE IS BLUE

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE OCEAN-BOUND MAMMAL?
MINE IS THE BELUGA WHALE

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE STARS SO BLURRY
THAT YOU TRULY BELIEVED HEAVEN
HAS SPILT INTO OUTER SPACE?
I HAVE. IT'S PRETTY GREAT.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN STABBED?
I HAVE! I WAS STABBED IN MIDDLE SCHOOL
WITH A BROKEN CD SHARD
IT BARELY BROKE MY SKIN
I'M OK, OBVIOUSLY

HAVE YOU DROP-KICKED YOUR BROTHER
INTO A CLOSET DOOR?
I HAVE, AND WE STILL LAUGH ABOUT IT

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE EPISODE OF THE FRESH PRINCE?

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT PEOPLE WHO DON'T VOTE?

WOULD YOU EVER CONSIDER JUMPING OUT OF AN AIRPLANE
AND SHOOTING SILLY STRING FROM THE CENTER OF THE SKY
UNTIL THE EARTH CAPTURED OUR BODIES
AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO DO
BUT LET OUR HEARTS SLOW DOWN?

ON THE BUS
FULL OF DESPAIR
TRY TO LOOK FOR BEAUTY
BUT THERE'S NOTHING THERE.

LET DOWN PRAYER / I HAVEN'T WRITTEN A DRUNK POEM IN A WHILE

AND MAYBE THIS IS OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION
BUT I AM NOT OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION
AND YOU ARE NOT OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION
SO WHAT IS THIS?

IF WE WADDLED AROUND THE LAMPPOSTS LIKE A COUPLE OF DUCKS
WE COULD KNOW WHAT: THE WHATNOT OF THE MATTER
QUACK UNTIL THE SUNRISE LIKE THE COUPLE OF DUCKS
THAT WE ARE. FALL SHALLOW IN THE POND OF CARS AND LIGHT

I HAVE A JAR OF DEAD MOTHS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HOLD IT?
I WOULD LIKE YOU TO HOLD THIS JAR OF DEAD MOTHS
THAT I HAVE SAVED UP FOR A MOMENT LIKE THIS
A MOMENT WHERE I COULD SHOW YOU DEEPEST RAINFLOOD

DOES YOUR TALK FEEL LIKE A RAINBOW COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH
BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MY EARS RECEIVE SOMETIMES
OTHER TIMES IT SOUNDS LIKE A PRAIRIE ON FIRE
CRACKLING WITHOUT PERMISSION INSIDE THE EVER

WHO IS THIS "YOU" THAT I ADDRESS IN ALL MY POEMS?
WHO ARE YOU? CAN I SLEEP INSIDE YOUR YOU?
AND WHEN A BABY STANDS UP NEW IS THAT REBELLION?
IS ALL OF THIS LIFE AN ACT OF REBELLION?

I MISS MOWING THE LAWN. I MISS SLAM-DUNKING
ON A SEVEN FOOT GOAL. I AM GOING TO CONJURE THE "YOU"
AND HOPE THAT YOU WILL LEAD ME THROUGH THIS POEM
WILL YOU BE MY VIRGIL, MY GUIDE?

SEE THAT WAS A REFERENCE TO DANTE. ARE YOU IMPRESSED?
I AM NOT. OK, BUT NOT. OK. GOODNIGHT. JK
I HAVE NOT REACHED THE END OF THIS POEM
ARE YOU STILL THERE? ARE YOU STILL WITHOUT SIN? NO?

I JUST PUT MY PALM ON THE TOP OF MY HEAD
AND I RUBBED THE SPOT THAT WOULD BE BALD
IF I HAD DECIDED TO BECOME A MONK
WHICH IS SOMETHING I WOULD NEVER DO

GOD IS NOT ALIVE INSIDE OF ME
GOD MAY BE ALIVE INSIDE OF YOU
I ONLY FEEL THE WORTH OF MY OWN WORTH
LIKE A DRUNKEN CAB DRIVER ON NEW YEAR'S EVE

LIKE A SPLAYED OUT HAND WITH THE KNIFE THRUSTS BETWEEN
I HAVE SEEN THE HAVOC WREAKED BY THE OTHER HAND
I KNOW THE HEART OF DARKNESS. I HAVE SEEN IT
WHICH IS ANOTHER LITERARY REFERENCE. RACK ME ANOTHER POINT

I CAN FEEL THE RAIN IN MY BONES
IT HAS THE TOUCH OF A DOWNY SHOT
I HAVE LICKED THE SAP FROM YOUR EYE
AND HAVE BEEN SUSTAINED BY YOUR SWEET

AND IF YOU WANT NOTHING FROM ME
THEN KNOW I AM FULLED FULLY BY "YOU"
THE "YOU X ME" SOLUTION IS YET UNSOLVED
OK. I AM LEAVING NOW, BUT I AM NOT

I CONTINUE. I FEEL THE ITCH UNDER THE SKIN
LIKE SWELL. LIKE A GODDAMN FOREST FIRE
FUELED BY BABY RABBITS AND DEAD MOTHS
I AM UNSTUNG IN THE COLONY WASPS

PLEASE LET ME REMAIN FOREVER UNSUSSED UNTO ME
LET ME COMMIT FLAGRANT FOULS AND BE EJECTED FROM THE GAME
I WOULD FRAME ALL THE RED CARDS AS A REMINDER
IF THAT WOULD COULD ME IN THE KNOWING OF YOU

BLEEDING CARCASS IN THE MOUTH OF THE VULTURE
THE SPIRIT OF UNKNOWN FLOWING RAMPANT LIKE PAINT
OFF THE BRUSH OF YOUR TONGUE. THE LICK OF YOUR LOVE
LIKE SO MUCH ALREADY DONE DIRT AND THE NOW...

THE NOW JUST KEEPS LICKING THE WHEN LIKE A BABY HYENA
I AM AN OBSTACLE TO MYSELF. IT IS LIKE IVAN ILYICH A LITTLE
WHICH IS ANOTHER LITERARY REFERENCE, AND I WILL KEEP MOVING
THROUGH THE REFERENCES AND THE NOT, BUT OK, WHATEVER

MY BED SMELLS LIKE PAINT AND THE HALLWAY IS A NUMB EXHIBITION
OF THE CELL THROUGH A VEIN THAT HAS NOT SEEN DISEASE
THAT HAS NOT EXPRESSED SORROW THROUGH RUPTURE
A RUPTURE LIKE A FLOCK OF WASPS OUT OF A DIRT SHELL

MY MIDWESTERN DIALOGUE WITH MYSELF SAYS LIE DOWN IN THE DITCH
LET THE FIELDS WRAP YOUR BODY ENRAPTURE YOUR MEMORIES
LET THE HEARTACHE OF VISION BE SWALLOWED BY THE COLD, COLD STALE
BUT MY FOREHEAD KEEPS PUSHING OUT LIKE A LOVER

AND THERE IS A NOSE UNDERNEATH THE LOVER
NOT A KEEN NOSE, NOT A BLOODHOUND NOSE
BUT A NOSE THAT IS ABOVE A MOUTH
WHICH IS A CONDUIT FOR THE SPITTLE I SPEAK THE MOST

UNLAP THIS BEER. DEFOREST THIS MUDDLE I THINK
BBQ THE FOREST OF EDEN AS VEGETABLES TO TOP ON BURGERS
AND BRATS. AND MORESO, I AM NOT A VOICE OF THIS VOICE
I AM A VOICE "YOU," YOU "YOU," WHOEVER "YOU" ARE

LET MY TONGUE LICK YOUR INNERMOST
LESS ROMANTICALLY, LET MY TYPE WORDS THAT DON'T FAIL
LET ME PUT FORTH MY BEST "FOOT," WHICH IS A REFERENCE TO PROSODY, GO ME.
LET MY LITTLE HEART SING LIKE LARYNGITIS AT CHRISTMAS

LET UNDO ME WHAT UNDO ME
AND SO FORTH, AND LET THIS POEM NOT FAIL
AS SO MANY POEMS HAVE FAILED

I LOVE YOU, I MEAN, I'M SORRY

WHAT DID I MEAN BY "YOUR DRESS, YOUR BLACK DRESS, YOUR FACE, KNIFE ME."
AND SOMETIMES, THE BLACKENING OF YOU AGAINST THE DAY WOULD DRINK ME
UNDER THE TABLE AND WARN ME WITH A GLANCE. BUT THESE DAYS, THESE FUCKING
DAYS, WILL KEEP ME AND KEEP ME.

AND I WILL KEEP THIS FACEBOOK GIFT FOREVER
THIS IMAGE OF A FOAM GLOVE. THIS WILL REMIND ME OF THE FALSE IDENTITIES
THAT YOU AND I AND EVERYONE FUCKS INTO THE SAND.

AND RIGHT NOW I AM SHAKING AND I KEEP THINKING THAT WE ARE ONLY
DIRT MOVING IN VAGUELY INTERESTING WAYS.

THE NUMBERS 1 - 4 AND SOME WORDS

1.

TODAY I ATE LUNCH ALONE IN A DINER AND AS I ATE I
FELT LIKE DEATH IS A CONTINUOUS FUCKING OF THE VEINS BY GOD.
TOMORROW I WANT TO EAT LUNCH INSIDE OF YOU BUT
INSTEAD OF FEELING SAD, I WANT TO FEEL LIKE A TWO-HEADED
MANNEQUIN WITH NO ARMS AND NO IMAGINATION
MODELING A SWEATER.

2.

MY CHEEKS ARE HANG GLIDING AROUND THE ROOM TOWARDS YOUR SHAKING HANDS.
I WANT TO GO BACK TEN YEARS AND MAKE AN ACTIVISION GAME ABOUT A
HELICOPTER PILOT CONVINCING MY BLOOD TO ESCAPE THROUGH MY FEET AND
THROUGH MY SLEEPING EYES. THEN I WANT MY BLOOD'S HELICOPTER PILOT TO DIE.

3.

MY MEDITATION IN AN EMERGENCY IS ME
PRAYING MY WIRELESS MOUSE WILL KILL ME.

3A.

WHEN I SAY "WIRELESS MOUSE" I MEAN "YOU"
AND "HOW I LOVED YOU BUT I FELT LIKE IT
WAS NEVER QUITE EQUALLY RECIPROCATED EVEN
THOUGH I WOULD WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF
THE NIGHT LYING NEXT TO YOU IN A COLD
SWEAT THINKING IMMEDIATELY ABOUT DEATH AND
HOW IT WOULD MEAN THE ABSOLUTE CESSATION OF
MY COMPLETE DEDICATION TO YOU THROUGH NO
FAULT OF MY OWN OTHER THAN THAT I AM MADE
OUT OF BLOOD AND NOT GOLD LIKE I WISH I WAS."

4.

SHOOT AT ME WITH A SHOULDER-MOUNTED MISSLE ONCE IN A WHILE. OR MAYBE I'LL
JUST CREATE A NEW SIGNIFIER FOR YOU. MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE "POP ROCKS." AND WHEN POP ROCKS ARE FINALLY GONE YOU WILL FINALLY BE GONE FROM MY BLOOD, BONES, DRYWALL, SKY, ETC. ETC. ETC. FUCK.

THE DRUNK SONNETS PROMOTIONAL VIDEO

IF I DELETE ALL MY INTERNET PROFILES WILL YOU LOVE ME COMPLETELY

MY NAME IS ON SO MANY DUMB THINGS. SOMETIMES I FEEL FAMOUS WHEN I GET A GOOGLE ALERT.
THEN I FEEL LIKE KILLING MYSELF. I WONDER IF I CAN DROWN MYSELF IN PEANUT BUTTER.
SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THE ONLY POSITION MY BODY KNOWS IS "HUNCHED OVER A GLOWING THING."
I WISH I HAD MORE GOOD THINGS TO SAY THAT WOULD MAKE EVERYONE THINK I KNEW THINGS.

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE A PENGUIN WITH A MUSTACHE. I FEEL LIKE THE LAUGHING STOCK
OF PENGUINS. LIKE I FORGOT TO PUT THE PENGUIN EGG UNDER MY ASS SACK AND ACCIDENTALLY
ABORTED IT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY READING. BUT NONE OF THEM ARE MAD BECAUSE THEY
REALIZE IT TAKES A LOT OF ENERGY TO RAISE A PENGUIN BABY. AND ENERGY IS SCARCE.

SOMETIMES I THINK OF WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO WAKEBOARD INSIDE OF YOUR CHEEKS OR TO
BORROW A TI-83 TO DO A MATH PROBLEM INSIDE OF YOUR BELLY. MY FIRST QUESTION WOULD BE
DOES THIS TI-83 HAVE ANY GAMES ON IT? MY SECOND QUESTION WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE WHEN
I DIE WILL YOU TAKE MY ASHES AND TURN ME INTO PRADA SUNGLASSES? WILL YOU FUCKING DO THAT?

WHEN YOU WANT NOTHING
THERE IS NOTHING.
NO ONE CAN FORCE YOU
TO DO ANYTHING
UNLESS
BY MEANS OF VIOLENCE.
AND EVEN THEN
THINGS ARE IFFY.
SO YOU
TRY TO RELAX
AND
SETTLE INTO
COMFORT.
I'VE FORGOTTEN
HOW THIS FEELS.
I'M FORGETTING EVERYTHING
I THOUGHT MEANT A GREAT
DEAL TO ME.
NOW THERE IS JUST
A SILENCE
SWEATPANTS
AND RAGGED
T SHIRTS
AMONGST THE BIGGEST
BLACK HOLE VOID
YOU COULD
EVER IMAGINE.
I WISH I COULD
REMEMBER THE SMALL THINGS.
YOU KNOW.
THE GOOD STUFF.
THE THINGS THAT MAKES YOUR ARM HAIRS
STAND STRAIGHT UP.
YOUR THROAT
GO DRY
AND YOUR
CHEST BEG FOR MORE ROOM
TO GRATIFY YOUR HEART.
BUT THE THOUGHTS,
AND THE MOMENTS,
THEY ALWAYS SEEM
TO SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS
OF MY HANDS
AND AS I GET OLDER
I KEEP FORGETTING THAT I HAVE
CONTROL OF MY FINGERS
TO STOP THAT FROM
HAPPENING.

THE WORST