Day 96 (Am I writing about you or the alcohol we shared?)

You crawled into my door again

A soft dance through some thin vail

Your nothingness flicking

Licking me like flames

From some long forgotten fire

But I've been burned before

And I have done the burning

You loved the write and wrong

Of our fast pen and their words

This memory lives just like a past life

Somewhere was forgotten the strife

Skin torn and the bloody knife

The violence of our love and passion

The torture of our expectations

Yet you were so sweet to me

Secular in our divinity

Day 95 (Things That Happen When The Tea Party Balances A Budget)

The slash

And

Cut

Through solid tendon

Ripping what once tore swift Achilles from his soft padded leather footing

 

Trampled

By quick hoof

Pounding

After quick hoof

 

And what point did your time make? Was it dug in sand slowly washed clean by the tides move in and out? 

And was it you who chose to forgo the death that came so naturally to your past hand? 

 

Dutifully did you tie your hands clasped behind small back in search of the second life unguarunteed?

And when you pass will some say you never danced pale in moon lit evening? 

 

A life consumed

Follow that which cannot be define

Broken hand that you slammed fist into the coin collection

Gilded brass plate passed and never consumed

 

Save for the savior

Leader of the wool eyed flock

Lost in the mythology

Captivated by a mortality so few come to see

 

And there you sat

Growing fat 

Gnashing teeth in search of meaning

 

Day 94 (Breaking News Murdoch Ate Baby Dressed As Dingo In 1982)

Have you ever sliced thin that which life has given no name?

                                       Brought forth the running red haunted by its past blue? 

 

And is it coincidence that the cross and knife bare similar shape? 

       The simple difference featured in the clipped blunt end, but are both not used to kill?  

 

Has history not heard the shrill screams

                                                         Echo 

As the thin slice splits rib cage exposing the churning biological gears

                            Pounding away at all you consumed 

 

They tell me you paid the piper

                                      For the sweet song and dance he played while tapping soft

 

Each

       and

            Every

                   Nail

 

Into your new oaken box

                              A stylish variety

                                                   Built by the hands you would never shake

 

Lost in the interpretation of a laundry list

                                                      Priorities assembled

 

Whilst riding the backs of shaven gorillas 

                                                

But you were to lost in the touch

                                       Screen tangled information

 

Readily available to slit finger

                                  Gushing a river

 

We set sail

            Feasting on the bodies of nymphs

Day 93 (While Rupert Murdoch's Empire Crumbled I Shaved My Face)

Protruding features
                           Clipped soft by time scented shears
     Wool from eye
                           Harsh light
                                         Force closed
                  Still stare squint
                                         Denying that which can be proven
          When so many things
                                         Cum wrapped in plastic
                      Nervous tick
                                          and
                                               Twitch
                                           and
                                                Twitch
                                           and
                                                Twitch
                                                         Of deaf ear
                                          Pillow soft
                                                         And unheard landing
                         Razor kisses soft skin
                                                         Seeping a soft trickle of liquids red life
                                  Cascading down
                                                          Porous features
                                                                                 Seeking
                                                   Cotton of daily wear 
                                                                                 Finding new home
                                                In blue dye number 47
Which is the specific combination
                                                  Of one natural ingredient
                                             and
                                                  It's three synthetic friends
                    Blended and diffused
H and it's two Os 
                         
While eye twitches
                            Clever
                                      Against solid reflection 
                        Inspecting
                                      Placing
                                               Each
                                                      and
                                              Every
                                                       Follicle to a precise location
                Preparing for the same day
                                                         after
                                                               day
                                                                     after
                                                                           day
                                                                                after
                                                                                      day
                                                         This is the new beige. 

Day 92 (The Debt Ceiling is Leaking)

Little bit stuck,

Mud hole,

Dirt road,

Black truck,

Long faced,

Lost dog,

Backseat,

Six shot,

 

Aluminum can,

Last stand,

Firing squad,

Ill fated,

Laugh abated,

Iron skillet,

Rather grill it,

 

Ride a horse,

Tote a gat,

Full fledged,

Half eaten gnat,

Gristle's only fat,

 

Tumble the weed,

Never rolled,

Smoked,

Seldom seen,

Past relic,

What could be?

 

Sun burns,

Blank back,

Hands harden,

Tool they clutch,

 

Child's double Dutch,

Half German,

All mutt,

Call the pound.

Day 91 (The Ballad of Casey Anthony)

Their was a soft twinkle in hazel eyE

BeckoninG

The leap of faith for taught leg fiberS

Broken fibiaS

CrusheD

By societal monkeY

Clamoring on the back of maN

You claim AtlaS

But need held hanD

FirM

In palms last grasP

Nails cracked and brittlE

Flake and falL

To feed the lower rungs on some Darwinian laddeR 

Climbed one fated steP

After fated steP

Expand the mind to narrow past vieW

 

AskeW

AskeW

 

Anyone who claims the trutH

Is short on knowledge and long on tootH

If only we could die short sighteD

BlinD

Simple fact of dust to dusT

Much more than the biblical phrasE

All fixated on the raise and ascenD

Some higher planE

Of existencE

But forgotten is our owN

Ex is and tencE

Closed is the fist that finds the thin throaT

To crush loud voicE

Stain palms with that unforgettable brown flakE

And crumblE

 

I had to wear my glasses so I could seE

Rain long gonE

All that's left is the same hazel twinklE

Begging and PleadinG

NeedinG

 

Justice and love lost their sight in the same bright lighT

BlinkinG

BlinkinG

Always fucking blinkinG

Stop I'm doing some thinkinG

long and hard like John HolmeS

Day 90 (Rupert Murdoch goes fox hunting and fails to see any irony)

Liquid is my lust

Floating through each feeble finger of my clenched fist

Dripping to the steel forge

Tissue to scar

 

The burning

Yearning desire to wallow in your mire

But you keep distance

Prolong the chase

And without one lick I developed a taste

 

Pound soft flesh

Destroy desire

 

But simple fire licks

And wisps in visions corner

 

Taunting

Tantalizing

Driving over cliffs of madness

To pits of despair

 

Floating to the sky

On the wings of an unsaid promise

The faint feeling of something more with knowledge of nothing

 

Body's subtle whisper

Is not audible to the human ear

 

Confusion

Confusion

 

Pound soft flesh

Destroy desire

 

Sweet steel kiss me hard

Day 89 (Pippa Middleton fixes America's economy)

Drenched in my certain uncertainty the blue left eye twitch would lead me face drawn empty square on square recreational activity a sand stone waist glass hips and cubic lips a lost and soon forgotten trip to here and back again pick up the pen and move the pad for this is the year of the ill gotten dad and father figure outlined in a thin pencil wind around humor's beer coaster cozy and here we find a hero of sorts sour long face experience packed in round bags beneath soft eyes just in front of the hard mind. 

Clock drawn she blinked wide and stepped forward to soft light and movie breeze short sleeved and thin torso meals next find was quick to unwind rehash and go blind this was the eternal something waiting for her to take cold hand and hold slick with fast grasp.

Chest heaves and sinks with gasp from loose lips first once and then once again to final rest in between skeletal and the living flesh and now only rest.

Day 88 (Conversations had while staring into a mirror and looking at Pat Buchanan)

Mother fucker is what they called me before they took the blood test but the father in the pulpit, bitch, I have had it easily manipulated is what you call these people while you preach your own confections your an infection cancerous leach on my vascular system but I've got the razor to cut you free a simple idea loud voice and enough muscle to knock you out, but that's two for flinching no worries and no lynching I love everyone or maybe just love to hate pests in the mist and fog this mother fucking log but this was an ode to censorship and that ship sailed to far fuck cunt bitch and car I said that for a simple rhyme and here we can say time is this self reflexive clever or just a little annoying I'm toying with an idea but this malady is the simple prolific tragedy of our own existence bleak with a side of hope so you can let it float up shit's creek the boat guaranteed to leak all the time wishing I was a Siek mainly for the knife and bangle let it dangle drip and sip the eternal misfit found a fucking home.

Day 87 (Internal Dialogue with my Boehner)

And they spoke silently to live ear and it's Medusa hair

a gentle whisper falling hard on soft skin

win win win

 

One word on loop through the listless leaves

the melted sand futures of your drinking glass

pressed to shivering lips

the gasp and gargle

to quench the unquenchable

 

Dry throat and soft palette

High hopes and low self esteem

 

You tuck your tail between thin legs

inhale and inflate calm chest

Day 86 (I Love you like Heidi Montag loves herself)

lick fast the soft wounds

nails pounded by false god and his basket of non-believers

pain stricken

blood flaked from dry skin while heart mends its broken left ventricle

tweeting with accurate hash tags

and pin point precision a compelling story

unfolding events

it is the fast gone age of soon to be relics

compiled and brought to the attention of children’s soon pregnant children

but here the thumping and pulse driven sound of a once heaving chest would encourage the soon sleeping dog to finally lie by the snap and crackle of flames long tongue and there in the warm glow we find the update of status which so many lost friends will like to perpetuate our own myth and become the atlas to our world of self.

Day 85 (Obama pullsout of Afghanistan while Weiner slides in)

Can you slip past soft hide to cut quick past life’s long hunger?

Could you take that which does not feel and steal the glass eye?

 This was the first told last stand.

The pan fried what once was meets what will be this fake faux fur neck wrap slid along the cold nape down and out and down again this was the fast drop to new lands remembered through minds sick tale of thoughts fail the tongue in cheek that drained the cavity stricken teeth this was the face that was one side of two and how the words repeat “I Love You” “I Love You” but it has no meaning in between the gnash and crack of god’s gold teeth picked clean by limp hand hanging from firm wrist this listless lost cringe and tickle the soft cheek and cold hair.

Hard beat on ear’s drum the pounding ho hum of time’s forgotten stand still lip quiver while words ring liberty’s bell “I Love You” “I Love you” and still no meaning can be had and no meat will stick to bone only gristle’s thick texture will meet with cheek for the over chew in a bleak statement of faith to the eager flock herded by a hound of unusual birth the first of a new kind sleek fur and stomach staple this was the genetic leap forward packaged and wrapped in bubble for slow  pop and joy.

And we are all left to wonder: where were you when the ball dropped and crushed the fine soul of year’s end?

Day 84 (McCain Sets Mexicans On Fire)

kissing the other cheek that was turned that should be mine you caress the small of her back as she backs into you where she once backed away just like I backed away from you after you backed away from her charming smile turned upside down as she goes down on you though you wouldn't let her before just like you wouldn't let me let you go down on me even though I would but you couldn't do it to me because you couldn't do it to her soft curves aligning to your hands maligning my memory by assigning it positive attributes when all I remember are negatives turning black to white and grey to gray grainy images suddenly turned sinister sister shell shocked stopped locked and popped my joints out loud displaying masculine aggression on my feminine frame that supports more fat than muscle than hers but still you say we look alike and that's why you looked at me like that not because of anything I did but because you saw her in me and now you're in her gazing at her eyes from the inside out looking out at me looking at her looking at you and still you're blind 

Day 83 (Bachman's Chilling Reminder to shake and stir)

Thoughts wrapped slow around your fast grown tree this was the drunk drive to know where your children are when 10 strikes past the hand that feeds.

What lives probably bleeds on a bi monthly cycle life blood life blood poured slow over quick lips this is the sinners trip to half way homes and forgotten lawns strewn with future's lost garden gnome.

Love love but not without the glove wrapped steady on quivering flesh this was the fast test on alcohols breathe we wait hate and find fate in the inevitable cover to our tale's wag and flop.

Day 82 (Things Newt Told Me At DA CLUB)

Coke cracked cane of the old mans black friday walking diaper of forgotten meals down sundays fevered hallway of patron saint heels and moralities tooth kicked in soles.

Day 81 (Sarah Palin Tells the Story Of Charles Sumner)

Cut my fist on your glass jaw to prove their is gray within the law you came and you saw and the floor you conquered no chance to save the last dance we left holding hands and soon holding hair I was here and you were there cold stare and pool forming just below where we had met I could tell you I was upset and I could express regret but truth is I was hand on tit and hormones made it easy to forget so on and on my ego flared and my chest inflated this was the ill fated inevitable meeting that started when you commented on my seating. 

 

Your blank eyed stare caught no eye while your slow chest will lie sinking in your own slow feeling there is no flash to times past just the slow fade from conscience mind.

Day 80 (Driving Desire)

Lust after the light within the tunnel foreclosure on route 64, it's the faith in your sinking vessel in the dry dock of my intention that I find the face of security turning so slowly away from the object of its desire, to be one without separating dreams and necessity, seek the stone you threw at the one who sinned, place the straw to break the back of the camel who waits for you.

Day 79 (Newt on Weiner, Palin watches in Horror)

Through the fog and mist your turn and twist has shaken loose words superseding morals
Comments on mental proximity but the love between you and me was found
On the way from your hips to your backside
Smooth slide and hard ride
The dirty mind and turned tide power play of this relationship
Between you and me
Dirty despicable
Hated you for what its worth
And through the anger and fear I grew to need you
Haunted and taunted by the slick skin this was no win win but night in and night out
I laid about your feet
Hoping and longing
For a bit of acknowledgment but the basement
Was where I stayed until you needed the self confidence only I could bring
The happiness in slavery that made you you and me
Just a little bit less than me
A math equation for the path were here blazing
Answered by the never ending decimal behind the point
Just like pi  

Day 78 (Why Gingrich Lost His Aides)

One sip for  the sweet slip into your forgiving arms the love that farms through plows in turned up soil our skins will oil while emotions boil fizz and fascinate the eye of our simple mind this was then and I was blind so yellow can carry me home to the new embrace and blank face.

Day 77 (Visiting The Garden Of Fears)

Rich textures gripped beneath hardened calluses of the potato palm and the cabbage loin, cloth to cover the forbidden fruit of our loom with which we weave a story book ending to make the children smile during a time when adults bereave amongst the smelling salts and tasty peppers of a garden overgrown wrought with the desired weeds placed by a philistine in philosopher's robes woven from a wolf in sheep's clothes first-born pup, here lies an end to a beginning that never began.

Day 76 (Weiner's Weiner's Lament)

The single saline drip down this white red covered tip the fast sip and final quiver of lip it was love lost and tossed gentle to floor's hard long forgotten patterned reminder of pasts lost faith agenda this was then now and forgotten time but line line line non-linear the reactionary cross confectionery proletariat speech ravel rave and roll this hard line surely takes its toll and hear say the proximity so post and pull the constant adulation of my mental patient prospective on this live let live theory on animal brutality so life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Day 75 (Three Short Stories)

The soft gleam of lights nostalgia pulls you in to time long forgotten burnt plasma remains the post card refrain that left lingering singe on your strange desire to shackle bind thick arms at thin hinge this was the dreams lost cost and the haunting whisper kisses soft hair on inner ear "How many will you kill to save the un-life?" 

 

Eye daggers cut through thin lips purse to release soft coin clanging hard on the marble countered aged oak perched near the tied together Persian rugs intricate weave and thick tassel's gilded statement on symbol's cool status and the frozen whisper licks soft skin connecting head to neck "How much would you spend to save the un-life?"

 

Drenched and soaked in suns warm glow the painstaking foot drop through grasses mashed path for suggested fall stretched the hard against cotton grain muscle fires over and over to propel achievements sense of self determined nothing much through the drip of times inky black while hot whisper laps hard on salty cheek "How far would you walk to save the un-life?"

Day 74 (Colors for Flags)

Red melts to yellow the gradient sky wraps around the pillars of our own achievement and a twist and turn will carry you further than you could walk while the slow fade to blue will hold and captivate you as you draw each simple breath into a heaving chest to aerate the cellular structure that brings the biological need desire and creed you've ignored for the long drawn Sunday tale in truth you cannot define fail outside of your wide societies eye this and that were just the lie accepted for the sake of convenience.  Soft squeak of repentance falls slickly from your pursed lips change pocket, dig deep you wont make it and neither will she.  A soft embrace lingers in skins soft taste, the  mind's eye forever blinking the brown grey of the new day embark and chase the rotating staircase

to the beige cage of your next eight. 

Day 73 (What Went Around Never Came Back)

Come join me, conjoined me; twin to my desires yet desirous of my twin. Pin me to the wall, proboscis licking hibiscus, promiscuously promising to scour the shower with long nails drumming the wall in boredom, raking across the boardroom, boring into my chest cavity, a nativity scene of lustful proportions thrusting after proportions thick and thin waist waiting to waste away into nothing after bloating up pushing out something. The screaming cauldron of fate awaits you in the middle of the hall, scrawling upon the wall where we once bounced and scratched and bit, take my bridle, bide here awhile with me, sidle up to me. Title me your whore, mi amor. Adore me until the cows come home to roost, boost up your guido libido hair greased brain leased out to the highest bidder but here in the ashes no one is the winner. 

Day 72 (How you left me)

Pin pricked the fingers thin licked

trickle down financial proclamation

fear summation

 

it was love lost through pains cost

and drains simple swirl

that stole the little girl

that never will be

the princess you cannot see

 

little hand and little foot to wave a stiff goodbye

the lie

the lie

no ones bitter

but this sad room lacks a pitter

and patter of hearts unique batter

 

bladder full cup drawn thin

you win

with my passion for sin

a delectable twin

for your incomprehensibly thin frail frame I thought I could tame

Day 71 (Things I Thought When You Died)

Someone told me I couldn't take a life

with the smooth slice

of tongues lashing

fore front of the gnashing

gleaming

paid for perfection

waiting

to sink fast

to the bump thump

past arterial cavity

oh to search and devour

the rush for this simplistic

lust

the craving to cease

the raving ventricle slam

and

thrust

through the soon carved bust

a wilting sense of empathy

has dimmed sweet light

bringing early night

and

the last curse

to run past lips purse

hits flesh with smooth mist

soon to sink in the cool wind

to try and dry

 

They will say you had to die

Day 70 (What I said to you)

Hello my darling

your curves are charming

but don't find it alarming

when my hand gets out of touch

with the smooth crutch

your hips were made to clutch

 

Please elate me

turn and hate me

this is our fate see

bound and tenable

a tap dance skeletal

separation will be brutal

 

We push and push and push

 

Please lets move on

put some clothes on

the sun it nears dawn

fast is our folly

crawl to the yellow trolley

anywhere said lips of Molly

 

We push and push and push

Day 69 (Ouroboros in Spacetime)

Dreams of what may come paired with imagined kingdom, a future past in pretense this blood makes no sense, from where doth it spill and from where doth it fill in a pool of lust we fail clinging only with a prehensile tail our bargain is made our bill is paid but we twist on a mortal coil to be kept in tinfoil the leftover of the past over, here's the stand in front of Zeus we demand to see the savior to watch our behavior. Oh man in my sky, oh demon in my eye roll me over and pull me under make your bed be ye fed pray to your air find a bridge follow the dare.

Day 68 (Existential Alphabet Metro Blues)

The glory of self realization is found in mental masturbation

the simple stroke tug and pull of metaphors

the Jungian theories that perpetuate

our thoughts for so long 

so long and good bye

my friend it has been fun for a while

but I

choose denial

so please leave me for a while

 

I wanna go home but there is no home to go to

so I wonder through this empty mind

to escape

exchange one landscape

for another

 

happiness

the over rated

letter R 

nested between Q and S

Two before U

and jump one for T

 

Disallow 

The here and now

to control the past and then

tense is a state of mind

and grammatical means

Day 67 (Things I Thought Before You Left)

I saw the wind waft through your hair

Carrying with it the sweet smell of some cheap shampoo

You stole when you borrowed the shower

In my lofty apartment

How I wish you would die

So slowly here with me

In the splash of sunshine

We tried to clean in the back yard

But you wont stay

No you will go

Just like the rest

You are tired of this show

So baby please would you just go

So I can move on

But we're alone here

In each others firm grip

We're together for just one more sip

no regrets dear its been a fine trip

Just close your eyes its one last kiss

The fight is over and you will be missed.

Day 66 (A Trek Downriver)

raw gaping maw 

close to the surface

steel jaws closing in 

surfacing up for air

screaming last breaths

breathing a sigh of relief

relieving discontent

reliving malcontent

disjointed joint session of congress

smoking a joint

smoke'em out of their hole

stoke the fire

stroke the ego

egotize the Strokes

egrets of regrets

ducklings of discord

Day 65 (What I would tweet provided I had a Twitter account)

Waiting for the white LED blinking walking man's new dawn coming round corners bleak emotionless streak to this that and the other white meat.

Day 64 (My Fascination with Fuse Boxes Personified)

Longing for connection

In your pores I plugged in

to draw strength from your imperfection

and power pointless grin

 

Blow your circuit dawn

Look for the switch

in your box under lawn

To turn you back on pitch

 

You complete me

if only for a minute

You defeat me

If only I could win it

You long for what daddy never gave

So I say that I love you Lass

you writhe wriggle and rave

Lost in the illusion of our hulking mass

Day 63 (When the spreadsheets went away)

It's the cold cut color of a face lost tissue paper stucco wall mountains fallen housing situation baby this is what we were facing between the newly painted corner we were once backed into.

Head down and full of hole we cannot pass through limitations set game and matched with whits end.

Have you found what they tell you to need love and bleed the colors in the luke warm of a washing tumble turn and twist of soon to be hand dried cotton linens and things.

Fold hand to placate dramatic slide into fantasy dramatizations of our futures past endeavors in the color of white and key of C this is our evolutionary path from many to one to nothing and finally to realize itself.

But can you fill the gullet nestled soft under sharp skin hanging fast below the flapping sails of opinions long lost wooden toy boat?

Day 62 (My Glass Love)

Glass is the chamber

pumping the polyurethane

through thin crystal veins

object of desire

caught this tinder on fire

burnt down the bog and mire

you spoke

with the will and whisper

of a human

split and forked tongue

the manipulation started slowly

and

built so you could know me the inherent possibility

of picket white fences

behind dark eyes

so a heart flutters and flies

easily caught in a web of lies

left with lame spider vs fly metaphors

the pen pad prison cell

verse segment line

constructing my own hell

memories will never fade

the longer we tip toe and wade

through the stream of consciousness

anointing egos with ambergris 

for the appeal and momentary bliss

of the un-remissed

seconds inside

soon forgotten hide

torrid and tepid 

my transgressions

sting on soft flesh

but still you sparkle and shine

glimmering whine

through my simple mind

have to

want to

need to

hold the exquisite

mold and curve

smooth edge will slice

leather flesh bend to will's bite

a welcome early night

Day 61 (Dairyland Disaster)

Pent up and penned down, pin me to this ugly rind. Pinioned by time seeping in through holes in my exterior, holes in my defense, the rime creeping up around my toes, clenching my nose with its acrid stench. The hindquarters of the beast of burden yearn for relief from burrs and blur with motion too stunted to measure and too calloused to pleasure. Its treasure is in its misery, fissuring from within, bursting note after note in its throat trilling and laughing and thrashing around, dashing me to the ground, for its misery cannot be contained, it shall retrain old ways into new days, saying "please" and "thank you" and "kindly won't you shove it sir." Eyes limp with pain lick the air and paw the quivering ground; look down you cow, don't you dare raise your stare up to the heavens, heaven knows what you'll find that will find you shivering in the dark slithering to make its mark upon your heart, stark and cold, killing and thrilling the old whey of your new milk, suckled by your ilk. 

Day 60 (Apparently I can fish my stream of conscience)

Some

        spat

      on

         sun spot

 marks

         dotted

                  across

     lost spine

  to

     intertwine

the curves

              swerve

and

        dine dash

of our

         loves last laugh

this was the first

                      end

to the beginning

                    chapter

of the good book

                          of false ideas

                              and

cognitive recognition

                              of nouns

our profound existence

                                life in remittance

and it was what it is

                              or is not what it wants

I never plea bargain

                            this chip

                                       to your

closed clenched tight fist

                                    squandering moments

for the societal bliss

                            of the sweet

candy cotton

                   pants of

                                four fathers forgotten

                  alliteration

              out patient procedures

                                    bring us closer

  tight knit family

                        stocking caps

          this is that.

Day 59 (Questions from desks)

Liars will lay slow through days toll to tales tell and weak heart felling.

                                            Oh, lumberjacks of our hidden thoughts hack fast through bitter bark.

                               Swing quick with steel cold axe.

Now where is your slow drip the disturbed waisted prospect of nothing much in the much of nothing state of being you so seldom deny? 

                   Is the flannel wrap of your muscular structure torn by daily toils? 

       Does the sweat flick fast of fingers quick brush? 

                            Does closed chest inflate through swells of pride?

                                                                      Or

                

   are you strapped behind beige walls, twisting on undefined man's silver shining hook?

                                  Is the clock your whispering black master?

                                                             Or

                                  

                 better still have you sat below the working class?

   Thrusting paper personifications of ones tangled self in hopes of a simple bell and ring?

                Is luster of life the turquoise stain on your brushed copper plating?

                      This is the blessings miss counted of the modern era.

Day 58 (Things coming to morning minds)

Caught up on wire coat hang over turning sensation and this new burning patch below oval umbilical remains

I see you found my shirt and satin is easy to stain

So now could you tell me your name?

I'm sure it was nice to meet you and Id love do it over. 

God it's getting hot in here and I can smell fear and yesterdays consumption, I'd offer you cab fare but I can't find my wall, let me finish fishing this stream of thoughts rhymes and am I out of milk again?    

Why is standing so much harder than it was before?

Day 57 (Writer's block continues but I found this on a napkin in a box)

Tossed and turned martini shaker of this heartless born again Quaker state of mind set game and match this is the last laugh of the first beginning never ending wind blown fast sewn stream of up down washed out bank loans and financial statements of fact and ill repute this was loves loss in the bathroom stall of engines churn burn ice creamed turn of events happenings the promised land of cramping hands and emasculation this is one nation under god and over all

Day 56 (I cannot seem to write anything worthwhile here are notes from a meeting I attended the other day)

• Exercise this ethereal motion strengthen muscles bound ocean shores floating past messages filled with bottles of human clay molded like the awnings above a forgotten fireplaces

• The highlighter burnt my eye seared it shut while the tie choked off my air supply and I was high up in the sky supposedly it makes me feel alive. 

• Am I awake or am I sleeping... this cannot be real... I cannot be here... I'm really outside with a nice breeze... The sound coming from this speaker is really just an annoying seagull trying to steal my sandwich. 

• You make me want to believe in God... because if there was a God, you would be punished for this.

• Hey great idea a 4 hour meeting to determine that we should have a weekly meeting... fucking genius.

• Are you reading what I am writing?  Does it fucking make sense?  You aren't reacting to this but you are clearly reading over my shoulder.  Do you enjoy this awkward moment like I do?  No reaction still maybe you are just asleep, or you can't read my shitty hand writing.  Can you read this?  I am mainly just writing so people at the table think I care.  Do you think I care?  Do you want a hug?  I want a hug... you are clearly not reading this... I'm both disappointed and obviously paranoid.

• Accruals, Moneys, Reimbursables... I should try and write poems using these words... better yet how bout I just forget I ever learned these terms... yeah that's comforting.

• Her eyes are ravenous.  They are pecking at my feeble carcass.  Tearing flesh from bone.  I want her and she wants me.  It's a lot like Romeo and Juliet.  Each of us working for the other's enemy.  We should break free from our chains.  Forget this fucking project.  Jump over the table and out the window.  Running like deer through a field into an unknown sunset.  This is love... wait... what the fuck did she just say?  Well that was fun while it lasted.

Day 55 (Writer's Square)

nothing comes to mind

nothing brings  a shine

no thing to unbind this

my feeble addled mind

want to unwind a little

thoughts  feeling blank

Day 54 (Charlie Sheen's future present to the past)

Calm and complacent

Marred in this basement

we dig and toil

through cold soil

this dance is decadent

set forth precedent

bent before broken

river boat token

 

I only see pennies

Day 53 (F Words)

Fuck Fast For Friends
Financial Fate Found
False
Fame
Federal Flame
Fiscal Faucet
Flow
Fond
Fawn

Day 52 (Earning the castle's keep)

pounding resounding echoing in my mind 

soles on pavement pound souls meant to pave our wayward son 

and weigh in on weighty matters like suns and buns

tons and tonnes of bunnies floundering in the foundries we found 

at the boundaries of the land

that had been strip mined of all its strippers' 

stippling nipples dipping their toes 

in the woes and oh-oh-ohs of my patron's nature

it's only natural that you flagellate the flatulent spatula 

scratching and dancing at the edges of awareness

staring into the darkness professing its love 

for the dove with one eye

mocking the guy who eyes up my mistress 

missing and in distress 

Day 51 (Our ubiquitous kill)

lean close  /  with eager eye  /  slip cold steel  /  pry and pry

         til flesh splits  /  and peels  /  held soft between

                              finger and thumb

                                       pull

                               prod

                               palpate

                              last pound and quake

                           soft red  /  leaks slow fast 

            through fingers break  /  fate hand  /  click black

                                veiled         

                                        vaunted

                                                    vain

                                         slow kill

                             narcissist

                                          hand over fist

                                slapped

                                           limp

                                                wrist

                                          pleasure taken

              with heavy breathes  /  baited  /  for quick theft

                                              til echo

                                     fades from the remain

                                           CLICK

                          TICK

                                                never more

Day 50 (Train ride train of thought)

a question
              common
                                                                                                   concern
                                                            or 
simple action
                                                                       hand gestures
                            pointing
                                               to the walk ways
                                                                                           hallways
that never led us anywhere
                                                   but the simple
                                                                                 tare
                  in flesh
                                                                                            brought forth the
                                   pretty
                               red
                                     flow
                                            of life
i'm looking for scars could you spare a few?
                                                              a mew and whisper
                       from god's right hand kitten
                                                                                       purring perfect
        from the lap time had forgotten
                                                              this simple phrase
                                                    or
                                                            maybe just  a maze
           to
                     walk through
                                                    so
                                                         take extended hand
                                                                                        or
                                      paw
                                                                  gnash teeth
                                                                                 at the rotten and raw
pull thorn from hoofed slave foot
                                               the drip drain and forgotten refrain
                                       from
                                               the coffee pot's last gurgle
                                                                                                        and
                         pop
                                                  a morning dirge
                                                                       waiting
for the nocturnal hymnal
                                                   for
                                                                 a night time of forgotten emissions
          and standards set forth and put to action
                                                                                                          a minor faction
                                      of thought and ideals
there's a fence to climb
                                doused in barb wire
                                                            and
                                                                  coated in the failure
                                                                                               attempts at scaling
the obstacle of our hearts one long drawn desire
                                                                  this is the funeral fire
                set to burn
                                              constellations yearn
                                                                                     through the thought
provoking
                                     fog
                                                        and
     mist
                                                              of
                             this
          that
              and the other