Day 22 (Sharon's Angle is obtuse)

My style is Brechtian and I like to slap you in the face with a consistent barrage of knowledge that I'm in charge but the force with witch knuckles crack skin is just three steps away from affording a win in any sense the game is lost and never finding it's end but character development is lacking within this thing we call life so so many of the good find their way to the knife and slit wrist skeleton room paint exposure leaving families without closure and here lies someone with childlike eyes looking on and blankly past the ceiling tiles and the rank and file paper file file folder and just tattoo this word to your chest the hard pressed foundation in a bureaucratic society we all love the lie so whisper soft to me while I brush your hare and painfully stare into your soft skin looking for something within that doesn't even exist in my own perception of my self so it's a slow search for a thing called love which we cannot define and never will learn to refine my parents were happy and its been 40 years and I'm sorry if I don't have the resounding family issues you wish I did but Jesus kid other than my seasonal depression and over active imagination I am set and fucking happy so stop trying to place hooks in my back I gave up fishing a long time back.

A life built on fear not of you or anyone else but the simple fear of ones self afraid to succeed afraid to breed afraid to bleed on the carpet of my fellow man's house so quiet like a mouse crept and crawled for the cheese crumble tid bit to get you through it whatever that might be now in the shower its hard to see there is a layer of fog clouding that condenses on a mirror and when you try to wipe it the water resists and exists as a slight film hiding your expressionless face and this is the perfect image to start he day as you undoubtedly will have to hide within society but remember those who assimilate the most and preach hate with forked tongue are often the same who fall victim to auto erotic asphyxiation blue faces in bathroom stalls across America the preacher the saint and the senator our lovely guiding lights lost libido in hand belt clenching thyroid gland.

Modesty is the highest form of arrogance and I'm a naked humble man.

Day 21 (Freestyle no edits where made)

Hours melt like butter on a warm peace of toast which at one point was bread and with that said I am well fed up down and all around with this sick human fantasy that what we do doesn't implicate the actions of others I saw the butterfly effect and that movie about sliding glass doors which reminded me of the patterns found on bowling alley floors which shows up in a strange nightmarish way when you put the black light on but say did you hear or did you say something about the news i hate to verify so please do not tell me lies I'm gullible but it makes me lovable I was once a blond but now I'm just dirty godless and a heathen so basically though I'm still breathing I'm apparently dead inside because on my Sunday I don't reside shackled inside a building built by man to house the sheep and the Shepperd who leads this flock professing the word that was again written by man but not just one several hands grasped the pen pad and computer screen to translate and divulge the inner meanings of a collection of fables involving people living in fish which to me sounds a bit of double entendre but my mind is consistently in the gutter which brings me back to butter and my last tango in Paris and it was armistice day so pin that flower to your chest and pray for those who lay rest but only when in the public eye constantly cross-eyed staring back at itself but never seeing anything to keep the believing masses in line lets just add some more cameras outlaw crimes a hedge and we need to trim the leaves before it stops resembling the elephant in the back of the room sitting on our chest where we keep the dinette set for the finest of guests who never come no occasion deserving so the meat loaf never finds its way to the serving platter but soon enough the condom breaks and we were the pitter patter of our eager replacement so train them well and give them hell god forbid they don't end up as fucked up as you are.

Day 20 (Things said while showering)

Body language so soft spoken

Could you just whisper a little louder

I'm hard of hearing and hard pressed

But lets face it we're still dressed

And I have already bled and confessed

All of my recent sins

Your cock eyed expression seems to suggest

I might still win yet another date

A round two

For your amusement

Chances are we will have that one extra beer

Then slide quick into

Our

Slow drip onto each others beds

A confused drunken experience

We cannot decide if we want to remember

But in the end

Your the slut and I'm the man

So with my friends I can brag bolster

Put together a nice little story to tell

While I describe the intimate details of your curves fall

We laugh and slap each other

Toss the word bitch about like a beach ball at a phish concert

But meanwhile I miss your passionate stare

Long for the smell of coconut

That resides in your tangled hair  

Sweat drips down the nape of your neck

And

I'm lost again

I write my feelings in crayon to avoid anyone thinking these were written by a man

Ashamed that when I sleep I druel your name

On to my pillow

Truth is I just want to be held

By this I mean I just want to know what its like

I'm a fat man with a broken bike

A flat tire in the fast lane of life

Who can only take his pulse with the edge of a knife

I used to eat steak with

But now I'm a vegetarian

Because my ideals are shaped

By your eyes and lips

And if I get to take a sip

I'd crawl across coal on broken legs

Just to see how far you could take me

Before I'm spit out with the dregs

Day 19 (Financial, Notes, Vogel, and Understanding are the words I just read but not in that order)

Cryptic is my emotional discharge coded language and pretentious referencing of the upper echelon wrought with quotations and paraphrases to yield some sort of praises in this free verse seldom rehearsed collecting of words that frequently borders the absurd thoughts wrapped in feelings sliced and diced into a fine companion to Merlot and smooth jazz but is this sophistication or simply mental masturbation? 

Tongue in cheek is the only way I have ever found acceptance in a world where personality comes from Macy's in aisle three next to the hand bag perfume and toaster set but god damn if that wouldn't look great next to the spice rack I've never used because I only know how to cook frozen food but there is a chance in hell Ill live to die from cancer I just hope they let Gucci design my chemo drip bag.

Rind stones make me happy they sparkle and shine like the blinking eyes of the divine deities of lost Grecian faith they usually leave in a state of dazed confusion a little lost in my lovely illusion someone once told me one God is better than 10 and Nietzsche says god is dead and necessary to invent Descartes lost and found god in the course of a weekend and wrote a book about it now its a required reading for those proceeding to higher education.

And my life seems targeted stretched across the Wal-mart cart driven high quality inn living 300 hundred thread count sheets covering hammer toed feets that spent the day in Birkenstock which are German and that's in Europe so of course its Superior to other brands of a similar variety and though their Malaysian factory is just a block away the quality is assured by the standards of the highly paid or is it sought after fuck whats it matter the point is that I need a new way to consume a thousand calories in 10 minutes is there somehow we could wrap bacon with lard and deep fry it without blotting the grease just make sure and add a tomato I don't want to be obese.

Dear god or gods I just hope I live to be deceased.

Day 18 (Requiem for Winter)

A single solitary breath slips slow past over and down slick wet throat lost hope to float down to lung's inflating ego and here lies the ease and purpose of the forgotten lives on a molecular level but the beveled edges of a societies clean clipped hedges never can determine your futures fate we all start with the clean plate and hammer toe and over time and with age our honesty fades into a plastic smile pasted over our sullen and woe begone Anima.

And it's the stiff upper lip chin upheld communicable disease affecting out social self conscious so we cling to hand puppets and poetry til we reach a vegetative state can't hardly wait for the pastures golden grazing lands just beyond the welcome mat at the retirement community aptly named for the colorful charm it so seemly lacks beyond the family welcoming center where they provide a cup of orange juice and a cookie to all who inquire.

Touching the emotional side can bruise pride indent flesh its a mess must hide deny derail the train before it runs over you and splatters family and friends with remains and brain matter dear god crawl and hide it's so fucking scary outside the black cat licking up the fat of the land just waiting to cross a path you set last month or was it a day ago time is stale like this mornings toast and no matter what you do there wont be a comedy central roast.

And there are no indentations or apostrophes here a self reflexive statement for the purpose of abatement but the who what and for lost in the fog and mist of this lack of solidarity but calm your running mind the gentrification has begun and all that is frightening will soon be starbucks and target combinations to make ease for buying sugar flavored coffee hand soap and the box set of Alf to feed childish nostalgia.

Wrapped in our blanket of comfort food we rest assured to muted sounds and image flicker it's cold and it's winter.

Day 17 (Five things found on napkins in my pocket)

Thing 1:
Digging and pulling flesh for some simple understanding please let me know and be a part of this collective Miss-giving my third eye is blinking yawning for some clarity but my aperture is in fixed position and I'm flapping like a flag to pull in the patriot.

Help me I'm hungry for (writing intelligible)

Thing 2:
Here in my bog I slip into a tight wrenching confusion why am I here to dance for your pennies I have nothing to buy I just need a liquid fix to fuse with my mind and blur my vision of your hand in hand... our slow waltz begins a tango to eternal nights exquisite ball.

Thing 3:
'Tis the Season we purchase that which will own our paper tiger souls fill the holes and voids therapy suggested we need cover up so wrap it up with a bow and for once try and give a fuck.

Thing 4:
Dipstick mother fucker get stuck on brother tickers fine chicken selection.

Thing 5:
Public transportation impatient determined complacency.

Day 16 (I love mornings)

The periodic table of your emotional tail wrapped slow around the fickle limb of fascination within your slow coffee drip morning routine of ligiment stretch and yawn.

Slow walk through silent halls brings the nothing much of your impending activity to clear morning fog holding light captive in simple drops of life's long found liquid.

The questions of where, what and when roll through your mind like so many waves crashing gently on sandy banks, eroding simple lines and reclaiming what could have been.

The here the now give way to a future tension and perplexion displayed by muscle's fine merrit badge winning knot and face's fine new crow's foot line.

With each day you lease ownership of your stretched tight facial features to year's hostile takeover stock option buy out proceedure.

But this is life unless you feel the need for knifes slice and quick adjustment to fleshes natural course.

Day 15 (I have a special relationship with my Ikea Catalog)

If I am what I eat my spine is a liquid yogurt and wheat germ protein powder concoction here to slide slowly to a successful state of mind over body but to the matters at hand which are worth more than two in a bush and its entire past due administration to the point skin composed of a banana and some green powder I bought at whole foods when the pretty lady batted a tender lentil based eyelash my way a smile wink and nod before I put another organic fruit or vegetable into my gullet and choke on the extra pennies for the apparent lack of chemical interference.

1 in 4 will fall victim to cellular suicide so we might as well enjoy the slow ride up.

But fuck it which is funnier said than read and only if you take on a childish persona anyway before I waft like a wind blown aroma there was a point to prick minds eager eye for sweet tear drop and tender liquid lover or something tapping into the poetic and Divine musings of a collected articulation of the human experience which seems so diverse and undefined though according to the theological teachings of the followers of crossed sticks all this shit is planned and laid out before us in a euphoric path that we must blindly tread as followers in the flock of woolly white creatures who drown in their own water dishes.

1 in 4 will commit cellular suicide, but for the rest of us there is a nice plush hospital mattress dripping poison into soft vein draining currency from pockets simple arithmetic chemical drain on society but socializing health care and accepting male on male relationships killed the dinosaurs put a hole in the ozone or so I am told.

Day 14 (I ate bad meat)

Patron saint stain on flesh's confused canvas will you save me more over will you betray me? And how is it I can trust what I lust after? The patient waiting for blades slick and baiting shimmer and shine is it mine all mine? Can you stab slow into my soft putty? Slice section and segment this fast enigma.

Fear the helping hand and welcome the slow burn.

We dangle on this fine silk woven from some simple worm and we dine on the unfertilized with every wake and rise. 

In the dark water drains from our collective eye, slow slide down curved porous place it navigates to the unknown while we search for false comfort purchasing plastic smiles at the nearest chain proclaiming local support its chic to care so pay the price live the life no paper or plastic but simple cloth ad expression of our sprint to and from depression.

Suns quick glint on steamed windows tint the glimmer of hope in a fog of nothing much weighing down and bending brittle bone to new shapes and contingencies the snap crackle pop rings through broken and clogged drums beating for futures past tense nostalgia for what was never really there.

Tie yellow ribbon tight around swollen and exposed throat crush larynx and asphyxiate. 

Manifest Destiny

Day 13 (What I scratched into my office desk with a broken paper clip)

Grey sky bleeds into grey walls surrounding the tapped and tamed imagination but its patience that persevered to guide this blind hand to beating chest to focus on the the pain because when you leave it will be all that will remain and its mine all mine this selfish one breath line traced down plastic wall to find the linoleum dream dark desolate and overjoyed the room sways the blink and murmur of your tragic ends slow crawl to the fore front of your dream flicked minds eye.

oh please

oh my

slice and slide my way to pull a heart string or two my fascination is simple in line with your oscillation hip move and displace let me out of this area I hate this place finger nails break against cold carpet torn capillary blood red wet stain soak through to keyboards click clack and heartfelt message zero one zero sign off the drowned out instant message blackened lung screams for our cyborg dreams and here in the corner of my blind eye lies the fragile pedal of societies forgotten flower float and fly its way to the earth to be encased lye fore both hope and soap float and dissipate to meet a water bound. 

Day 12 (Ode to a girlfriend I have had or will someday have you decide)

Deep and dark the curious swirl of your bitter aluminum whipped skin desolate is your sweet sultry canvas taught between ceramic borders dark deep pool of my lost understanding long stare and finger search the calm sleek features that surround you

travel down

travel down this eager pallet

slick you wash away my sinful nature from my simple hand to my harbored feelings I think I've lost control a prisoner to this dark confection my lustful intention has me gagged and bound while you travel down this simple feature

Day 11 (Morning without coffee)

Disgust we discussed to determine the shallow depth of our perpetual kiddy pool of dream splashing water wings flap hard on surface tension stretched hard over canvas the last step and first regret of our low fever pitched screenplay

Fast hand couldn’t grab and hold slick tail fell fall and fail

Slow drip quick sip simple slip

Left me lost in the right hand column of your determined refrain and disillusioned distain cut my veins in search of fast pulse tender beating fleeting moment of our slow desire the quag and the mire holy sinking vessel fleshy temple with no soul to save.

Day 10 (Questions of a rhetorical fashion)

Slip fast crash through my evenings last laugh the feature operation has failed to pass the time honored test and tradition of nothing much and its long lost creation shed a tear from dry ducts taped and sealed for signed delivery status this package never sent but filled to the brim with the child’s simple hope to repent before mythical bearded beast and mothers calm cool hand.

I want to cry a river so I can get off this land but it seems to close for contact lenses to pull soft focus and pan the bitter torture scene so placid while flesh slips fast from its jilted muscle lover.

Images dance and hover overhead to beg my attention to what could have been in life’s past interpretation and current fascination but the light blinks through my yawning thin skin, a waning aperture longing for some celluloid to taint with these blurred representations of what could soon be a day end dream scape painted in crayon.

Push hard nail through soft skin to provoke some sense of logic but nothing more than the red drip so realistically painting a picture of my pending mortality across mashed pulp confection.

I slice gentle hour down minute by minute until I can see each screaming second.

My dance is slowly ending this tango on a fault line.

Please lend me cold shoulder to profess my endless whine.

Heart palpitates the slow render of my accent to the divine

Please quench my fickle thirst

Please calm my raging mind

Let me hold onto this nothing

Let me fall into the void

Let me find comfort in the fall

Day 9 (Hippy in the city)

Here we are in precious wasted time clawing at our heaving veins while searching out a way to avoid animal flesh and those bulbous tear filled eyes of the inflated chest wielding models plastered to the side of our gas guzzling transportation devices wheels churning dinosaur burning their way into the future.

We dance on the slow wave crash into the climate of a culture meant for swift change in a rotary fashion compared most eloquently to the slicing wonder of the lawn mowers blade as it tares the tender green tops off our ever growing grass collection to achieve the aesthetic protection that breeds the prideful swollen chest of the balding male found on page three of this months Sears catalog, and in the end no one sheds a tear for Roebuck and his mighty fall from shimmering monthly mailbox entry.

Day 8 (How to cure writer's block)

Take simple fingers eager nail and pierce tender abdominal flesh peel back inch by precious inch ‘til you reach proper intestinal exposure blow with pursed lips tender wisps of air to dry the surface of your small intestine hone your ear to listen to the sound of heart’s beating palpate fragile organs to determine the best location to slide gentle curved metal attach long thin strand of woven cotton and pull out  symbolic representations of thoughts and feelings comb through the pile dab at bile with a thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheet meanwhile consider proper aesthetic alignment stack sort and coordinate the most appealing arrangement don’t forget to color coordinate plus the importance of size and shape effects the mental state of the first impression for the on looking mass of critics and those wishful want-to-be or not to be just keep focus of minds gentle artistic eye if needed wear your prescribed lenses take note of simple curvature direction and lines make sure not to malign the viewer with a miss-communicated idea.

Wipe the round drops of perspiration from forehead give a simple sigh back to work give another tug to drag a little more onto the rug if it doesn’t hurt you’re not pulling hard enough finger through the mound to find perfect organ take in hand survey the outer edges and take note of any decay and oscillation gently pull toward doubtful smile and open with ivory incisor.  Take a deep breath to slow heaving chest lay heart murmur to rest.  Use a terry cloth to stop the bleeding before we can proceed now just a few simple steps no jest or jocular emotion this is a skin dive into the Jungian ocean of our collective unconscious knowing the sharks will circle with each drip of life’s liquid but I digress and time is of the essence offer up split organ to the wondering eye of Poseidon while Oden’s raven circles on high let the vision blur in your eye while the human experience drips dry all on your newest supply of 60 pound parchment.

Day 7 (Theoretical Abortion)

Hand me a coat hanger I can’t stand the thought of this idea being born scrape clean mental cavity before it bares fruit of knowledge and licks soft face with forked tongue it’s the torment of the mental patient wrongfully accused and still facing the zap and tingle of electric currents eager drive by love affair with nerve endings tantalized by the quiver and quake of muscle fibers tension holding tissue the pillar of our conceptual strength herculean aluminum can crushing monstrosity of mythical proportion and the pending doomed but survived aborted fetus of our foolish desires  bogs and mires spurt forth bureaucratic safety fascinated administrations nursing the lame duck to a stagnant station quick fast lets debate and relate to the human condition with our minced words and overuse of fate destiny freedom patriotic invocation love thy nation and forget the past cause it could be the iconoclast bitch slap for this me first generation

Hold on a second just one minute I’m concentrating H-a-pp- fuck it I forgot the rest best take a few minutes to discern the purpose of this teachable moment so we can better ourselves and learn from the mistakes of some god awful something or another my train of thought left the platform about an hour ago but there’s snow out and it’s moving kind of slow expect delays and derailments I was put here for long walks and short tangents my fear based mentality has me running around raggedly looking for something to search out and never find I think in a bit I will search out my mind so possessive and progressive who wouldn’t want to fuck me? Is that suggestive or just blatant wasn’t this political just one second ago…

What are you looking at? Do I look fat? Is grey the best color to express my malcontent? Questions ring quiet bells of this life long avoidance of hell send me to the fire I want to be well done when I finally reach God’s lashing tongue but to be fair I think I’ve been there and her name was Susan or maybe it was Jane fuck I cant remember but what’s in a name anyway except for letters?

Day 6 (Lustful expressions painted romantic)

I wrote you a love song to portray throng and thrash rash brash decisions come first and never last but here was the problem long lost looks in your solemn faceless blank expression you wore matching earrings the pinnacle of societal pressure so unassuming all I could think was to undress ya appreciate the flower blooming of our fast gone last hour break and you told me that you loved me once and I said the same it was so much fun as tears did stream down distant phone cord rungs.

Leaking words like molasses given passes by our bleached white skin let the idea soak in and saturate our thin veiled walls of indeterminate measure behind our dreams and drunken pleasure there is no strong bond so stifle screams to stay together it’s for the better.

Hard press the soft flesh this death dance is for two and I forgot my shoes but room spins just the same with our left foot lame slide waltz continue on fast flash no pause for concern or a lesson learned our endless silhouette flaunts with light change death step close then peel back the lust for the right to complain in our heel toe kneel down refrain.

Must define must digest must control and must digress this funny feeling sinking in my heaving chest move swift my wispy friend the feeling of need rises again but its over we ended just a friend just a friend push to brink and end this pull back run hide but the feelings deride good intentions and contempt boils in to passion.

Lines blur blood stirs biological reactions soon occur eyes tare through memories thick wall of a lifetimes transgressions opening up to fickle obsessions no answers or questions only swift wrist flick undressing fevered caressing the pin prick of your finger tips in my jello molded spine the strange hum and whine of our bodies intertwined selfish desires lust driven blindness swallowed by the mires of our emptiness this empty nest is only will soon be  a bed for snakes to rest as we become the embarrassed and confused biologically roused and humbled mass of human mistakes and indifference need a million hammers to rebuild the fence to our happy home and all we have mortar and we’re on different sides.

Day 5 (Bob Dylan Cover)

Play a song for me with quick wrist flits and coppers jingle jangle follow me through hallowed halls with pretentions gleeful becks and calls crystal light tentacle jingle jangle and entangle play a song for me you her and him just impart the page number of the hym-nal raise voice on high deny reasons skilled unblinking eye succumb to Apollo’s tongue and Aphrodite’s thigh jingle jangle copper clacks dry play a song for me and the sophisticated Serendipity’s flighty deaf ear cry for help.

Play a song for me calm my leg quiver quake nervous train of thought wreck eye to neck fixation harboring the esteemed sinking fleet of my hopeful and youthful intentions I digress deviate and switch back to a new last laugh to begin the fast track slow go of green garden hoe but the jingle jangle cliché’ tango through ill gotten unresponsive streets of sullen faces the culture hounds gnaw on tender bellies bathed in slick ill gotten snake oil.

Breathe deep jingle jangle beat out a song for me through shoe padded feet til’ feeble bones clang and snap dust settles and heart lines fall flat.

Day 4 (Pagan Christmas music)

Rum pa pum pum a rum pa pum pum slow silver hammer smacks stretched leather pace maker hark harrowed angels sing drowning voices of the weak minded and shallow footed Rum pa pum pum beat the dissent on its way down thrusting mallet of life’s adrenaline boost dance fleet footed cock of the roost sway quick fast pendulum set motion in time eyes quake to rhythms command swift footed Achilles lost in the wake of tail feather shake beat break arm sway and motion it’s the still water ocean of hope desire lustful fires Rum pa pum pum sweet smell nauseates wispy nostril flare heave air grasp and pull reaching for the heal of Icarus.

Finger bent plucking curvature of once tender spine heave push pull twang sound rang down ears deep canal channel Oedipus and his complex matron relationship set sail to the low wail of summers lost banshee fast fall of thin heal on cobble stone walkways to paper thin hallways.

Rum pa pum pum a swing and a thrust the must compels a swelling foot forward hip swing dip to pum pa rum.

Day 3 (Long walks and short tangents)

Set pace to new intention re-circumvent the wheels churning burning screech halt sidewalk salt desired result.  Half hearted and full fault the strange tilt to the summers wilted rose conundrum of the humdrum beats and bangs pots and pans to this service bland is the beige grand stand and long suffering heat flash mad dash.  And did you believe in the slow matter churning we perceive the fastidious religious rose tint to our foregone conclusions. Delusions of grandeur the narcissistic dance to our solipsistic grave hole in the ground consumer driven and profound lifestyle changes of the rich fast living famous who we admire look up to their long down faces but place this hand over fist and slit red ribbon wrist drip drip drip on satin sheets or oak bed braces stuck fast to new places heal toe heal toe paces.

And where were you when the Babylon fell to the ashen cloud covered crowd of godless heathens nibbling on the flesh of societies still beating blackened coal heart.  Chew fast chew hard gristle and lard soaked gums teeth gnashed prime oral cutlery.