Head crashed like a screen
Of a computer
Flashing like an epileptic

Head washed in unpleasantry
Cooked broken
Dripping with raw emotion

Plastic cash flipping like green paper past
The nasty fast masked task

Put in a bag and shook
Gave the dirtiest look from a stranger
A danger
A lasting bashing smashing crashing relapse
Into a giant stash


I’m Not A Writer You’re Not A Writer

It’s not a truth
It’s not even a piece
You don’t have a clue in your hand
You don’t know anything

I like your painting
I like what you wrote
I like the music that sounds off through your sites
I like your movie
It takes it all to a new height

But whether or not (you thought) something right
You didn’t
But I don’t know
You might
Although expressing it and letting it out to me
Also might not be possible right now
But somehow

I see you as a someone – you steam
Like a magic word
And though I gave you a slap
For being sad
For being absurd
It’s not half bad
Your expression in words

I Give More Than A Damn

Left to dance I was no longer an artist
I acted, depicted, realized blew past – I danced
And pens and paint brushes got knocked spilling everywhere
My guitar got smashed and my keyboard flew out the window
“Are you mad?” my neighbour said
“Yes” I said straight faced “I’m mad”
I fought a huge sheet of paper and crumpled it to a big ball
I sat forever in the shower thinking I just might end it all
I made a salad of ballads then forgot I was no troubladour
I danced
I took of my pants
I ran through my house plants
Try to wonder man
What it is I am
Try to understand why
I give more than a damn

Womb To Tomb Baby Boomer

You danced out of the womb
And spent your dice
The world was peeling back for you
It was reeling
Like a ferris wheel
And nothing was really real
You fidgeted nervous anxiety swept through
Like wind and concrete
And you “wondered where it went”
Inside a woman spent
To procreate
A donkey was your pet and a monkey
Your sign
You said to two people
Forever you are mine, and with a hoarse throat
Returned with illness
And divorced them both
The church was late
In getting you to talk
But you confessed
And walked
Without a God and smoked rocks
Only to
Fall lots
And be a pylon of others and your odd socks
You stepped off the edge the grave
And fell in the box

My Belief (Dream)

My (belief) dream
My small club (friends circle)
And my internal clock
Particularly flat
But I couldn’t articulate that

A foot in the mouth
A knife in the back
Beaten into a track
He said I was sad
With my books and paintings
That’s all I had

On the steps
Of a giant
Under the feet of liars
And dancing
I wonder


There was no choice
To have or have not a voice
So I will speak for him
He is lonely
But never alone
He is after sex but never wants any
Just stays home
He says
No friends exist
But actually has many
He lives for a value
You’ll allow
And if you don’t he sighs
“He’ll die”
A peculiar one
For sure
His heart is impure
His allure that he is

Value Storm

She grew knowing and went out glowing
And her death was a warning
I never heeded
A value storm
I sucked on pipes and ate poison and fucked diseases
Stayed home
All my progeny unborn
Love I never needed
Too stoned
But you laugh and laugh
To return back
To normal
I laugh –
But you see these principles
Are all I have
You see these activities
Are my weapon against the enemy time
I’ll fire my art
Straight into the head of the future
I’ll live
I’ll create
And laying myself to waste
I’ll put a horizon on your face
And taste the trace
Of hate
Of what I create
Seconds before
I leave this place

Which Lie

Fuck who I am I am not your judgement I’m not your
Demonstration of what I am
Fuck where I’m from the fuck
You still believe in school
Fuck the shit you say
It’s not cool
It’s not nutrition
Sound off like you like health
You fucking “saint”
But no
You sound like a politician
And you ain’t
I’m into how
What the hell
You think you can smile and go without a how
Bitch life to death
And ask me to summit the trip
I’m on
I’m gone!

Life Was A Funeral

Oh I died
Oh I die
Oh death come?

Death was at the door
Ringing the bell
“Where are you I need you” said the Grim Reaper
“I need you in hell”

Death was in the sky
I floated up nirvana
Dimension 7
What’s it like?
It’s like heaven

Oh I died
Oh I die
Oh death come?

Death was in my sock drawer
Under the envelopes of money
I chuckled
Life was funeral
It’s not even funny

I You He

I am – I mean
I just like kind of exist minimally
I try not to have an excuse
I dream
I create

You are the “rest of mankind” I see it in your eyes
You exist extraflously I know it by your lies
You want
To convert me to your death
But I will die mine

He is
Made up
Found in a bong
He comes between
And I want him gone