Raining Ice Again

You have been in your head too much
this doesn’t work for you
You are a doer. You must stay busy and engaged
Right now, you are not. You are tired and in pain
Your mouth is dry, your skin is dry. It is cold outside
…You’re an idiot.
I’m bored of this already
This needs to be erased
I need to go for a walk

Off a cliff. dive into a dream of cold water
I want summer in Lake Superior
I want her freedom
Her sweet clean air

It is winter. White and dirty and grey
I slept like shit again last night.
My neck hurts. Blah
That is what I feel like
Blah
Blah blah blah
I am wasting my living
Here
Far away
I am giving it all, for what I can’t grass anymore

Wash your face

Somethings don’t have to be said

I know that all humans are not bad

But I have a hard time fingerings out the good ones

I don’t trust my ability fully. 

 There is always something I can miss

This uncertainty is my armor 

I try to keep one foot on the ground

And one hand on my pistol 

I not going to put up with bullshit

Its nothing personal, you understand?

It just, you see, I don’t know

how long I have to live

It may end soon or something

so I don’t want to waste any time

on bullshit -You get it

You’ve wasted time on bullshit

I see it on your face

On Christmas past

The Christmas lights on my tree

            twinkle, unnecessarily. 

Its all I have kept of tradition

You never put me right

Maybe you tried  

Maybe you loved me

But that’s not enough

Your love can’t cover up your abuse
I’m not a little child. But I’m still vulnerable 

I admit it.  I’m at accepting 

I can’t live for you
I’m not sorry.  

You wanted me to carry you

Like a pointless backpack of rocks

like a bucket of shit  

sloshing on top of my head

I was your surefooted mule

I took pride in how much I could carry

For you

I’ve put it down 

The bible, the apologizing, the pride,  shame,

And now – the fear and bucket of hate.

I’ve given up being the ass
Its no longer my surprise

I’m not passing it on or boxing it up

Or hiding it in the basement

Wrapped tight for later
You fucked up

You 

fucked 

up

you carry it

  

 

And On

I’m trying real hard but I can’t find any warm cocks or juicy pussies or even busted lips or bloody blisters
In the books
That you gave me
Not even a dried lily or a dead bug
Just paper with words
And more words
I like words a lot -I do- I live in them
But sometimes I need more than words
Sometimes I’d like my hand held
or some jasmine green tea in a big cup
I guess
What I am saying is I miss dancing with you
Dancing alone isn’t all bad in a pinch
But I always pretend you are dancing with me
And that is pathetic
Dancing in sync with you is ancient earth magic
We are mirrors, cracked and smudged on cheap beer and old patterns, strange magnets
spinning each other on

Well Meaning

Well meaning humans

friends and family members

tell me to write a novel

something I can get paid for

They ask if I write

if I write at all

if I do, why don’t I show it

to them

they say with ups at the ends of the words

I mumble about the poem

about the line

about when I sit down and write

a poem  I do what

I can and hope

their war will be lost

on my ability to write a

decent poem

Of course I have a lot of

horse shit that I don’t

finger until it becomes apart

of my identity but the

process of writing a poem

I’ve put everything in

I’ve excepted

that I will never get drinks or licks

in exchange for my poems

But if I don’t write these bloody

stumps, if I don’t fuck on the mother

tongue and smear her ideologies

in my gruesome fantasies

her neat and organized world

may beat out the orgasmic

and thirsty