out of time
out of luck
and no faith in divine intervention
prick myself to bleed
new blood will bring redemption
i'm not the only one left
scorned by your society
no faith in common decency
no love, no free society
no love for productivity.

we all serve no purpose, forever
mired in a broken recursive function
that lacks a base case.

mr. smith never envisioned this
vicious cycle of unending growth
with no chance to contemplate,
no pause or interrupt or Ctrl-C.

the archivist

sleep, my friends
sleep don't dream
break out from this gentle scene
hand to me your life's work
to be forever kept in secret
solitude, no one can touch it
make it less than whole

put it away and secure but
open and exemplifying truth
heal centuries to come with
verbal prowess and sharp wit

give it to the archivist,
he'll know what to do
sleep soundly with the comfort
of knowing that you're safe,
to be passed on to future
generations of hacks and ne'er-do-wells.

I'll only ever have
60 more morning showers
180 more hurried meals
47 more goodnight kisses
   and 13 lonely nights--
two months isn't much time
to close all loose ends.

you don't want to continue
on that kind of clock
punching in every morning
punching out every evening
turning in after a subpar meal
and bits of lackluster conversation--
you're thrown into this and everything changes.


throw it all away and really live
while you have the chance, eat
like you've never eaten, fuck like
you've never fucked.

sleight of hand
slightly revealing
sleeping suddenly you
wake seeking sleep

thirsty, pull yourself
out, around, and up
drag feet across
rough carpet-terrain
into the deep unknown
of your sightless kitchen

pour, fumbling, dry
becomes wet quickly
as morning approaches
ever so slowly
the glass empty
again, you're prepared.

all these happy couples
fuck these happy couples
not that I shall bother,
     since most will tonight anyway
and somehow a couple
just isn't a couple
when 1200 miles get in the way
it's not physical, but it is
spiritual and emotional bonds have their
physical limits and don't reach
as long as one might think
stretched so thin, it's a wonder
they stay intact
but they do, and so
we're the unhappy couple
a couple miserable fucks
melancholy dreams filling our nights
and days distraught because
we're pulled constantly by
the tensions of these bonds
holding us together
pulling us together
and tearing each of us apart
a little bit more each day

confessions of an information junkie

Put the pen to the page and just keep
writing it's supposed to be that easy
right but it's not and we wonder how
novels develop from chapters from pages of words
they must all be driven by some purpose
and glued together by whatever makes writing
stick like ink on paper and it's really the
only way to proclaim incontrovertible truth
wouldn't you agree but some ignore words
of ink on paper and it may be easier than
it should be to admit that I do right
now it all just seems like rambling obscuring
a not-so-important confession why don't
I READ like I even forgot to go to the
library today what was that about how do
words make that inevitable transition from
pleasure to chore and how can I stop it
you've got to help me

come up from behind me and pull like
your life depends on it drag me down
into the bottomless pit of information
overload slap me across the face like I've
earned it because I'm not leaving
now stuck in my new role as bitkeeper
doormat for the media pirate's plunder
we both question why it all has to come
through me but one of us really knows
and is painfully hiding it keeping it safe
because the truth would fill the pit bury
us all truth too large for reality I crave
it I crave it can't live without it
anymore and this is a habit ten days
won't break so don't get out the tomato
soup just yet there's no patch for this one
and I lost hope long ago that one can
be weaned off it's too strong it's what
we all live for and what we miss when
we're gone but it's too much so I must
vomit to clear the way for more regurgitate
as though it will end the cycle each time
but give me three seconds and I'll be begging
for it make it stop help me kick my
habit don't feed me don't feed me don't
feed me

it feels like a deep longing
I can't overcome through change or just
letting the wind toss me about

steeped in years of foreign respect
and sidelined influence the dream haunts
me like nothing has or ever will

this dream shatters every time I enter reality
and forms again unharmed at the slightest touch:
it is destiny unreachable, silent sacrificial lamb

water beads on the glass as I try to cope
with a lifetime of good decisions,
really swell advice followed now consuming

me like it always has--I can drop to my
knees but every single time I tap back in
because even shadow safety trumps desire.

clock
 repeating
  repeating
   repeating
never slowing keeping pace
forcing time down our throats
like a wretched inverse suppository
it runs
 runs away
infuriatingly steady
and we just can't get to it
it speaks to you and the
endless tick drips with odium
sightless and nonverbal, only
 tick
  tick
   tick
like a controlled auditory swarm
it is your enemy, you must decide:
face it, or retreat!

its face impassive,
staring you down
like monolithic stone

emotionless and tireless
it cannot be defeated
on its own turf

but dare we step
outside of time,
only to realize
our own insignificance?

the clock looms over us
and the shadow tells us
all we need to know
about its immutability.

my words aren't what they used to be
I've become soft, cold, lumpy and
I'm badly out of practice.
my sharp wit dulled by complacency, I
seek out only use for my sharp tongue
lately I'm sickened by the oppression
closing in on all of us unseen, but
I feel it like a dog-barometer sensing
an oncoming storm.
fear is not an option at this stage, as
I mentally prepare to fight back.
We both know it's pointless but
still I don't back down.
Donning my callous exterior shielded by
absolute certainty and ablative armor,
I ready my sword and take aim at
those who would strike me down.
Disable, don't destroy! Become not
that which you try so very hard
not to hate, but stay detached.
In this struggle, love is a weakness.

sleeping tendencies welling up inside me
who knows whose dreams may go
looking back, I realize
I've got less surprise than anguish
and more predictability than shame
Eating up inside me everything that I am
this eternal emotional parasite always growing
preparing to take over
and yet I'm lost without it
like a bright light switched off suddenly
but I can't adjust my aperature
the future seems so bright to me
illuminated by far-off goals
but a haze covers it all, keeping it unreal
and unreachable

and you're down

... and you're down
fly! high above us, on those wings
made of pure certainty
arrive at your destination
possessionless and free
tell us all repeatedly
what it means to live
... and why you had to die

you step out off the plane
and you see Victor Jara glowing
you did the world a favor
paid in blood
his hands crushed, he cried out
they gave him his guitar
he sang in protest, his spirit
wouldn't budge
you stood far away
as they fired their guns
you did all you could but he's gone

... and you're down
(chorus)

injustice is your nemesis
he stands before you, flashing blades
you strike a blow with the
fury of your fear
one last glimmer in his eyes
'cause he knows he'll rise again
you scream "no, not now,
not then, not here"
you waver but don't hesitate
your blade reaches its mark
but you know you just can't kill the beast
... and you're down