shiver in the morning and burn in the evening, autumnal love affairs rush the blood on cold nights and all in vain, for what, some synaptic light show wherein all thoughts are visible. walk the careful lawns, manicured like french tips and there are street lamps ablaze in the weird sidewalked town that is this,…

nothing can touch me here, i lick vodka from a wet glass and burn medicine that toils in my throat, in my lungs, in my blood and in my head. her hollow bones sing a birdsong far off and light, a dream, a lie, a distraction against the slow comedown from this very brief apex.…

headlights swing past like meteors and we are coming out with the night, a steady stream from cars and porches, swinging in on dark ropes, thieves, idiots, artists and stranglers alike all in the reckoning of midnight. pretty girls slide past dangerously leaving behind perfume clouds and the light impression of their movement, their eyes…

there is a gentle satisfaction in never hearing a song completed. to linger in the slow echo of its ever changing body rolling onward through the years. the same parts played again and again, evolution in sound and again, a drifting of words melancholy and aimless. it moves like water, like light, in constant transfer…

in the metallurgy coma you are made of wires, light, electricity and your heart carries an encrypted heat, some storied information hidden in the transmission of your cold necessity. glow like a child sun and begin to become alive, the inevitable coming through even in the far off streams of this endless greed for god,…

i see astronomy in her eyes and i can smell summer in the curls of her hair, those loosely wound ribbons that sweep her shoulders and get wrapped around my fingers. i move from place to place, chasing her through the hours in which she is absent, trying to track her down in some corner,…

i am a dead battery, each alarm a shot of electric shock in to quiet corners of my head. i grow further weary through lack of sleep, no sleep, only moments, short interludes, reboots, not enough to keep this idiot machine moving. a narcotic need to power down, process in smoke, in syrup, alcohol and…

cake and wine, dancing with spirits in the country dark evening, spilling over into the kitchen, smoke and words, reaching an agreement with the dead, sound and shape suspended in this medium. we sit in the trees and scream in eagle dialect, looking to find some rhythm to the day, some lesson from the night.…

keep walking if you must, dear girl, my morals are quite sound inasmuch as morality can make noise and though i smell of resin, caffeine, women and demons i am a man above all and as all men i aim to own the earth and all things contained within it. you will ache for the…

welcome back to use without thought, the endless changing of the television second on second, frame by frame the thousand channel madness that brings days to a slow drawl and nights to a definitive pause, this infomercial insomnia. there’s nothing on, never anything on and we stare, we stare like the dead at this mess…