Thursday, June 09, 2005

and the rain soaked again
gently pushing me down
to that friendly, low place
low again

draining away all the wrong
raining down; and then
the ending isn't in
when it all falls
like rain

and as she sleeps upstairs
quietly; this friend
i'll feel this way, again
a billion times
and cliche myself

Saturday, December 04, 2004

smash your head against a wall.

brick meets you
with no forgiveness
with no sympathy
smash away, until the skin gives way
to laceration's splitting principles
opening a bit
and starting to drip
it's sanguine tears
staining blue brick red
stating it's alarm
at your statement
and at your smile

Monday, November 22, 2004

regret's dissapation

again the bile is rising in the throat
nothing is so alarming
when everything makes a person sick
decay is creeping in
and turning back is
an option held only in memory
the times roll on
with you or not
and every second hand's click
brings a secondhand death
this hour was not meant
to kill so many
but killing is the business of clocks
and time is kept poorly
when there is nothing left to fight
thoughts on boston

your cancer and your social scene
drives me up a fucking wall
all this new-found shit
once masqueraded as a shiny star
yearning to be explored
now no longer young and vibrant
though still inhabited by youth

it all becomes so tiresome
when the jaded, urban mind
begets innocence for knowledge

cancer is your social scene
when you can't seem to speak
without seven beers
or shots
or pills
and when you do force the words
they are meaningless to all
and yourself

your cancer is no social scene
when your mouth has been
sewn shut

the silent sway
of rocking
oceans of old storms
float by
not ever acknowledging victims
standing up is not nearly enough
strong undertow combining with tide

* * * * * *

that feeling
sick, dry, salty feeling
reminding of tragedies passed
a family not sure-footed on land
forced to roll with the sea
the ship has been late
for forty-nine years
and its absence
forever revered

Sunday, November 21, 2004


longer thanany man's life
living in a world
not yours,
with less deference
then those
who would
and then kill you,
for decking material
just another being
that does not
our sins

lake afire

small, calm and rolling ripples
follow one another in synch
gently lulling all aslumber
helping us to remember
just how to forget


except the way
a voice echoes
over all that flat blue
and up the bank across
into the swaying trees

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

day on my world

inspired by Da "l'Allegria" by Guiseppe Ungaretti


death comes to all who accept
we are all sulking in this mirage

the will is broken
and passion is dead
in this primal cesspool
perched and set to violate
not like i will stay vigilant

i will not diverge my lament
so come with your curdling accusations

From "The Cheerfulness"

written by Giuseppe Ungaretti
loosley translated by Sean Murphy


Dying like the thirsty wanderer
near the mirage

Or like the last gull
in the tall grass by the sea
because it has more desire

to live without complaint
like a child blinded

then to fly
there was another blank page
until i muddied it up
with bullshit and hearsay
the only time i feel like i might have impact
is when i'm destroying another beautiful white page
with bullshit and nonsense
you'll never gain anything
and you couldn't understand
how i see us all
all of us
and how we are bound and gagged
tied to trees
plastic trees
and fractured
blue coffin

Children might,
become entrapped.

in this--

Keep out of their--



where a strong tree once stood
now there is a hole
deep past the roots
that were once a foothold
of perserverance
there is just black
dark black soil
full of rocks and souls
a pit of despair
in what was once

the tree stoodfast
against the trappings
of its being
the wind
the sun
the rain and snow
the tree took it all
without complaint
(aside from every once and awhile
letting out a groan or two)
it took the suffering on its
without relent
until the day
a man with a motorized blade
took it down in ten minutes--
to improve his view

there is a line
drawn in the dark
or in the sand
or in your mind
between you and me
between yours and mine

the differences are many
no one is really wrong i guess
all just trying to get somewhere

thoughts of domestica
never will realize
the past keeps that
way, way, down
further than you know...

Monday, October 20, 2003


i want to start writing with a typewriter
like bukowski did
he made sense to me
more than most
i think if i have more modest accomodations
with cracks in the walls
and more windows to see out of
i'll have more to say
writing is one of the most
selfish acts
but when i speak
nothing happens but
i think if i have a typewriter
my words will carry more meaning
fresher from the head
than writing
i type faster than i write
or maybe if i drink alone
and often
and wine with whiskey
and beer
bukowski wrote about beer alot
i can't decide if beer is good or bad
beer is good

Friday, October 17, 2003

just a voice

there is no connection
attractive, full-figured, skinny
blonde, or black, or brown
5'5, 5'2, 5'7, 5'3
hazel eyes
or brown or green
what's up guys?
and again
and again
for ever

sometimes i just want to lie
next to you
and talk about anything
and nothing
and breathe
breathe you
it's not that way though is it?
there is no connection
other than electronic
and basic
and mechanical

somedays i just want to hold you
or anyone
like we did
when we weren't sober
and all that was there
you maybe
and me
but you can't do that can you?

sometimes we would argue
points neither of us cared for
just to be engaged
with the other
or at least that's how i felt
but there is a connection right?

somenights i want you to be with me
just like in my dream
your gritty, wide-eyed smile
masking troubles underneath
you told me that you love me
you told me that you love me
you told me that you love me
through cigarette smoke
but now the smoke is gone


the perennial loser
walking alone
head down
october has no more

just cold and dark

the perennial loser
under control by another
under seige
from the force of the world

hope is always looming
mocking him at arm's length
every time he swears it off
hope lets up another inch

so then his eyes brighten
and he lets in another chance
sucess is always fleeting
but this is just a curse

another shot slipped away
egos shot between the eyes
again he hangs his head
this perennial loser
in this sad, olde, towne
communication with salespeople

standing in this circle
painted on the concrete around you
wind shearing its way through you

approaching are these strangers
with their crooked-sideways glances
paperwork covering their eyesockets

just when you have a chance
at regaining a sort of composure
they will swoop down
on polo-shirted wings
and beging picking and prying
at your eyes, like a pack
of diseased magpies

so here you are standing
head facing to the sky
while your eyes are bleeding
and still their hands are pulling
ripping and shredding
at what is left of you

they will want ever more
that will never change
and all you want is nothing
but to dote with silent rage

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

failure and seatravel

if i were a sailor, i would have no worthy ship
to sail away, another day from yet another port
i would have no mate aboard to give damage report
i would have no sharpened cutlass swinging from the hip
i wouldn't have a North Star to guide me through this night
or charts and instruments to navigate me through this past
no fortitude or common sense to make the rations last
no cannon, shell, or powder to protect me in the fight
stuck and always drifting, ne'er to discover virgin land
floating on this wooden grave, ever closer to the mire
no protection from the Storm or Sea, tide ever rising higher
breaking up on a forsaken shoal, i'm left burning in the sand
i have raised the flag upside down showcasing my distress
i am glad i'm not a sailor, to wish i were much less

Sunday, October 05, 2003

earth curse

why can't we all just die?
and drown in an ocean of our own --
and freeze under ice to be found by the next race
and bubble and melt in a city-sized cauldron
and choke to death, on our carbon monoxide
and be shot with a human sized bullet

we can not even execute our own demise
in an efficient manner

why can't we
rig an earth-sized bomb
and set it off on every country's
independence day

or send each and every neighbor envelopes of anthrax
or pipe bombs in packages
delivered by Federal Express

"if elected i promise a pipe bomb in every mailbox"

why can't we burn
and smolder with all of our jealous rage
and suffocate from our endless society
of red tape and bureaucracy
and each die a hundred thousand times
and a hundred thousand more

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

handicapped parking

love is a crutch
religion is a crutch
hate is a crutch

we all have
broken our legs

i need a motorized wheelchair
because i'm co-dependent
a simple crutch will not support
my frame

my loathing is a crutch
my self deprication is a crutch
i'm trying to shed

vanity is a crutch
drink is a crutch
drug is a crutch

we all have broken legs
and broken will to boot

the fate of the world can be decided in less than 5 minutes

there's about 5 minutes of time that i like.
usually late fall (sometimes spring)
right before the storm.
No rain,
but the air is soaked, not hot,
but soaked.
the wind is blowing a steady statement,
and occasionally yelling in gusts.
you feel as though something dreadful
could happen at any moment.
Electricity engulfs the atmosphere.
The world could end right here.
And so it may.
you might get the feeling that you are--
the only person alive.
Visions of Apocalypse,
and waves of doom impending
float through.
you are gritting your teeth,
grinding with anticipation.
waiting for this event,
to hurl itself upon the earth.
standing in its midst
breathing it all in
watching people shut their windows
and locking their doors.
---- for it all to end.

Then it hits you.
----- A Drop.
-------- Then Two.

Then it all falls.

And so does your guilty hope.
"It's just another rainstorm."
Co-Worker 232 says as you
both trudge back to (hell)work.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

proper restraint, protection, the will of man,
and what some men think about constantly

so as you stand
at this edge
this sharp edge
your feet cut
from its force
pushing back
millions of questions
thousands of scenarios
bouncing around
always around
cause for alarm.
all of the others
with their advice
and their agenda
see your stance
and criticize
though they may also be right
and behind them are
even more of them --
are listening and
reporting their findings
to those enimies
and those enimies
have chosen you
so as you stand
you begin to accept
your bloody feet
and this sharp edge.
it is hard to not feel
almost, comfortable
but don't forget
you are bleeding
and you're on the edge.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

society is a four-letter word (even you and even me)

no one,
not a soul
except those
who birthed you.
(If they haven't
The whole world.
The entire universe
for that matter,
is out for one's self.
Even you and,
even me.
Oh, they'll tell you what you want,
if you are pretty enough
wealthy enough
transparent and
needy enough.
Or they'll stomp you
the ground,
and crush you out
like a smoke that's spent
if you are none of the above
and they'll make
no apologies for it.
a rosy outlook
is just rose colored lenses
masking true sight
Even you and,
even me
will succumb
to the;
camera tricks,
faucet drips,
porno flicks,
whorehouse tricks,
cops' nightsticks,
and cocaine rips.
And maybe you,
and even me
will make it out-
scared but alive.
scarred but alive.
and begin again
we will,
just like a billion more-
and two-fold that before,
Even you and
Even me,
will settle up the score.

"kid's got heart, kid's got heart."

jolted awake
about to start
this new finish
this old heart

the ticking ensues
pushing the blood
forcing the circuit
forcing the flood

the physical heart
this physical heart
won't change emotions
and won't rip apart

Thursday, September 04, 2003


words explode
like firecrackers
synapses in my brain
little sparks that arrive
and leave
just as fast as each other

driving in a beauty
that is so, so ugly to me
makes tears surface
at every other turn
brings tears and
more words
always more words

all of these people
filling roles
i used to be a part
part of that
part of what

ideas at every curve
inspiration in black
black of night

been pushed so much
black of night
feels so warm

Saturday, August 30, 2003

two of the typical reactions

you think that we're all a peer
thinking exactly the same as you
barging your way through people
who wouldn't care to respond

that of getting what you want
has slowly become your norm
some of us have tried so long
to connect on some level, well


on the other hand, bear witness
quiet until petty anger causes
some lashing out for a show
to make some silly ass point about what

but alas, dog barking up the wrong tree
woe is you, if that is what you meant
wear your cape with pride and vigor
with amusement it will all be recalled


Friday, August 22, 2003

Goths, WhiteHats,StormTroopers,YahDoods, General asshats
Circle I Limbo

The New York Yankees
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

The Inventor of Time
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Politicians of all ilk
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

The Lady That Lives On the 3rd Floor of my Apartment Bldg.
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

The 5 Day Work Week
Circle VII Burning Sands

Rapist Priests and their Lawyers
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

Saturday, August 02, 2003

tour water

it's on
we have won
the battle
war's not over

on my face
memories chase
looking up
light can not erase

entirely too many
bodies swarm like mobs
sober never felt so drunk

oh, how times have changed
the lines on the weary man

his face

oh, how time has turned me
into him

fun is a relative term
fan is a relative term
friend is a relative term

meanings only outnumbered
by usage

a fleeting chance to

make enjoyment
make friends
make an impression
make a mark

we are scratching and clawing a way out

Saturday, July 26, 2003

7:54 on a Saturday in the Month of July

pressed with the rush
flow through the crowd
pushed into the pack
forced by their tide

never relenting
always wrangling
postition play
we give in

caught up in forward motion
grind out one more gear
never ending tension
human machine tries

never reversing
always working
clock puncher
one more shift

all contributions bleed into another
one great dull color
defining the whole picture
no one is ever looking back

Saturday, July 05, 2003

A National Seashore

swimming this ocean
full of arms and legs
and hearts
and souls
and love and hate
and pain
and triumph
and death
and life

i'm trying to tread
above it all
my arms are aching
from the pull of the tide

tide of souls
all swimming
trying to tread

some find land
others give in
and sink down

others yet
have strong arms
and stay on top
of current
and swim until their end

i am not sure
if i'm strong enough
to fight the undertow

and i know i'm
stuck here

in this ocean
of blood and tears

Tuesday, July 01, 2003


a fanciful response..
to a deceptive line

in time,

you'll note that,
while tounge-in-cheek

you understood quite

so i'll raise a glass
and then another
in the honor

in tribute
to poet's plunder

Saturday, June 28, 2003


fuck the doubters

your words
your voice

drowns the bullshit

call him long winded
because you have--


Friday, June 27, 2003

voice mail

You represent:
my complete lapse of judgement
my corrupted sense of content
my lack of well being

this time i know
who you are
i will not falter
or fall again --
with you

You represent:
an absence of respect
a false notion of what's right
another failed effort

this time i see
what you are
i'll not relapse
or forget again
about you

oh and you expect that i'll treat your dishonesty
with light hands...

and we all have our lies
but your lies are all of you

so i talk too much?
No --
you are too ashamed
to be just who you are

Thursday, June 26, 2003

Hate Volume One

write about beauty
three impossible words
my only inspire
the shit surrounding
the anger rising
the frustration pending

I write of enemies
unseen, yet clear to me
unbroken and unashamed
in their war mission
to hang me from a tree

hanging I admit
has a nice ring
smiling my dangle
as wind hits my face

beauty draws blank
nothing to tell
anger and regret?
page after page

Cleanliness is next to impossible

I like everything broken and destroyed
I like everything shattered and destroyed

Nothing is neat
We are not clean
Dirty is life

We all have our dirt
Some under fingernails
Some under bed frames
Even in trunks of cars sometimes

I confess, I'm the one that broke
I muddied up your pond
I stole your grandmother's broach
I keyed your car (Don't cut people off)
I slept with your wife
I ratted on you
I ratted on everyone

I like everything shattered and broken
I want everything destroyed and broken

You are not neat
You are not clean
Dirty is you

You have all the dirt
Under your fingernails
Under your bed frame
Even in the trunk of your car

You broke me
You shattered me
You destroyed me

With beautiful efficiency

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

American Cheese

we are processed
reconditioned, retread
acrid smell of smoke stack
plumes and plumes of fear
what have we become
our lives are no better -
or worse

chemical ingestion
deathly progression
sickly morale

nothing is immune
nothing is sacred
we are nothing
nothing is gasping

water is a commodity
bottled for thirsty consumers
we purchase our cancer
infused with Lemon Flavor

synthetic purity
packaged for sale

we are all processed

Tuesday, June 17, 2003

another day, another dollar

another lifetime ago
thinking of an old life
a link to my past

i used to know
whole groups of people
strange not knowing them
at all anymore

i'll tend to get fed up
and leave,
Find new groups.

hanging around with new -
groups -
realizing that i am -
missing -

i used to have best friends
now i am my own

not now who i was then
not then who i am now
not knowing who is better

me or then.

Thursday, June 12, 2003


crawling around
circling the wagons
can't see two inches in front of me
crying out for a hand with no one there
collapsing at every word that you spoke
conventional wisdom will not apply
crushing weight of another defeat
completion will be denied
contracting a virus

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

thirty minute break

too fast
too soon
why try to be too old
too much
too little

time as a condition boxes us in
time as an invention sells us out
sells us short

not fast
not slow
no way out
not right
not enough
not enough time in the world

when is it too much
when is it long enough

time leads us astray.
time fills an ashtray.

we're penned in.
we're fucked up.
we're dragged down.
we're thrown out.

people don't realize,
late for work,
late for school,
late for lunch,
late for life,

time has its way. (with us)

Tuesday, May 27, 2003

North Station

every drop is one more murder.
raining these days is genocide.

Planning a coup in my chest.
Planting a seed in your mind.

Hoping to find
Hoping to find

What the fuck,
were we hoping to find.

Burning in the back of my throat
acrid, acrid, acrid, acrid, i cried.

to no avail
tonal impale
total betrayal

All of our lies have just set sail,
on a journey of constant derail.

Writing a new disguise
gravestones at 75 more miles

in an hour,
in a furor,

chest still pounding
head still pounding
feet still pounding

i'm still ticking

beer at two

Is taking a deadman's advice
a smart thing to do?

the living have so little to offer us.

-triumphant for nothing-
-accomplished at nothing-

deadmen have no secrets

my body felt bad today until
alcohol entered the room

drowning at the bottom of a bottle
drowning at the mention of a name
drowning at the reflection of a mirror
drowning at the notion of a start

is it bad to let your teeth rot?
should i take a deadman's advice?

Saturday, May 24, 2003


i'm not looking..

i can't see.

will you put up with me for just awhile?
can you deal with me for a little while?

i've had it with all of this.

and i am not looking anymore.

there is nothing to see.

Saturday, May 10, 2003

we should let them have it

What we should do is let them have it,
the squirrels.

They are going to get it anyway.

Give it to them,

the trees
the parks
the beaches and oceans
the mountains

They'll get it anyway.

the houses
carports and garages
attics and cellars

the restaurants
the bars
the nightclubs
the high-rises
the penthouses

Little grey bodies,
Running the earth.
Capitans of Industry,
Working the earth.

Someday they'll own it all.

the theaters
the operas
the hotels and limousines
silver service
white linens

the cars and the trucks

Waiting in trees
While we rape one another
Watching it all
While we destroy everything

I say we hand them the keys,
I say we let them have it.

Little grey bodies,
with tails just as big.

Friday, May 09, 2003


internal combustion engine
beginning to rust
pusing harder and harder
against the rising


stopped adding oil years back
engine didn't care
kept on its one mission
firing on all.

never let off its conviction
although beginning to weaken


still firing,

though not on all

undeterred by its fate
forcing forward motion
fufilling the task
completing the mission

snap, clang, boom.
not rice krispies
but crispy

engine wheezes its




I shoulda bought some oil.

Wednesday, May 07, 2003

five of my days

Just put it down.
Stacking of white papers with printings,
meaningless figures.
Dying directly in front of them,
you sit and wait.
Doze just enough so that no one notices.
Pick up a phone pretend to talk,
So you won't be presented another problem.

Take a lunch,
Take a walk,
Take a drink,
Take a pill.

Live in complete devestation.
That way,
if promise arrives it will seem greater.

Choke on one more day,
One more meaningless day.
Serve your time.
Choke it down.
Put it down.

Saturday, May 03, 2003

talking excessively to get your point across serves no point but
to make me want to smash you in the face with a bottle of beer

It has recently come to my attention,
that people talk way to fucking much.
Especially about nothing.

Arguing points I could care less about,
is my vice.
It drags me into conversation,
that goes nowhere.

Talking, Talking, Talking.

I used to wonder how the old guys,
just sit at the end of the bar,
and drink.

I haven't wondered in quite sometime.

Sometimes you are a third party to,
and you must make
the conscious decision to express yourself
or say nothing

Nothing, I mostly choose.

Keep your admiration
Your ambition
Your opinion
Your repitition
Your nepitisim
Your own
Your self.

I can not shove one more fucking opinion,
into this bloated body.

So shut the fuck up for a minute
Someone once said, "Silence is Golden."


Friday, May 02, 2003

celebrate the war

who gives a fuck
let them kill

Powers preach their pious policy
you all get in line
I'll stand here with a smile
and watch you all die

celebrate the war
earth's a bloody whore
I will-
celebrate the war
holy slaughter 'til the end

why give a shit
let them die

Republics raging their ruthless reign
you stand for nothing
I'm standing here laughing
as bombs are dropping

celebrate the war
the world's a cancer sore
I will-
celebrate the war
and pray we all burn in hell

you gave your life
they fuck your corpse

Soldiers souls are selflessly sacrificed
you all will submit
I'll stand here and grin
while we are all dying

celebrate the war
planet fucking whore
I will-
celebrate the war
and watch the fire rain on me

You're still fucking here?

Go, Go, just fucking go then,
live your life, i'll be here.
in decay, in my beer.

and make yourself "happy",
Miserable until you are happy.

Smile your falsetto,
Stow your fears
take what's easy
Put in your years.

Sorry i can't go with you,
Not that you asked me along,
But i have no important work here to finish
I have to assure me that you are all wrong.

Go then, just don't bring me with you,
not even in rose-colored memories
I am that bloody mark on the wall,
Left by a drunken fist-fighting eve.

It's not right
You wouldn't try,
Drink and Fuck,
and Fuck and lie.

Never offering another level,
Than pleasantries and leaving.
Honest talk and understand me
Watching your eyes when you've been drinking

Don't stick around
Don't act the part
you see me falling
you rip me apart

Go, Go, just go, fucking go then

i can't be what i'm not
Sorry it was never close.

Friday, April 11, 2003

old drive home

it's nights like these i wonder,
why i'm really here,

i feel my life is plundered,
replacing lies with beer.

time will never tell me,
what i need to understand,

it only goes to show me,
that nothing goes as planned.

in life we never notice,
the things that mean the most,

the only thing i have to hold,
are the enemies that i boast.

i wrote this along time ago and just found it.

Tuesday, March 25, 2003

cuts on my legs

tried and tried, and tried, I'm too tired to try,
now I'm falling through a briar patch filled sky.

elevated just far enough to break my back,
failing to eject from my briar-patched path.

in the essence of falling I feel most at home,
green lurches nearer I'm closer to done.

my agony cry lands just short of earshot,
can not alter course to this briar-patched plot.

I long for a time when I governed my flight,
when the briars meet skin they'll render thought trite.

when I can't clear my head the briar's they help,
pulling and tearing they're bleeding my self.

landing in thickets, I'm nothing to save,
I'll be smiling away in my briar-patched grave.

Saturday, March 15, 2003


it's getting harder to see...
it's getting harder to see...

cursed fog rises,
burgeoning unresponsiveness.

cold will encompass,
bearing bad tidings.

it's getting harder to breathe...
it's getting harder to breathe...

smog-gripped lungs,
collapsable containers.

life smells so sour,
harbinger of regress.

slipping, slipping, slipping down.
falling, falling, scraping ground.
breaking, breaking, nothing is sound.

life entombed.

Saturday, December 21, 2002

Thank you for being a "friend".

Interesting thing, how we keep fucking ourselves,
in the attempt at making ourselves happy.
Entertaining silly notions of undying love and respect.
Lately I've been thinking that noone is pure in mind,
to be able to live without sinking in the mire,
of our own doing.

Falling back, I keep thinking about leaving behind,
all that we are.
But I'm intertwined, whith this frame of mind,
this frame of mine,and i can't do the right.

Sitting in the back of the bus, class, meeting, bar,
room, party, has given me the clarity to see
all the nothing you have burdened on me.

Whole rooms full of empty people have drained,
the blood from skin, skin from muscle,
muscle from bone, bone from being,
that physical has degenerated, releasing soul into air.

Posioned, it dissapates, and evaporates, into nothing.

I gave but you weren't awake/alive/around/accepting of any of it.

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

Historical Significance

Threatening to end, the whole infernal chain,
Deceit, and lies, and pain, keep me in line.
I tune it all out, the sound of you, it drowns,
every voice into a whisper..........silence.
is rotten all the way down.

Claiming that you're alone, but you won't,
open, even a corner of your soul. Your safety
remains unsold, never letting in less than,
your own perfect vision. Obviously less than,
adequate, I'll turn in line and submit. Never,
one for conflict, instead you choose to inflict
your damage and turn and book, until,
I'm a speck on your horizon.

In time i'll remind me,
just who you were,
after you will most surely disappear,
not even a speck on my horizon.

I am gaining the acceptance, through the trial,
and persistence, that this purely is the cycle.

Saturday, November 23, 2002

Out of Stock (reprise)

The Love that once was here,
has just gone away,
Outside day or night,
only color seen is grey.

Looking back on twenty years,
nothing have i done.
No reason to feel pride,
instead i just feel numb.

i wish for things to halt,
and slip into the past.
i also wish to repent,
for all the sins that i have cast,

But i know that it's too late,
to turn back this fucking clock,
i remain this empty shell,
my whole life turned out of stock.

Looking back on past,
opportunities dismissed,
i still have some satisfaction,
No asses i have kissed.

Now the time is spent,
on reliving glory days,
friends no longer care,
we all have parted ways...

i wish for things to halt,
and slip into the past.
i also wish to repent,
for all the sins that i have cast,

But i know that it's too late,
to turn back this fucking clock,
i remain this empty shell,
my whole life turned out of stock.

Driving straight at headlights,
fucking story of my life.
Always been the same way,
Anger, Pain, and Strife.

Living like a human being,
happiness and normalcy?
Instead i wallow in this pit,
of darkness and misery.

Monday, November 18, 2002

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

there is nothing new here,
this has all been done before,
our transgressions take no precedent.

we are following another's lead,
pioneering our redundancy,
we walk our tightrope of lies.

time has seen our kind before,
we dirty, cancer ridden sores,
infecting the whole of our home.

everybody is walking in circles,
to be forgotten in the coming years,
the monotony of it all enslaves us.

i have resigned in all respects,
to swimming against the current,
because this has been written before.

....there is nothing new here....
....this has all been done before....

Friday, November 15, 2002

one million fist-fights

in this room of shit
keep fighting off devils
with blood-soaked hurt
i feel razor sharp severs

hate is the normal emotion
willing me close to the edge
stunned by a lack of connection
sinking deep into my dredge

thin is the line, between myself and death
the bloodlet ensues, burning itself in my chest

anger means nothing again
like a million other fights
pride is a black stain
that just won't turn out right

my life is a refrain
from striving for anything
never knowing a true pain
just this soul i am wasting

Saturday, November 09, 2002

when plans go bad

a cocentric condition of clarity
gave under premise of anomynity
inducing false sense of security
within the planned community

the self-induced authority
breeds contempt and animosity
and promotes lack of humanity
within the planned community

the promise fades from unity
death becomes the regularity
focus tightly on insecurity
within the damned community


woke up half-dead today
just like a thousand others
can't shake the headache again
or sensations that i'm smothered

rising from another deathbed
interrupting my destruction
i could be in a better place
if i could wake from this concussion

spots in my eyes again
dancing in asymetrical patterns
feels like i took a shot to the head
but i sure didn't feel it happen

i am feeling myself slipping
down the path to discontent
trials and tribulations encompass me
in this dirt cage i invent

my ending point is nearing
i can not escape its embrace
breath trapped inside my lungs
inching so close to losing the race

in this era of my dying
i've tried and failed to reverse
this forward motion going backwards
is meant to be a final curse

Saturday, October 26, 2002

Anchor (All Set.)

I'm done with all the writing,
Incessant angry tones,
Pouring out all my fears,
Raking myself o'er the coals.

I'm done with all the talking.
About every fucking thing,
Falling on the deafest ears,
With nothing else to bring.

I'm done with all the trying,
To fit in amongst the crowd,
You'll always fucking diss me,
You talk to hear your sound.

I'm done with all the headaches,
Hope i have the will to change,
Only Time will tell the world,
If my life i'll rearrange.

I died at the Anchorset show last night.
I felt the life as it drained from me,
I died at the Anchorset show last night.
And you wouldn't even take my fucking pulse.

Andrea Gail

On the Banks in November is no place to be,
But don't tell that to the men that still work the sea.

Battling waves that were ten stories high,
Can't even recall the last time spent dry.

Rain hits the skin so hard it feels like hail.
But noone's on the deck of the Andrea Gail.

Twenty tons in the hold and six weary crew,
All wishing they were home, and praying to make through.

All rules on land are thrown out on the sea,
Man's fate rest alone on Neptune's Mercy.
Six men were lost to a Nor'Easter gale.
When the Banks claimed the swordboat Andrea Gail.

Never forget. Andrea Gail. Never forget. Andrea Gail.


great expectations,
almost always surely fail,
visions of granduer,
go from fresh in mind to stale.

Put you on my pedestal,
I thought you were the one,
the realization that i was wrong,
weighs on my soul a ton.


Hate, Greed, and Nausea

i see thru your thin smile,
and your faceless concern.
You couldn't fuckin' care anyway
Why would you even ask.
Thick veil of ignorance drapes,
your every single action.

i have grown to hate you.
You don't even notice,
the redness in my eyes,
the way i stare at you,
hoping, no praying that you'll die.

All i see in you, your wealth,
is souless, lifeless, death.

Rich is the exact opposite of what you really are.

Sheltered existence, no life experience.
Have you ever truly been hungry?

As you drive pass me in your expensive car,
clothes, cellular phone, i feel but three things:


Strong Dislike

You never liked me,
You never liked me,
Your caustic words,
Only serve to spite me.

You never knew me,
You never knew me,
Your selfish attitude,
Only helped incite me.

All this fucking time,
I ate your fucking line.
But now the table's turned,
Your turn to fucking burn.

I never cared for you,
I never cared for you,
My indifferent mindset,
Only pained to entice you.

I always hated you,
I always hated you,
My anger-filled heart,
Only tried to respite you.

All this fucking time,
I ate your fucking line.
But now the table's turned,
Your turn to fucking burn.

Old Ghosts

as i immerse myself in darkness,
you take back what i accomplish,
i stand by as you do this,
Hoping only that you'll finish.

Stand on Brink of Defeat,
Hoping end and I will meet.
Holding my breath on every word you say
Old Ghosts haunt with no delay.

dredge the bay of old memories,
try to recall what each eye sees,
mind confused starts to cough and wheeze,
soul brought down to its very knees.

Stand on Edge of Control,
Hoping for that i can not hold
Holding my breath on every word you say,
Old Ghosts haunt with no delay.

Sunday, October 20, 2002

Look forward to your future.

Death falls in droplets
Spreading the pain
A storm is approaching
With crimson, red rain.

Nothing will help you
Just accept fate
Mankind fails again,
and can't stop our hate.

Disease filled skies,
Block out the sun
Life flashing before you
You've no chance to run.

Words have escaped,
There is nothing to say
Death wraps around you
and leads you away.

Why have we done this,
We have all gone insane
Death falls in droplets,
Crimson, red, rain.

Saturday, October 19, 2002


Condescending stare,
Words under breath,
Mistaking my indifference
For simple ignorance.

You don't fucking know me,
Keep your bullshit theory.
Before you get the truth,
Buried in your face.

Talking to you is....
Just like pissing blood.
You've given me the....
Will to fucking hate.

And i intend to use it.

Monday, October 14, 2002

This is the way it is.

This is my starting point.
This is my chance at life.
This is my new beginning.
This is my christening.

This is my rite of passage.
This is my chance to shine.
This is my rise to glory.
This is my saving grace.

This is my resignation.
This is my falling off.
This is my downward spiral.
This is my losing battle.

This is my final stand.
This is the final blow.
This is my call to arms.
This is my epihany.

This is my ending point.
This is my eulogy.
This is my loss of life.
This is my funeral.

Thursday, October 10, 2002

Hey here is some RANDOM SHIT i stole from people:

"In a full room of empty people, it's hard to know yourself."

"Now is the time for all good men to cash in."

"we are made to bleed // and scab and heal and bleed again // and turn every scar into a joke"

"The Giving Tree is a chump"

"Happiness is meaningless if not tempered by sorrow and grief."

"I threw my message in a bottle into a sea of broken glass."

"Freedom of the press belongs to those who own one" -A.J. Liebling

A real person's name I encountered at work: Mary Jane Hope

Some random work dialouge:
"I feel crappy, that customer was real nice."
"Hey I'm real nice, and people say crappy things to me all the time."

Saturday, October 05, 2002

I'm Dead

Writing my epitaph:
Following their footsteps,
He took the beaten path.
Never filled their shoes.

He gave up on so much,
Stopped caring long ago,
About friendships and such,
That they all disappeared.

Never striving for more,
He always settled for less,
Behind him another closed door,
Which gave him false closure.

Never really shared his love,
His compassion was a joke,
When pain fit him like a glove,
It kept his cold hands warm.

This is his Swan Song,
Turned his back one last time.
He knew that he was always wrong.
So he gave up again and died.

Friday, September 13, 2002

pretty. (fake)

perfect encasement,
so well-sculpted,
beautiful lines abound.

nothing is errant,
not even a blemish,
how did you get so clean.

it must be hard work,
to construct your mask,
i wish i had the patience.

i wonder if your head,
is more fucked up then mine,
because you hide it all so well.

i wear my shit on my sleeve,
you shove it in your purse.

but i admit this much,
you sure wear it well,
and i feel like shit,
and i look like hell.

Sunday, September 08, 2002

Kifing Culture

I steal my culture,
When no one is looking,
I hide it in my pocket,
And go back to the kitchen.

I'll find it in your hallway,
or underneath your bed,
When i find the object of desire,
i use deception to disguise.

My culture is to steal,
Or lie, or "find", or decieve,
Like generations of other men.
American and Greed.

Don't invite me to your party,
Regret my entrance to your house,
Keep your eyes trained on me,
Cause i'm busy treasure hunting

I steal your culture,
For the Red, White, and Blue.
If you really knew me,
You'd hate me through and through.

Leaving So Scene? (fuck you)

it's not about your bullshit scene
it's not about your self-esteem,
it's not about the shit you wear,
or that fact that you can't care...

it's all about how you look at me,
when i walk into the room.

it's about how you look down on me,
when i walk into the room.

So FUCK all of you,
i mean it from the heart,
shouldn't have cared from the start

Monday, August 05, 2002

Enter Song Title Here

i wanna just fucking quit
i wanna give the whole thing up
time just won't let me,
time don't work fast enough

i wanna be the leading man
in the war against afghanistan.
they just won't let me,
they just can't kill fast enough

i wanna send you all away
just don't come back another day
You just won't let me,
You won't leave fast enough.

i wanna be the mastermind
that saves the whole of humankind
politics won't let me,
politics just don't care enough.

i wanna go out like James Cagney
"Top of the world ma! Look at me."
the crooks won't let me,
the crooks say i'm not tough enough.

i wanna just fucking quit
i wanna give the whole thing up
time just won't let me,
time just don't work fast enough.


You let me die,
My soul my pride,
I'm gone inside,
Now set me free.

Your bloodshot eyes,
Are no surprise,
You can't disguise,
Your hate for me.

In my head, my eyes see red, i want you dead, it's what you said.

You took my soul,
and left this hole,
I want control,
this shit won't fly.

Reverse the poles,
Now heads will roll,
I wan't control,
Hate blacks this sky.

i'm dead inside.....
i'm dead inside....
i'm dead inside...



writing on napkins...
random thoughts and insecurities.
when life always fails us,
what joy can we see

you thought for a second,
you're on top of your game
But Your Delusions of Granduer
won't mask all the pain

i thought you were strong
But you know i'm wrong again.
My friend, my love, my scurge
what the fuck am i thinking, am i insane?

--I'm so fucking sick of this
--Whay can't things fucking work
--Every fucking time i think it's cool
--I wake up the fucking fool

to think you could even feel
on equal footing, what i feel.
Shit's all a shambles once again.
And i forgot my nerves of steel

I AM SO NOT fucking happy
but i'm playing the role,
twenty fucking seven, feels like 80
I'm on the shovel, digging this fucking hole.

Got snapped in half again
By just a few choice words.
Stock Response #4: "Well have a great time"
Inside i'm screaming, knowing i've been deferred.


Sunday, August 04, 2002


taste of tin
hits my throat
pool of red
begins to choke

reaching for something
to block the flow
finding nothing
the pool does grow

soaking, staining
it knows no manners

just like life
stays the course
so does the blood
still gushing forth

jumping to action
as if it matters
the deed is done
in crimson splatters

running for help
sound the alarm
hand on my face
life beads off my arm

now fully awake
total motor control
i step into battle
i plug up the hole

the red starts to clot
starts to dry up
i start to wonder
i deserve this for what

clean up biohazard
crawl back to my bed
had it's way with my head

overactive imagination

It's not your imagination,
You've got a gun in my back.

Forcing me to give a fuck about your plight.

I search in vain, for my spot in the sun.

YOU, keep pushing me,

With your gun in my back.
I'll never be like you.

Though for too long i tried,
I'll not be accepted by your vain standard.
I'll not fit the mold.

It can't be MY fault,
that gun in my back

YOUR gun it bruises,
a spot in my back.

But it's been there so long,it feels like a friend.
If you took it away, i'd miss the caress,
of it's gunmetal finish,

the thought of the lead, searing a tunnel,
through my back.

So remember my plea,
as i lay on my back,

It's not my imagination, There's a gun in my back.

Mad Kid

sit here and write
sit here and rot
no room to breath
no room for talk

blankly i stare
as life passes by
slump in my chair
stare at the sky

my poetry,
is elementry.

-that makes me mad-

hand me down

we're left with the scraps you throw away.
give us the shit you no longer like.
leave it in the gutter 'til it washes away.

miles away, it drifts over to us,
floating on down, we pick it up.

we all seem to thrive off the driftwood of life.

that's all we have, no change for better.

Hand Us Down,
Slough Us Off,
We Don't Mind,
We Like Your Trash.

reggie + the ocean

The more i try....
the harder i fall....

I wonder out loud,
why i try at all.


I'm losing my grip,reality is a
distant memory, i feel the
waves of life crashing over me.


I lie in this state,
of depression and hate.

All consuming the waves take over me.....

Forcing me to drink,
on their cold, salty wake.

But i was hoping for less than they gave....

For awhile i choke on my watery grave.

No More is the hate
or the fear
or anger

And i,

Will never return, to the air.