The Rain Puddles a Bus

The rain puddles a bus,
"pull to signal"
and the enormous weight that drowns
my intimidated self
coincides with breathing
of my next seat neighbor.
like blurry lights
while out of focus...

this sounds of exhaust churning,
this smells like a special transport of cigarette smoke filled lungs.
and the over precaution of the time we lose...
just sitting here

here i am, with my twisted self reliance...

talking about a dog I put

On Jul 11 1:10 PM 2009

talking about a dog
I put it in very sweet
i hold a record of not sweating the stuff
fucker could hold me down for milliseconds and not care that i grabbed his whore by the neck
twisted her fingers, and called her a cunt
but his rust induced labored breathing runs through my eyes
and i begin to cough his dirty scent.
no more kicking the kids as they pass by the street
no more idling the cans of beers strewn across the porch
he's old and tired
I tell him, "you got mind to forget you about to die"
as his eyes red, and he holds my neck collar.
i could tell he's hanging on for his dear life
my young eyes see bombs and destruction
his old eyes see burned babies
right between the eyes
but he's stuck the knife in between my belly
i got no sense of right and wrong
he's got no sense of dying.

enjoy

enjoy
your rest
i got a bet
to live under a tree
is the best to ever be
and to flatten the ground
will leave the world round
so enjoy while we ship
beautify it like shit
enjoy

traps live in every other door

traps live in every other door ----------------(eyes looking straight)
like from the bottom, -----------------------(shiny mopped floor)
when i was standing -------------------------(shiny black shoes)
on the stage, -------------------------------(shiny reflecting the lights)
and they grabbed my neck --------------------(pain seems starry)
dragged me down, -------------------------(everyone moves up)
like part of the act. ------------------------(everyone grows a twisted stick)
oh it hurt! -------------------------(i can't see my nose)
seemingly puppet like. --------------------(I can see my arms)
dragged by my strings -----------(I can't see my hair)
i could taste the steps. ------------------(they're black and grey)
sat me down -------------------------(that's a nice chair)
tied me down ------------------------(striped pants)

is this death, or the end of the act?
water for my tongue

now...lost....again.....it's gone

my veins seem like ravines
curling my fist
to hit you
the drums play anticipating the end
it never comes tomorrow or today
and sometimes it stops
to realize peace
but it starts again
because it never wants to end
that would be stupid
wouldn't it?

old man

I swear I saw this old man three times today
this is just like street ballet
his coat is as ragged as his walk
his pillow isn't sometimes just a block
and all the world does what it may
like mornings made from balled up clay
newspapers in tow for a brand new valley
like stories from behind the alley

this old man stands
and walks the lands
never gives an eye
to when he might die


his brain is the smashed entity
and no longer his identity
it's in front and under my car
distant to me but isn't so far
as the blood trickled
and my machine was tickled
seventy-five percent water
against the rest of the slaughter


the fact that I disturbed nothing
and still broke his cling
made it seem unfair
yet we all still seem to bear
like we all seem to care

honor

I hear him speak delicate wind in my face
said we should die honorably
later, he died alone in said way
after which I died saying nothing