things get turned around sooner or later

I don't like to think too hard about the way
Elliott Smith makes my heart pound
and the way he killed himself
more alone than the lyrics in his music
and I don't want to think
about starvation
when I live in a building with vending machines
don't make me think about what I see
when I look into your eyes
and I stop thinking about the world's problems
and how disgusted I am
that you make me think about mine
when I'd rather be pretentious and be concerned
about those dead and dying
instead of what living means when I'm with you
when I'm feeling most alive
because I'm toeing the line of sanity
because I can't hold all of these things at once
and I see bombs exploding
and limbs flying with gruesome accuracy
and all I want is to hold your hand
how are we supposed to live like this?

crocodile tears

the grasshoppers are anxious behind my eyes
and all I can think as the water drips down my back, is
"you don't love me"
"you don't love me"

"you don't love me"
and I want to chase away
to let the sunflowers sprout from my palms
crackling through my skin
to carry me towards the sky
to live deep within the earth

I can avoid your eyes
devoid of watermelon love
crisp like a Sunday

and I'll try to dispel this morning chill
that lives like the ants deep within my bones
tunneling

and I stand with the water off, immobile
as the water drips

snow moment

huge forts of snow
perfect for burrowing
to crawl inside
and wait
watching the sidewalk freeze
and the snow
fall, timidly
weaving in and out
of the streetlight

the sad beige color of unbleached linen

vacant
the gravel-pocked road stretches its
crumbled
long and winding arm
for miles.
horrible little grass tufts
covered by the dandruff of smut
lecherous barnacles
and feet.
kicking up a long line of dust
from this town to the

next.
chasing
i'm running
on this barren road
watching your bumper drive away
pulling away from this miserable place

and my ankles snap,
unable to take the weight
of dirt
clods collecting deep within my lungs
accumulated filth
a broken hitchhiker
listening to the engine pull away
watching the road decay