Poems

each one brings you a little closerto the edgeto that grand facade of happinessto the stenchof the forgottenhunters line the great highwayto encompass the charadeof beggars and foolswho tend to fadeinto the night ritualyou can hear them in the distancelaughing, bellies rollingto the hurricanesfeet swollenand the dawnwill bring with it a new entitlementas the day […]

L. Cohen,I had a dreamIt was you and meHaving coffeeIt was a beautiful dayLight clamored breezeCalmCoolAndWeWereSilentIt was enoughSincerely,L. Styler

it’s early morningthe traffic is already heavyand the people are out theredoing what they doand I’m herewaiting for inspirationto strikeit doesn’t always happena lot of it is hypebut I can still sitat the pianoand I can still singthrough the nightI can still typeand I can still fuckso everything seems alrightbut is it?there are children being

you have melike you always dowhen you sit backrelaxedcoolso cooland there is nothingthat i can doto overcome your graspi triedit almost broke mei had to fallout of love with youin hopes that it would cure me but i couldn’tthat’s the thingif you only knewhow surreal it all is for meand now i’m backwhere i startedscares

The afternoonOld lettersI miss Ms. RollerManitou SpringsRolling green hillsRed RocksGarden Of The GodsSummer rainNostalgia in envelope formLetters writtenMangled and wornStood the test of time thoughNearly 20 yearsAnd looking backAfter reading themI’m not so sure whyShe was so angry with meThat day I arrived back in townI guess in some wayI must have broke her heartBut

we gathered together on the bus packed in like sardinesheaded towards our own individual ideas of freedomof what it means to be alive what it means to breatheand we all have gills too that’s the only way to make it out here in this vast oceanof chaos and mysteryit’ll get the best of youif you

it’s early morningthe sun is just getting startedthe traffic is wildbig trucks roar down the street their brakes squealingevery once in a whilesome people walk byand then suddenlyshe appearsmagnificentmarvelousglorious creatureI can’t help but stareI get caughtbut I don’t careI can’t help itI’m even getting hardshe has real short shorts onthey reveal her every curveher shirt

exhaustion and utter fatigueswampy veins and decaying heatfaulty pedestals and placid archives decadent etymology and false barricadesno room for loss or mourners born into the lascivious nightsad skeptics and refugees of fright bewildered by fame and appetitesickened cells and fractious bones fuel for unworthy soulsrestless and listless and frayedfidget to make it through another dayquarrelsome

I am not writing well today.I am in the offbeat season of silence, there with my fingers typing away as I delete almost every sentence.I try to write something lively, something grand and magnificent, but all I end up with are these senseless, horrible syllables.I remember feeling this waymany times in the past;it is a

I want to do something big todayLike fly to France, or Japan, or Ireland Perhaps jump from the moonOr shoot electricity into my veinsI want to protrude through the clouds Like a gigantic mythological GodSwim to the bottom of every oceanFire off a big gun from a massive warshipI want to fly in a helicopter