like wolves. like smoke. like the rest of the fucking world.

April 08, 2010

the merry month of 4 (20).

"trying to write without alcohol is like trying to tightrope walk with it"
-Keith Buckley
A special stipulation this month: the following pieces were conceived while i was under the influence of substances.
This is your disclaimer.


i’ll beat myself
trying only to recollect.
the taste
in the back of my throat.
that i had once tried to

if you keep eating my heart//you won’t be hungry for lunch.

i'm hitting this lung;
it's all i've got left.
the rest of my organs
until she reinvents
_the cavity_
that is my chest.

& the headliner...

boiling pot;

not a poet;
but a product.
with an imagination
unsophisticated enough
to voice my most basic concerns

and flourish in them.

as if my thoughts
mean everything and anything.
to everyone and anyone
sophisticated enough
to grasp my works.

So that's another two poems for you, four in total for anyone who was wondering. Feel free to peruse the archives of the site. Even though anything written before the last entry is total crap. Also, feel free to talk some smack at me if you enjoyed the works, and if you hated them too; it's all the same to me.

Thanks for spending valuable moments of your life reading my work,
my lawyer will be in contact with yours,