Superb zeros.

Doves slump away from the symbols of loves they once were... Sudan is said to sell stolen suntans and shipwrecked serenity. I thought I had plenty, till your presence sent me, looking at myself under a microphone, opening the gate letting pens roam open pages, nervously necking with this shadow of hip hop, was told vanilla shot our chance in the neck... so they told me not to, so I held out for so long, I forgot how to dream of people ovating over all the hating... I just kept on waiting, for a green light, or proof it could be done right, instead of breaking into a sweat, I went on and let em keep me damp with staged fright. Thank you for unlocking my eye to the painters realm. I owe you more than either of us can perceive. See you told me, to believe in me, save some of that good advice for a tired,old soul, such as mr used to the abuse. Trust yourself, muscles in a must, or there won't be enough hope left helped up to dreaming again about flying without weed, sex, and trampolines.

Drifted in and out
four day oceans
full of little dream critters
skittering across rapid
eye movement. Dreams
of breaking free
from enslavement,
where I am stronger than
the pavement.
Some, that's the way
it went.
Bent on vengeance
and vendetta tactics,
a hand full of hat tricks.
Hiding behind masks
that ask everyone
who they think they are.
I make wishes.
Be I the breaker-of
-promises I shoulda never muttered
Over achieving isn't as impressive as over sleeping till tomorrow's evening. In the nether
I am something better.
I want drugs to work.

But I wake up craving to be a hero again
Like I once pretended I was.
Maybe we already are the dreams we have most often.
Because its too hard to wear a mask to the grocery store and read All those little labels of danger and delight from inside our vengeance faces.
We are all dialogues of two conflicted selves.
Two arguers wanting control of one body.
sometimes we let the handicapped part pretend it has control
like we're teaching a child
To believe in itself
That's why we withhold. our hero inside
only bring at night
   Do we don the cape
Because deep inside this mess of ego and narcissism

We love ourselves too good for me Much
To ever show off in front of the slower half we carry to the end
Otherwise
We'd  never be the hero we believe we are
Running rooftops in our dream escapes.

Calling for Help

The worst part of being this version of me for the last nine months, is the utter silence, the cold barren chill of complete isolation.
It is my kryptonite.
It's my worst nightmare to have no consistent discourse.
See that without it, I am but a lost and drifting soul.
I have no anchor point.
I am lost.
And it feels alone.
Probably more so than it is. I know through education and logic that it is only my depleted dopamine levels that send me to the ground in tears, when a death metal song's lyrics mention "no one gets left behind". I have been left behind.  I am so far back from the pack now. I'm sure they count me as one of the dead. Rather than search for me, they fancy the illusion that I am too far gone to find and bother with. Maybe I am not as valuable to their survival as I once was. That only arises other predicaments entirely.   So what, i got some wires crossed, i medicate and adjust myself to enable comfort and functionality. I have broken old coping skills that to others it may appear as though I in the midst of a conscious suicide effort. I am not. I am trying to live. You see none of my problems or maladaptive behaviors stop me from having deeply emotional experiences. Which I think is why "normal" people or non addicts choose distance as a cure for a friend's or family members addiction. But we are all lost buoys. Bouncing around in the waves of this chaos of heartbreak and disappointment . Where is all the compassion? Where is the comradery? The conversations? The ones that tell us of who we are. All I get is the robot cashier yelling at me to put the item in the bag. Over and over again. Threatening me with calling for help. Why the fuck does the robot have someone to call? When I don't. I am lost and drifting. The robot stays plugged in. And will never value its connectivity as I would and do.

Scuba diver animal frog saw (not what i said)

Girl I got voice recognition software what the fuck top a brine I mean take the good stuff ever ramaraj only fucking button coat send a Harley Quinn let me turn iron make it stop I need to edit how do you delete things what are the banks are brakes are I mean damn this shit hard recognition my ass free shit fuck push it is Barack I said this shit you're drunk I'm still telling you this shit is wrong idiot fucking robot be you and K is this because I have a pair of lips paralyze left paralyzed what the fuck is wrong with you run run run run run run run what the fuck fucking run I never said that word her fucking horrible you are Hannah you are had a horrible horrible no this software is horrible and program to not say anything bad about itself obviously so it only type things and Nathan wants to switch Nathanz, please meet you I am pleased to meet you greetings welcome thank you computer programs whats the holiday No what story would like to tell them I mean, not me you Nathan C voice recognition software your ass off somewhere else I don't need fucking robot Righton different words when I'm speaking them one way and you write a mother no the other mother fucker shit why you gotta be all fucking now you're on it you got my tongue my tone and maybe even my tombstone. Home broke and slobbering salty spit frothed to all hell wirh  a case of mixed fruit tums
Zzz even know I'm sleepy you gotta keep me near and hear me close to your ear drum fear none no that's the only commodity the Euro ever free then fry camel dick Google status that's fine not what I meant at all.
Please no weed yo
Got heil hi all had helicopters hanging around in my head
Although they could be ice cream cones, either way, we're all fucked.
You can never be a better me can you see I'm the onlt me that there be
Only one me means I'm the very best of me's that there is or ever will be
Again I'm the best me in the universe!!!!!

Sunsets and Sagebrush

I like it late at night, with the world grown empty. There are the lingering few,  but far more sparse  than the crowded, traffic jam jihad, of the daylight hours. Sometimes when I'm walking I don't see people for blocks if not miles. Mostly I encounter  a few cats , stray dog or two, and every so often, the wondrous raccoon.  The only people I find seem apocalyptic in their waddled appearances. Most  dress like the cast from Mad Max. These night dwellers come in many forms, mini cultures of something Ultra human. Survivors. Those in the dark are not necessarily without light.  There are  the  night-owls drinking coffee at IHOP , the riff-raff drunk stumbling from the titty bar , the googly eyed dumpster divers meer-cating from receptacles,
and the lonely old winos howling serenades at the moon.  Sometimes I can hear the train down by the river 3 miles away, sounds bounce there's no interference. Its like how the world supposed to be. Spread out more. More room. Best of all, silence.

No Returns or Refunds

All purchases are final.
Finally got to get my hand
out of this flat-lands cookie jar.
Most never do.
Doing time in solitary aught to.
But why couldn't it just be taught to.
Oh you thought one
plus one is two too?
Yep and nuh uhn:  
slaves to wages and short on our old ages.
The blue collar gets all the scraps
and that's never good enough
for the sons and daughters of tired men
drunk on their way home
to numb the pained hands and feet and soul.
Flat-lands of tired hands
and then the eighties happened
lime light became one big cops episode.
It would take legalizing abortion
twenty years earlier to break
this crime wave of villainy.
Bikers and hookers held the road
in place where I'm from.
Meth epicenter.
Felony flats.
Fuck the dickman brothers
all that shit is just more of the same
window watching othering.
Lentz is home.
But my home is the mountains
the river and the wind and trees.
Fuck your laws of possession.
I am this land.
as soon as I can
I'm gone
Gonna crawl out of his cage whole Cave hole
give me purchase
a chance and a new Kershaw
so what if we're all crippled emotionally
my damnation zone takes lives away from most
it had come from within
a place without time
a tic-toking timer
priming the pace we all live by
hope here is found in front of a video poker machine
can you see what its done doing
like we knew what we were doing
pruning each other
bitter as government grapefruit juice
poverty smother ring
all the attitudes of wouldabeens
see I am potential buttfucked into disarray
it is what we thought we wanted
I wish you through the heart moments
so silly west hillers daydream childhood
where ideas apparently parenthood
is whats good enough
when its all on the line
table scraps the cream  of our dream
dream dream between the creases
where sidewalks and teeth ceases to be
substantial substances suddenly unable to stand tall
hoping like always
that one will stride
in tall hallways right
wont hit my head
with circumstance or lost
chances. 

fingers cant stay crossed.
they may get stuck.
in the Flat-lands.

A Basement Amazement

Into my font I step
:l
Chucked the day
Away
Chasing goalies and goblins

Set to score
outside the goal post
I should've given up
long ago but I keep going
I know that someday there's a debt
that I'll end up owing
the dates all changing like the wind blowing
But for now i just keep
borrowing from the future
what creature could be so
bent on self destruction as if I'm seeking
in Tennessee
some kind of intimacy
or suction at the lease
from: a beast?
I get the ticks and the hicks
The chicks with dicks and guns in their side bags.
All that PTSD driven Wilderness training comes in handy.
When the night swallows you like a jungle.
Mother liked it real. Real brutal. Eating boxes of  crayons,
just trying to feel a little less blue.
The oracle joints up to our cause and actions as scripts pilfer the linoleum
Its too late
for amazement
Not finding where the hell, this maze went.

Off kilter and dawdled the day. Hope I'd yawn atdawn 

Slamming Poetry Again

Sex is boring
when your veins have shriveled.
stones.
Singing "Go Fuck Yourself"
to the afternoon traffic
in a field of bands.
exhausted
I got something
slippery in my pants
pocket. I wonder
fully if its edible
art or soup gone
thick in the head.
Lets go get reasonably
naked-drunk-moon-howling
at Ground Zero Zero Seven.
Sad to look at.
A trailer-park
Chernobyl style haunts
across sidewalkless byways
into portlandianopia's shame
easy east end.
Imagine meth lab
lazy boy bonfire
daisy chain camp
fire fiasco in ruins.

dominos.
This  hoe  thinks
Im a rake.
Shovel her done
down a flight of not
pregnant anymore.
Need the rest
of my life to be
so evilly solved.
A solution leaves
me as the problem
subdues my say
uncle sore spots.
TIRED.
do it again.
RETIRED.

 

A Fool's Day Line in the Sand

This is my line in the sand.
----------++++++++++----------
All that I can negate from self,

darted into departure
along the way,
so very long ago.

A hollow hole
chambered bellowing howls within this mask
over senselessness,

but i was born
broken... poked with
sticks by the welfare
kids in koolaide
stains on the playgrounds of tested patience and bloodstained sawdust.
Only the Seagulls
had my back. Humans: just a useless bunch of
scared-of-dying-to-death
monkeys... so disgusting as they fidget with
hideous insides,
parallel to parasites,
the motherfuckers would eat your
last slice of cheesecake,;
screw your wife in the next room,
and and and and it never ends.

There is no such
thing as friends amongst
such fee-led, feeble, evil-abled  people.

sadly,
Its the saddled horses that get
ridden. Easter miracles, a thing of the past.
Risen he isn't. April fools day, Ape-real Foosball. More
Mirror mirror stop saying the warped things in reflected mes.  The keester bunny brought us
a beautiful bounty of
more shit covered treats,
Shoveled onto the shoulders of roads like bubble gum stumbles to asphalt. Clarification comes in boiling rampages, staged exposure. Two men acting like poor children in a rich toy store. Tempers tempted and tried to the point where one of them kicks the rearview mirror off windshield and jumps from moving van to scream streams of hateful 
Curses. PTSD puts these fools on edge. Driving into the traffic of their dysfunctional relations.

They is all they have. Each other... two fathers. .. two sons without mothers.

I'm killing him softly. Everyday its a parade of put downs. Spoken splenetic spurts of shit that just hurts to hear or be near to it. So I say. Not today
Old man.
Not a boy anymore. With death this close to us both. You called me stupid, regarded as retarded since our first recalled fishing trips wherein my faggyness was backhanded when I wasn't able to hook the worms.
My self esteem has been out of reach for too long.
If I am to recover, you all must understand that I can't take the abuse I was once so used to, understand this is mu line in the sand.
I am a man.