19 New Poems, etc...
Let Me In
I want to be the drug that takes off your mask.
I want to destroy that ghost you see when you look in the mirror.
I want to extinguish the flames that burn at your pride.
I want to neutralize the poison in your mind and return your innocence.
I want to tear down the barriers that isolate you from your dreams.
I want to bury the old world for you.
I want to give you back control of your fate.
I want our minds to unite in one perpetual orgasm.
I want us to live again.
Is it all a sad
I may abuse the
apathy cruise control
but behind your eyes
are dead highways to
and I have to be
Life's Complaints Department (get over it)
Take it out on me.
That’s what I’m here for.
Make me work for it.
Make me feel it.
Your relationship is dead.
I want you to spit bile.
You hate your kids.
Let your tongue be your weapon.
The mortgage payment is overdue.
Show me that desperation.
You got some bad news.
Prove to me your diamond hard anger.
You’re having car problems.
I want the blood to rush to your head.
I am the wall that absorbs the wreckage of your life.
I am your temporary enemy.
I am a sponge with a face.
I calmly roast in my own public hell.
Forsaken by my fragile identity.
The sweat soaks through my shirt.
An accidental pain junky.
Ready for another fix.
Rebirth of confused killers through media worship
Destruction of family dynamics by kindergarten logic
Control of mental growth through obscene knowledge
Release of intrusive emotions through unknowable euphoria
Realization of subconscious alienation by disturbed miracles
Exorcism of creative thought from detached monotony
Confirmation of spiritual decay through intentional neglect
forging funeral invitations
sodomizing burnt out televisions
while filling the fridge with cigarette butts
jerking off in the back seat of a hearse
and mocking nuns in purgatory
short-circuiting brain transmissions
by destroying the cycle of hereditary genes
avoiding middle class cemeteries
by staying isolated from consumer trends
flirting with that girl at the checkout counter
by penetrating her sly web of intrigue
suffering the brutality of jail for sublime thought crimes
while the killers talk of tomorrow…
Suicide Girl (for Charles Bukowski)
laid back sociopath
at a bar
and he tells me he's got
this scrawny jewish girl
obsessed with the holocaust
suffering in his bed
She asks him to lick
her suicide scars
Then they get down to business
while he wonders
"If she's an atheist
why is she such a cold fuck?"
Just thought I'd let you know
the harsh wind
brought tears to my eyes
so I thought of something sad
it made sense at the time
and then I kicked a piece of trash
onto the road
for no reason at all
and thought of something happy
Martyrs (written February 4th)
Is it too late to show the martyrs LOVE?
To soak their sadness in bleach awhile?
Will they never turn back?
The weight of desperate ideology
a magnet that pulls a heart
that lost one too many battles
For some kind of THRILL
For some kind of PURPOSE
Soaking their conscience in
a stranger’s blood
What do they have to lose?
What do they have to gain?
All they know is a sitcom existence,
empty pockets and pain
The weak attach to the strong
for a piece of the glory
Another dream dead
Another atrocity committed
Sounds like the same old story
Opinions (written February 11th)
just isn't interesting
You're starting to sound
like rejected old folklore
my opinions aren't exactly
selling on the black market
Drunk in Parkdale
Parkdale explodes like a vicious rash
all over my body.
The darkness grabs me like a clumsy whore
Disguising me from what hides
among restless shadows.
Bad livers and forgotten fossils drift on by,
choking on the night.
Am I making sense of the madness
or madness out of the sense?
I can never decide.
So I laugh at myself,
stupid and hollow and wonder
What day of the weak
does Capital Punishment come to town?
And why am I, once again
playing the role of the Neanderthal clown?
She was beautiful in a ruthless way
A punishing God's unholy creation
Taunting men with a brutal lack of conscience
The whole world was in love with her
and she couldn’t care less
So she went on with her charmed life
Goddammit, that girl was blessed with the
true nature of evil
and I loved her for it
But she'd just look away,
murdering me with her silence
To her, I was about as memorable
as a scrap piece of newspaper
being swept along in a dry summer breeze
Feeling her truth was PURE SUFFERING
Accidental Love Poem
At first sight
your clothes fit you
almost too well
Did I see your eyes
turn my way?
Maybe I want a nice girl
Are you out of my league?
Can I penetrate your intrigue?
So please walk by again
Although it would look good
if I’m not talking to you like this tonight
Because I’m as good as lost
when you are nearby
how many worlds of the imagination
can you explore
until you meet someone
who shows a little bit more
do not fear
your eventual death
all of your questions answered
after one final breath
you are just
that's going to
I'm telling you
that your dreams
are so beautiful and pure
that I need to reach
a certain state of drunkenness
to even begin to fathom them
because they just don't
make much sense
in my world
the sick, the depraved, the desperate
all the scum in this
do not welcome them into your arms
throw them back into darkness
refuse to confront them in the midst of their ugliness
ignore the rotten smell of body and spirit
eating itself alive
if you show them kindness
they will latch onto you like a virus
and strip you bare
do not offer your mercy
do not offer your pity
throw them back into darkness
it's what they understand
images blur into each other
sounds melt together
past and future join together
into living shadows
hypnotized by time
an oath against
routine of consciousness
how many miracles am I
supposed to perform?
don't you worry about ethics
out of nothing
nothing between the lines
metaphors that mimic nothing
imagery equal to nothing
nothing worth understanding
nothing worth knowing
nothing wasting my time
back to the beginning
because in the end
the whole effect
I don't care about
the solar system
These words mean nothing to me
I'm through with contemplation
I want to be your good piece of heaven
I need something from your heart in return
Sometimes I may need you to be strong for me
Your eyes against me make me wonder
Has anyone told you different?
Tell them to get out of my way
The Triumph of Degradation (from my shock value days in the mid 90's)
a fresh start
a new hunger
a vicious and voracious appetite...
you can smell the fear
sharpen your axe
inhale the madness
committed to learning all the sins
everything has a purpose
anything can kill
another meeting held by cultural terrorists
testicles shudder at the sheer horror of it all
prosecute...execute...bury and piss on
refuse to moralize or analyze
keep the charade going FOREVER
now tell me
what's it going to be?
a hero's epitaph or a fool's siren song?
stop waiting for the prophet's handshake
he sold you out and left you
with memories of childhood spent in dream land
"Shut up" he says
"This gravesite is sacred...MIND YOUR MANNERS."
Atheists and Christians wait for the next city burning
Their kingdoms, ash.
this poem co-written with Sam Geezer
won't you come down from your
drug and booze hit parade
for a moment
so we can discuss something important
so I can spread my evil around
and gently steer the conversation
between reality and fantasy
to complete my perfect vision
so we can join the others in an
orgy of madness
in this drugged out paradise of
where is your beauty now?
our heartbeat's echo off the walls
as my eyes adjust to your darkness
you apologize for being selfish
for only thinking of your orgasms
as your womb eats itself
She sits by the window and says a silent prayer for her daughter to call. She can’t stand knitting anything anymore. She sits with her pot of coffee and her cigarettes and tries to ignore the sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower. Her faded dress is marked with coffee stains and burn holes. A little caffeine buzz won’t hurt. She had drank seven cups just to feel something. She isn’t sure what exactly. Life just isn’t that interesting anymore. The cat puke is starting to smell. A turkey rots on the dusty kitchen table. The newspapers lay in a pile on the verge of collapse. Unread. A cockroach makes its way quickly up her arm as Oprah casually starts another spiritual cult for the independent woman on the television. They may as well be talking in a foreign language. Faith won’t visit the forgotten today but sleep will come. Tomorrow, more of the same and nobody to blame.
Another Desperate Junky (fiction)
Thinkin about the pipe. Woke up on the floor. All is pipe. Hustle for pipe. Gonna cut my throat if I can’t fill my FUCKIN PIPE. Bitch took my last money and ran. Search the goddamn apartment. Roaches and bottles and empty pipes. No money. Out the door. First fuckin stupid face gets it. Knock the fucker straight off his legs. Watch him fall. Face hits the concrete. Empty thud. Right pocket. Wallet in hand. Grab his cell phone. Run like a motherfucker. Gonna get set up. Dealer says go. Run five blocks like unbelievable. Bang on the door. Bitch answers. Big surprise. See bro suckin pipe at kitchen table. Hug the fucker with tears in my eyes. Drop money. Hit on pipe. Tears come again. Relief. Massage my mind. Massage my spine. Massage my fuckin stupid guts. Stress whores gone. In the zone. Fuckin holy fuck. Shit is BUTTER.