Mix CD, Playlist, Butt Stuff, etc

1. Nothin' in the World Can Stop Me Worryin' 'Bout That Girl by The Kinks
2. Let's Go Surfing by The Drums
3. She Got Arrested by The Interrupters
4. Hollywood by Angus & Julia Stone
5. Holly, How Forget Me Not by Saves the Day 

this is a song for anyone who has had a rough week

I still believe hugs can heal. 
just as heels can dance. 
and help can transform. 
while hurt can get better. 

life goes up.
and life goes down.
then back around.
stay on the roller coaster. 

wait a minute.
I love that idea. 
hover over forever.
just as forever hovers over you. 

we all have wounds.
we all show off scars.
keep some hidden.
hide when you seek. 

be smart.
be funny.
keep moving.
and be merciless to miracles.

blood and sweat.
tears and laughter.
lost keys.
beers and memories.

sharks that don't do nothing but stall things

Name a Roach.
That was the name of this poem. 
Your shoes in your toes.

name a helluva colourful badass life
name a comedian that isn't petty.
name Tom Petty.

from a street perspective,
it might be nice to have something
very colorful.

Atlanta is not for lovers.
and love.
is all I want.

this is my high school note book/binder. 

the moon is dumb

it just sits there.
starring at me.
like a slouch.
claiming the waves.
and a little bit of light. 
I am under it. 
less than its sea of tranquility.
no better than its lunar mare. 
but I feel more.
love and hate more.
change more rapidly. 
I guess the moon is okay.
I will allow it to stay. 


she is a snack.

watching from window
as she puts on makeup.

with five minutes left.
we broke our backs.
to spend more money.
than either of us.
have ever had.

Lesson: Who Fucking Cares.

not me. not anymore.
not about this.
just about dumb shit.
like printers and gas stations.

smudges on this laptop. 
also I thought it was lab top for way too long. 

I am dumb.
and don't don't deserve her. 

swallowing the song

and blow jobs.
this is how forever love started.
at least for me.

ands sonnets. 
leaving the day behind.

union square.
pensive pencils.
bad jobs.
wouldn't trade it for the world. 

Day 76

in my car,
a paperback copy
of John Green's
Looking for Alaska
sits with a UCB
DVD in it
as a bookmark.

that kinda thing ain't what ya need.

blood tears VI

birds and song.
rivers and wrongs.
I know what I know.
and I know what I need.

love is just a wing.
self-afflicted American shame.
worth living.
worth lying.

I'm heading to Atlanta,
and then back to Boca.
try to meet me there.
Beige in the hotel.

to ohio in a coma

I am an evasive soul
with resentment
from love 
maybe lost or left out 
in the cold car port. 

I die each night
with waking taste
of blackberries,
carrying myself
to myself. 

I never married,
but I have value 
in entrances of demons, 
dumb savages,
clogged ears, etc. 

on a plane to cleveland
I lost control
and let it all go,
by thought of Kendra Jean
and mean youth.

as virulence shatters
I come to in the Cinncinatti airport
on the Kentucky side
of the river
and give up in mortal sweat. 

January is a giant mask,
adored by fears,
feared by adorations,
but the sun looks good
and Florida is teaching me again to travel.

I hate that I am always right

I don't say this in an arrogant, narcissistic manner,
just that when I guest or prelude an outcome,
especially when it may be negative or foreboding
I am always correct in the assumption.

Like when my college girlfriend broke up with me,
I saw it coming for miles and miles and minutes and minutes,
or when I am about to get fired, you can feel it in the air,
yet these people who affect these changes pretend.

I know what's going down,
don't fuck with me,
just rip the band-aid off and throw it in the street,
and let's stew in this ruse.

There is nothing better than being right,
but when youre right about something trpeid,
it hurts a little less than it should
because youre body saw it coming like an invisible tornado.

no I will go home and eat Wendys
and watch Bird Box,
feel sorry for myself for a day
and then get back on the grind like a gangster.

I want to make a statue
of my love
and sink it to the bottom
of a clear sea
for everyone forever
to see.

rest on my pride with a headache.
it's a hot and bright January.
trying to remember what it meant to be brave.
what it felt like.
instead of balancing on tiny strings.
keep going. 

the year is young and dumb

but I have watched 
so many movie trailers,
eaten odd apples,
broken ten hearts,
had mine broken 

two ribs,
sandwich cereal,
as a dancer and a rag,
hope is a country
that doesn't let love in.

round and round, 
smelly feet and a sunset,
plane Jane,
summer is coming
with stories. 

come a long way to this day

Charity Folks.
Alice's Tea Cup.
Long Island railroad.
Bud heavies and a side piece. 
Earl's and Two Horses.
Lots and lots of enjoying regrets.
Lots and lots of 

the time for change smells like burning. 
Iron & Wine songs. 
I don't know where to start in a flash alarm. 

new jobs. 
new satisfaction. 
I ain't no shrink. 

rolled one gunwale deep

swamp blues
and bad news,
I am never looking for ya

trade changes of the past
for the heart I have now,
which is doing its job well
of just beating. 

admonished to stick it out,
teach and learn,
no matter the lengths of days,
I lay awake at night and think of trains. 

underwater mostly,
the tide is ebbing,
last words and long shore. 
so I cry.

a bookstore in prospect heights

any moment
when my boots are electric,
third phrase at the bottom,
Adam Santiago
is going.

here I am
eating oxtail and chicharon
in the ghetto
when I get a good phone call
and pee.

the sound summons me,
and I walk out 
to the spring time world,
with hope and smelly socks,
looking back to make sure
I locked the door.

also, to make sure
I appreciate the love
and the loss,
as well as the rhythm 
and the rhyme. 

the energy of punk with the storytelling of hip-hop

way to go.

the lesson.
is to keep running.
i say.
to myself.

took human behavior.

this is the scene.
of aftermath.


love and loss.

doing what you gotta do.

thats what great storytelling is all about.

I am he.
he is I.
and I am him.