a solution to an illness of youth

the next time
my nephew
whines

i'm bored

i'll say
to him

develop

a
heart condition
stage 4 cancer
blood disorder

or

catch

a
drug resistant bug
bullet
vehicle in motion

and then
you
sure as shit
won't be
bored
then

or
at least
not for long

why do?

why do i question
that
which has
no answer?

where was i
to choose
criticize
or even
witness
when all came into being?

when i was no one

nothing

until i was

but only for a brief moment

why do i resent
giving back
the gift
loaned
with no
promise
or
guarantee
or
requirement
other
than
giving it back
so
it can be given
to
another?

why do i see
and seek out
the very things
that rob color
and light
when I could see
and seek out
that which is beautiful
and gives delight?

why do i claw
at my soul
already
scabbed and raw?

do i need
for
all to see
and read
my trauma?

but what
if no one
understands?

then the tales
encoded in
the argot of scars
are
wasted
along with the longing
of understanding

why do i feel
lost
afraid
angry
even when
memory
has melted away
like ice in sunlight
the ledger of
wounding?

why do i waste
my time on these
ghosts?

why do any of us?

i guess it's because
we can

for to waste something
precious
is to mock
god

luckiest human ever

food
is thrity seconds
of effort
away
including walking

running
hot water
less than
ten seconds
away

a place
to privately
void
my
bladder and bowels
and

to top it off

whisk away
my excretions
in a rush of
formerly drinkable water

leaving behind
a stink
that is sucked away
by a fan
remotely switched on

like magic

like so many other things
i and
my fellow addicts
take for granted

the horror
of waking up
and finding out
that your so called
struggle to survive
is actually contributing
the largest mass murder
in our species' history
is a sickening jolt

but

it hasn't happened

yet

so, just in case

after the long drive home
let's watch the recorded
shows on the
huge television
while sucking down an
ice cold beer

impending extinction tastes great

fuck 'em all
i won the lottery

who am I kidding?

if you
ever
want to know
pretension

sit in a
fake
clean
irish bar

where
clean
boys
and girls

drink
overpriced
imported
swill

and
go outside
to
smoke

while
you
read
Bukowski

a match made in heaven

high cheeks
nose thin and longish
almost pointed

a mouth
delicate with
teeth playfully dancing
behind a
quick wry smile
smart and beguiling

wide eyes
of a friendly brown
shy yet
direct
softly piercing

surely

some
undeserving
profane
bastard

who will
never understand
the music
of her laugh

or the agony
of her
departing

has her

i pray he finds out
before
it's too late

ignorance is bliss

the dead
are supposed to be
scary
disgusting
something different
than what
he was

he looked
good
young
relaxed
better
than i ever
could remember

i didn't
know what
to do
to say
to feel

so
i didn't
do anything

except stand there

staring
unmoving
numb
to everything

waiting

for what?

i didn't know that either

it's a common thing
that i've noticed
about death

we don't know
shit

and anyone
who says they do
are either
a
fool or
a
liar or
both

but the good news
is
that one day
we will
know
everything

and we won't care

the party

fuck 'em all

i don't need 'em

i've got an internet
connection

broadband, baby

i don't need
anyone else
to publish
me

 i can
share my
genius
wit
wisdom
bullshit

with everyone
because

i
self
publish

genius
ain't it?

except for one
small
detail

a nit, really

while everyone
in the world
with
an internet
connection

can
see me
they
can also
see themselves

and so can
everyone else

the point of the
asshole
who lets who
past the
velvet rope

isn't just to be
an asshole

it's to keep the party
going

everyone hates
the asshole
with the velvet rope

until they're
let through

then they're
so glad
the asshole
is there

how can something be special
if everyone can come
or
everyone can do it?

what you find
is that the only
asshole
that can truly
and always

see
hear
read
appreciate
your genius

is you

alone

inquisition

meow?
a question!

i'm jolted out of
my contemplation
of all things
trivial
and
sublime

what is it, baby?

the cream- colored face pops
up
over the rim
of the tub

rwoar?

sharp fangs gleam
their question
eye slits transformed

into
dark pools

clicks of my tongue
invite the lithe body to
jump up
and strut

lick
paw
nuzzle

the questions continue

answered by more
questions

until
nothing is
left to be
said

with no answers
the figure smoothly
exits

stage right

leaving behind only
a few stray hairs

like we all do

eventually

special

the bath
is a real steamer
tonight

sweat rolling
and beading
filling my fingers
with moist ruin

the cheap pulp
warps and
wrinkles and
stains

the eyes burn as
the heart forgets
a beat
now and again

moisture claws
every surface
as
ancient instruments
fart and wheeze
in time

with

the growls and
gurgling of
my traitorous
gut

no one
will care what
i write
100 years
from now

so why do it?

why is there
a last meal on death row?
why is there
chemotherapy and radiation?
why are there
confessionals?

everyone wants to
believe
that they'll be
different

that they're
special

they're not wrong
they are
special
unique
precious
to at least one other
living thing

but being special
doesn't mean
that
you get to miss out
on all the
shit life
brings

especially
at
the end

denial

how do you
begin

to tell
someone
anyone
everyone

that
they are
dying

but the tragedy
is that
they
don't have to

at least
not yet

and
not the way
you see
coming

but

it isn't just them
that's
in danger

it's everyone
and everything
all together

and
in particular

how do you
tell yourself
that
you share
the blame

and
the same
fate

no haven

a ceiling
painted sky
blue
complete
with white
and gray
clouds

bells ring
without
bell
or
clapper
as if tolling
some departed
soul

cheap electronic
noise
surrounds in
cloying
smothering
falseness

the carpet
clean
the toilets
clean
and
the drinks
shit

people
with blank eyes
fix
their numb gaze
to the glittering
lies
and tap tap tap

until

the machines
grow cold
and
impervious
to desperate
caresses

"hey! want to buy this?
it was a thousand bucks
but you can have it for
only a hundred..."

i turned
and left her to
gnaw off

a

limb

that

wasn't

even

in

the

trap

self pity

chains
of
invisible iron

intangible
shackles
bite my flesh

leaving
bloodless wounds
that

fester
and
itch

while

i
channel
tantalus

performing
a sisyphian
chore

screaming
verses
straight

from
cassandra's
throat

first kiss

frozen
water
and
time

we
worked
all day to
carve out
a trough in
white
snow now
gray and
muddy

she
was filled
with
the terror
of jesus
and
hell

but
as we
tempted
death and
injury
thumbing our red
noses at
fear
the way only
children do
and have
always
done

and always
will

she
leapt up
and
kissed me

i fell

in love
before

i knew

what that
meant

that
moment
remains
frozen

and
the wound
has
never
truly

healed

summer twilight

sun slides down beyond
gold
and red
crawling
across fading
azure
deepening to
violet

sweat
makes faded cotton
sheets cling
to
my hairless limbs

drawn curtains
filled with
brown
and
yellow
flowers
illuminated in full
bloom

boredom fueled
anxiety
inflames my
eyes
my mind spilling
over
the oil of resentment

in the gloaming
a woman's scream
faded and
echoing
from distance
wraps
around

tall
spider armed
silhouettes

the howl
of
longing
despair
agony
calls
to my
timid soul
cowering in loathsome
flesh
hiding
from the
rage
and mercurial affections
of god

haunting
the silence in my
dimmed hearing
and i see
through the cataracts
of time
a place where
fear was easily
seen
and heard
leaving behind the
longing for those
beautiful
wails

in deepening blackness
all fades
leaving the bitter taste of ash
as my limbs
grow
numb
and my sight
fades

true nature

she moved
like
a 40 year-old whore
trapped
in a 20 year-old
ingenue

a laugh
straight out
of
moscow

purrs
straight from
a dream

hiding
a
nightmare

who else
could
move
whisper
moan
grind

in

smooth

beguiling

charm

easing the prey's
caution
diffusing the prey's
fear

until

the
emptied husk
is left

swaying in the breeze

wondering
why
it didn't see this
coming

worshipping

i stand
in
the cathedral
of
ancient wisdom
sitting
side by side
with
vulgar dreck

flames
beautiful women
angry young men
angry middle-aged boys
swirling galaxies
arcane secrets of bullying machines
exotic positions to imitate while
doing the oldest dance
humans know

all stand
as
mute idols
to
immortality

a reprieve

the
hangman
is not
hanging
today

but
he will
return
eventually

i breathe free
for now

my god
the sun
is beautiful

but

not as
beautiful as
the blonde's
legs
as she walked
by

it's
time to go
out
and play
russian roulette

like everyone
else

waiting

called
back
into
the
principal's office

a room
with a
table
but
no
clock

to
tick
off
the

seconds
minutes
hours
days

how much
longer
do i get
to

wait
wonder
dream
sleep
eat
fuck

there
is only
the
pain
sickness
fear

to tell
me

not as long
as
i
would
like

road rage

sweaty
blue-veined
spittle-flying

blind
mute
swearing

impotent
taunting

shouting at
a television
set

that can hit
back

the gnat

i soaked
in warm
blue
water

contemplating
the
horror
pain
despair
of death

feeling pity
for
me
everything

the gnat
buzzed
around my
head
ear
flesh

i closed
my eyes

i listened
i lost track
of
time
place
purpose

i opened my eyes
and
i saw

the gnat
floating

dead