Criteria

Criteria draws
a heavy breath,
rank, decrepit,
its shadow
reaching over
the pages
of gold:
stories by
the thousands
that remain
yet untold.
With a tired
sigh it skims
the surface
of another,
parsing words
before ever cracking
covers.

prick

a prick,
it seems
for now
the blood still runs thicker
than the booze

this shtick,
the thing
you pull
time and time again
to keep from getting old

the things
you say
the words you dare
to speak when you think
everyone's out cold

or who knows
what you think
or why you do,
despite the time,
despite the proof,
you exit on your "highs"
which never come too soon

and I've tried to keep it lie
but the truth lingers in my mind
that we is really I

Untitled

The man clad in the jester’s suit
roars from atop the pitcher’s mound.
As the words gently roll from off his tongue
the truth becomes more widely understood.

This venue, like the muck in which he sinks,
reflects all the more in its yet diminished class
his capacity to think.

They all cheer voraciously,
whether it be from pity
or admiration, he no longer can distinguish.

The air quivers at the pronunciation
of each and every syllable,
but as his pride erodes itself
through such display
they see his lack of principle.

Another change of costume
and he’s nothing but a clown,
babbling in solitude
on an old deserted mound.

And there go the words flying
from his mouth, further proof
of his idiocy.
The more that escape,
the harder the fact will be
to cover up
his festering
stupidity.

In his favor this man has little going
save the fact he makes
for decent entertainment.

But when his life winds down as it surely will
he will find his surrounding devoid of any sound
but the gentle murmurs of his pathetic mumbling.

His last squandered breath will form a word
not even the wind will care to know.

the mirror

the t.v. flickers
with a violence equivalent
to it’s gruesome display

but this appetite of yours
simply won’t let any single thing
get in its damned way

as the nazis invade
you pour yourself another glass
of cherry lemonade

as the children explode
you sit back
and take another toke

what a lovely day
you think to yourself
as everything around you
slowly goes to hell

but no worries
you’ve got your weed
and you’ve got your beer
no need to take caution
you’ve got the antidote
you’ve cured your fear

you stare at the empty space above the bathroom sink
what if you’d never ridden yourself of that horrid thing?
God only knows but you shudder to think
just as long as you’re not one of them
then everything will be okay
everything will be okay

the roar of the cannons grows louder now
the cavalry 's approaching
but you’re safe and smug
within these armored walls

but sooner or later
they’ll have to give
but sooner or later
you’ll have to live

whatever kind of doctor you think you are
you can’t prescribe this relief forever
you can’t hide outside your head
you can’t keep running till your dead

chalk it up to me or chalk it up to fate
but you can’t keep on living
without a name or without a face
you can’t escape reality
all the problems of the world will find you
this suffering untold will likes us bind you
and you simply can’t put it all behind you
you can’t run and you can’t change the channel
you can’t hide from your reflection
and you can’t deceive your shadow
with the sole inhalation
you’re back
you’re self-aware
nothing can save you
from the bathroom mirror
the images on the television
permeate your pot-addled mind
and despite all your novel tries
your salivating mouth runs dry
and in great heaving sobs
you slowly realize
that you’re one of us
and everything ’s not okay
no everything ’s not okay

normal curve

he shoots the pathetic looks
as if by some stroke of luck
they might offer him the means
to blaze straight to the center
of that normal curve

he takes pity where he can
as though by doing so
he might drag himself to cure
the margin of error
he never quite deserved

he chips away bit by bit
the mean universal
he holds his breath,
the mode of conversation
still stifles it

the gentle cascade
trickles down the slope,
but that far down the road
so little is left
it's hard to tell

and in his infinite regression
he'll center himself for one moment
and find that place
to be as lonely
as the last

lost boys

whaddya know
static joe
seems change
has come our way

whaddya say
it’s a beautiful day
why not
get away

they’re in the kitchen
won’t quit their bitchin
so why even listen
take to the road and
and watch that sun glisten

the wheels spin
and spin
what a shame
what a shame

we were getting quite comfy
with so much of the same
but the bastards think
the whole thing’s a game

now we love to hunt
but only for sport
they just like
to pull the trigger
burrowing
like starving chiggers

well the culture won’t do
we can do crude
but we can’t do cruel

so burn rubber
now that don’t mean reverse
let’s lose these boys
but put the top down first

STALE

you authored the truce that saved our lives
how cliché, just in the nick of time
but nevertheless it was hard to admit
that I was never yours and you were never mine

and we could still stand into each other
and whisper softly in the other’s ear
the gentle words of lovers
but as far as delusions go it’d be nothing
but another
and as far as illusions go
it’d be better
than no other

so if not with me
where do you stand?
what do I grasp in the absence
of your hand?

so without you
what do I love?
what is there to do
when what’s done is done?

the terms so cruel
I can’t stand standing
not standing next
to you

and cliché
and cliché
and cliché

there’s nothing new to say
but I wish you would stay
the script might be stale
but we could make it work
we could try to, anyways

sure it’d be a lie
but it’s so embarrassing
to cry,
so let’s just sit
and eat
everything is fine,
we’ll scream,
everything is fine