(2015)
if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
so, come on then, brilliant one, see, i’ve been waiting for you with eyes
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
yes, i’m saying sunshine & rainbows will flow from your heart & other lovely places like living liquid
a few hundred million dying days later he emerges into crazy
oh, and how it gets you these bastard assumptions, one or two commonalities
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
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