I.C.

How far are we past points?
Having them, sharing them
fearing them, forgetting them.
All we need to be happy is need.
Our misery makes
for interesting stains
on boring sheets.
If we had
then we would stand out
I'm talking about we
that's me and us and ours
(mine)
which is funny

I dropped out of college
many
many
times
because I don't like
belonging
but here I'll say
we, us, ours
(mine)

because it seems
that it doesn't matter
you can say what you think you are
and they can act like they know were not

here I am
drowning in an unremarkable sea
of tired cliches
is there really anything more pathetic
then...what?

living a life of dreams
silent jealous rage
built on a solid foundation
of fear and self loathing
I feel like the second half
of "Flowers For Algernon"

I feel like vomiting
all over this page
and never writing again



wage slave or sell out?
maybe I'm just too lazy
for both

maybe that's the worst part

well if we hurt the ones we love
and I fucking hate myself
what the fuck does that mean?

Running down the street he saw
all of it running backwards
he saw all of it running forwards
and he saw
nothing on top of nothing
added to nothing means nothing

and i have no words to say to-day
all my fears are washed away
in dreams drifting to arizona bay
there has to be another way

but it all bleeds out quickly now and then slow
and i can't put it into words
and for that
i deserve to be mocked and derided and kicked and forgotten

not a hero's send off
but a loser's jerk off

and a glass hand rewind pink slip organ donor test tube atheist forgiveness and freshness

if opened before date stamped on seal

Down in the old skullery break beat factory lives two many hurdles in a non stop thread shop full of top cops in old form on doorways and feet trays
tray made out of feed
holding feet
for other trays
to take back across the street

an acorn falls upward into the gutters and
another mothers brother shoves the polaroid
into his asshole into his brain pan
into the sand and the tunnel of gloves

Jesus San frandisco
Kuttlery Knife Dangers
And Yellow Power Rangers
And Saviors of The Village Rapers
the constant whine
and squeal of time
brakes on break vines inhabited by no lines
with the fast pass to quick cash
and diaper rash
on your dog
on your mother's dog
all day and night
white and black and white again
and then black again
and then a commercial break
and then I make a mistake
over and over and over again
and over again
it's still here, it's not hear, it's her, it's him, it's us, it's them
if them is us than who is they?

not me. or you.