Beast

"That's the best part of School--
The social events,"
She drones in between
Flips of her skirt.
"Christ!" I think as I
Move just enough to allow
Some blood back into my testicles.
The best part of school for me
Was getting away from
All the dumb-ass yokel twats
I grew up with.
The best part of leaving school...
Getting away from all the dumb-ass
Pretentious fucks that littered
The campus like lice in cotton panties.
I'm not so confident in my escape though.
I still have to deal with the mirror
At least once a day.

Prison

Any situation from which you fear for your escape.

red pen

Standing against a wall
Will stiffen your back
Straighten your thoughts
Pressing upon your neck
Will distract your fears
Slow the blood to a trickle
Reaching below the heart
Reveals your lover's spine
You never gave it back
               Did you?
Starting with a red pen
               Among fools
Usually leads back to the corner
               Of the room
One stool... one cap... and time.

Shred It All

Shred everything. I mean it. Don't leave anything behind that could be used against you. And I'm not talking about a court of law or the court of public opinion. I am talking about the judge on the other side of the desk. Don't give them an "out", an opportunity to ask why you wrote a three page diatribe extolling the virtues of pissing with your balls out. See, they might not get it. Don't wait for them to ask about the medication you are on or why you fantasize about setting all of the motivational wall art aflame. Don't show them the smirk you have growing inside of you day after day. Don't let them infer how you must feel about their leadership. Never mind the fact they are hardly mentioned in the first place. Odds are they wouldn't recognize themselves as the "twat" mentioned half way down page seven. Try your best not to give up names, aliases, passport photos, or doctor's addresses. Insist on keeping the tales of your last bad trip close to the vest. Protect your identity. Become the wall. Dream of hallways of nothingness painted plaid. And by all means, pick up this notebook, rip out these pages, and drop them in the shred-bin by the freight elevator. Don't be a fucking idiot. Take precautions. Hell, they already paid for it.

loop

Train rumbles past
Neglected signs
Neglected masses
Glowing iNTerPaRk
In the rain
No amount of
Ink-stained tears
Falling from newsprint hats
Brings a boat instead
Only more trips
Around the loop
Another brown
Another green
My ears bounce
As old Bob Johnson
Pours prayers to his
Sweet home
Down
Past my feet
Through steel
Cracked oil and
Wood
Watch it
Watch it search out
The closest sewer
Only to be denied
Entrance
Solace
I smile at the
Permanence and
Sheer inertia involved
All things finding
Their path
All things being
Their path
My hand laid flat
Over this page
Changes nothing
Fulfills only distraction
A glance at the
Ink on my pants
A moment to stack
My spine back up
These too, simply
Vinegar laughing face up
In a funnel
I blow Godspeed
Kissed into perfect
Darkness

Whoooooooosh

I am starting to feel like all of these people around me not only went to different schools than I did, but also took classes I was never told exist. Call it paranoia. Call it class stratification anxiety (is CSA taken?). Of course, I'm too close to the event to know with any illusion or perspective. It doesn't help that these pills work differently than advertised. Does this fall under warranty? Perhaps I should have listened to Tom Cruise after all. I just couldn't afford the dues, and I'm too distracted to earn them. But you...you seem on the path, so...well done, pallie. Are they going to take out those pants so you can fit a pair of stilts under there? An army of assistants and worshipers perhaps? Better get a new belt.

Vacated, 31st Floor

Dead man's plant
Branches, twigs cobbled
Together in the corner
And reaching for their
Own dry death
Westward lit on a
Windowsill, forgotten
For only a month

I can't move
Without feeling watched
Prodded back to the doorway
Again and again
As everything else I'm told
To box and label
Turns translucent
In the 3:00 sun

Books, files, folders
Pressed binding briefs
Rule and law
All bent and insulted
By a missing
Green leather chair
The plastic mat remaining
Is cracked, yellow

I take a moment to pour
A styrofoam cup of water
Into the lager plant to the right
Its limbs slumped against the wall
I won't approach the other
I may step through desperate acts
But I bow my head
Before the ridiculous