Eyes Like Christmas

All these musings pass behind

windows mostly shaded 

concealing walls mostly faded 

trying to be stoned before

the patterns fall in line

because these eyes like christmas 

let that shit out

knock it about

and somehow

make it all seem fine.

When It’s Time To Be Sad and Lonely I Suppose That’s What I’ll Be

I just remembered that once I learned 

there are no guarantees 

problems are a matter of perspective 

and only ever will be.

Firebomb

There's cleaner ways 

to get shit done 

nicer ones too 

but none that

really satisfies 

quite the way 

we want it to.

All These Words in Shakespeare Terms

Each essay is a pound of flesh 

hastily scooped with little precision 

tissue abused and torn 

no regard for the subtleties 

of the contracts they satisfy

but no worry because 

it doesn't hurt that much

there's plenty to go around

and I can always make more

every poem is scrawled 

from the blood which seeps 

and pools low in those ragged wounds. 

There's Little Profundity in the Images That Capture My Attention in Quiet Moments or Why I Am Never Bored

Seemingly impossible condensation
occurs rapidly and gathers
in layers near the top then
glides at first until fog appears
where it is unexpected and rolls
relatively heavy before cascading
in heaps rushing out from the bottom
of my shower beer.

The Sex Life of a Nihilist Isn’t Really Very Important

In the scheme of things, as they say 

even baby rats seem to play

koalas are mostly gay 

and we are all just

shit on a rock

anyway

but then again when you think about it

you realize you are thinking about this

instead of what to eat, or how 

instead of whether to run later, or now

instead of if you should hunt or plow
when the children can wait
for neither harvest nor sow

and suddenly the luxury of curiosity 

seems pretty fucking sweet

anyhow.