The thought hits me, sometimes relinquishing the endeavor of something you’re bad at is every bit as crucial and defining as persisting in an effort in something you’re good at.

I’ve come to detest those brick buildings I loved so much when I first moved back here To the Midwest, . The lovelorn, They know no shrapnel Because they are shrapnel it’s Quelling of the rip tide of association As you stomp up shore.

Your body was blue, A pale, barely colored blue, But it was nude and you were beautiful, And you had wings . So that I thought I should do something, But I was suspended, Pedaling back to infancy A gore to rhyme of navels.

A stoppage of identity ceases to be a problem once it’s recognized as such.

When the rain rains high On the drought that’s given us mental stability Like aster computers, . The end of her will be there Clamoring the wayward ebb toward pop culture

In the moon’s shaft the camera has been on you, But I’ve seen it unfolding, It has streamed your innards, And now you come to me like a luminescent moon As I’m free to dance around the front yard Letting the trees notice me.

I be always throwin’ bows in this life, ‘Cause that’s what the right hand man Stan sand stands, Doin’ what I gotta do A vapid iceberg ‘Cause POPS he there and MA she Thereand they got these COMPUTERS They’re always Watching me on they CELL PHONES, Fixtures of manufactured anatomy.

Are you willing to be deconstructed, For on this planet you are open market for the wolves, Jagged edges of welfare’s displacement Lining every Corridor you find meaningful, Dodging the light gracing the girl You will kill when you have nothing left.

I think of all those truncated lives Amidst rainstorms in the flatlands Braced against computer screens, And my head meanders down With thoughts of masturbation Which they’re sure to endure The meadows flanked by factories And then as life hits me And I look at all the newly breathed trees Green with pores that have […]

Sometimes I feel like my whole existence is predicated upon anger and wrath, like this is the crux of a white man’s essence. I mean, we enslaved the blacks, and we killed the Injuns to live on this land… I feel incapable of forming true positivity.