up

anything at all,
at all, at all
is far better than the box
of empty in the mail. sometimes
the rush delivery isn't the
option that works best

dernks gervin

cast off in the cigarette gaze
torn through like paraphernalia
i had previously sensed this bottle opening
in the background
when i dove in and came up for air far too soon

it'll be far more whiskey sundays,
far more regurgitated fridays
before i can mitigate my cloudy days
my under the weather
my secret pouches
and some new-fangled banana sundaes

draught

i can only think of foggy days
of cobble-stone roads, moss at the edges,
swinging on the unraveling cord
this unparalleled dreary feeling
mouth as dry as the sun
with every intention to prove it

null

i've just piled all thought
all emotion in this hollowed out box
it may only be this early, but i'll say it nonetheless
how do i make myself invisible? how do i build up this wall
may i, earnestly, close this sector?
may i, truthfully, shut down?
i've been working this long and still i'm deceived by sight

travel light

4000 euro short
the weather made itself
appropriate as i watched through
that slotted window. dark clouds
gathering, rain hitting the pavement
which i saw coming. the windstorm
of fallen red and green, where will
it take me next on this one legged boat
long gone, sailing into darkness

walking home

it all went down the river
under that fall-leaved bridge
in the early morning overcast skies
moving along, following the stream
so it wouldn't hurt

faux

how it must feel
when that ceiling collapses
and the ink comes running through
staining what little you had
in your possession
soiling that sea of disregard
oh, how i'd like to,
oh, how it hurts how i want
no one to feel

asdf

a melody in my right ear
suspended; perpetual
mug of black to the left
of my left ear. in peripheral
i've got my gloves on
but the fingers have come off
do you think that i'll ever
be satisfied?

.
.
all these tuesdays pass by
they sit atop my flagpole
all sitting in a row
at half mast
birds sit idly by
chirping for lack
of common sense
until it's repetitive
redundant, irrelevant
a dull roar underneath
so much of what our days
are composed of,
and look at it now
the sun isn't even up