Mid-Morning in Lincoln

Doin' stuff
doin' stuff

the day thumping mellow

Paul
you in Omaha today?
eye saw
Justin on his bike
leaning forward
moving west
through the intersection of
16th & E
or it was someone
who looked liked him
w/ grease hair
w/ striped shirt
& man build

trees are just starting
to look yellow
in the low sun
on the cool day.

Talk Adult not Child Ego

Take your lips & do

something useful with them

like

put them on my jesus penis

put them somewhere safe.

Your take of the situation

seems carved

not natural

seems carved to fit

whatever you need it for

these things

have always been irrelevant to me

though just starting

to realize it.

Take your lips &

your selfish brains

that spill out of them &

throw them around

an object

anything would be better

than what you're using

them for now.

Falling Asleep in Lincoln Nebraska September

Smell wet hair

all clean & scented stillness

hear crickets outside window

calmingly furious & calm

& pleasure

& anesthetic

for maybe another week or two

see objects

just barely their outlines

as our half faces away

from the bright hole of gravity

in the center

feel sheets on calves

cool on shoulder skin

& the atmosphere coming inside

from the cricket world

is also cool

& moving enough

it's almost like time is different

taste

all weird memories now

know

is

drift

getting

taste?

is what

is that naked

mouth

college

wave

rave

waves

waves

corn field

ocean.

Rock Pile Waiting to Become Rock Pile

Connected to all centuries of nonsense.

Connected to my father.

Connected to his father.

Connected to the convective development of imagination.

See through the dread of salary.

A quick burst into no man's land.

Into the hanging place without noise.

Put here by physics to mull the devices of

curiosity

lust

insouciance.

You gotta find a way to spin the hours.

You gotta find a group you don't wanna puke on.

INTO NO MAN'S LAND:

Into the scrappy skyline of serotonin.

Well yeah happy, that's the easy part.

It doesn't change the flush of wind, though.

It ain't like…

It's not as if…

I'm not bored.  I am bored.  Not when

I'm surrounded by the bear, just when

I'm here, in the city.

People get so frustrated by traffic lights.

We're so soaked in to our tiny plights.

In Morning

Want bath fire

scrub deadness of bliss

off feet.

Want bath fire

to sit & soak in

before burning commission.

God damn, know itch of it.

Any product great

if you paid for sale.

Fuck it,

taking huge loan

never pay back.

Be dead.

Kids won't pay for it

not creating them.

Need first hour of day

practice 40 or 50 breaths.

Long, slow, drunk.

Maybe get 10 or 12 w/out

distraction of thought.

Want bath fire

burn off bacteria 

vanity

image

care what you think.

Done paying 

for things don't grow

head or

dreams.

New place

just old place.

New face just

old face.

You'll get from

your effort. 

The patience you're willing

to pull through

the shit stench mud

consumerism.

Hahahaha, lol (laugh

                        out

                        loud) 

                  gomwyf (get

                                off

                                my

                                wave

                                you

                                fuck).

Everything is everything

in morning

in fire.

Rock Island Bike Trail @ 11pm

North 

toward 

the electric heart.

The single memory of the night

cling to is

moving north from highway 2.

North

toward

the electric heart

after

an archaic night of

     friends 

     food 

     television.

My soul felt vacant.  Nothing in it

not even a

rattle.

(finally) The night being over, three of us

bodies

embark

into the dark.

I like the 

silent caution riding through 

blank parts

of the city.

Movement without the sound of engine.

Muscles clenching, 

relaxing, clenching.

I like 

the sober cold wind

and the 

familiar backgrounds of Lindsay and Jake

riding ahead

as we zip into the cover

of trees

and the leaves on the trees

creating the invisible sound

I imagine exists

on the ocean floor.

North from highway 2

into the unlit

tract of trail

and one too few layers of clothing.

The remote chance of 

danger feels like not faking it.

Total black.

Sugar.

April 9, 2012

Panorama of the Colony

We are glorified ants with pants

who want romance

to numb the sleep-speed of our blue evolution

the oceans

the trashy television shows

the duality of pompous business people

and empty fields in Wyoming.

Do you think there is any hope for us?

I'm laughing and falling down

and ordering another drink.

Do you think God is physics or

is the notion of omnipotence contrived in and of itself?

Something we made up because we are scared?

It's a load of stinky shit

to not feel the spirit of things, though.  People like that

should die.

Glorified ants with pants

paving highways

building up and out

making new islands of trash

playing games

loving parents, children, and family

the biology of blood

reproduction

writing songs and novels

tinkering with chemistry

because our brains are big enough

but it doesn't make anyone a "nice" person.

Glorified ants with pants

sexual fantasies

jerking off

the heat of flesh in youth

those afternoons when oblivion

starts making noises

in your nerves

and the music on the radio keeps slamming

a nail into your heart

until the thing is mashed

and for just a second or two you get why

humans create art

or take that first hit of crack

or blow some stranger in their car

or tip the bartender an extra dollar

or walk into the woods somewhere

and never come back.

Glorified ants with pants.

For me it's smoking a cigarette before dreams.

Lying on my back in bed

maybe during a carefully chosen song

or maybe after reading a book

in May with the window open

a car with a bad muffler

and then just the wind in a tree

the candle by my head burning

the smoke I pull in flowing back out

my mind tracing the day

my soul or whatever that is

feeling thankful for the people I enjoy

my feet feeling the tingle of nicotine

my broken pinky finger healing itself

somewhat crookedly

my exhaustion that I ever convince myself

I am anything besides an organism

intermingled amongst other organisms

on a sphere moving like other spheres

until the thing isn't here.

May 25, 2012  9:28pm

before WY and CO

with Matt, Morgan, Alex, Jake, Lindsay