Mid-Morning in Lincoln

Doin' stuff
doin' stuff

the day thumping mellow

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
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


all weird memories now






is what

is that naked







corn field



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




You gotta find a way to spin the hours.

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


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 
care what you think.

Done paying 
for things don't grow
head or

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

Hahahaha, lol (laugh
                  gomwyf (get

Everything is everything
in morning
in fire.

Rock Island Bike Trail @ 11pm

the electric heart.

The single memory of the night
cling to is
moving north from highway 2.

the electric heart
an archaic night of

My soul felt vacant.  Nothing in it
not even a

(finally) The night being over, three of us
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.

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
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