The City Gasp

See, I've never understood
this scene
Of me...
"There's plenty of other fish," you speak--of bitter seas.

In a letter addressed to me.

This peace, it's starting to get to me
it seems.

And still, this silence can overwhelm, it's still.
Because nobody ever screams.

(when there is nobody in the streets.)

One day, when time stops hiding:
You'll breathe this city night in:
Then leave, with nothing else but me.

In a letter returned to you.

So faint, and come place your hum in the air.
You stare.
At shoes, as they stick to the ground in your hair.
You stare.

And then I'll walk you home alone.

It rains, but the patter reminds me of steps
I've taken.
And shine, a shimmer of glisten, a sight.
You fly,
a shattering kiss in your eye.
from a cloud that reminds you of night.

Hold your breath.

I've grown accustomed to looking down at those small red blotches, strewn out in patterns across printed white toilet paper. It happens late at night. The series that occurs is redundant; it's always the same: time, arm, choice of words, stumble into the bathroom. Well, let me explain before you ponder about the chances that I've been struck with a case of stigmata or even worse (I won't go into those details in order to keep my taste and not ruin yours).

Around 5 am, I cross my right arm in a diagonal pace, from left cheekbone to right temple. What my skin feels is lukewarm and always sticky. "Shit," is the chosen word of around 5, when I stumble to my bathroom in complete darkness. Tired, grumpy, and well, utterly blind I paste a length of toilet paper salient in ways, a shoot of white, fluffy protection launching an attack at my face worthy a firefighters praise.

The worst part is waiting. Sitting on the bathroom floor, breathing through my mouth. Looking at my neighbor the toilet bowl. If I could hum a tune I would, but with the obvious tired and winded situation it would be unnecessary and rather sad. I don't ever remember what I think about. In fact, I don't even know if I actually think--either in time or out of it-- dreaming or not.

Maybe I've been sentenced to something. I don't know, like a 10 month serving of haphazard nosebleeds, set for the hour 5 in the am, no less than 3 out of the 7 days per week. Maybe, it's just coincidence, but it couldn't be.

Either way, I've gone rather far in disgusting many people in my little cafe of cyberspace banter. I hope you enjoy your night; maybe I'll see you at 5.

Read to the end of the sentence.

Sense this, what else is there to do? I really can't come up with new prose so I'll just state what is obvious. There's loud music being played upstairs and I really can't sleep. I haven't really attempted to sleep, but you get my gist.

It's not cold enough to breathe white breath yet my apartment is frigid. Only at times to add. Fickle chills are no way to live college life. College life, with buzzing walls and paper clipped centerpieces. With secret amour and flaky fakes. Cigarette linings and coffee burns. Lined up in lines that matter not, but only matter when added to your life's single file itinerary. Because you love the cement and the paste that holds you to the ground. To state the obvious, you're pinned. You either know it or you don't. I do.

I just watched the Royal Tenenbaums and I liked it a lot.

Tommorow maybe I'll watch another movie and hopefully I'll like it a lot.

My throat is itchy, I may need to pop another cap off to swallow allergy medication.

Those queso enchiladas may or may not have produced upset stomach.

I've scared away everyone who thinks this is rather stupid or pretentious or intensely boring.

Right now you're bored as shit.

Exchanges accepted within 5 days with tags attached and receipt of purchase. In-store credit only. No cash refunds.



I'm just stating the obvious.

Midnight Poem

Waste a day or two,
3rd floor windows view.

Carpet, tangled hair.
Silence, midnight air.

Oh, how it blends into one
empty road.

Oh, how it blends into one
midnight poem.

And what's this about happiness?
Does it take its toll when you're alone?

Slowing to the pace I've grown
accustomed to,

the feeling of my shoes,
off the ground.

Lights off, lucid screen.
Luminescent peace.

Faceless banter folk.
Makeshift midnight hope.

And what's this about happiness?
Does it take its toll when you're alone?

Grabbing fists of some motionless
shadow that follows me home.

So follow me Home.

This midnight poem.
We'll write it alone.

They'll never know.
You'll never know.

Plain White Tee

Today I learned new things.

I will be leaving Tx on the 3rd of June and set flight to the Barrens. From now on Frederick, Maryland will be called the Barrens. I'll be back on June 22 and leave around 3 or 4 days later. I will be back in Tx on the 18th of August. I'll be making money and making it well. I'll be sleeping on the floor and sleeping it well. Oh yeah, I'll be bored as hell.