some poems.

there is a powerful vortex of anger falling on top of me
it's swirling hot coffee and chocolate at 'break-neck' speeds
into a mug with cows painted onto it
i'm tired
when i walk along cargo train tracks, midday
i resent the homeless
and piss on their graves
and on their discarded bottles of brandy
where can you buy ostrich eggs this time of year?
i'm tired of all of the 'bullshit' in my life
including yards of buffalo dung
scattered along the banks of the missouri river
there is a silver bowl in my kitchen
specifically designated for use as a water dish
and the two dogs spend hours communing around it
asking each other what remnants of yesterday's meal
were found and eaten and regurgitated
and i feel like an open book
and the woman sitting next to me
keeps turning the page before i'm finished
this whole experience feels like 'complete bullshit'

this poem is going to be inconsequential and generic
i can feel it
it is going to start with a generic, inconsequential beginning
one that people will think 'that was OK' about
then it will slowly become something
that seems 'mildly worth reading'
that people will think is 'somewhat clever'
and maybe even 'funny'
then it will start to lag
or here maybe
and then it will explode in their faces
with a suicide bomb of mediocrity
there will be wood and nails and random barreling shrapnel
that will fly through the stale air of some incandescently-lit interior
and will lodge deep inside of vital organs
and cause severe internal bleeding
and people will die
and the government will finally blame itself
i would like a stack of eleven pancakes and a tall glass of urine

i haven't changed my clothes in three days and feel an extreme fear of what egregiously written prose is located beneath this 'title' thing.

my dog is old
and is pretending to sleep on my foot
as a way to show that he 'appreciates' my attention
or that he wants to be moved to a more comfortable place
or that he is old and tired and doesn't feel like standing
and that my foot is extremely comfortable
and smells like corn chips and three-day-old guacamole
why do my feet smell like this
i will take a shower
and a white tail deer approached me last night
in my sleep
and asked me 'do you feel alone'
i said 'fuck you deer. fuck your speculation'
and scowled and it walked away
then i become enormous and took a lot of drugs
and realized that i was always meant to be an enormous drugged-out being
and was happy and dove into the ocean to die
i think that i have breast cancer

i can't decide if i should work on my novella or keep writing these shitty poems.

yesterday seemed eventful
i posted comments on a lot of blogs
and spoke for a long time with a new acquaintance
and then i blogged on romantic rhetoric
and then i realized i am in love
or at least feel very sure about being confused and insanely euphoric
concerning thoughts of one person in particular
and like remembering her voice
gives me shivers and a terse rush of serotonin
and i feel like i could be happy forever
and i am afraid of this
because of what it implies existentially
and it makes me feel alienated
love does
and like i want to cry
i am crying
this does not make sense
but it feels right
it seems right to not want anyone to know this is happening
and wanting to be held by her
and feeling cold and nervous and alone
but to just keep writing
i keep telling my fingers
which are each in shock and in intense pain
and will not stop fidgeting or trying to reach for cigarettes
'just keep writing this'
'don't stop writing'
'finish this goddamn poem'
this needs to be written

things in my brain right now.

an ingrown hair on my thumb
wolphin, specifically a short film about people who are dead under water
my hair falling out/breaking
my right eye being more closed all the time than my left eye
generic cinnamon toast crunch substitute
dandruff everywhere
my dog curled up sleeping next to me
urinary sphincter control techniques
internet addiction
a girl
multiple girls that seem much more vague and dispersed than 'a girl'
muumuu house
hipster runoff
not wanting to be thinking about muumuu house or hipster runoff
wanting to be an individual
becoming a filmmaker
writing a novella
divorcing my parents and moving to los angeles
feeling very very very sad
feeling sarcastic about how melodramatic that last line seems
wanting to receive a new email from someone i like

the last segment in this poetry collection is fucked and completely inauthentic so thank you for actually reading this one.

i don't speak binary
so if this means anything
then it is a miracle
and i will stop being atheist
and convert to some religion
that condones killing people
that was a stupid thing to write
even if it says something
of great consequence
i will probably still not believe
in anything
except for irony


i feel alone
and depressed
and completely helpless
like on day i will find myself
sincerely wanting something
and feeling like i can't live without it
or would want to die with it
but i will be infinitely more alone
then than i am now
what supports this fear
and allows it to exist in the first place
needless speculation
i am one life amidst all life
i am nothing
and my needs
are redundant at best
completely imagined at worst
and whatever they actually are in actuality
which is neutral i feel

my plans for the morning.

it's warm outside
i'll wrap myself in my comforter
and unlock the basement door
and walk out into my parents' back yard
and smoke a cigarette
while the sun rises
and i will try to think of nothing
and feel disappointed
about the state of everything
and there will be a giant wave of dust and heat
that will knock me over
and the suburbs will be leveled
and a tree will split at the trunk
and fall
and crush my leg
and i will feel intense panic centralized at that area
and i will go into shock because of my leg being severed
and i will faint
and wake up in the midst of nuclear holocaust
with no one around
and i will chain smoke the rest of my cigarettes
and drag myself through the rubble of my house
and find my switchblade
and try to feel good one last time
and say aloud to myself 'life goes on'
and will become afraid
and will eventually become resolved
and i will commit suicide
and humanity's successors will find my body
beneath three hundred feet
of solid ash
and will say
'hmm, where is the rest
of its leg?'
and will see my knife
and pick it up and say
'damn, sweet artifact'
and also 'yeah, i know right?'
in a futuristic tonal language
derived from dolphin twittering