prostitutes

the first few times you smoke cigarettes

you have to do it on your own

so nobody hears you cough

thanks Dan

oh i can't hear the blues and refuse to think of you

i can't hear a child cry and not ponder

not pore over invisible notes i scrawled to you a million times

i can't hear a sad song and keep myself from opening a personal history book

one with a million and one misspelled entries, jumbled all out of time

somewhere out of time a slide guitar keeps on

keeps on telling me what should have could have

monument

on the day of your birth:

these are the tales that your neighbors told

of your folks in the days of old. and all the ruin that they brought

oh a plague on that small town

how the news got around. quite a sight to see

all those dirty lips said all those silly things

your sister can never live it down

you mother cannot sew another stitch

they'd tramp around bar to bar, tongues out and dry, aching for a drop

turned away each time they were

soles of their shoes just had to wear through

all because those rotten tales

and all because of you

87.5%

she was straight out the fire

he'd been testing his footing for days

"i think this is what they call an ice berg" said the boy

"and it's just about to tip" she hissed and pushed off in that rowboat

Intro

The most terrifying thing possible is to be confronted with absolute truth, an image or a thought in broad daylight, indelible, it cannot be described as a result of its pure wrongness. To see something that cannot be reasoned or described away to oneself or any witnessing the revelation. Once one’s eyes are open this wide, it takes many years of being lied to in order to attain normalcy once again, then we must ask ourselves if this is the life we want to live. Such is the way of honest, unnatural madness.

tabularch

you don't understand the sort of recreation i need

put me down in a big gray field with a little brush in hand

send your dog my way, i'll teach her how to be- free of charge of course

send her back and she'll sit good but oh it makes you wonder

i'll be that other half

i'll crawl in your ear and pick at your ideas

pull, extract, degrade, confound

and this will be my song each day

until i choose to lay down or He takes me by the hand

vivitar

Browsing one day in the gallery and I come upon. Eyes turn green with jealousy, the untouched canvas is white and fresh but oh how it has been covered since we last spoke. Since we last walked together that canvas is filling, my smiling face slowly crowded out by multiple unknown assailants of nobody in particular's creation. what do to with such a large building yet standing in front of a single frame that represents a single dead season. 

warm at night

barbed wire is my greatest asset and a big mean invisible alligator is my only friend

said the wanderer hunched over somewhere in the back middle left corner of the cantina

soft patches grew on his face left in in difference in a desperate attempt to formulate some sort of badge

his trail was not as dusty as it could have been, he only saw the ages and ages of dirt strewn out in front of him

give me water i am parched from the desert but he speaks little more though he has so much to think about

the man only discusses with the pure, pure sheets of looseleaf

he defiles them almost everyday with his nasty black pen black and smeared from his blackened hands, sooted by the fire

he has written so much on the fire, stolen though it be. he builds a totem to it every night and lets it die. 

I BUILD THE FIRE he screams, moans it next. he claps his hands together again and again and again to -show- the people to show them what he is capable of

the soot in the air would choke them if they were even breathing.

the sleepy fools in the bar fail to wake up, fail to take notice, they're covered in just as much dust as everything out

he pats the nearest sleeper on the back, those hands don't even bother to let that man know he'd been there

that majestic wanderer wouldn't give him the pleasure, they wouldn't even know how to take it but if you want to see him you will see the tall boy out at nights he will be crouching near a fire, afraid to lay his spine to the ground but not afraid to let that fire die if only for a day

stuck

this is how you know you're too deep. you're covered in glue and can't let go but you're stuck to a chair so you can't get off your ass and start that long long walk

for Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson

don't mind me, i'm just a bore and love to watch and like to create

don't mind me while i grip my knee

i want to see you be all you can be and do it with me

i can pick a cold night out of any other and turn it into hell, and nobody could ever tell

i'll search my scraches for words to yell

and say them, say them over and over to your blank and searching face

only ever in hushed tones, because everyone talks too much about everything

where does that leave a man who is constantly thinking and never shaking

Constantine Constant

Good old Constantine Constance never said a word, he just went on and on with your shitty plan. Constantine works so well for others, wore down his poor knees a few years back and his ankles are about to go. He got planted in the middle of the map, Constantine's been stuck lookin for a ride a long time. Sure, the guy walks, but he walks in circles. I tried to give C.C. a tip, tried to lend him a hand, told him to dumb it down a bit and let things be, two years later he showed back up, hand out, a lot worse for wear. C.C. pleads constantly, I don't know what to say anymore, he seems to keep losing.Man's got to get off the platform at one time, one or two cautious steps won't do it.

They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a step, Constantine's gonna walk into the sun and burn that bridge when he come to it

way before ench.

There was a time where i'd stand in a  dingy basement, all in order to yell and push someone. 

I'd sit at home and think about it, I'd lay down and scheme. 

Somehow I got away from that, somewhere in there I fell on some big boat. 

I got transported over here, complacent in transfer so there's no-one to blame.

But come one, where's the next fight? Who knows.

When was the last time I yelled at my parents or grabbed a hand, the sellout argument is back and Patrick is definitely on the losing side. 

I'll buy up a big stinky house with all that fake money Patty handed over

I'll throw your shit all over the floor and make you pick it up

Draw til my wrist aches like yours, scream and howl 

Soak the leaves, wring it out and do it all again, scratch up my throat with another shot

all for the sake of argument

travellin' so long that my feets is soakin' wet

don't let the cancer defy you and don't let the handsome defy you

on a big, wide planet, you shine 

packs of dogs roam wild and with an effervescent smile from you, all their jaws snap shut

those dirty, drooling mouths have scraped on doors for who knows how long

i always considered bringing in a dog-catcher til i met you

days at the factory and your hands are still so bright, they still work so good

a long day makes your hands so great for me

the long white table has long been abandoned and that awful pit we dug so long ago has been filled to the brim, Paula Shulz may have it if she please

the pasture not so far beyond would be ideal for an afternoon picnic

but that shore lay a distant away and at our pace, who knows

but the distance is always the right way away

you're a real pill, and a hard one to swallow

i don't have the guts to take you, you'd get stuck down there with a bunch of words that even the deafest of trees don't care to hear.

decades later and we still don't know

whether that garden'll grow

i'm real, real thirsty to tell the truth

all this talk makes my honest bone ache so get off my back already

i'll to what it takes when i need to take it

though i'm barely out of bed, let me rest a second

ask me in the morning and then i'll tell you why

when you come around, i'll let you know the plan. and don't worry, the playbook is bursting at the seams

tellurian

"I am but a man" He shrugged and let the sand run through his fingers. A long hard day at life made him reconsider his next action. The boy grabbed her hand and he thought he saw her crooked grin out the side of his eye. "Everyone grins crooked these days" he thought to himself. To be honest, Lydia's thoughts were completely incomprehensible but the man built a fire a few days ago and it really doesn't stop. 

"Take me to Glasgow, I'm ready to smile for the camera" she blushed

so they dragged their feet for a while, everyone could see their tracks

Cartoid

Central to the valley runs the gigantic tributary and the tributary does its job. A pulse echoes off the walls and citizens hear it for the years. Swimming and kayaking are the most popular of events thought some have been known to get carried away. You wouldn't believe how much people pay for a visit to Cartoid Valley, I've bought so many tickets to take the train out, come to think of it, I don't really know what ever happened to that plan.

Lady Bluestocking

Lady Bluestocking gave her life for tourism

Oh poor lady, she sat there all day long to entertain. The boys-of-the-village would come and Lady would shoo them away with a handkerchief or send her dogs.

Society men would call and laugh, put her in a place she did not fit. Either that or they were drawn away to her more attractive and appeasing guests with X chromosomes. 

Lady Bluestocking was surrounded by thousands of books by men she could never meet and hundreds who would never meet her.

But it was enough, it was enough to fill her with a fire that inspired the great Lady to sit in that room day in and day out, taking tea and two meals before retiring to a room that nobody visited. 

She died in the reading room, in the presence of some Company, fairly indistinguishable from any others she entertained. 

They say she gripped a Plato in her hand and nobody could get it loose, they had to cut holes in her dress so they could get it past that damned tome and get her looking presentable. Up in that little oaken box, filled with red velvet and pale skin, which was hardly more pale or cold than it had ever been historically.

grip

shaking hands with Captain Carter and a light comes on 

i'll drag all my LP's out to the front yard and grind them into the walk with my heel

tear up all the tapes and tell my mother to never show your picture again

i'll visit every spot we ever shared and form new associations

all to spite you or all to improve? where does the difference lie?

i'm gonna grip your arm

and tell you to get one of your own

if you could feel my head right now

if you could see the soles of my shoes

if you could smell your breath you'd never kiss me again

so messed up

i've been sitting up straight all day

so baby let's get bent 

i wanna hunch and slump with you 

up and down  the halls 

i hear the neighbors banging on the wall

have them turn up the disco because the doctor's out

and i've gotta jive just one more time

my joints are gonna pop and crack til the early morning dawns

then i'll look around for a heating pad or something

precipice

standing out on the harrowing precipice holding something sweet in his hand

he screams and yells, damning your fucking name demanding a confrontation

staring deep down, searching for the rumored fear

determined to stare down the crazy hellish behemoth he faced in years gone by

a long way away he hears the fair and cant figure which was the last experience

screams himself sore looks back sits down checks the watch and all he wants is something to lean up against

island day

to-day is island day, the day when we honor those stalwart men

my friends and ladies pour into the street to sing the praise, tossing confetti as they scream

the parade goes on for miles, coagulating traffic on each and every block

try as they might, the celebrators never reach a shore, let alone connect any two

and as the cameras flash and people scream the islands sit

they sit and think, or draw, or cry or eat whatever it is they do

maybe someday you'll build a boat

do they know and do they care? why would you even ask?

archaelogy

"Nights feel so empty when you're sleeping with a ghost", she whispered, waking the man from his sleep as she closed the book. He awoke with a grunt and was unconscious again without any issue. She stood up to look out on to the street. Here in the late evening, cars passed by at high speeds through the driving snow, on their way to countless possible endings. Her hands traced down the outside of the storm window he installed last season before she flicked on the space heater and lay down.

whistling some time in the afternoon, already having forgotten my last spoken word, I look back and smirk at the city, this time it's honest, I know nobody saw That. For a moment I am tempted to lay by a brook or climb a tree, something i would fantasize about in the middle of a hot work day or a long lecture. Instead some ancient song pushes me along, enjoying simply watching my feet. 

sun has fallen and pack has been laid, I scurry about camp setting up one night in a line of millions. suddenly, millions of birds burst out of the lake chasing me with heavy soaked wings. soaking feet bring me back to the paved streets. respite, if only for a short weekend

barely acoustic

in my ear:

take on that timber that there are so many famous for

let loose the pitch that changes the chemicals.in.peoples.bodies.

i want to hear all the words i've been reading since a child

the ideas and phrases held dear by millions

a great uniter, a mover and a shaker

oh Ida, Ida, Ida, give me one last song and i will beg no more

runseek

a kid making a snow-Angel in North Texas, it will never be the real thing

effort to validate, move on from a place visit the fable

you take the hand and feel their soul corrode, plod on for some reason

it is a reason unknown to man but only to beast, and even they are unsure

a black nugget in a grimy chest somewhere over the horizon

growing further and further with each step you take on the treadmill of effort 

if only you would let go!

Whiskey

Whiskey is her name and she's a girl i wouldn't expect you to know. It's a name that you have to say through your teeth, even if you're moaning it. Your parents sneak away and she comes to get you. Drags those lessons out of you through your skin and sleep, coercing you into an education, coaxing you into her warned ways. She comes from a broken family- or town, one of those things, that's what Mother said.  Father has pictures of her but would beat you silly if he ever knew.

She writes on the temple walls once a year and i haven't read in many, let's hope i can soon.

HOLDING IT HIGH SINCE 1901

She holds he head up high and waits

She's been kicking ass this whole time and it's time to swallow some pride

It's 1909 and that steamroller got to stop-

"Pennsylvania only has so much coal" her mother reminder her

In 1920 she pulls her hair and yells, he feels so long overdue

Before long he'll be here, what happens then? only mathematics can tell

on hollis hill

that lightning is striking somewhere else and it's striking hard. that is how he felt about his life

ah damnit

my best friend could be a supermodel and i'm probably in love with her and her boyfriend is some sort of weird log. jeez is this a sitcom or what

you're quoting that twig boy?

i'm trying to eat healthier but i'll still drink beer, my parents won't let me drink it, i'm not giving that up

untitled project. scene #1

He sat there fiddling with it. His expression changed to one of great concentration as held the button down until his thumb started to burn, he had to let go. 

Trying again, he sucked hard at the stub of the cigar, moving the flame around the chunk of ash sitting at the end of it. His father had told him the extra ash serves to cool the smoke entering your mouth, making the experience more pleasant, it was just a matter-of-fact observation, not an intentional lesson on cigar smoking. The ash seemed to be interfering but Isaiah just figured he was doing it wrong, he stopped for a moment to look around.

As could be expected, there was no one in the parking lot. He thought to himself if there was, he would look at his cellphone or watch, just to let people know he was waiting for someone. This wasn't entirely true however, he was hardly waiting, he could care less (he supposed) if she showed up, he could probably enjoy himself just as much sitting here. He went to dig out some of the ash, sick of it impeding his progress. This turned out to be a bad idea, he drew his hand back and almost dropped the cigar stub as he burned his finger. Dumbass, he thought.

Isaiah looked up again and she was pulling in, almost bottoming out on the dips and bumps marking the far end of the parking lot. He stood and raised his hand to signal his whereabouts. Worried about looking too enthusiastic, he yanked his hand back down, faster than when he burned himself. The car came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot at a haphazard angle. She got out, at first hidden behind her mother's Saab, she strolled towards the field with her head down, as if it were much colder than it actually was. Isiah thought to himself, "I wonder what she was listening to in there."

i come from

i come from the corporate decadence of the 1990s
raised by the hand of a man with enough money to have confidence in all of his methods
i come from a new house in the old woods
a house ruled by my ever expanding brain, increasing in value with my own potential
i come from a fear of the vapor that every man and situation produces
i am content to worry about it on my own
i come from solitude and living to please you.
i come from a schoolbook in the peripherals and peripherals only
spending most of my time staring straight ahead and yelling into the future, under my breath
i come from a love of the outdoors and a need to tell people to stop spending money
i am a statue with moving oculars!

six word story number four (finale)

I used to define somebody young

six word story number three

time to go cold! he yelled

six word story number two

impress your elders- trade emotions for

six word story number one

Ghosts never die, until they're killed.