Soapbox Artist

when phil pointed out the beer i’d bought was alkoholfrei, i wanted to fucking murder my useless, assuming, eyes. after enduring the bureaucratic humiliation game, a cold beer was really what was needed. they wouldn’t take 3 poems and a small drawing for a 33k tax bill. in the case of faceless institutions like the … Read moreShit Beer

i cut off the tip of my left ring finger. it bled like a fountain, but maybe a bit less. i blamed the dull knife, but reason dictates circumstances come with facts – dull doesn’t cut it. i keep hurting myself, because i can’t acknowledge intrinsic vulnerability, despite it’s fluid consistency with temporal logic: nothing … Read moreuntitled #39

i am an instance of the universe. a short fall of attributes left me believing i was human. unfettered awareness. i am an instance of myself, circular with infinite angles: to know and not know all of them, sadness & joy. myself, instantiated, in this form [so fragile, waiting to break open that greatness might … Read moreUntitled #23380-2

There’s no Reasonable bars at a bank. None even in a big train station. The lack of a Reasonable bar Says all you need to know about good ol’ Zuri. The women are equally rapacious: always talking about traveling, getting out of here. I understand the tendency, but we only want to leave because there’s … Read moreReasonable Bars

fuck an A man, CIA man. fucking tears, bastards from redemption, freedom always just around the corner: when will acceptance acknowledge death? this ache of disagreeability, presence. how shall I inform the prison guards I could have escaped 1000 times already? but for my desire not to humiliate them, I remain their prisoner, indefinitely. Stiller, … Read morestiller’s an asshole

cold dreamy steel, sweating in bed, the dreams i have swirling in my head where i’m always the monster, never a god, and without decency, I couldn’t even be… I should have been a murderer, devoid of sadness for ruthless deeds. I should have been a knocker, send that bovine to its knees. The barking … Read morecoded messages

Dear Refugee from Wars of Our Own Making, I love you. I love that you walked, ran, swam, took buses, trains and bicycles to flee a war that we custom made for you. I love that you exist – without your existence, I would have to simply hate war but your sweet innocence defiled fills … Read moreI <3 War

these quiet moments, after the insanity so ordinary, I think things like, “I should get ready for bed, now.” when you wet the bed until into kindergarten, what does it mean to get ready? the kids across the street, with whom I shared being caught with matches, in the alley, shared a bed, 3 of … Read moreGetting Ready For Bed

african wildlife. Hayden is playing. As soon as my fingers hit the keys, my mind stops playing its evil games. when i’m trying to sleep, there’s stories abound. poetry. Now, there’s nothing. not even enough to get angry about. Its better to sleep a lot, if the poetry lies on the edges. it just makes … Read moreWhat are you?