teaching angels how to breathe like touching

Burn bright. She told me to burn bright. We all have to burn a little, she said, it's just a part of all this, but when it's your turn, make sure you burn bright. Let the pain of the flames that consume you also be the fuel that moves you. Flames have a tendency to engulf, but burning in light is better than drowning in darkness, so move your body like you are gasoline and everyone you encounter is a lit match, let your prayers be crackling embers exhaled up to kiss the stars. All this living is bound to hurt some, she said, so you might as well make the hurt worth something.

the copper in your bones is calling for blood

giggle, grin, and kick. when the rules are being re-written, there is always a period of mild anarchy. remain calm. stay indoors. do not, under any circumstances, riot or loot. don't drink the water. good. you're doing good. when it is over, there will be plenty to buy. you can resume working again, and the cycle will be complete. produce. consume. produce. consume. good. you're doing good. forgive me. my mind is running in circles again. there appears to be some barrier that it cannot get around. strange. oh well. i wonder if anything good is on television...i should not be writing in this state of mind, it seems i am far too filled with rage. good. you're doing good.

The Death of the News

When books go extinct, I will replace my eyes with computers and my ears with headphones. I will have my heart surgically removed and replace it with nothing. I will think about how much progress we have made.

the myth of light

your kisses fling disembodied birdsongs through me like i am a basement staircase that cinderblocks are crashing down, into a darkness that is heavy with rusted bicycles, old birdcages, and teenage memory. it is an engulfing darkness, shaped like the insides of your arms. if human-kind is a flurry of short-lived self importance, creating monuments to its own destruction, reaching to extinguish the light, then i will walk like a clam, straight into the darkness, holding your hand in mine like a rare treasure.

on the nights when the moon is like the sky's brain thinking too much

you wonder. you wonder what the hell happened. you wonder how the tumors and the ice bergs came out of nowhere. the sleet sticks to your face and it burns like goddamn. you sit on the front stoop, while all the illusions drain themselves from your head and go swirling into the night, and for a few brief moments you are empty and you can see the world for what it actually is.

you, in your new boots

the sex is amazing. it is a storm licking the ocean. it is a lighthouse burning down in it's own ecstasy of light. it is film run too fast, melting on the reel, all emulsion tongued, bright white resonance, bursting onto the screen. we are just a couple of farm loving, punk spattered, academic rogues, turned loose and let be, burning down rooms with conversation, blaming the media, with pockets full of excuses and hands full of fingers ready to push any button we might encounter, yes, the sex, it is amazing.

too much coffee

the city swallows up the days like a dinosaur. it is an endless haze of humanity, bubbling over, wondering where it all went, ticking off the seconds. there is no right way to bleed, you just do it. these are the rules. and when the garbage and the graffiti are strewn across every empty space, there will be peace. when the blank walls are filled with art, there will be peace. when money stops mattering, there will be peace.