No point.

I am not dead yet.

"Reach out"

Hello you
Hello me
What did I do
and what did you see?

Hello us
hello they
What did you hear
and what did I say?

once was a time
you could say hello for a dime
now everyone’s got a phone in their pocket,
but no one has the time, no time, everyone
has a got a phone in their pocket
but ain’t got no time

Hello who
hello when
what did we do
and what then?
What then?

Hello dead-air
hello overtime
are you still there,
and did you do the crime?


once was a time
you could say hello for a dime
now everyone’s got a phone in their pocket,
but no one has the time, no time, everyone
has a got a phone in their pocket
but ain’t got no time

Hello you
hello me
hello no one
hello has-been

once was a time
you could say hello for a dime
now everyone’s got a phone in their pocket,
but no one has the time, no time, everyone
has a got a phone in their pocket
but ain’t got no time

Pick up your phone,
reach out, reach out
reach out and kill someone.

Last Rites

In the ever-after,
or the here-and now;
all you hear is laughter
and the moo of a dying cow.

In your life's final chapter,
or your day-to day grind;
all the things you chased after
can make you lose your mind.

At a moral crossroad
or after a sin just for fun;
you always reap what you sowed
and done can never be undone.

In the ever-after,
or the here-and now;
all you hear is laughter
and the moo of a dying cow.

Mostly google-sculpted poem about food, sex and poetry

I have the awful feeling that I can’t write anymore
Haven’t you ever noticed once you start eating tacos,
all you can think about is more tacos?

I know that i am a bullshit writer
I have a real problem with food,
I overeat at times and feel that
I cannot stop once I've started.

Wait. No. Lust is more serious than other vices
on the list such as pride, envy, and apathy;
but it is considerably more serious than gluttony.

There is no pot of gold at the end of that rainbow.
Lie #1: Sex creates intimacy. I told you I am a
bullshit writer. Throw some emotion and vices
on the page. Free your mind! Poetry is sure to follow!

Lies your teacher told you: There is no bad writing--
only unfinished revision. Lie #2: Starting sex early
in a relationship will help you get to know one another
and become better partners later.

According to Wyler-Feldman,
parental separation most often manifests itself
in atrocious poems about isolation and anger.

Which sin is worse?

PHONE CALL

Last night. Yes, last night. No, not the night before last. LAST NIGHT. No right, here. I swear. Look. No look. I SAW him, okay? He was there. Fine. Okay, fine. Yes, I am SURE it was him. Oh, fine. Okay. Full of shit? Whatever. It was him. No, didn’t see me. No, I am sure. He never saw me. Could I swear? Well, I guess it IS possible. Okay, fine. Be that way. I have to go. Bye. What? I don’t know what he’d do if he saw me. Don’t WANT to know. Just go to bed, okay? Swear to God, it will all be okay. Yes, I swear. I SWEAR. Just go to bed. ‘night. Love you, too.

“Until there is a law”

I heard there will be a law
that you cannot read bad poetry
in coffee houses or in bars
or on street corners.
What will I do to wait out
the lonely hours?

I need to read my bad poetry
out loud to you. Even better
if you have no desire to hear it;
better yet if you are a complete
stranger. It is more fun to read
bad poetry if you are not expecting it.

Until they pass a law you will find
me on the street corner screaming
my wretched verse. I will lament my
“bitter tear” I will dwell with "the dark
shadows of the lonely” And until there is
a law there is nothing you can do to stop me.

Unless you have a gun or a chainsaw or a broken
beer Bottle. Hell, even a ballpoint pen would
work if you wanted to me to shut up bad enough.
Just jam in into my throat. Once the blood stops
jutting, my poem will be done.