Some mornings are meant for manic behavior and acts too bold for a city
I woke up in California hungover
from a 3 day bender 
and road a bus to baker beach 
in redemption for the first half
of my life
In fear we walked down the
street to the road beneath
and marched forward
dressing the part I undressed 
from denim to swimming trunks 
floral and embarrassing to adult life
I still love them.
phone ready for future memory 
relishing in my visible angst and hesitation
I noticed your slow revenge,
but I didn’t mind, that’s only fair.
I imagined Plainview and Lewis,
breathed deeply through 
the moist air
salt on skin
and ran towards the Pacific Ocean.
punishing sand beneath my feet
lifting each knee higher hopping small waves 
I dived deeply.
The water over took me.
The swell braced and held me
in danger and in rebirth,
how quick the principle lost it’s worth
how sacred I became in water and earth
in panic
dead weight shock of the temperature drop 
I knew I was inside
an animal greater than I 
and I humbly attempted to return to your grin
beach side, legs dry.
And then, 
With force I fought the beast, praying to land ashore.
I’ve never been so scared
for my life before
I swam sober in the Pacific Ocean for you upon arrival because I was drunk when I said I would,
And that’s my instinct for survival.

How am I to write when I read
What Gods have written 
before me
In half light
I’ve become inspired by myself
and full of myself
palm pressed face first
in self worth
How am I to read what
my body feels to a crowd of strangers
Who are no stranger to my feelings 
oh so strange
How am I to spare the rage 
and keep oh so neat 
the ink to the page?
How am I to survive doing the only thing I know how to do; write. 
How does one abstain from jealousy?
Disregard their modern leprosy
Discover contentment in written recipe?
And how does one feel comfort 
sitting still at a desk for a paycheck 
to sit still at the table
and while their wife just lays there
to stay still for 8 more hours
awaking, oh so still forever
I could never.
How does one accept their gifts and faults are the same?
How does one find one other than God to blame?
the reason I drink
isn’t the reason you think
How does one be okay just for today? 
How does one survive the life they believed was a lie?
What is your definition of success? 
does it include thievery and conquest?
I believe in bed rest. 
How does one create in the shadow of the Creator? 
Can I steal the goods from Christian behavior? 
Can I have some better qualities of man and motive? 
Will you forgive me of my dispositioned nature? 
of my rebellious heart and anger? 
Will you take me whole, scars apart?
love me bold and tender
when I weep in December? 
Will you accept that I can’t accept myself? (and may not ever)
In my difference society provided 
hatred for existence 
In my actions I’ve thrived to sentence their verdict.
My pain was worth it.

Reading some Ferlinghetti 
in the room where we 
inhale unhealthy relaxation 
lines of words blurred 
down the barrel of my cigarette
heat rising in between
my salvation and lethal determination 
turning individual letters into
an oasis of perception. 
The poem was about different men, sitting in different stalls, shitting in the same bathroom beneath the New York Public Library.
The book is about the better sides of me.
Given the day before Christmas Eve.
By a woman I debate wanting to marry. 
Her opinion on the matter remains irrelevant.
But I enjoy the structured fantasy for the hell of it. 
After my over-filling dinner,
I re-entered that room of stress relief
Smoking myself sick with cigarettes, I debate quitting the slow suicide vice I hold so tight.
tension in my chest, the slight cough I brush off,
And just like Gin,
I believe in my camel lights,
literally walking miles with nickels 
Upholding my image as the young writer,
with a lowered life expectancy than the generation previous.
The old writer’s new books are so tired of anger,
they still have their humor 
now that they’ve found God 
in their elder age, 
and that’s something I look forward to. 
So if you’re reading this, and you came across a chuckle or a smile,
If you’ve read something that would make your parents sick, 
and you were the one who wrote it,
you’re not alone; welcome home.

I woke up on purpose still feeling so worthless

like telling all your friends in two thousand and three

I’m tired of weather

we’re tired together of forcing something we both can’t change

I sweat in Septmeber 

just to hate the darkness of December

and I can’t remember 

the last time I tried

/

my life is an itch I can’t scratch

a change I can’t make

the majority, a perfect mistake

/

I just want a sunrise I can’t describe

I want nights I wont forget

but in this life, 

I’m just another lie

begging Jeff Buckley’s Last Goodbye.

you left a faint scent on my denim jacket

standing in my kitchen missing last night

holding your hair

it’s been so long since I cared. 

/

leaving my glasses at your place

was the best mistake I’ve made 

/

A night I’ve waited all summer for

led to gin spilled confessions of desire

discovered in september

is I how I remember

/

honesty isn’t my best policy

the dance floor doesn’t lie

/

so I stare at my phone after each goodbye

thanks autumn tragedy 

you’ve got my eyes clenched tight, tears ready.

I’m not the best sober conversationalist

but I try.

/

I’ve been busy filling up

I’m full, overflowing to the notion

in the direction you’re going.

/

it’s a process I’d like to be caught up in

it’s money I dont have

I’d like to spend

it’s a smile naturally ignited for a feeling

strongly desired

let me show up with flowers

packed lunches

and run to the wild.

I gladly spill ink on my last pages thinking about you. 

I’ll boast each toast

for the words I post

I want to sweat in a long scream

swinging fists in a basement

believing what words meant 

you call it limited

I know a whiskey type freedom

/

rest up so you can write

what I read

so you can breathe 

what I see

/

I crumble softly under pressure

my emotions escape to actions

you’ve lost satisfaction

to my alcoholic reaction

a simple body aches

the business man takes

what working men make

so raise the stakes for production

teach men how money functions

teach families life and consumption

of worldly affairs I can no longer abstain

in wordy written layers I learn the art

of complaining contemplation

in my Stumptown sensation

I breathe revelation 

you speak revolution without a proper solution

to the pain

as I teach resolution to stop the blind, to see in time

to get mine.

“everything’s fine” you’ll find

difference in my mind

You lack character I react

with behavior, I’m in my nature

it’s a new chapter from the oldest book

Not biblical nor prophetic 

it’s cynical and slightly apathetic

We are the driving force

so lets make some decisions

we are the thriving nation

knocking on failure’s door

pound the beat to the drum

in legislative revisions

United States of Division

Energetic waste whore

we know not of our fate

but of our floor

I’ll pound a pin through this soft woven heart

to the wall

Scream to the masses

explaining the beckoning call

to awaken the Nation before

the fall. 

I’ve given up

we’ve given in

just to spite our collective sin

we’ll write a verse

of our worst behaviors

and ask your savior to return the favor

we’re told one day we’ll grow old

I’m sold I’ll be gray and cold

You never listened, 

I spoke softly

You’ve armed the pen

and prepared the lists

which will end

some truths are forever

ink is not paper

opinions tend to disguise the lies

bought sold and transcribed 

formatted to fit the shit

doormatted

I’ll reach out

far enough to dig down

build walls in deep ground

I refused help willingly

you chose death silently 

go on, beat me honest with your father’s belt

no one will stop us

keep the dynamic 

spare the mechanic

shred the bill

we’d rather panic

mid sentence I was over taken. 

Don’t

or do

it’s up to you

I’d do a lot for a salary

you puke a lot per calorie

that dollar wasn’t made honest

it’s not true

don’t

or do

please stop looking

I’m busy facebooking

locking in public

on a screen

my heart, don’t trust it

I know, its obscene

you fake politics and pregnancy over tequilla

I don’t like your tone

stop the flow of Patron

“Not now chief, I’m in the fucking zone”

it’s the coral wave

and the bitter teeth

I’m smoke’s slave

it’s the redemption you crave

do. not. do. you

I’m busy doing me

it’s been a Revolver winter

heading towards a Vietnam spring

and it’s getting better as the three sing

so I’ll refill and foot the bill against Fante’s will

I’ll withdrawal these last sixteen bucks

and ride a bus to my future.

while everyone at this cold bar stares at me

scribbling my manic expression

drinking through enlightenment

reaching for depression

to the Grog: thanks for the fish!

to Maloney’s: thanks for being irish enough 

to take me back to my heritage 

and dear Kellys: go fuck yourselves you pigs,

To The Erin: I couldn’t say sorry enough,

but that Villanova Law student was begging

to get punched in the face.