Short Collection

So horny and hungry,
And thirsty and dumb,
Hungry hands grope blindly,
Forever outward.

Scratch on paper,
Little rubbing noise,
Felt tips and vapors,
Make poets of these boys.

Learn to swim,
Waste of skin,
Quite a caper,
On the paper,
Worthless little,
Piece of shit he'll,
Suck you dry and,
Make you cry.

What does "killing me" sound like?
Ah ah-ha,
Boom boom,
Tap tap,
Doom doom ah ah-ha,
E-ha-e-ha e.
Maybe a ballpoint would make it sound better.

Writing

Just enough thought for four or so lines,
Beyond becomes manic disorganized chaos,
Where meter expires and ceases to rhyme,
And flaws become bigger without any payoff,
Look now he fumbles his words turn to mumbles,
The stanzas they change as he struggles for air,
His lines are a jungle of phrases in jumbles,
He hasn't a thought and you haven't a care.

Posting About Posting

Feeling bitter go to Twitter,
Shout it out where no one cares,
Spit your bile for a while,
Hope to get your Facebook shares,
Friend list fatter doesn't matter,
Bigger basement empty attic,
Eat some shit you fucking twit,
And die alone inside your static.

Audience

Can't understand,
Whose voice speaks these words,
Can't understand,
What these words even stand for,
Can't understand,
Don't I make you happy?
Can't understand,
Who is talking right now?
Can't understand,
Do I need to be concerned?
No,
Everything is fine,
Everything is fine.

Youth in Asia

He is filth and brine,
Accumulates in cracks along the water's edge,
A scab, a plague, a festering mass,
Beloved in the way one loves an old, sick pet,
A quaint memento which cannot be discarded,
But which no longer serves its initial purpose,
A pox whose only vaccine is the momentum of time,
When he will eventually stop being,
As even stars may die,
Not much longer now,
He will soon find the rest he has earned,
Oblivion, infinite and empty,
Sweet and cold like he always hoped it would be.