Contact Information: Nathan Stapleton Phone: (937) 474-6493 e-mail: stapleton.nathan@yahoo.

com

Relevant Biographical Information: I currently live in Los Angeles, CA.

Description of the Manuscript: The following manuscript is a collection of fifty-seven poems based on my personal life, personal thoughts, and dreams that I have had over the course of one year. The topics are very diverse and include: death, daily life, love, sexual affairs, analysis of modern-day society, childhood memories, and isolation.

Soaring Like a Childs Balloon: A Collection of Poems By Nathan Stapleton

Table of Contents
A Reward Me 3 4 6 9 1 Hit the Road Suicide Familiarity

Winter Poem 11 A Trumpets Wail Shadows Vertigo 13 14 12

Better Than Dancing 15 I Know 16

Endless Reel 18 Shelter 18 A Pleasant Encounter 19 A Night In A Bar 20

My Daughter Smiles 21 Starving Hunger Patty 23 Hold Your Head Up High 23 24 22

The Lines On Your Fathers Face A Faint Fading A Handshake 26 A Step Back From The Ivy A Love Poem 27 A Day From A Wanderers Diary Ode To A Fellow Artist 31 27 25

28

A Fond Recollection 34 High School 35

He Laid Next To Her 36 Ashamed 37

Empty Stomach Story 38 The New Co-Worker 40 Fear Black 45 47 48

Ache In My Head

Im Waiting For You 49 Descent To Hell Creeping Sunshine New Frenzy Ink The Spider 65 68 63 50 60

A Needed Reunion Bees Women My Friend 69 73 75 76

Creeping Fingertip

Splintered Wooden Radiant Palace Reading Bukowski In Los Angeles Coloring Within The Lines I Woke Up In The Evening I Didnt Mind 87 A Pleasant Phone Call A Meager Attempt Laughter 93 92 91 81 83

79 80

Inspired By Sitting Prophecy 96

94

Recollection Of An LA Dream The White Walls In My Room

98 100

A Reward My mother often whispers to me That I look horrible Tired, fatigued I am My eyes sag I slug around I stay up all night

But whenever I feel tired I go out I play the lotto, I do doughnuts in my blue car in grocery store parking lots, I steal street signs, I fuck for a release, I change in and out of clothes over and over and over again, I yell and scream madly at nothing and everything, I dance to the loudest reverberating drum beats that can be tolerated by human hearing, I dance with the beats and with anyone who will dance with me, I sing as loudly and as clearly as I can all the songs my friends taught me and that my mother taught me and that my father taught me and that I taught myself, I buy fancy and goofy hats, I run until my lungs collapse and I cough up the cold and hard and piercing winter airs of Ohio, I eat until I can no longer walk, I live. It really wakes up my young senses Most times But when Im done Im quiet Quiet I go home slowly And the fatigue hits Again It cant win I wont let it Ill blast Hendrix until my ears bleed

Ill write some poems to keep me sharp Ill read Bukowski for inspiration Ill laugh hysterically into a telephone Or take a shit

But if Im not content Even after that Theres always the MIDNIGHT DRIVE AND DINE As a final resort

Perhaps Im far too hard On myself But as we all know quite well There lies reward for any and every hardship And this poem Was rewarding for me To write

Me Male Eighteen years old Son American Brother Student Smoker Friend

Ex-Employee Writer Consumer Dreamer Optimist Joker Lover Fool Film Buff Wanderer

Hit The Road I know a certain guy Who always sticks around But I know hes bound To hit the road Soon Just like all of the others I know But thats okay by me Because Ill be hitting it too Soon

One close friend of mine saw me today and she asked: Where have you been?!? I just looked at the cobblestone In front of my shoes And said:

Meditatingyou knowtaking it easy. I really was Doing just that

But its never easy Taking it easy

Secretly For an obscure reason I enjoy it the absolute most This way The never easy Difficult Way

I looked back up at Her From the cobblestone floor And then she invited me To a party on Thursday

I dunno, I said Meditate in a social setting, She said Maybe, I said

Ill probably go to that Thursday basement party How horrible, unbearable, strangling could it be? After all

I can always take a little MORE

I walked away from Her And laughed She doesnt like to look into my eyes

Thursday rolled around quite swiftly She was wearing sunglasses in a basement Staring at a wall next to her left And that guy hit the road like I said My turn

Suicide He tells me that he never ever Sleeps He tells me music is the only thing That keeps his brittle heart pounding so finely Because of the affect of distracting the mind And suspending time

No music No sleep Only troubles In his mind Suicide A quite bittersweet taste

Cane Sugar Sprinkled with flaming bile

He tells me hes going to be sick Over the phone He tells me that its never been this INTENSE He tells me he should just finally do it already Or else stop thinking about it Because he says Its very, VERY uncomfortable

I say to him: Try keeping a journalthat might help He says back to me: Ill try that but Id be surprised if I made it five more years

Theres a slight pause On the phone ..

He tells me that it is getting HARDER, more difficult For him to

LOVE People To ACCEPT People FORGIVE People

He tells me that he has much hate In his heart And that it is consuming him And that he cannot stop it

He tells me: I am pushing everyone away They can barely tolerate me anyhow Its just how it falls

He tells me how his back aches And how his stomach churns And how utterly SICK He feels

He tells me how he is shit on By the most beautiful

I say to him:

Im going to get a glass of milk And in my ear I hear It

Familiarity Ah! Such miraculous waves of familiarity fill my sense! Breakfast diners attended in the dead of night Always raise my spirits To the point of excite

Strangers are Family And Friends are Strangers Whom I patiently wait to arrive While I sip my sugared coffee And speak to Rita, my fine waitress

When they arrive They will laugh and grin By my side Just like those splendid and long gone summer times That passed with swift flight Forever into My mind

Im delighted that I came here tonight

It is a little more crowded in here Than I usually prefer But the overwhelming wave of content This unifying experience of being at home Is rarely duplicated and is rare in itself

Ah! Familiarity! Familiarity! The sizzling bacon in the frying pans, the clashing silverware in the kitchen and falling to the floors, the clank of coffee cups on tabletops and the slurping of it from my brothers of the dark highway night abyss, the smell of anti-bacterial wipes being shoved along the bar tops and tabletops and chairs and along the playing jukebox, the wrinkles of life on the old cooks face, the young waitresses smoking outside then going inside to check their overdone makeup. I feel myself over the fire at home Warming my soul, warming my mind, warming my skin

Third shift has just arrived Tracy walks in, a new waitress I only know her name And she smiles often Im happy and joyful for Her Just because of those smiles I feel happy and joyful For myself

Get familiar It breeds new happiness What we all need, you know

I bet that Tracy Would agree with me

Winter Poem Flames Always the warmest Dark and majestic Dancing and powerful Warm burning Chasing royalty The sky so high, high, high up Above where I sit and drink this Now

Everywhere Following me through a forest Dancing with me through nature The wind pushes the whispering waves and dead leaves Despite the summer breeze

Pots with pale handles Working men with their carpenter jeans The American Flag Always embroidered Everywhere

Hurry up my sizzling Summer!

So I can lie on your soft brown-hazel gentle soil And let the sky cradle me to a silent sleep As those reverberating sounds dance within me and follow me Into my burning, vivid dreams That fills breathing and gasping life And me with waking!

A Trumpets Wail That stretching crowd of familiar strangers Vanishes in the blink of an eye The swift squeal of a car tire The short blast of a steel trumpet

Awaiting the next rendezvous With those restless, tired ones With those lost, confused ones

You can meet them anywhere: On traffic trips while riding a shiny blue bicycle through retail store aisles, on snowy sidewalks of urban decay thick with slush and muck, on the seats of chairs in claustrophobic and choking and dark and hot movie theaters, on tables in talkative coffee shop hangouts where wood swallows you whole, on cold and dark basement floors littered with the beer bottles and cigarette butts consumed by their gaping and hungry mouths Inside isolated wood shacks in the dead of winter where spray paint images flash before your body in the dance of the candles dancing, teasing flame Inside wandering and sputtering campers cruising the borders of southern states in search for a full bottle, inside a sticky shot glass tinted gold with the rust of 3 month old whiskey, inside ashtrays overflowing and blowing in their long hair

On porches with chairs that rock back and forth from sunset to sunrise with loud analog recordings of guitar chords in the background and lit cigarette inhaled every 15 minutes, on the ash covered kitchen tables and kitchen floors of rural apartments Inside blue four door sedans jammed with 8 passengers en route to the next 3 hour rock concert in cold Columbus, inside the churches of poor neighborhoods where they stick out like a sore thumb among the country-clad conservatives with their children and dress-wearing wives of wicker basket magazine collections Inside the lake houses in the absolute dead of winter blessing their property with the grease of fried chicken, inside the elevated pools in the heat of summer filled with laughter and giggling and swift movements and flashes of light On the palms of a couple holding hands in the dark for an entire night, on the streets of solitude where a couple eat under a illuminated streetlight, on the short blades of grass where a long haired teenager slept all night with the bugs, on the handles of push mowers in apartment backyards in summer mornings with the smell of marijuana stagnant and tangible in the clothing elevated by the heat

The crowd is always around Youll always hear familiar and relative sounds Listen to that long and piercing bellow from the steel trumpet It sounds good

Shadows Im often curious As to where all the souls straggle to After they leave a room

How I wish to follow them: through their dark streets, through their lit corridors, into their homes, to their refrigerator, to their beds, to see their loved ones, to see their closets full of clothes, to see their paychecks and debts, to see their music collection, to the grocery store, to their parents home, to their cars, to their jobs, to their parties, to their schools, to the beach, as they close their blinds!

One day I just might Theres always invite To new sights new experiences, new sensations, new teases, new exhilarations, new smells, new echoes, new numbers, new nocturnal adventures of sublime delight!

Were all bound to meet each other somehow See you soon friends!

Vertigo Maniacal laughter From the belly Of an old friend of mine Half-crazed, saddened, aged

Its been such a long while But he really hasnt changed Hes still quite bad, quite wicked, quite confused

I can respect that though I can identify

We go separate routes But Im sure well end up just the same Old and tired Alone and dead

As long as we both laugh on the way down

It shouldnt be too Sad

Better Than Dancing I was invited to a private dance I did not attend I wrote some words On a piece of paper Instead And it felt good

I seem to be growing Quite the relationship With this pen In my hand here

Were both very young Looks promising But lets not jump To conclusions Just yet Thats when Mistakes are made

Ill just keep screaming While the pens spills out Here is a toast to

Thousands of more: poems, short stories, college papers, love notes, scribbled doodles, songs, maybe a screenplay, maybe a novel

Writing words down On a piece of paper Feels good Better than dancing

I Know I know a clean-shaven man who loves this quiet girl He has many secret love affairs And always goes back To his quiet girl Playing and losing screaming matches Of ball games of catch

I know a guy who says hes lucky Lucky to be With his artist queen So quiet and confined She always has him On her mind Theyre all right As can be allowed

I know a man driven to live by lust Hes a man totally mad

You can see it in his tiny eyes Usually dilated and black I know a lot of these guys Im one But arent we all sometimes?

I know true romantics And true artists And filthy sexual perverts And expensive whores Its too beautiful to me

I know a lot of girls as well Theyre all really the same As guys Despite their book covers and pretty wrapping paper over their looks

I know a girl who sleeps with a different man Every week

I know a woman who is a virgin Shes forty-two years old

Its too beautiful for me You really can never lose in life Only gain When you gargle

And then spit It cleans everything out So you can get dirty Again

Endless Reel Ive seen the same film Over thirty times now Ill keep watching it too By myself And with others I cant stop It keeps tickling me Every time

Shelter Totally stripped and bare Except for my socks Jeans and garments on the tile floor Gleaming buttons grin up at me Along with winking Lincoln That nobody ever bothers to pick up I sit and ponder

Quiet, white, small, claustrophobic bathrooms The sound of the forever-running toilet The rhythmic beat of water from the damp faucet

The hairs in the rusted trains The dirt-stained shower curtain Engulf me

So soothing, so comforting Hours spent naked in my white lair Alone Smoking cigarettes From dawn to dusk Stepping outside briefly Only to view strangers: Dress and undress before me, eat and devour commercialized television dinners before a sixty inch monitor, drink themselves into a swift slumber, inhale marijuana until their pupils turn bloody, scream at the breaking point of their vocal capacities, throw stones at lamps until they break, spill drinks filled with month old cola filled with cigarette butts, dance to blaring punk rock while lighting candles in the middle of the room only to spill and stain

I suppose I have my love And they have theirs

A Pleasant Encounter I talked to a beautiful young woman from France While I ate in a diner late at night

I was writing And she said: I want to read your writings. I didnt let her

I said: Youre quite beautiful She said: I like how you dress.

I continued to tell her Exactly how beautiful I found her After every fourth or fifth Sip of coffee But she really wanted To read my writing

She said: You wont let me read your writings because they are about me. I said: Youre right.

A Night In A Bar I sat in a dark and crowded bar with tinted windows Outside the cold sidewalk sprinkled with fallen dead leaves

I sip at my cold beer sitting at the bar Exhaustion and sickness melts away Set on by the stormy seas Of yesterday When I saw Her standing there Playing in the street

A moving car she did meet

I drink and I drink Until the numbness engulfs my soul and my mind Surrounded by other sad fools, my kind I watch the clock tick tock Time away Blind me From the sun Of day

My Daughter Smiles My daughter looks up And smiles at me Everyday

She smiles through Her ignorance Of life

She smiles through the riddled surprises And spilled blood Of life

She smiles at me everyday A small grin so piercing and sharp The ocean tide flinches

The bird swallows its morning song The flower stalls to blossom

Starving Hunger A cougar stalks his prey Eyes dilate slightly A swift scornful motion A lethal bite

This starving hunger process Is all I own For which I use to spit out with my dry tongue: the deaths of my loved ones, the infection of my pulsating and bleeding heart, the songs of love forgotten

Ill spit until I feel that climax That lift That abrupt infiltration and violation Of a foreign home The masked burglar enters And steals from its overcrowded room

Then it is time To eat

Patty Patty was an old And wrinkled woman

Who lived on the wet and muddy riverbanks Of the deep River of Shit

Patty said to herself: Lets go for a little swim.

Patty had trouble breathing at night Because of all that smell, that grime, that shit

A stranger whispered to Patty before she dove in the thick sludge water: Dont worry Patty, youll be able to breathe soon. Just go swimming.

Hold Your Head Up High Dear young and courageous poets of my generation: glowing with golden love! enlightened with the extremes of experience! beaten and bludgeoned with blood! tired of wearisome travels to tomorrow! mimicked and mocked by the multitudes! ready for realized revolution! Hold your head high!

Your written treasures grow in value! Continue your reclusion Let Her slap you Ignore the predictable and mathematical happenings of it all!

A true artist smothers all that nonsense with: a piercing knife, sweet tasting sugar, morning dew, thick muck, fabricated lies, fiery spices, thick blood, churned chokes of bile.

It makes you so strong In the end

And besides my dear young poets With all those infinite ingredients There is always a new taste To sample

My dear young poets of my generation: Hold your head up high!

The Lines on Your Fathers Face He always looked down and said: Tie your shoes! And then you ignored him and ran away

The knotted past follows you Like a dark and creeping shadow Trailing oil Lit by flame Its always the same Except now he has lines On his face

A Faint Fading In the cool night air You introduced yourself to me With the blowing of your brunette hair In the wind

I know Id seen your face before It revealed itself to me In minute blasts of light Stealthily and slightly In my minds eye On my pillow In my episodic dreams during day Only to be followed By a faint fade to black

I scampered up your spiral staircase Into your resting loft And infiltrated your pounding heart Only to accidently stab it With my ill thrown feathered dart

So my lovely With brunette hair hovering in the breeze Just stay awhile Against my beating chest

Until you break me off

Night turns to day The faint fading will always Take place

A Handshake I can tell This man has been places That I have

The firmness of his eyes Tell me riddles And tease me Telling me otherwise

Hes no wiser Than I

A simple handshake A creeping grin

Ah! How nature reverberates! A Step Back From The Ivy I caught up with that girl Who is always in my heart I called her and said

That I love Her And that it wasnt all bad

I usually have a blinding wall Of BLACK Erect before me Clouding my vision

So this night I took a step back And saw the beauty Instead of the ivy

A Love Poem Her flowered dress Makes Her look the best

She plays hide and seek Under His bed And tickles Him To make Him laugh She hugs Him To make Him smile Her gentle caress Keeps Him from upset

He is vulnerable to Her

Only because He loves Her

He thanks her for: all the cigarettes, the music, the long talks at night, the laughs, the kisses, the walks, the drives, the films, the books, the journeys

His love for Her And needed presence Grows in flavor with time Like a fine wine

A Day From A Wanderers Diary Hitching crowded rides From glee-filled strangers Night after night

Rides to millionaire mansions And midnight diners Filled with the numbed neurons Of the laughing dead Lonely straggling souls On display as I gaze At the pitiful parades

I lie naked Underneath a steaming showerhead Turn it off and ignore the towel: time to think, to dry, to freeze and shiver, to sink, to live, to feel

Musical notes of water evaporation and nature Pierce my ear And send me soaring Like a childs balloon

Falling asleep Next to a beloved friend Smelling a foreign womans hair Encasing your existence in an envelope Lusting for further description And I awake

My beloved friend Shakes me And takes me Home To hitch another ride To a petty job

Back from work Cigarette smoke Hot, thick air Blows in my scarred face Until it burns

Back on the road To retrieve a deserted automobile

A long walk: healthy and cleansing behavior for the mind

The sun sets And turns beat red For a morsel moment Until it shyly hides Behind a tree Only to leave Its purple glow In the distance Of unknown

Sitting on the cold cobble steps In front of me My discovered deserted car sleeps Driving takes the fun out of travel

Never forget the good Samaritans That still barely exists: the bald-headed black innocent child offering a stranger a shelter and an orange soda, the old and weary man reading the newspaper giving his change to an eight year old for ice cream, the rich donating millions to the starving in foreign lands carpeted by grenades and guns.

The beautiful LOVE That a Wanderer like me always sees And appreciates

Oh! The purple glow Is so slow To turn to blue And then to the cold black Of night

I say to the wind: Its getting cold.

The wind whispers back: Love is around every corner stranger. Embrace it. And sleep soundly. Until the touch awakens you. And you start all over. Again.

Ode To A Fellow Artist I met a man at a party He barged into me And knocked my French fries From my hands In a narrow dark hallway

I said: You must move your car, Ive got to go. He said: Okay, okay, okay, okay

He stumbled from the hallway To the dimly lit porch

And out into the jungle of parked cars In the muddy lawn

He moved his red convertible Rather clumsily Too much to drink Causes action too hastily

When he parked it sideways Away from all the other cars I offered him a cigarette He looked like he needed it He became overjoyed and ecstatic And accepted With no hesitation detected

We shared a smoke in the dark In the front lawn Listening to the barely audible shouts And music pouring from the inside house And laughed together At the scenario before us: a wealthy womans BMW, which I was to drive home, naked dancing college graduates in the wet street, and stuttering card players inside huddled under a sheet

Finally He told me His name: Andy I said:

Pleased to meet you, Im Nate. And laughed again

We attended the same college I soon discovered I just started He just finished He said: Im an Art History major.

I said: I just bought a Picasso print and a Matisse print at a flea market today. He liked that Picasso being his favorite And we both fell in love with Cubism

Well He walked back inside to the party And I drove the BMW home

I said before he went: Artists must stick together! He nodded and let a drunken smile creep between his cheeks And tossed his cigarette

A Fond Recollection A beautiful woman wore my signature fedora tonight

Escalating Her beauty to an elevated boyish charm of sensuality I said: Ill buy you one. And then you can wear it everywhere. All the boys will fall for you.

I enjoy Her talks And lying on Her bed And Her very wide smile And when She steps into the same room As me

I enjoy having a drink with Her And when She creeps up behind For an overbearing Surprise hug

I know little About Her as I can tell In retrospect But She was very FUN And very CLEVER And it could be plainly seen That She possessed a BIG heart

I recall Her signature scent Everyone who met Her Would agree with me here

I want more How could you not? When such beauty is so impossible To ignore

High School Angst-filled faces Soaring through busy hallways Of currency and inked, stitched pages of shiny gloss

Wide laughter Loud smiles Permeate and stain The white walls

Dripping to the floors Causing a muddled mess Of flood

Swimming through time Diving through time Bisection time Raft time Cutting time Fast-forwarding time

Rescue who you can

Save those you cant Laugh at those who joke Have a smoke

Theres only so much to: pass around Before the plate is scraped The bottle clanking and rolling, empty The car battery dead The bike battered and rusted The chain coiled The money milked and squandered And the mind mashed

He Laid Next To Her Tender skin Soft flesh He laid next to this Long strands of jet black locks Between His fingers He laid next to this Piercing brown stairs And calm, whispering lips He laid next to this Long, slender, smooth legs Teasing, toned stomach He laid next to this

Comforting bosom Inviting hug He laid next to this Signature scent Passionate kiss He laid next to this Rushed heart beat And pulse rate He laid next to this Absolute and Prime Beauty Perfection of the human species If only He could Stay awhile longer He laid next to Her

Ashamed Choke down your dinner Only to wait for your dreaded breakfast

It will be deathly To see Her Sit across the table From you Sipping Chewing Sitting

Shell look stunning She always does

Try to stay in check Respect her wishes So Hard

Empty Stomach Story My stomach was empty In the middle of the day So I ventured to the shopping mall To eat And muse over some psychology theories

I ate my meal in silence and solitude Circled by: redheads, plaid-clad blondes, a handicapped table washer, two snipping middle school choir queens, bourgeoisie golfers, and coffee fiends I didnt say a word

After I finished my mediocre fried rice and bourbon chicken I reached for a cigarette But only found crumbs

I gazed around And soon I found: a brown leather lounge chair

I sat and reclined And opened my psychology colored text

Then sat down next to me What appeared to be an old banker: blue, hawaiian polo and a comb over He asked: Would you recommend these chairs? I said: Of course! I can barely study because I keep falling asleep. He said: Well I have coffee. So that wont happen.

I introduced myself He did the same Nate Bill

He wasnt a banker He told me about his retirement And about Vietnam And about how he sold satellite dishes in 72 And about how he dropped out of law school And everything in between

But He didnt mention a family

Or friends Or a wife He told me it all And yet nothing

I enjoyed Bills company And his talk And before Bill left he said: If you ever find yourself Wondering where youre supposed to be Look at your feet Because what you may feel And how you think Can sometimes be different From wear your feet take you.

I walked away He walked away

The New Co-Worker Slight whispering and wet wind Wetted, damp roads Looking and gazing at unopened e-mails Smiling photographs of departed friends Matisse prints

An unexpected phone call:

Twenty-two year old female co-worker beckoning my presence to a local bar at this odd hour of the night

I go Despite need for sleep And clean atmosphere And French author tales of the surreal

I mindlessly stroll to my car Letting the wind cut my cheek with acidic rain Seatbelt buckle Ignition stir Headlight blare Reverse white light flash And the adventure started

Foreign bar Cellular phone dials and connection whisper me the way Morrison screams in my eardrum loud and clean And soon in front of me: a grandly illuminated draft sign and a full parking lot Neanderthals and lonely souls Huddled in mass Engage in penny-paid laughter Inspired by numbness and cruelty

I stride in slowly The atmosphere hits my sense

Like a bowling balls strike down an oiled, slick alley She beckons me over

With her is a party of admired diversity: a tall, young, curly blonde-headed grinning beach model! two snickering teenagers of teasing mall-stalking behaviors, both female and brunette headed! a heavy-set librarian female with a brunette bun! a flaming young homosexual with shiny, spiked gel hair and rosy cheeks which appeared as cherries upon his tan and materialistic complexion!

They all smiled at me as I took my seat with them I ordered a beer The homosexual whispered To the teenage snickers Then gave me a seductive stare And then out sputtered a drunken giggle of boisterousness I lifted my beer And smiled W I D E Then took a hit off the bottle

I was actually enjoying myself The Stones soaked through the jukebox The laughter and clangs of dishes And echoed bangs on the tables Seemed to have an aesthetically appealing rhythm I sat And let it push into me

Then She waltzed over and sat next to Me

We said Hi And then I thanked her for inviting Me

I really was thankful Youre welcome.

I started to get excited Her hair was long It was dark brown It cascaded down Her eyes deep blue Her stomach flat Her flip-flops were loud when she walked I notice her smooth-tanned legs

I got my mind back And started with the silly questions: How was your day? How are you feeling? Good. Good. Good. Always the same With everyone

I know little about Her I was planning on finding out a lot We got to conversation She mentioned: Her many love affairs, Her Catholic private-school upbringing, Her addiction to text-messaging, Her interest in sex, Her love of wildlife, and favorite pillow in Her room

I nodded, I smiled And listened along Admiring

The time started tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tocking away And the bar closed So he went to her studio apartment Ten minutes away

I took my shirt off She hers I kissed her harshly She me I grabbed her Her myself She laid back on the bed I crawled over Her

And soon it surmounted to: mechanical gesticulation, improvisation, ejaculation, permeation, stage-action, and flesh exploration of a most lustful kind

Thighs like mountains Flesh of honey-flavored delicacy Breasts tanned and full Curvature of a defined Woman In bed Underneath me Breathing calmly Sighing slightly Hair in front of Her cute nose and red lower lip Staring at the wall above Her I at Her

Sound sleep Bright new day Nice to finally meet The new co-worker

Fear In the dead and dark pitch of BLACK Night Sit on your doorstep And wait for your eyes to adjust Images soon begin to assemble Silhouettes Tree branches Rooftops

Light a cigarette Wait A sound of a dying animal Pierces the sense The innocence Of the night Wait

A deafening howl from a lone wolf Long Long Long It howls Up at the moon At the fog and mist of night Hungry Feeding Mating Calling Wait It ceases

Fear For a moment Wait

No illuminating lights of brightness to comfort your eyes Ear full of clanking metal rods of the night Muffled car engines whistle by in haste Oil spilled over vein

Pray Prey Wait

Stay away Stay away

Until the day Scorches the oily air And frightens it all away For awhile Sleep

Black Dark rabbit Hopping by

Shutters closed All the time

Movie theater chairs Folded up sometimes

Muddy canvas I cant stand this

Ache In My Head Thumps of abrasive and grinding pain In my head

Pulsing rhythmic ache Without break

Take a pill Those never work

Drink a glass of milk Then tour stomach churns too

Pulsing rhythmic ache Without break

Close your eyes Try to find: a clear breeze, a blue sky, an invigorating scent, a gentle caress, a comforting bed pillow, a long green patch of healthy cut grass, a magnificent overture, a dancing flag in the wind, a rusty rake shoving the dead leaves into a gutter, a cleansing showerhead

Thumps of unbridled pains in my head

Im Waiting For You Im waiting for you With an empty wicker basket

Im waiting for you On my dusty staircase

Im waiting for you Each time I step out of my shower

Im waiting for you As I bake our bread

Im waiting for you As I prepare our dinner in the kitchen

Im waiting for you As you ride down the Nile

I listen for you And the wind slaps me

Im waiting for you

Descent to Hell The night was young The meal done

Little to do

Awaiting phone calls from strangers For mystery invite No answer Only familiar building sights And empty roads Green, yellow, and red lights shimmering off the wet, blackened cement Casting an oily rainbow Slick, shiny, shining, penetrating

Focus back in Twenty-four hour department stores to your left Stare at the shoppers While singing another cold song For the predators, the night owls, the night ghouls, defamation of character, pale and skinless folly

After a while Up walks Mike On his break from his petty department store job He plays me his song: Clichd ballads and cheese-stuffed love screams Flush my face red with embarrassment

It wasnt long before a mini street festival began And cigarettes were lit

And people talked On break And listened To culture of familiar comfort them And soak into them

I had enough I took my stares Got back into my car And blindly set out Across a new sticky spider web Slight cellular vibration In my left pocket Invitation to a disguised queens hive In a foreign world So I turn around And I become guide, guide, guide Still Half blind Until I see the parked lights Blink. Blink. Blink. Calling me in

I turn my ignition off Open my door Close it Lock it

Stroll slowly to the blinking, prickly caravan That still Blink. Blink. Blinks.

I get in: sixteen-eyed, eight-legged arachnid with a suede suit jacket and imported silk tie behind the wheel two-eyed, four-legged, four-fanged parasite, encrusted yellow hairs, with a multicolored beanie and red polka-dotted bow tie choking a leathery wart-covered esophagus STARES directly into ME

The spider drools It melts through the floor The parasite STARES The suddenly smiles WIDE Two perfect rows of sixty golden teeth

I buckle up And cast my gaze to my knees The spider starts the caravan motor

The night is blacker Than the ENLARGED pupils Of the parasite Staring and smile piercing through me

Up a rocky hill Through a dark wood

Silence. Silence. Silence. Except for: the splintered wood branches scratching at the caravan, the rolling deflated rear left tire, the constant shuffling of the arachnids long and hairy eight legs throughout the vehicle which I cautiously and continually dodge, the rare blinks of the smiling and staring, staring, staring, STARING parasite, the engine rumble, the sound of sticky and hot and thick drools oozing from the unknown orifices of my two new friends

After a ten minute eternity There it is: a white, small apartment, porch light on, nine foot python guarding the door and resting on the porch The spider parks the caravan In the middle of the dead street And in a barely visualized flash The duo are out And on the black Abandoned street I follow

Looking around: A cul-de-sac of white lairs In a moment: swarms of sticky arachnids, slithering snakes, flying bats, rabid and hungry rats, mindless slugs and slimy snails, jagged-toothed crocodiles, overgrown fleas and lice, mile-long tapeworms, hopping skinned rabbits, dirt-clad nude infants, stench layered raccoons, piercing scorpions, and mutilated cattle APPEAR

In front Of you

Next To you Behind You Underneath You Above You Running by You Staring at You Smelling You Sometimes licking You Pulling at You Trying to undress You

Running to the white apartment The python ignores you As it strikes a crawling infant She screams in pained agony That only grows in abnormal, inhuman, and foreign intensity As the python coils around Her

Crushing Her ribcage Into a thick powder milky white Mixing with the hot blood That is the current of the street now Then slowly dislocating its jaw Rolling back its eyes to expose a horrific WHITE Swallowing the innocent virgin infant

Walking through the door The spacious living room hits me hard With an overbearing intake Of piss and death Of shit and sweat The room is filled With scorching sand And is empty Except in the corner: a wooden stand, a sad clown fish in the watery glass tank I become afraid

I sprint hastily Across the sand carpet Searching for a room to hide But trip The sand swallows me like the mouth of a hungry young bird

I fall. Through the black thick air Caked with: The piss The sweat The death The shit The irritable itching sand Into a spiraling, spinning leather computer chair Resting in a WHITE, wall-less horizon

The smells vanish from my sense The fear slowly dissipates The demons are formless now

I struggle to escape the chair Paralyzed Ostracized Horrified

A slight sound in the distance Bright white pierce my iris Im blind Only bright white sight

A slight sound in the distance

A rolling, bowling ball? Thunder? No

It reminds me of a vortex A sucking, eating, devoring vortex The on-switch of a massive vacuum cleaner

I cant see But I can hear the pitch increasing Closer Closer Closer Louder LOUDer LOUDER I HERE IT

The flesh of my fragile skeletal structure begins to pull At first relaxing Like a gentle massage But after slight tears in my flesh coat I start to leak I can feel the wetness Continuing Flowing slowly

My auditory system now fails me I can feel my throat choke On thick, hot, sticky, syrupy blood Feel the vocal strains Brought on by my muted screams of anguish

After an eternity Vision and hearing restored In front of me: beautiful dishes of the highest quality! sirloin steak, fried chicken, sixteen layer lasagna, gourmet pizza, imported chocolate bars from Sweden, golden ale, thin roast beef, tender turkey, Virginia ham, blocks of cheddar, white grain, wheat grain, grapes, apples, cherries, whole milk!

I break from my chair cell And lunge at the festival before me! I bite I chew I swallow

But look down: I have no tongue I have no flesh coat I have no taste I have no dick The apples fall through my ribcage and pelvis Like a scored basketball

I experience sensations of overwhelming hunger pangs I can never eat My lower spine BURNS and ACHES Lice eat away at my brittle existence

I try To cry I have no fluids in my body

I wander I wander Through this empty, infinite white and wall-less horizon

Alone Fleshless Starving Itching

I know I shall never die Only suffer And wander And wander Completely and utterly stripped Save my sensations of torture and my present state of mind Through bright white light horizons Of tourture And Hell

Creeping Sunshine On some days you know theres very few To talk to But you know the weather is getting much warmer You dont really need that coat Anymore

Theres always that one stranger Who waves and says Hi! though But all you can do is wave back And keep on walking Driving Eating Pondering Smoking Laughing a little bit from time to time Dancing some more Spinning from left to right And grinning ever so wide

On some days that long forgotten girl will give you a pleasant phone call And ask: How are you doing? And: Would you like to get something to eat? Its such a wonderful day! I really would

And it IS so pleasant out But I think Ill just stay inside today It feels best this way Rest assured, it IS nice out And I will catch up with you Later

On some nights The only company youll have: James Joyce or Charles Bukowski Maybe Dante or Emily Dickinson But its okay They make for some interesting talk And paint some pretty pictures Pretty enough to make me want to paint at least

On some nights youll be in the bar for Three Five Or six hours straight Watching the brand-new twenty-one year old Blow out all his candles And have some shots With family and friends And rivals and mistresses And strangers and drunks

Other nights I see you light the candles sometimes And sweep the dust from the floors And wait for the man Whose last candle burned to the soil A long time ago

Thank god for this nice and warm creeping weather! The burger joints are backed again! And the bars are full again! Even on Tuesday nights! Everyone is smiling! Candles are dancing! And wearing less! Its all good to see And to smell And to think about

The women are far more beautiful too In this weather! Heres a drink to a bright future And to girls wearing less And to surprise phone calls asking for dinner dates And to all the girls in the bars on Tuesday nights Who talk on their phones And shake their hips!

New Frenzy Ink

The Rooms are many Are everywhere How queer to find Real Friends In stranger Rooms Rather than Rooms Of the most familiar

Repeated syllables Pierce the ears But in a musical motion wave Of distinct familiarity

Smile Listen to the notes and chords Of connected Love Of: the tongue-twister that is a constricting choke of the heart or a strangling lump in the throat, of barb wire scratching upon fresh flesh, of divine comedy, of maniacal laughter, of burning passion, of spilled ink in a passionate pattern against a teasing white paper highway horizon, the escaping sizzle of carbons of Pepsi bottles as the top is screwed loose, the systematic and analytic blinks of curious eyeballs, the heaves of skipped breaths, the mad and loud ramblings of a man full of sin and secrets, woman hiding truths.

Sit calmly Soak it in Its only the first experience First exposure So in a way

The absolute best Most raw Most sincere Most honest Most innocent Most ignorant Most exciting, pulsating

It is this all And holds secrets, which I grasp for But wait in patience For Im quite aware of my half-blind stares And perhaps a tad mad But it is A reassurance That I AM And that I should be HERE HOME

The Spider Venomous spider Beneath your sleeping pores Resting hairs On the pillow On the carpeted floor Cobweb blanket Keeps you warm

Paralyzed

Eyes open Breathe in No movement Except for pupils Left Right Bulging, reddened, sleep-dusted shutters opening and closing With the violence Of a subway train Carrying a million virgin babies to their premature deaths Darting left, right Slight Dilation Inspired motivation Perspiration Tickle sensation

Venomous spider Creeping through your hairy leg Up your defined thigh To your navel Upon your breast Through a trimmed, blonde beard Only to sit and lie And listen to:

the drips of drops of perspiration from the tip of your nose, the heavy sputtered heaves of the strangled and struggled intake and outtake of life, the shutters of the opening and closing subway car, the mutters and sputtered babbles of spit and saliva racing to the carpet causing spasms of sensational strangling

Teasing The spider spins its web through you Up a nostril Then out Flossing through frowning, stained teeth

The web catches your breathing The shutters continue, continue The spider smiles You are his city: a sticky and busy bug-encrusted highway To a heart Vulnerable Fragile Soft Tender Pink Pulsing Full

The spider rolls his eight eyes To search your every aorta Every vein

Then strikes the center As venom-filled fangs ejaculate

You sit and lie On the carpeted floor The loud shutter doors finally close And the virgin babies spill out Into a spiral white At the end of the tunnel

No more noise No more pulsing tender pink Sleep, sleep The subway is quite Fast

A Needed Reunion I woke up late Surrounded by sharp knives Gently tickling my lower back As my eyes opened And my feet stirred And as I got out of bed

No job Leaves time for adventures Mostly sin and mistake

Beauty disguised as treachery Exotic tastes And scent of danger Sweat Lies Filth

Silence is the most deafening Most uncomfortable Most dangerous Chaos is the new friend And when it leaves the room It is only stomach churning

Asking for what I cannot have Having what I do not want Others ask me what they do not want Screaming down my dark pit Only to forget The loudest cries And the inner sighs And the scratches on the page About losing, lost, sought, forgot

The pen was always my friend Such a long departure is quite Unhealthy

What a pleasant reunion: staring at blank pages so I can cut at them until theres nothing left but blood And flesh

Bees Ticking clock Soon Hell be gone Away in California And well all be bored

Stinging bees Flock around the hive Morning, noon, night Alive Impatiently waiting For nothing Lying outside on the black and scorching cement Burning For nothing Lighting cigarettes Slowly fading For nothing Sharing laughs

Of ridiculous scenarios For pleasure For alleviation For time-killing To fill a heart That leaks faster Than it fills

Bees flutter around Him Like innocent fairies And hide within his pillow To ambush His brain To create a pulsing ache Spreading to His leaking heart Leaving a lit trail of oil BLACK

After a while they fly away Hes sore

Two a.m. Another bee arrives to torment Him They go for a drive together

The bee begins to fade and die After the stinger sinks in a bite Hunger trumps his mind

The bee He pities But kills Without a care The bee gives a final blink A gentle stare

He sleeps soundly He wakes and eats His breakfast He sedates himself A bad taste lingers on His tongue

He eats more And it begins to pour a storm He plays and dances In the rain And starts to weep Because nobody will notice

He weeps over his many sores and aches And bites and stings And deaths and murders

Sugar attracts them all Especially ice cream Coming at you so BIG And disguised as busy friends

CRAVING The melting sugary sweetness within only to quckly DIGEST it and SPIT it Out on the ground

He weeps, he weeps Drowning rain Bee infestations Claustrophobia Sickness Heat Naked Flushed Dying

Weakness sets in Light-headed sputters spray from His dry mouth Now lying upon a mattress Covered in striped ands furry flying fiends Living within Eating Sucking Fucking Becoming You

Women

I Love a Woman with all that is Me And flows inside Me

I indirectly Insult another Then apologize earnestly

I let one Woman touch me and She likes it But I dont

I know a Woman who holds a common name and wants my flesh I ignore Her

I see a Woman who works all day and barely know Her But itd be fun to share a laugh by Her

I saw a Woman wealthy beyond imagination She was tanned and young, you know

I listen to a Womans voice on the phone As it stabs my heart repeatedly

I know red headed Women are my weakness They make Me stupid

I met a Woman with long, straightened locks of gold And kissed her only once

I met two Women who said they were twin sisters from Kentucky I should call them

I see a woman Who always calls me in the middle of the night

I admire Women older than I But usually find myself talking to younger ones

I know that theres a lot of Women Ive yet to meet And theyre probably the best

I lived at one Womans house For an entire summer

I protected one Woman From harm

I watched an art film with a Woman And we drank wine together on a couch in the dark

I know Women that make me cry I know Women that make me angry

But I love them all

Even the ones who stole a lot

Ive made many mistakes about Women And learn more everyday

A Man is nothing without Her I know at least that

My Friend I woke up this morning On the floor Next to a dog He licked my face My friend

I rolled over He barked

I stood up He begged

I go outside for a smoke He follows

I suppose most loyalty Is strongest in the deep pools In the eyes Of the most primal

Most fearful

Im sure the great pharaohs Saw this Controlled the flock And did the impossible

How Terrifying My friend

Creeping Fingertip Cold basement floor kisses your cheek Gently Dimmed light surround Friends scattered about Like fallen leaves In an autumn breeze

Next to you: a creeping fingertip Against your fingertip Perhaps accidental But Im no fool Creeping fingertip Against my fingertip

Exploration of a long lost horizon

That I always walked upon But never saw or realized

Creeping fingertip Across my young knuckles I hear your cry I hear your scream I know your fight I see your tears I FEEL your sight

Creeping fingertip Across my palm I sense your reading prints Permeating through me And through the room And up the stairs And on to the lounge chairs of the morning porch Of cigarette smoke And thick spiritual curls between us

Creeping fingertip Oh! How you speak to me so fiercely! Fiercer than any verbal syllable Entangled within human tongue

Creeping fingertip

You strike me so suddenly and unexpectedly! You strike me and stun me! Speechlessness Lighting bolts of wonder Still reverberate within my soul After all this time

Creeping fingertip Of the cold basement floor Your touch has changed me so! Do not forget me so! My breaths heave and my hair stands Just to remember A creeping fingertip

Splintered Wooden Radiant Palace My splintered wooden radiant palace How I miss your heavy presence Smells igniting such immense invigoration

Musical notes and chords: soaking through such young earlobes, soaking through the lined screening of the cheap shutter doors, through the thick smoke air, through the loud smiles and wide laughs, through the folding picnic chairs and tables decorated with whiskey stains, cigarette burns, ash, name carvings, through the graffiti on the walls that is the spiral green and horned orange and damaging red of confusion, through the shaved legs and shattered kneecaps of all twenty-somethings who all share that special something, through all this

It goes on and on

All night Until the candles burn out The whiskey spills or depletes And the warm feelings Of recognizable piercing winter cold Envelops you

The moving ones around you Connected by string to you A room of lovers Who found each other And continue searching With each other

Splintered wooden radiant palace How I miss that connected Love! That Unity! That Waking of my Soul! Those Smells!

Splintered wooden radiant palace Im waiting for you Next winter Ill be within your grasp

Lusting penetration Comes in patience Splintered wooden radiant palace

Take me in Your dry and shaking grasp!

Reading Bukowski In Los Angeles Reading Bukowski in L.A. Is a little different A little closer Nearly tangible

Viewing the same trees Breathing the same air Driving the same streets and down the same avenues Seeing the same crazed souls All around

Coloring Within The Lines I remember once When I was in kindergarden That my teacher gave the class an assignment Everyday to complete Everyday we had to color within the lines For each new day we had a new picture An ant for A A bear for B A cat for C And so on

Well I never could color within those lines I knew an ant was black So I smothered that ant a frenzy coat of black Just as I covered my bear brown, along with the page

But then I got to Lion for L And I was moving my gold crayon Like a madman Backwardforwardbackwardforwardbackwardforward When suddenly: my hand stopped Right within the drawn line on the Lions back I exclaimed: LOOK! LOOK! Everyone in the room turned To look at me with wonder In their little pools I screamed: I COLORED IN THE LINES! I COLORED IN THE LINES!

The three kids sitting at my table: Jason, Carly, and Amber Stood up and stared at my messy Lion

Jason yelled at me: NO YOU DIDNT!

I yelled: YES I DID! YES I DID! LOOK AT THE LIONS BACK! I pointed to the minute, singular portion on the Lions back Where my crayon streak did not cross into the white background

Jason stared, then yelled: I DONT SEE ANYTHING NATHAN! YOU ARE CRAZY! Jason sat back down

Everyone thought I was crazy But I knew I knew The revolution that had just seized my fingertips

From that day on I always colored and stayed within the lines Nobody seemed to care though You were EXPECTED To color within the lines

I still remember Jason, Carly, and Amber though:

Jason became a pro basketball athlete And makes a million a year

Carly is a hard-working registered nurse in a hospital in Georgia And is currently pregnant

Amber won two silver Olympic medals And trains eight hours a day

And Im living in Los Angeles studying film And writing This

I Woke Up in the Evening I woke up in the evening Someone knocked at my apartment door Come in, I said A beautiful college girl handed me a pizza Here, she said Thanks, I said

I woke up in the evening A girl called me on my phone Hello, I answered She asked for me to come upstairs to see her No, I said Ugh! she said and hung up

I woke up in the evening And talked to some people in my underwear Youre crazy Nate! they say to me Because I make them laugh and write in my little journal all day

No, youre all bananas! I joke back at them Put some damn pants on! I did

I woke up in the evening And called that girl back from upstairs Can I still come up? I asked I was bored and she had beer, always nice Sure! Sure! she got excited Alright, I went up

I woke up in the evening And waltzed into this girls apartment upstairs Hello, I said still shirtless and wearing a plaid fedora She motioned for me to come in, I did May I have a drink? I asked her Sure! Sure! she got excited

I woke up in the evening And had some drinks with this girl and her friends I bought a dildo today Nate! Look at it! she said I just nodded and turned some music on Ive never used one before, can you help me? she asked me I havent and I wont, I said, grabbing another beer

I woke up in the evening And watched this girls friend teach her how to use a dildo Slide the tip inlike this she demonstrated

Both girls were wearing expensive lingerie OhhOhthat feels NICE! she said Seesee the other continued to demonstrate

I woke up in the evening And watched a strange orgy unfold in an upstairs apartment Walter! Come here! Fingerfuck me! her friend demanded So Walter began to on the living room floor Ohh ohh OHH she used the dildo as she watched AhhahhOh! the other enjoyed Walter

I woke up in the evening And watched the other guy, Steven, jerk off to it all in a corner WHAT THE FUCK?!!! Jordan walks in (Jordan lives in the apartment and just got home from work) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I laughed at his horrid and confused expression JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY! he screams and runs to his room, shutting the door

I woke up in the evening And listened to all of this, but mostly looked away My brown eyed girl! screamed the speakers I didnt want to see too much, I pitied Jordan Try to keep this quiet, they are nice people I say to Jordan later I dunno man, replies Jordan

I woke up in the evening And spoke to all the orgy members when they stopped after Jordan interrupted

It would have been nice if you joined, they said to me I told them that its not my thing, but thanks for the invitation I want to fuck you, she says to me I know, Im sorry. I dont want to, I say back to her

I woke up in the evening And listened to her cry And watched her nose bleed About her ex About how shed wished Id give her a chance I felt bad But what can you do? I didnt feel the same about her I got up And left

I Didnt Mind When I was in first and second grade My mother always packed my lunch She even put little notes Of encouragement In them And sometimes Even little stickers

It was the EXACT same everyday: peanut butter sandwich, no jelly, bag of potato chips, a fruit drink, a cookie or cupcake

For FIVE years

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade I was obsessed with sharks I read everything about them I watched every film I could find on sharks My mother bought me The Encyclopedia of Sharks And I still have it I read the EXACT passages Over and Over Again

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade Recess would come around twice a day Once in the morning Once after lunch

I never played with the other children I never was fascinated or enjoyed sports I waked around alone Around and around and around

And I stared And stared And stared At everyone And everything

Nobody talked to me I talked to nobody

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade Recess would finally end Wed all know when Because the teachers Would blow their little red whistles And wed line up like cattle Sorted by classroom The teachers would count us And wed stroll back to class

Occasionally the teachers would make speeches To us all before going back to class

One morning a speech was made Indirectly toward me She started yelling LOUDLY and OBNOXIOUSLY

About how stupid it was to walk In front of children swinging

I walked in front of children swinging Because I walked around everywhere At recess for TWO years I was no dummy I stayed far enough away So the swing couldnt hit me But sometimes adults can forget Just how sharp first graders can be She yelled LOUDER

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade I wore thick glasses And the soccer players hated my guts And even a teacher told me To stay away from those boys

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade Kids called me gay So I asked my mother what gay meant And she said:

It means youre happy And the next time that kid said to me: Youre gay! I said: Yes, I am happy! The kid said: Whadya mean youre happy? I said youre gay! You like to kiss boys! Thats what gay is? Ya, stupid Im not gay!

I didnt mind

When I was in first and second grade I learned a lot And I had hardly any fun But I always loved Halloween

A Pleasant Phone Call I heard a soothing sound The other day A distant vocal chord Over the phone

I heard a pleasant voice Yesterday

A jolly laugh An invisible smile That made me grin

I listened to a familiar story Through the wire Delivered in that signature tone Fine phrasing Familiar style of oratory delivery and unique punch

I listened to that voice More than I spoke to it Melody of spiritual tangles Wrapping my wandering, listening mind I laughed with that voice I walked with that voice Around and about I still hear that voice I can feel Its echo

A Meager Attempt I talk to people often And nothing is said

I talk to people sometimes And ponder others instead

The best talking Is not talking at all

It lies in the touching The swift winks The piercing gazes The shuffled, impatient paces The itching groans The stifled cries The desperate grabbings The windy whispers The teasing touches The comforting hugs The invisible circling spirals all around

Most oratory is simply pointless But I try with the poem Its as close as I get To that touch To the top of that invisible tease Of circling spiral smoke

Its better to go out there And start fishing Until you catch a hearing or a feel Of what Im choking

To say

Laughter The childlike ignorance That creeps Into many a prepubescent twenty-two year old female Makes me laugh

I sit now in the corner of a room At a party Half naked Alone

Over my shoulder Sits that petty drama queen That drunken dumb and numbed Confused bitch That slurred speech and cloudy minded Slut

She spits at me like a vile, venom-filled slithering snake And slithers in and out and in and out of bed With any dick She can get

Shell never have mine And she did ask

I watch her continue to drink now Go ahead Ill watch And laugh

Inspired By Sitting Im not wearing much I havent showered In a day and a half

I havent done much The last two days Its labor day weekend So I bathe in cinema

I watched eight films In two days Only breaking To write Or eat Or shit Or joke Or smoke Or talk Or walk Or answer

Or ignore

I viewed a beautiful film And became overwhelmed The images are lying in my mind Still fresh and crisp Scorched

I watched four B-movies To soften the blow How inspiring!

I watched a documentary on Ginsberg And became inspired I watched an independent filmed financed for six grand And became inspired

So I watched another independent film made for six grand And became even more inspired

Perhaps exceptional Chinese delivery And overdoses of exquisite cinema With a touch of musical poetry And fine literature Explains this volcanic eruption of personal poetry During these last two days

Prophecy Im listening to Bob Dylan My heart fills quickly And sensations of energy coarse into my beating bloodstream

He screams: The Times They Are A Changin! And how appropriate!

My generation: The Terrorist Generation 1990-2010 Twenty years of breath Twenty years of life Nine years of War Nine years of Lies and Corruption Eleven years to grow in ignorance Eleven years watching hip-hop videos Eleven years playing video games

Planes smash into towers Enron is exposed The economy tanks GM destroys families A tank explodes A child bleeds On television

A decade passes A new President Elected by The Terrorist Generation

Its still too early to tell: My generation will either become The Most Apathetic and Disillusioned of Recent History And kill us all Or The Most Revolutionary and Affecting of Recent History And keep us going

My heart fills quickly I feel energetic Five years will sell the riddle

So now I wait And listen To Bob Dylan

Recollection Of An LA Dream I just woke up in LA

I'm been becoming somewhat of a reclusive nocturnal being These last couple of days

Waking at 5 45 Getting out of class at noon Getting home at ten till one Falling asleep until 5 45 Waking Reading Watching a film Doing homework Going back to sleep Repeating

I'm out of milk now And I think of you often

I had a dream with you in it too you know: I was asleep in a parking garage in my car And you came and banged on my window In the early morning You startled me I awoke I opened my car door And you smiled WIDE and said: "Wake up! Wake up! We have to go! We have to go!"

I knew we did But I didn't know exactly where we were going You said: "Hurry! Put your shirt on! Put your shirt on!" So I did And then you started running Running out of the parking garage Down the stairs so I couldn't see you I heard you giggling though I got down the stairs and THERE Out of nowhere Your face flew from the shadows and your lips met mine There were no sounds of moving cars Or people yelling Or babies crying Or dogs barking Only you Against Me

I woke up And went into the bathroom Half expecting you to be around the corner

You know: The feeling of still being in a dream When you first awake

I hope you're always around that corner

Well... I'm repeating now The White Walls In My Room I sit in my barren room often Usually alone And reading Only pausing to stare At my white walls

I wrote this book in there Only pausing to stare At my white walls

My friends joke and laugh in the other room Ignoring my typing and shuffling

I stare at my white walls for inspiration Painting them with my eyes

They sometimes stare back And whisper me the words to write here

I sit in my barren room often And play my red guitar Plucking the strings As my fingers bleed

I stared at the words of Dostoevsky For the first time Within these walls

I made my first film Within these walls

I tackled my spiritual frustrations Within these walls

I studied the entire history of cinema From colored texts around the world Within these walls

I devoured the work of Blake And Joyce Sitting upon my bed Within these walls

I sit in my barren room often Usually alone and reading Only pausing to stare At my white walls