78,840

November 18, 2011

I’ve slept for almost a decade.
78thousand 8hundred forty hours.
Nine years and counting.
$670,140 earned at minimum wage.
Eight fifty.
How is that legal?  How does a man survive
on Eight fucking fifty?
— I don’t even have a job.
Don’t sleep til three thirty
unless you don’t have a job.
Or you work nights.
I don’t work nights.
But I don’t sleep nights, either.
I just lie there as awake as the other side of the world
thinking about things
like the other side of the world.
Then next thing you know,
It’s three thirty.  I know because
I hear the door slam
when my roommates leave for their jobs.
I don’t use clocks.  I wear a watch
but I cant really read it.
I hope it makes me look responsible and
prompt.
Time should be fluid and free flowing
not rigid and measured, tick for tock.
But then again,
I sleep til 3:thirty.  What do I have to be
on time for? Why should I use a
Clock?


Maybe

July 12, 2010

Yes yes yes,
no no no.

Yes yes yes,
no no no.

Yes yes yes,
no no no.

Maybe isn’t worth a damn.


My Green Floor

May 16, 2010

look at all these notebooks
I have them scattered out on my green floor.
Weathered and bare in spots
scratches of age and movement.
Dragging and sliding
rubbing and walking.
I’m digging, you see.
through all this paper
and ink
to find something real.
Something that doesn’t just scratch
and rub.
Just something other than
scratches.
Something more than a shadow
of a shadow of a thought.
Something better than letters,
Pens, and these God DAMN SCRATCHES.
The wood is bare
in places.
The paint is lifted
and my green floor is
a motley brown and green
Like a dormant lawn in early spring.


untitled

March 30, 2009

I always forget
that I don’t actually have anything interesting to say
until someone else shows up
and steals the conversation away.