Nameless Blues Lyric in G

This is a boy grown
up in an acre long lawn of plain.
Comb out your own beard, fellow
and float down between the grassy banks
of etymology. Boot up your
bible names and take up
an instrument for

the road. No
story seeps
tight to its
without leaving
a toll on your reception tray.


When people call me Christ,

Christ, I don’t know, I assume

Something different for him. I

Assume the absent G in Jesus.

Gsus Christ can be an ok dude

Given the right circumstances

Or weather. It’s getting cold

Outside, for instance, and the

Grass has been let go to grow

One last time before I hate my

-self and I haven’t even let my

-self float down a fucking river,

But my desire is way too deflated

After my friend Katie had to be

Taken to the emergency room

After letting herself float down

 a river too cold for her body to

not get hypothermia, and it was

like one hundred and four degrees

outside when it happened and I

think that’s pretty fucked up. Think

about it. I mean Gsus. Her experience

sounded pleasantly disorienting, a tough

ride on those roads you only ride down

in summer, like with a long tunnel or the

longest wrapping paper tube you’ve ever

seen through with mild to moderate deliria.

So maybe I will float down a river before I

Just wont or just can’t or what if I died or

Lost my ability to walk or see or smell before

I ever get a chance to. I’m going to be ok if

I don’t because I really don’t see myself

Dying or getting any sicker than I already am,

And there really isn’t any kind of scenario

I can hypothetically put my future into that

Ends with me being a quadri/paraplegic, which

Is likely what I would still think if, say, I some

-how did become paraplegic, it would be very

Difficult for me to put myself in a hypothetical

Situation where I would ever become a quadri

-plegic . I think the worst of it is, though, my

Heart would ache as much as it does now and

I can run right out of this house right this very

Moment but know I will never do that again.

I’m terrified of becoming something I know I

Could never be. But I’m already sick. I’ve always

Been sick because of my courage to know what

I know or don’t know when they’re really just

The same damn thing. Like meeting people in

New places and becoming friends with them

Only so they fill the absences your other friends

Previously held. I feel guilty for that a lot and know

I probably shouldn’t but I’m just too Paul-less and

Justin-less and Mike(y)-less to be bothered with 

Harvesting their replacements. Sometimes when

Nothing meets nothing absolutely NOTHING happens

Like right now I’m just writing in this really weird way,

I feel like this is what Paul feels like when he riffs away

For awhile. And that’s probably the completely wrong

Way to go about understanding my sickness, but some

-times it’s just stupid to be afraid to start something.

Sometimes it’s just really hard to quit what you know

You probably should like taking drugs or drinking insane

Amounts of alcohol every day or having life be just

As helpful to itself as life would be blasted from a canon

While you were in a coma. I mean, you could technically

Say you were shot out of a canon in your life, but first

Of all, no one would believe you, and second of all,

Why would you want to do that anyway if you could just

Sleep literally all the time? I write so much more poems

In my sleep. I am more or less the most famous poet

I’ve ever encountered when I’m sleeping. Not in my

Dreams, but the retrospective contentment and lack

Of desire to even know what a poem is that makes

For some of the best lines or grouping of lines I’ve

Ever thought about. I rarely care about what people

Say to me, but not because I don’t think it could be

Helpful or hurtful or pleasant or lame, but because

I’m so so tired whenever that happens, which is a lot

Of the time, that I physically cannot hear what people

Are saying. That’s only somewhat true, but you get

The idea. But here’s the most important part of my

Entire poem. It’s been asked, by my mother specifically,

If there are any poems that aren’t so sad, and the answer

Is no. But not because poems can’t not be sad, it’s because

Poems aren’t ever sad. If that’s difficult for you to understand,

Well then read sad poems a lot but when you start feeling

Yourself becoming less of yourself because you’re sad or

Lonely or just nothing, think about Paul Clark starting the

Row row row your boat song and eventually everyone

In the entire world singing row row row your boat, 

because it is all joy.


Here, by god, is my poem in the wrong place.

River mud’s perfect vocabulary and
Ink and hatred and further disclose
And sympathetics. The moon itself
Illuminates of elsewhere
You too where, mint garland,
Varsity luster, a latch in Montana
Happens and, the, moon illuminates.

You are to disclosed by mistake.


Here to There Or

In the end
The trees will stand glowing
From sundown
Our stomachs collapsing
From the acidity
We eat & think
Our minds end to end
But there is none
nothing but more
We are renewable
The song you sang yesterday
Is in my mind today
I won’t sing it
But it will be seen
The trees will see it
With the shedding of leaves
Is the shedding of tears
From someone –

There came astronomy.


Words attached to feelings are NOT the feelings, but the story you tell yourself about your feelings

I woke up trimming my bangs
putting crushed peppers in my eyes
feeling my feelings

I lived through the weekend by writing

all my feelings on pictures of Lady Gaga
and getting a pedicure in iridescent pink

I'll probably really like somebody again someday
even if I don't want to.


Love sonnet

You wake up trimming
the ends of stems. In the dream

you don't have a choice.  You're crushed.
A pepper. The tongue of a lion.

The men on campus
holding guns were different

from the men saying Spit
in the cup.  /The bird-lion hybrids

/Their suction-cup beaks.

This nail polish reminds me
of a

nother nail polish
I owned.                 I want       to fuck u.  
I want                      to fuck all of u.


ALL ABOARD?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

what we make
gravel growl-sing
strippers shake their hands 
the shiny flesh away
press your face against metal
feel the peeling skin cool
pluck fruit pulp from the skull of me
my poem building
spit seeds
inch by inch a million inches per sec
i can run fast w/ words
hold me
pet the licked hair on my head
i don't wound but i am wounded
the age is breaking my bars
bones ticklesound in wind blow
i don't know
how much longer i can party this hard
i am knowing
the end of a party era
a tower to whatever
speaking jibberish
using up all available minerals
using ore until i can't make anything else up
what am i made of
why am i being sucked up into the vacuum
of space
glitter speckled by dead light
you love me
you are skinning the layers off my hull
shuck the touch from nerves
so i won't feel the darkness
pulling my cells away from themselves
i wake up
and know i am probably alive
or i see all my insides gushing
thats blood in my body on my body
on the ground all over
I AM ALIVE for awhile
and that reminds me of
every spot on your body's body
dragging my tongue and nose and ears
across your back like a giant ice cube
roll me down a greased lane
listen to my skelly crash against crystals
watch the tear drop slide
down your hour-glass hide
me in the dugout
burning trunk of a new boat
sunk when porous or weeping
i am not so sad on the dance floor
of my favorite club
am i enough for you to be satisfied
for longer than my birth to explosive end
shake me down for change
i am morphing into the next mouth
my teeth clacking
my neck wrapping around colored python
feel how firm my ass feels
these pants do me justice
i was born JUSTIN
i will die the same child
gross as a repeating chorus
voices talking the same poem
i am in love
i am in love
i am in love
the universe is my homeboy
i am reminded to count
all your tattoos
i believe dragons
look sweet
when they are ripping
out of my chest
because the skin
looks like
fruit skin
and fruit
is the worst
i dunno i'm killing me
this game of flowers
being pretty being bright being
a shiny fucker
won't talk about the sun or to her
or look at the Super Moon
because it isn't there anymore
and maybe we all left
a long time ago
but keep glowing
for somebody a cagillion miles away
i know i know we are growing
i am a lion
i have a roar the size of anything
even when there is no noise
my throat stretched across all space
a massive ocean of the sound of us
waves that go on for infinity
a poem that goes on for infinity
i am not ready to not exist
i am not ready to stand in line
i am not ready to fall to pieces
peel the sounds from my vibrating tunnel
build me into a magnificent train
a part of an endless train
blasting steam from every open whistle
chugga-chugga chugga-chugga
i smell metal everywhere now
its in my skin
industrial strippers
everyday conveyance as a fetish

the cat won't let me pet him
it may be all the metal
but at least he keeps the rats at bay
damn onion crusher

when life deals you a crushing blow
be sure to save those fork blades
you never know what we could make



I pride myself on constantly being happy yet I probably couldn't tell what I did last month

A selfish body, my brain tries to remind it, we're not a based god

Saw my blood yesterday, insides bro-

It smells like beef jerky, now it smells like smoked ham. Why don't I write things down? It means more to me than my r&s records I phone case.

It means more to Jerome than his body high shirt

It means more to James than FUCK REAL LIFE

(by thomas j flaherty)