the TV eats your soul

it makes your own bed smell like someone else's skin

How marvelous that

green grass grows in winter, 

and the herds that wander 

in the prairie, 

and the clear air—I can see all the way to 

purple, hazy Monterey.  

Natural happiness and true, 

no one can take that away, but you.

Individual, yet bound, 

each the lighthouse on the rocks

and each the ship, the scream of the hull, broken upon them.

Relent my body, every open pore 

a heavy smog—desires, fears and wants 

Show me someone incapable of hypocrisy

I’ll drop down and kiss the ground they’ve walked,

Repent for every breath I’ve spent struggling to discern

what is right and what is wrong

and nothing more of me 

next time i’ll hide the light better

in some vague melancholy verse

about a fading flower 

or a shattered bier

if ryan gosling would have made the cover
only if
then we wouldn't be fighting the communist chinese
if ryan gosling would have made the cover
then red dawn wouldn't be happening right now
jesus chirst if i had known bradly cooper was the catalyst
if i had only known
i would have killed them both
when i had the chance

this is couch time

sort of stupid how in the absence of orders
I make my own, carry them out, beat the rug
dream of a positive balance

sing myself to sleep, fling the cat off the bed
he returns, to the place between my legs
purrs, dreams of catnip, turkey eyeballs

the toilet broke, a running theme
jesus, cat, and me, we all pooped
free in the desert