Buddha Buddha Buddha
i found Heaven internally
sure as Hell can’t be found externally
she sits staring out the rain splattered window
dogs bark every three or four houses
smoke climbs up out the prison yards
my cat pees on my shit when she’s mad at me
too much talking, not enough music
the world’s a junk yard with a few gems
she’s cute when she smiles, cute when she cries
yea, i’m an addict, who the fuck cares
stone cold sober too while we’re at it
she takes a train to nowhere
i’m 6 feet below Heaven
i never made it… no vacancy
they turned me away in the lobby
purgatory everywhere
at least the girls are cute
they’re always cute
Cold Air Cigarette
smoking a cigarette in cold air
there’s nothing better
hardly alive, far from dead
and the daily paper
still reads the usual tragedies
i guess people still watch sports
i think about the mountains
and living on a pack a day & too much coffee
saving up for rainy days & all of that
& by saving up, i mean about $30 a week
i end up spending it before the month is out
on nicotine & clothes
don’t need gas money, i walk everywhere
going to the gym, but i still got a gut
fuck pre workout
the only thing for me is a pre workout cigarette
and a post workout beer
and i really expect my gut to go away?
invest in God, invest in purpose
but Hell finds its way in your blind spots
be sure to look over your shoulder
take the exit ramp from time to time
don’t speed through the whole thing
we really got to take this life thing less seriously
i’m starting to understand the Joker’s role
the older i get the more it makes sense
we never needed a lot,
maybe it’s all jus fuck it
the acceptance of such an endless sky
yet such a small world
we’re all the same, our ego minds
who cares, i guess
laughing at the rat race
as we smoke a cigarette on our work break
it’s not that funny, but it helps to laugh
empty yourself of desire
free yourself of some selfish ego boosting trap
here i sit, my half drunk coffee
10 cigarettes left in the pack
& my little planter box full of flowers
looking peaceful after a day’s worth of sun
all we ever needed was to make out
a tiny little cozy & comfy nook in this universe
something we could sink back into & retire to
at the end of the day
some funny thing to watch on tv
some collection of songs you like
a little reading to slow the mind down
then the lights fade away
everything but a night light
some tea & sleep sleep sleep
trust me, when you wake up,
you’ll be too tired to worry about anything yet
& the coffee & cigarette hit like gold
and who knows, maybe a new day
is what we need to find what we’re looking for
somewhere someone’s up at midnight
smoking a cigarette, sipping whiskey
& everywhere seems like some
sleepy eyed diner open at 6 a.m.
we’re all jus waking up
we’re all still half asleep
Cures & Ailments
the cure is in letting off some steam
take the edge off
listen to your own tracks in the dirt
breakfast in bed
cigarettes out on the porch
as the day slips into black velvet
she’s three doors down
and i’m three floors up
high off of nothing
her apathy’s kind of hot
she could care less
why do you think i smoke?
like i care what happens to me
i hope she ends up alright
we all get along jus fine, it seems
but some better than others
i jus broke down in the fast lane years ago
so i’m stuck pulled over at some 7eleven
up to nothing, wondering which cereal to buy
turn on Seinfeld & fall asleep on the couch
wake up, feel better after a cat nap
head out on a walk
listening to an old mixtape
feeling like i used to in some old rundown city
grab a coffee & a donut
smoke, walk, saunter, listen, stroll, whatever
feels good
i got out for a little
back to being a hermit
read a book
up at 2 a.m. still reading some old poems
Bukowski’s in Heaven at the racetrack
Whitman found the essence of the universe
in the collective soul of everything
all the best writers are dead
write in peace
the way we do in our makeshift graves
my muse is some pornstar
my muse is the coffee in the yeti that stays warm
my muse is a Marlboro 27
my muse is the iced beer in the freezer
my muse is the birds who flock
and the butterflies that flutter about
and the tread of converse & wheels on pavement
don’t talk to me in the morning
until i’ve had 3 cups of coffee
i’m no good scum sometimes
sometimes i’m a half decent guy
other times i jus want to be
in my Ralph Lauren pajama pants & Uggs
girls can’t break my heart anymore
i’m too busy trying to make it through the day
my heart’s all stitched up
to be honest, it doesn’t even work
let’s not & say we did
sometimes a girl looking me dead in the eyes
with something mischievous about it
is better than anything else
i pull out a smoke & get to my destination
high up in the mountains
the river’s refreshing
snow is on the ground
and the air is thinner
that’s where i want to be
that’s where i’m headed next
with a pack of smokes & a book
& some camp coffee & nothing else
bundled up
wanting to be all the way up
Die With Me
Devil eyes, angel pussy
Piss out the vodka
Drugs in back alleys
Shooting pool
Not interested in small talk
Dead faces who know too much
Smiling faces who barely know anything
A bum is a bum is a bum
Sex is sex is sex
nowadays smoking a bum cig is better than sex
need a drag… a hit of something
some bitter substance to cope with bitter reality
coffee black… heat in cold morning air
i like overcast weather
should probably move to Seattle
the more depressing the weather
the more lively i become
dead hibernation in the heat
existing off some lyric, some melody
the best advice i ever heard: “fuck ‘em”
i like succulents, poetry, vices & sluts
i say slut in the most endearing way possible
sometimes all you need
is some stupid poetry
some stupid song
something nice to look at
& some good thought stuck in your head
mindful, mindful, grateful
some trickling numbing feeling that’s alright
Everything So Mundane
everything so mundane
i look around & it’s all so drab
the lot of it all adds up to basically nothing
people so preoccupied
they could all care less
clocking into their 9-5s
only to make it home
for a glass of wine & to feed the cat
i smoke a cigarette
ash it out on the pavement
honestly wouldn’t mind dying
surely i must be around for some reason
how i made it this far i’ll never know
been listening to my vinyl records a lot
hardly get lonely anymore
death of the things I used to love
drugs… rip.
Light As A Feather
light as a feather
hopefully never under the weather
a little kiss always said it better
to be without anything
except pen & paper & this music
yea it’s whatever
sipping caffeine, smoking nicotine
per usual
coming up a fiend on the scene
at the diner ordering my usual
counting my loose change
maybe enough to buy a little something
got to go change
into something a little cozier
thank God for the universe
i can’t thank Him enough for what it’s worth
saw so much dirt for what seemed like forever
the blessings looking better than ever
snow capped mountains in the distance
cool air that only mornings can bring
a hot coffee & some social tea
what’s the latest about the fam?
how’s everyone doing?
i heard they’re all about to have kids
degenerate old me
nothing on the horizons
except a silver lining
jus going at this thing my own pace
On The Outskirts
Well yea i guess nothing’s changed all that much
Still the same old skies & the same old road
Little sweet nothings & an extra hotel key
Angel Olsen has a song called Unfucktheworld
I get that sentiment, I really do
Dogs always find their bone
Old man sighs… what’s she on about
Same old thing, new damn day
Worn out soles of my shoes
My soul’s worn out too
Guess i won’t read too far into it
It really is as big or small as you want to make it
Smoke At The Light
cars rolling past
she’s rolling up
filter, Rollie, whatever
smoking
because i miss her
she’s smoking
because she prolly misses somebody too
should’ve asked her to be my muse
instead i left without a peep
jus the sound of the lighter
sparking another cigarette
cruising through to the shopping mall
jus the skate shop & new drip on my mind
girls come & go
oftentimes jus seeing
crushing so much on them
for that one instance, that one moment
— even though most likely
you’ll never see them again —
is the coolest thing
there she goes, there she goes again
and the answer stays blowing in the wind
figuring things out as they come along
who knows, she’ll be around
God knows, i’ll be around
guess we never needed to say much
and who knows,
won’t be the first, won’t be the last
angels often pass you by
most vividly & most swiftly
they leave an impression
so stunning, rare, gem-like, fleeting
bless you & gone in an instance
like the breeze,
they make you feel like everything’s alright
then fade away inevitably
Sometimes I Think
sometimes i think
maybe i sold my soul on accident
while my girlfriend at the time
packed a bowl full of weed
i’d smoke spliffs with her
her little pentagram cat tattoo
i didn’t mind
she was still my angel
fuck, i don’t know,
i never minded being down & out
little come ups on the low
finding God again in some swisher sweet
when i was down to $2
and needed a place to crash
drinking coffee by the gallon
because i hardly ever replenished
my original dopamine
lost from years worth of using drugs
some sort of disillusionment
with the modern world
i sit at the typewriter
with my coffee & cigarettes
& flip through some book
& think this could be it
the meaning of everything
in almost nothing at all
maybe it’s all what you make of it
the world only as vivid as the inside of your mind
but yea maybe i sold my soul on accident
so many blue moons ago
and finally realized
i got to plead with God to help me retrieve it
if you can sell your soul,
surely you can buy it back
some Sunday
everybody’s dressed to the 9s for church
i step out for a quick cigarette
before the service
i look around at the people & scenery
wondering how i got to this place in life
almost void of feeling
my heart died
the same way
the girl in The Breakfast Club said it would
of course i still believe in Heaven
and the Heavenly Father & all of that
but it all feels so empty
i want to stare at her legs
i wanna rack out three lines
maybe a little bit of each
but here i am chanting Hallelujah
wondering
if there’s light at the end of the tunnel
Thawing Ice
the boy sat all lonesome on the world’s edge
pretty recent razor blade cut on his chin
nothing about him was all that important
he could die one cold night
who’d stop by at his funeral?
Sure. His family… and that’s about it
he missed lots of his friends
some of them already passed
he drank at a solitary glass of whiskey
he thinks it somehow romantic to drink alone
he had become disillusioned with society
he had his faith & his art & that’s all
girls seemed prettier to him from afar
was there more to life than this?
maybe it’s all in this facade
certain people in his life had hurt him
he liked people on paper
but he couldn’t stand to be around them
little angelic demons… demonic angels?
maybe people are a little bit of both
Up To Nothing… What’s New
been lightly reading
listening to some older records of mine
i like physical, tangible art
nothing feels real anymore
besides this cigarette,
this coffee, this beer
& the clank clank of the typewriter whirring
sun seeping through, the breeze in waves
nothing feels real anymore
besides the little minimal hits of substance
& the place i sit, ignoring the chatter
lots to write about, little to talk about
look what the cat dragged in
car drives by bumping loud tunes
and the birds usually flock in pairs
i guess things are all so beautiful
living in the background
i always hated the spotlight
save that for Hugh Hefner & Marilyn Monroe
is Heaven all that far away
or is it found in the blissful moments
when one has absolutely nothing to do
drags off the cigarette, sips of coffee
& the clank clank of the typewriter whirring
sun seeping through, the breeze hits in waves
car rolling by with the subwoofer blasting
birds in twos & ducks in rows out the pond
vast ethereal universe & little old me
i let the record spin & sip some coffee
beers & wine & liquor every now & again
& a whole lot of nothing feeling like Heaven
a whole lot of nothing feeling like Heaven
˚☽˚.⋆ 
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