Archive for the ‘loneliness’ Category

Drinking through my last days in Taipei
Dazzled by arcades with Japanese names
Paying for toys I barely have room to ship home
Scared I will forget Taipei
If I don’t own the right trinket
I want this city to sink permanently into my skin
Even as I dream of leaving it…

Taipei is lights too bright
Traffic too loud
A sun too hot
As air conditioners drip like tears
Forming puddles on beetlenut stained sidewalks
Endless toy-stores
Full of highly detailed Japanese sculpt
Of every cute character to extremes
And extremes made cute
It is a plastic island.

I bleed red money here
My hands stained with blood spending
Whipping out my phone
To track the damage like a detective
On the case of my own debt
Taipei is falling asleep to the whispered secrets
Of a tired fan
Staring at the moon over Taipei 101
From the Sun-Yet San Memorial pond
And singing to calypso music
This city is drunk on plastic.


Untitled (waking thoughts)

Posted: January 5, 2016 in loneliness, poverty, work
Tags: , ,

I can’t even fathom retirement
I know I will work until my bones show
Until I wear cynicism like a rain coat
And people’s “good morning”s hit my chest
And slide to the ground a puddle of acid rain

“How are the wife and Kids?”
A phrase I may read in a book or see
In a film

I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my poem remedies
For a solemn soul.
Call it attitude. Call it habit.
Call it a trap that went off-
And has had my legs caught
Since I was a teenager.

My eyes too used to their own depths,
My mouth, too used to chewing itself.
My hands too familiar with clutching
These blue-lined white coil bound notebooks.

To look for another.
To taste foreign tongue,
To hold hands and promises,
These are other hunters prey.

Rather I am the self-devourer.
The provider of my own sustenance-
Slowly dying, running out..

A clogged heart sends aching signals
To a dust weary brain.
Both slaved to an ant-eaters snout,
Cleaning the ants from the pockets
Of clear plastic bags of sleep deprivation.

So hold your lovers close,
While I shuffle along lonely-
The Night Walker.
Ashing my contempt
On the sidewalk of your happiness.

Fingering the plastic vial shackles
In my pocket
While I continue on.
Towards a bed with nothing but
Crystal specks strewn over the egyptian cotton.

Like stars shining across endless expanses
Of cold, lonely space.
I will curl into my shards, a god,
In the fetal position.
Stuck awake in his timeless temple
of disassociation.

A poem for anyone’s imagination
That may have stretched
Like a yawning tiger into the dark jungle
of bad luck romance and ketamine addiction.

I suppose those interested are as few
And far between as the moments
My skin knows a warm body.
Instead of the cold fresh rush
My nerves demand,
Fingertips call for,
the moment of euphoric relief.

The moment before the jet planes
Of consciousness launch from my mind
And I cuddle into the motion wave
Of the emergent dose.
The gentle hole I gladly fall through
Like Alice returning to Wonderland
For the one-hundreth-and-eleventh time.

Can any lover bring a solace
So clear, inviting and full?
Can love exist for a mind that unclings
Its’ ego, uncoils its’ mortality,
And undermines the lines of the matrix?

The answer is a no,
Spoken so slowly,
Drawn out over the fifty years echo
Of the oblivion chamber.

I’ll grow old with its’ syllable
Haunting the ones who tried to touch me.
The hole of an “o” that becomes a zero,
And encircles the whole of my life
Like the ice rings of a planet
With no moons.

For I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my universe in a plastic vial.

I am definitely lost in something.

Listening to my own drum machine.

YouTube samples of toy commercials.

Christopher Lee as Fu Manchu saying ‘again’.

Trying to figure out where to go when this project ends.

Is a trajectory possible?

Can the efforts of art and subtlety be tracked?

Am I cursed because I screwed up my birthday?

Why do I continually feel embarrassed by the weekends?

What are all these pieces and half thoughts going to hold hostage next?

My sanity.

They play devils bad cop with my standards.

I sink through the pop packs and wash it down with drips.

Life never tasted better and yet it has this half reused substitution.

What do the goblins do with the babies that just don’t turn into goblins?

A Paranoid Man

Posted: May 13, 2013 in loneliness, madness

A paranoid man

constantly checks the contents of his pockets,

feels for his drugs and his poetry notebook,

His pen, keys and cellphone.

A paranoid man

stops his walk to recheck the contents

of his backpack, constantly worried about pickpockets

his water bottle is maybe too accessible.

A paranoid man

worries about open sockets

and dodges open construction sites

and worries about other peoples open wounds.

A paranoid man

refuses to cross the street unless the walk sign is lit!

even if people motion him to cross the street

he refuses, because anybody could be a psycho killer behind the wheel.

A paranoid man

only reveals his wallet in public

when absolutely necessary,

and walks his rent money from the bank

in the bottom of his shoe.

(and when he gets his rent money from the bank he actually runs home)

A paranoid man

never takes an elevator

and refuses to answer unknown phone calls

and cannot sleep after a known phone call has gone unsuccessful.

A paranoid man

never buys unpackaged food

and still worries about all his packaged food

worries about his exposed orifices

and foreign entities that may have entered his body through those aforementioned orifices.

A paranoid man

is in constant fear of his decomposition due to unknown disease

and simultaneously fears

reconstitution according to known advertising agencies.

A paranoid man

fears he’s woken up different

but also that at the end of the day

he hasn’t changed a thing.

I constantly find myself

becoming fearful

that i my be becoming a paranoid man.

Transparent Society

Posted: March 14, 2013 in loneliness, madness

Internet Echo Chamber

Tell me what I already want to hear…

Who is the most crazed and suicidal of them all?

“Are you okay”


I hear choices,

all tipped with blood and made up of words.

I seek refuge is 4chan randomness,

If it can be contreversial

It will be contreversial

and the paper oasis burns

DeAr CaLyPsO

Posted: January 24, 2012 in loneliness, madness, romance

I still NEED your love

there’s no reason

to talk about it or even think about it

Certainly I SHOULD NOT be writing about it

You have your happiness

I chase my dragons…………..

(with broken pitchforks)

“Let’s save each other….”

you once said

now saved for what?

saved for our own brand of desolation?

I should have said;

“Keep your eyes on the road,

You demon, you temptress,

you future Medea!”

You would have surely poisoned any children we would have sired

what a poetic tragedy that would have been

(just as your mother diseased you with raging parasitic desperate leeches)

Your father said;

“You’ll have it good some day…..”

but it was his own wishful thinking

his plans drying up under the heat of the sun

the bleary wear out of time

the last orange embers of our life together

running down your cheeks

breaking into my chest

a heart-ache six year sized tumor.

Letters in a bottle

turn into LIES

on the electric highway.

It was my mother that informed me

of your marriage date

I turned my head

saw a city pass by

the same city

and felt like a lost sailor swam endless leagues away from an island

but NIGHTmares

of the ISland

we pushed each other

that haunts me

those silent car rides

I had often thought

of grabbing the wheel

of your Saturn

and ending us into

the crunch of oncoming traffic.

I never did that to us.