the small moon in my room.

for some time i dreamt of a life of poverty. a life pure and simple and defined by hard work and human kinship. i dreamt of sharing all i had with the poeple around me. i dreamt of a life romanticized by the american moderns. i imagined escaping to a distant place and teaching english, or practicing some sort of medicine. spiritual or otherwise.

now, i see wine is no longer cheap and the world no longer generous. my lack of funds inspires not the clarity of an ascetic, but rather a kind of desperate greed. suddenly i see all of the things i want and cannot have; small reminders that neccessities costs me much more than a monetary amount. i take care to save whatever i can. i eat cold cans of corn and wax beans and chili and cream of mushroom soup with 10-minute rice.

i now find myself in a life of poverty, albeit not so extreme as to warrant obvious notice, but enough to cause a constant and sharp pain in my stomach from the moment i wake each day. i see bank statements and cannot open them. i cut my own hair. i find myself working my hands to the red wrinkled and cracked claws with the likes of ex-cons and drunks (both which may loosely apply to me). i am sexually harrassed constantly, and know that regardless of company policy, i should just smile and laugh. i wonder if i am pretentious, to look with equal contempt and respect for the men i share my long nights with. i often burn myself. i cherish those scars.

i find pleasure not in helping my fellow man or a job well done, but when the smells of so many sacks of refuse mingle to remind me of something more sweet. barbecue sauce, or musk. i find pleasure in my drink. i find pleasure in my sleep. i cry more often than i orgasm, but am just as satisfied, if not more.

sometimes, i feel the vomit creep up my throat when i think of the rest of my life. i am terrified. but i am thankful every day.

i miss you katie. infinitely.

a most welcome distraction.

there was an awful noise outside. like a dumpster being emptied, but it was the middle of the night. maybe it was a car being towed. a d.w.i.
it relieved me of myself.

you can find the meaning of life in a persian carpet.

are they pointing fingers at you
or are they showing you the way?

your heartbeat marks a silent beat
so hard you move in an inaudible groove
a rut so far as strangers see
but a nook, safe and sound to you and me.

are you looking for an answer
or are you waiting for directions?

all my life i've been jealous of plain girls with plain names.

"no, why are you doing that?!" she gasped as he lotioned her feet.
how would she scratch her ankles as she slept? without the thick callouses she had so lovingly cultivated over the years.
a few dead cells serve to protect.

milwaukee.

concrete fields yield no sign of life

yet so sign of stopping

an endless shockwave the sidewalks

heave breathing through small weeds

the only beings to survive the smooth manmade

landscape

the only sign of some sense of safety

safely

sprawling across the earth 

not minding

why they are.

the black wall of the forest gives way to grey.

you say "i only see white."
something along those lines. white lines.

a small girl, a bearded lady, asked me to look into her crystal globes. she wore them on her tiny, almost transluscent fingers.

"what do ju see my girl?"
"it's much too dark to see anything."
"no, look clooooser."
"i see snow."
"aaah, snooow...."

snow is indeed in your near future. it will be cold and air will rush all around you. but then! you will see only white. only the whitest wall of sanctity. it will bring you closer to your meaning. it will bring good things, warm and clear. this, is a good fortune she told me.

i am on my way to miwaukee today.