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Monday, November 26, 2007

!!!Me Or MY No Nines!!!

oh, i may have stolen some of this, and have been rifling through the writings of my more talented brother and more talented co-blog owner-er.

it’s the song or maybe the time,
that makes it happen,
just to prove,
just to prove that snow exists, it showers
artificial off the ceilings, off the rooftops
just to prove, just to prove
and I smoke too much,
so my lungs kill, and my doubt kills and
i shake the congratulations and have no place,
for them or the kind words,
i smoke too much just to prove,
to prove to my lungs, that I’m boss.

whether it’s the season of the weather,
whether it proves the selfish savage plunder,
its not the easy parts that flush the blood,
from under my fingernails, in the back seat,
of my parents car, my eyes are bruised and
My nose is raw,
mostly just, the cause and effect,
Just to prove that I can do anything,
or more so that I can’t be told what not to.

it’s the kid that’s brothers of a dead friend, who smiles
who remembers that I am indeed, not really
just a fabrication, of less the, more than, the asshole
I used to be, or vice versa, in which
I crush pills under a card and snort what happens,
I snort the science but its too late,
could have, would have been doing so much more
had the mirror been busted out sooner,
Now I just stand on the porch with Parker
and mind not our frozen hands, the sun
it comes also, it comes soon.

proving that I am not faking it I sit on the couch
and talk with numb face and lingering tone, just
wanting, and both waiting to sleep,
as the beauty of my grandmother, keeps always
In still retreating crane, bird of never ending prey
just to prove that sleep brings comfort,
they are sleeping in the corners by the Mexican place
before im even home from work,
just to prove that I don’t want to go home,
I drag my breaking shoes through the canal
I scuff the remnants just to prove
Snuffing out physical recollection, of wandering

now and it kicks like the mule of bastard winter
the night mare that shakes its head and neighs telling me
that this is proving,
me in the hallway or in the street, kissing through,
the “I’m sorry” and “I should haves”
in the bar or in my home proving I am a better
friend than son and worst of all, being that,
proving my useless sense of love,
which is of course proving that I cannot
love both friend and woman, and only
family because I must

I believed in the dead times, and the ones that come still

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