Trichromatic

We only experience hope
in a dream state,
reaching for the essence of innocence
in vices
Alcohol for truth,
sex for feeling,
money for needing,
substances for neglect
Conviction as a shield,
taking blows in intervals
We are buyers,
liars,
                           wanderers 
Yet speak in benevolence
Suffering in 
red, blue, and green
Trichromatic,
simple as that
We only speak 
all we urge in our sleep

Circle

The fan sits atop
paint chipped window sill
pulling
air from outside 
It’s coolness raises epidermis,
moves over dirty fingernails
Feel the benefit of 
blades rotating the same way,
never breaking it’s circle
It’s shadow casts against
my wall from hall lights
of the building next door,
I see no fan blades moving 
in the silhouette
Like love that’s gone to seed
Working to feel something,
Yet to heads turned towards
the wall,                  nothing’s
done
The art of making it stay, 
can’t master it
Passion,
cyclical



This is Rich. He owns Rediscover Records in Elgin. I go there at least once a week and spend money/shoot the shit with him. One of the nicest, most genuine, and funny guys. Glad to call him a friend. 

This is Rich. He owns Rediscover Records in Elgin. I go there at least once a week and spend money/shoot the shit with him. One of the nicest, most genuine, and funny guys. Glad to call him a friend. 

One of my favorites for three bucks. Can’t beat Half Price Books.

One of my favorites for three bucks. Can’t beat Half Price Books.

Someday

How quickly and with
great ease we love anyone
but ourselves,                               someday

In The AM, Death

In the AM,
death
Today I filled my head with cement,
tomorrow medicine
In war with everything
I no longer need
You lose years and 
they add up quick
In the AM,
heavy eyes
Clock watching succumbs to 
black coffee
and dreams left on shelves
collecting dust
My mind constantly navigating
roads it’s never been or places
missed,
anywhere my body isn’t