I sold out kid, they got me

When feeling like I was gonna go insane
It got just a little too inane
So, I opened up the windows and a hornet crept in
Over heads and shawls like a brand new sin
And we labeled it such and shamed it so
But I stole it away and kept it in a corner in a jar
I put bright red rocketship stickers on that jar

When everyone else found that hornet jar
Well, I mean, all I can say is that they were pretty pissed
I was pissed too because I could've hid it better
So I kept feeling like I was going insane
Doing one man shows in a little Soho theatre
Convincing everyone else of what I already knew
It eventually made me question my own reality

So I just sat smoking outside the Soho Theatre
For five years and a board next to me said, "The Smoker"
And, ladies and gentlemen, that's who I really was
I put all my effort into that character and
My lungs really nailed that part down, damn near coffin nails
If my friends were still angry well I hardly noticed
But I met a young lady who put lipstick on it all

I can't smoke my goddamn cigs with lipstick on them!
I just can't do it right now and I'll tell you why right now
Because right back then she would stand there
I caught her like another dirty fly in paper and
She would light up the cigs each day and take the first drag
I found lipstick flakes in my lungs ten years later
The doctor was so sorry that he gave me his daughter's number

On Sundays she wouldn't come and chill with me
She was out at churches yelling curse words for her dead pap
Her pap was a killer and i never envied her there
Mostly I just liked having someone to smoke with
We talked about Dylan sometimes, when it didn't feel faggy
But one day I went on a little too long
She went her way and I went mine, nothing most likely about it

This really bowled me over though, living this cliche
So I bought a house in the suburbs
Started beating a woman I don't know and drinking
Slapping kids that aren't even mine
But cardboard cutouts don't hold out forever
I hawked them for some whiskey and moved back
Back in with my friends, who hated the hornets

My hornet hating friends had gone all over the place
But everyone was still bastards so it was cool
I wrote a memoir and a play and a TV pilot
But it all came up shit and that was it
I titled it "Hornet Stories" and felt bad for a bit
Now I ring my bell for your golden ear
I sold out kid, they got me

Albums from 2008 That I Have Discovered Since I Made That List (An Ongoing List)

The Welcome Wagon - Welcome to the Welcome Wagon

This shit is off the hook. Sufjan Stevens produces a pastor and his wife, fleshing out folky tunes into just what I crave. It's enough of a Sufjan album to soothe my rage for him to release new material while at the same time being a showcase for the brilliant talent of this husband and wife duo. While the religious undertones of Sufjan's work are overtones here, the album is never preachy and is almost more delicate and old-timey fun because of it. It's difficult not to enjoy, "Sold! To the Nice Rich Man" and the cover of the Smith's "Half A Person."

Noah and the Whale - Peaceful, The World Lays Me Down

Just listen to "5 Years Time" and fall completely in love. Just do it now.

You Can Never Hold the Power of I-40 in Your Hand

I am splitting my tongue with picture album wire
In the half light of cars, that pass my unsteady
body. On the freeway, families pass near, lovely
Slowly, slowly the lights dim above me

Heat, in the kitchen, like the heat of the tires
Nearly exploding and cars, for just car's sake are
slowly, like mountains, crashing in the frozen tar
Come to the household to see who you are

Mom drives the stove and dad beats the radio on
Belt is in my calf and I don't know how to choose
Do you ever feel like your team was formed to lose
Cursing, mom says, just learn to use cruise

So I learn with my teeth, putting too much on plate
The four door families, eyes Chrysler red, brake late
Choking on tar, new fam'ly yells. Elucidate
Does it matter, the meter, or family state

Bullshit on the Self

So, if no one speaks like I speak, does that make me a speaker for the me’s of the world. For all the people who may have been like me or may be like me. Is that an irrelevancy? Will there ever be anyone like me? Has there ever not been anyone like me? Has anyone like me ever wondered if there was someone like them, their specter of consciousness silently and unknowingly gliding over my body? Does everyone wonder about this kind of thing? Does just wondering about this kind of thing qualify someone to be like me?

How like me does a person have to get to qualify into the vague term of “like me?” Because, right now, I am me and I am not aware that my individual consciousness is in any one other being, that means there is no one but me who is me. Unless there is a collective consciousness that I’m tapping into to drag these thoughts down. Maybe I have a twin who thinks the same thoughts that I do at the same time and so, I can’t sense it, because we cancel each other out. Maybe I just never sense it. But, if he were exactly the same, wouldn’t he be stuck here too. He might be stuck somewhere just like this with people just like the people around me. I wish us both luck. I know he does too.

Best Albums of '08!

Here's my year end list, which I compile mainly for myself and since I'm the only one who's reading this then my purpose is served. I'll go backwards for dramatic effect for this year. Check it:

10. Final Boss - MC Frontalot: The Front is dear in my heart and this album proves that he is on top of the heap of nerdcore rappers streaming from the internet. While not as instantly memorable as Nerdcore Rising it posts some great moments and has some deeper cuts that reward after several listens. Front delves into some depressing topics, challenging himself as a songwriter. What comes out is impressive and proves that Front is deeper than he once appeared and will hopefully keep the experimentation rolling for years to come. Politics are handled here better than ever before with "Black Box" and album standout, "Canadia."

9. Volume One - She & Him: Zooey Deschanel is stuck in the sixties and she has asked M. Ward to join her in the musical time machine. The music is beautiful and her voice dances along. It feels like a record found in your parent's basement and dusted off, a secret treasure. Zooey crosses the delicate movie star to music star barrier and has cemented her star on the indie darling walk of fame. Even the lyrics here shine, mixing into the cool balm of the album that washes over the listener, while being jangly. In almost every way, it's a real accomplishment. Standout is album opener, "Sentimental Heart."

8. Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend: Though they seem to be destined for more mainstream stardom than those who "listened at the beginning" would like, it's still a great album. A shiny, flawless album that is difficult to find in a debut. It's shocking to see the band at first because the sharp sensibilities contained within this album seem to come from a band much older. Somehow these barely post-collegiate guys have learned their history quickly. It's a self-aware album in that it knows how hip it is, gliding along. But, it's also very aware of where it came from and exactly what it's building on. Some may call it an inevitability but it takes real talent to sharpen music to this fine a point. Standouts are "Oxford Comma" and "Walcott."

7. The Stand-Ins - Okkervil River: While no one expects a bad album out of indie-folk veterans Okkervil River it can be rough recording a companion album. Especially having to live up to the critical darling, The Stage Names. But, this album rises to the top and matches it's sister album blow for blow. Here Okkervil River continues expanding it's sound while keeping that lyrical flow and depth that make them an act that's hard to pin down. The story painted here is grand, beyond expectations and sung straight into hearts. The albums is at time rougher and more immediate than the one that it follows, making it a leaner beast but no less complex. Don't let that scare you though, there are enough toe tappers to hold anyone steadfast. Standouts are "Singer Songwriter" and "Pop Lie."

6. Narrow Stairs - Death Cab for Cutie: After Plans and the dreaded growing success, many fans grew concerned. However, Death Cab comes back with a vengeance here. While it may not have the lyrical mind-benders and sonic masterpieces that it once did, DCFC is still sharp and pumping out solid music. Not surprisingly, after the last two albums, this is still an album to feel some feelings too, if that's what you want. What was surprising, is the depth that this album contained, drawing comparisons to earlier work. Death Cab hasn't retreated back to it's roots nor has it sold out. It has just changed once again and it will keep changing and doing what it wants to do. This album was made for the band and it's a wonderful display of their skills that still have some of that old luster. Fans old and new will find something to treasure. Standouts are "Bixby Canyon Bridge" and "Cath..."

5. Feed the Animals - Girl Talk: Dance right now! Greg Gillis wants you to shake your booty until you're forced to have it surgically removed so that you can continue a normal life. Night Ripper was arguably Gillis' breakout album and this is the celebration. Unwavering in it's outlandishness and brazen sense of fun this album delivers on every level. It's a portable dance party and it's a different listen every time. There's something here for anyone who just wants to let loose. The only thing to do after it's over is to let it play one more time. Standouts are playing the whole 50+ minute album as one long track.

4. Hold on Now, Youngster... - Los Campesinos!: This year had a variety of surprising debut albums but this one is the most powerful by far. Meant to be listened to either while dancing or pumping your fist and crying, this album contains enough brazen young truths to drown anyone. If ever there was an album for flailing around your bedroom in your underwear, this is it. It's a celebration of being young and cynical while musically being exactly the opposite of cynical. This whimsical cynicism plays like a coy genius and endears the band ever further. If Architecture in Helsinki had more balls on them, maybe they would put out something this daring and consistently screamable... maybe. Standouts are "Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats" and "We Are All Accelerated Readers."

3. Stay Positive - The Hold Steady: The Hold Steady is a band so profound as to establish their own teenage canon. Their first few albums established them and even added variations to the theme and now that they've aged, Stay Positive is here to carve them into stone so that they're never forgotten. Characters are older and more sensible but things are, thankfully, still going to shit. "Stay Positive" is a self-aware culmination that few bands could achieve. It's pure essence in under four minutes. That said, if you like the Hold Steady you will like this. The guitars blaze and the drums pound, Craig Finn sounds like he's singing from a fucked up diary. The ballads deliver just like all the triumphant pulse pounders, even with a few more odd instruments thrown in. There are simply no weak tracks and you will want to spend a summer carving this it's own place in your heart. Standouts are "Stay Positive", "Constructive Summer", and "Slapped Actress."

2. Heretic Pride - The Mountain Goats: This must seem like blasphemy to some people but wait until you get to number one. This album is flawless to me, just like every other Mountain Goats album ever. There is not a bad song and John Darnielle is all over the place. Of course, all of these places are brilliant and the unique instrumentation on some of these tracks lend to Darnielle's uncomparable lyrics and vocals like never before. The guest vocalists and musicians are beyond compare, it's like a tMG all star list here: John Vanderslice, Franklin Bruno, Erik Friedlander, THE BRIGHT MOUNTAIN CHOIR! Come on, you knew it was going to be good with pedigree like that, and everyone is there to help John be that much more mind blowing. The whole thing seethes like a monster but it's clear that this beast is brains and brawn. The album is a shower and a grower, hitting you first with it's radiance and then coming back to hit you again and again. This album feels like the apocalypse that I've always waited for. Standouts are "Autoclave", "In the Craters of the Moon", "How to Embrace a Swamp Creature", and "Michael Myers Resplendent."

1. Midnight Organ Fight - Frightened Rabbit: There is nothing more brilliant than the break up record. The basic reason music was invented is back and it's got teeth. This album is vicious, heartbreaking, horny, clever, desperate, and absolutely living and breathing. This Scotland group breaks into the stratosphere with a record so personal on so many levels that it hurts to listen to. But, it hurts with you and if you give it a chance it will attach itself to you like a symbiote. Listening to this album is like slipping into someone's skin. It's comfortable and also a bit gross, but that's just how things are. The honesty displayed here is awing and the blanket truth of it's phrases outright stunning. "It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to keep warm." "Twist yourself around me I need company, I need human heat." The messy folk music jangles all of these words together into a mad parade, beating on slowly. There is fire in the hearts of these boys, for sure. If you have never felt anything this album puts on display then it's worth it to get hurt just to be able to relate to music this good. Standouts are "The Modern Leper", "Good Arms vs. Bad Arms", "The Twist", and "Keep Yourself Warm."

Honorable Mentions:

Distortion - The Magnetic Fields: While not as blatantly brilliant as his earlier work Stephin Merritt has still got the magic in him.

Conor Oberst - Conor Oberst: What Cassadaga should have been, a countrified album that does Oberst proud and shows him changing but still keeping up.

808's and Heartbreaks - Kanye West: Kanye bares his soul and at the same time, hides it under an auto tuner. It's a divisive album for him but I'd love to see more of it.

Satanic Messiah and Black Pear Tree EP's - The Mountain Goats: Do yourself the service of checking these out. They will not disappoint you and you know it. The Mountain Goats continue to grow and astound, forever proving that John Darnielle will be remembered as history's most unstoppable musical genius. Only an honorable mention because they aren't technically albums.

Enjoy folks and I hope 2009 give us music even half this good. What a year!

-Benjamin Morgan

Thunder Dances: Brooklyn, Present Day

Creepy kids in crippled streets make drawings
They look like snakes of chalk from skyscraper, helicopter

Passerby
in ties

They are drawing intricate lines from my house
To all of your houses, in fact, connecting everyone

Tired of
being young

They struggle out of overalls and metal hits the street like gunfire
Everyone wakes up and comes to see the hub-bub

Kids found
what now

Did everyone on Earth forget everything together, as a joke?
Is civility hiding in the children of a nuclear era?

Still Ignorance
No Bliss

Sky cracks overhead and rain approvingly pours down
Each child does a rehearsed thunder dance
In circles, squares, decahedrons, remorseful shapes
You and I pause, knives caked from our blood years
When the rain stops, our tears do not wash away the chalk
It only gets clearer and cleaner with years
We set up beautiful barriers at the street ends
In our chokehold we built a towering garden
Reaching up and up to the fifth stories, long forgotten

Brand new published pamphlet reads:
When someone gives you a gift that shines
Cradle it like pumping life
We have been given an unmerited chance
Every night at 8 we all come out to do thunder dances
You are invited
To dance beside a line provided

An Uphill Espresso Machine
by Benjamin Morgan

Bright red bombs in the
garden, pulling down
trip wires
On blades thick with
harsh dew

I'm wearing two pairs of socks
It's January
Waiting for you to wake up
In love
I tell the lawn chair
Pink, that you sit in

Paper weather men
describe systems to me
my eyes like ears
like morning

Who
the Sun
I answer defiantly
over again
Parroting metaphors for
base energy
but

my wheels turn too fast
you come around
to stop the
spokes for a second

Thanks Dr. Hurlow!

This is the first poem written after I started reading The Best American Poetry 2000.

A Small Town (Devil's Dogs) by Benjamin Morgan

What about the girl who stood
on the precipice
Her dress whipping in the wind
and the wolves
They tore her to blood-red pieces
on the daisies
The old farmer saw this and
it filled him with remorse
The townspeople were not ready for a trial
They loosed him
The farmer, on wolves with human weapons
Killing beautifully
The painted red forest poked its head up
became legend
And OH GOD the feeling of alarm
in my heart
In my head, the brilliant sirens darkening
bringing hell
To all the little people who hired the wolves
To destroy the girl
Purity is oh too hard to bear
to lift up
Tiring of complimenting her songs and candor
They killed
The glorious resolution bathed in no regret
like this regret
Until the whole town is taken by wolves
To silence each other
But the farmer wanders further down the highway
to plant more towns

#30

One More Loud Whistle Blows!
By XII

I came from the midland
To worship where my parents breathed
But they built up towers
Poured the molds with sanctity
I knocked on ivory doors
To build up such young ambition
The wind of change like a fever in my body
Join the people waiting for a needy demolition
The round council table is wooden
With firm patterns across it's surface
I stood finally, reciting from a paper
Swallowed my tongues wondering if it was worth it
They told me to swim great lengths
To reach the spot they had all seen
But I couldn't grab it from the shore
I stayed to hum around the local scene
The firm, fresh bodies of young people
Do not deserve to be all up in chains
I am not afraid of your commanding chariots
On fire, I am waiting for god to make it rain
The movements that all of you can't speak of
Bring joy to the hearts of searching people
I've opened up a great many rule books
But have never been told to climb to the steeple
This whole thing seems like a broken treadmill
Buttons never seem to make it work
As I slam my fists on unyielding plastics
Employees want to paint me as a jerk
As if I came in with a gaudy rifle
To a sensible, level headed gun show
Like I wanna show off how to defy them
Instead of wanting to let normal life flow
Should we really be treated like a prison
Walls that cannot close to hold me in
Am I supposed to shove this in my body
Take it all in with a sick grin
Nobody tells me when to go to heaven
I have been staying up all night
Sweating new rules that I see sometimes
Knowing that no one wants a fight
We all want to stay so plaid-Amish
Pushing oxen over daisies in the field
The night people are the wrong powers
Stop signs will never change to say yield
So I throw up my mad mans hands
Growl into the danger of the night time
Wonder who on Earth thought this up
I wait for something clearer in my sight line

#29

Extra Alive
By XII

Your eyes are like the water I look into
They reflect what I am not afraid to be like
I wonder if they'll hate me just for writing it down
But honestly I don't give two fucks
So I hope no one throws stones like they used to
The table bends and breaks under the weight of justice
Finally served, finally balanced
I am electrically excited to breathe
And the wind whips my hair into flash dance
Nothing noteworthy goes unnoticed
Notify the county sheriff of my intentions to rob everyone
I want to steal the sunshine and hold it down
Rub it on the earth, till' it leaks into the ground
Then take your hands in mine and just
lay down
Straight into the sunshine
Something in the water is contaminating me
I have never felt like I could float on water
This feeling in my body is expanding ever further
Until everyone in the county is affected
The dances that we do will not wake up the dead
But the living will rejoice until the dying come up peacefully
Ready to come around and stop people crying
Please join in and sing the three songs
That everyone is taught right before they are born
These three songs are as follows:
I love you
I need you
"Lean on Me" by Bill Withers

#28

Cactus Kids Club
By XII

Hardly holding on to the lip of the horizon
I struggle in my innertube
The summer is attempting to end, viciously
I have begun to run
I will not let hope die
I will get all of the fun
I have not yet been alive

Autumn is a strange, strange man
Winter will not kill me yet
Spring is a total cocktease
It's impossible not to see where I'm going
Down the river
But the river is a total symbol
of distance and constant flow
My escape will be magnificent
I will explode but not from pressure
The vibrant light not present at night
Is a lifeblood I had not expected

#27

Howdy Stranger
By XII

I am spreading my rivers wide open
To focus and nothing will remain very sacred
The old hilltop crumbles
While sweat buds on Atlas' brow
I am patiently sitting on a mountaintop
Waiting for it all to fall down

Humble eagle struts across the sky
Hovers forever in my eyeline
Peaceful people
Start throwing colored stones
The door swings wide open
So that no one can pretend to know

It's all apart
I can't sit still
Sky is dark
Moon is ill

#26

My Hobbies Include Barn Quilting
By XII

I turn up the stereo
Tear down your shirt
Castles collapsing
On the living room floor
Passionless wars over nameless estates
Brown shag carpet with fragments from
broken plates
There are limitless verandas to stand on
Reciting drawn apathy lines
Swirled in pools of human genesis
Mouthwash, Jar of Vaseline
Plastic cups lined up like traitors
I thought the reds were my friends
"Oh no!" I exclaim
and quickly change the channel
Urkel's funny faces deflate my false bravado
I won't beat up
I won't even get up
Pour me down a hole past the weekend
Lay shallow bricks on my eyes
Pray for some real wishes to come down on us
A feast will be prepared
in our dirty golden hair!

#25

I'll E-Mail It To You Sometime
By XII

Meet me directly on Wabash
I still need one friend
That understands drug culture
Don't bring ten kilos or anything
Look man, I'm only addicted to the fashion
Step back before you examine my motives
September to August on fire
A whole year of chemical dependence
Sweat down my fire escape
I love to sing plastic love songs
Put plates over my ears and hum
I'm getting scared proportional
To how dark it is becoming
How dark is it in the place where you aren't coming from?

#24

That Cat is the Key To It All - Also, It is Darned
By XII

Intro - It's Nice To Meet Other Heathens
I can come down like Cain to swing a wicked chariot
Spitting beer and cigarettes on God's Precious Moments collectibles
The wind carries the messages of all the new wars
I pluck them like chosen grapes, dangling
There is a bright, red pick up truck in Topeka, Kansas
One day it will run me down completely, damn it all
Main - Meet Our Man
(babygirl)(babygirl)
The queen of the town people
Her float, moving galas, invade
My galaxy (or head space)
Leaving a flawed trace
I tried to hold it all in
Jumped right up with the wind
Heard you gasp, saw your scepter
Mostly heard the voice of My Master Deceiver
I laughed right out loud at this
Ran away but first stole a kiss
Kicked out the band leader's shins
But this is not a list of my sins
So let me tell you, the day was clear
It was coming, it was near
Took Compton to the north side
I felt just like the right guy
Reached the building, pulled the door
But nothing happened, got nothing more
My dry tongue is in need of molasses
I fell young, I feel spastic
End - Meet Everything Else
I dug up Abraham
I am a bad man
I dug up Abraham
I ruined God's plan
Breeze rocks me to sleep
Judgment on coasts in the east
Where I dug up the covenant

#23

My Car Got Totaled Off of Interstate 64 and Now My Head Is Bleeding, Can You Help Me?
By XII

Silence is golden
I can look at your hair
Wandering, wondering
cool desert air
in my lungs, not my mouth
Hard oasis water
Crisp, calm breezes
The revolutionary daughter
Marches on
In the dawn
The electric space is my own
Come to Tucson, select a home
Storm clouds come about
Chaplains start to shout
"Drink my body, drink my blood
find the sinner, call the flood
Pick up your bullhorns and your crosses
Convert 10 heads and cut your losses"
At the sound of this march
I head for the border
Any more false starts
And I'll be following orders
The time is ripe to get out of town
Crawl under the wire and roll around
Holy fire and holy shit
How'd us two get caught up in it?
My hair's on fire and your dress is drowning
This is most definitely something I won't be forgetting
Rock and roll with heart and soul (out of my open window)
March on to electric dawn
I'm gonna ramp the whole town some day
Yelling, "I'm afraid now that nothing's in my way!"

#22

Arguably Difficult Business To Conduct On Holiday
By XII

Hard gravy crystallizes on the plate
Chatter with Dr. Morisson has ceased
He seemed flighty and not good enough
Just another literate beard
Molesting our peace of mind

Mom's tight dress brings desert
I hate his chocolate cake fake face
His tie is piss yellow
in my father's chair, father's grave
It is apparent that sacredness is not

The hard gravy cracks slowly
Under the weight of hard, sterling silver
My fork grinds slowly
Towards silent dinner justice
The finale is a loud, scraping sound

#21

I'm Writing A Poem
By XII

The line
breaks don't really
even matter
at all
do they?
Are you going to read this any different if
you have to adjust
your gaze.
It's great
to write
a
poem
when no one you know
wants
to admit things that
need
some serious admitting
Logs burn slowly on the fire and crack in half like people do sometimes
Try harder
Be better
Try harder, Be better, Try harder, Be better
Put it back
together

#18, #19, #20

Jonah in Three Acts
By XII

Jonah: Act I - A Man in the Wilderness

When I go to the grocery store
Do not follow behind me
Lest you are branded a heathen
The men in the tower are always watching us
My yew bow is bent, broke, out of all arrows
I want their eyes off of me in an immediate way
Too many friends have gone gutter diving for pearls of wisdom
If I bake a cake, no one make a metaphor
Help me hurry last chances out of the door and into
the Volkswagen waiting on the street
Motor filled with cigarette ash and the blood of wicked men
At the grocery store they asked for my ID
I ran into the street crying, got a bloody knee
All of the furniture in my house was gone
When I crawled in my front door
-
Jonah: Act II - Finding My Own Home Again

I caught you like a lucky break on a Saskatchewan side road
You were falling out of an oppressive-Ford (Model T, green)
I laughed at your scrapes and you cried a little
Told you I was from a time and place that no one wanted
I love seesaws and coarse language with you (all of us)
At the Canadian border I thought to not cry at all
Then you came along like a rolling prophet, saving my soul
Hope that I never die in a fire, like I love the medicine
Your tongue knows stories about Mayan ruins
It told them to me in sequences and Shakespearean asides
;My hair shakes in the fall when I understand peace and
want to write a thesis on your back
I can work a little every night, build a wall, girl
Meet at Stonehenge but don't laugh when I tell you why I'm terrified
Dominated by the winds of change again
Our presence in that town carved a river (a Grand Canyon)

Jonah: Act III - In The Woods, Make An Echo

I am tired and also writing a novel-novella?
Dear book stores of the world, buy me to assist your business
Mountainous beard on my face, grass brown like wheat
Made to go home again like shutting down a fountain
The tower men, goddamn, what is their deal?
Carry my banjo down to the tree line, make a noise to make a way
I'll shimmy out the bathroom window
Packed some extra underwear, tight around my harmonica
Told the people that I don't carry a single cent
Don't care to mention how my time was served
In jail again, cups on top of a pile of my belongings
I hurt daily, trapped in town
Nothing worked like a map of the suburbs did
Can you hold the tower door open?
I am ready to walk on broken bricks (wait for my signal)

#17

Honor + Asshole
By XII

Dry teeth hurt me tongue bad
Island drown in shark language
No known man steps soft
Let down my basket harshly
Hurriedly shushing seven headed children
Golden seals flash in nudism
Flying solo hurts fuel supply
Real stretchy hurt men
Cry into dark paper bags
Breathing like Amadeus briefly
Eyes on you or me or our family
Keep out of the trashcan
Can Jesus do the can-can?
Please pleases Pleaser Caesar
Bow down in downtown at high noon
Pick pistols from the pinkness
She wouldn't dare hug my teddy collection
Hurt me like a hurricane
Puke downstream is green clear
Gloves, shovel, bright purple
I love dancing over to you and punching
Hallow alleycat draws near
Halo placed in dictionaries before hello
Longitude is like latitude is like love
Coffee breaks my stupid hearts
Let's all hurt in a circle!
Cry in a bucket!
Weep in a forum!
I HATE MY DAD
My alcohol problems are everyone's fault
Fuck I hate your faces
Go back where you came
Break open your gift bag
Surprise!
I got you two good eyeballs
Some wordplay for the work day
and a shitty little Furby
told me that he loved me
I left him in the Puget Sound
But he would not fucking drown
Am I awake or sleeping?
Is my pager beeping?
I've got two more days
I am always solitary afraid
Soldiers on soldiers shouting my name
I wish I had a coma dream state
Stop the thinking, press releases
Every damn person wishes I had Jesus
Never touched the byline copy
Won't admit till I know they've caught me
and I said
Quoting movies is a substance
Snorting popularity is social justice
Rocks in my Cocoa pebbles
Fuck your shitty CDs
I won't listen to all but not me
Or anyone without headphones
Playing around hot plates
I think my shy breakdown is late
Colossal nothing ever ends
or goes over the fence
Spinning gross shit around the sink
Get someone to scrape it out
Hold it up, write it down

#16

The Dream of Granite Steps
By XII

Touching on the subway
I love city night lights
I search empty dumpsters
and lift up trash can lids
like searching neon lit dance havens
For any sort of hoodrat partner
to take to Chez Expensive
back to my apartment
let's ride the subway
Halfway there I lurch forward
Apologize and lock lips
Tearing at city clothes
to be one with grime and light
I leave them all
at the Williams St. stop
I can't ever get the city girl smell
out of my hair

#15

My Kitty is Sick With Hairballs
By XII

The glass hall bebop is a brand new dance
You do it at night; all by yourself
Take one heart and one head
Mix it all together until something leaks out
Follow those instructions implicitly
Never stray from the quickly lit path
Shaken and unsure, arrive at your home
The place you built in hills of flesh
When you realize that the whole thing is on rails
Don't forget her telephone number
Pick up a rotary phone and have no second thoughts
Toss bricks into rocking Camaros
See what happens in the other hemisphere
Get a black eye underneath a new sky
What does everybody think of this guy
Breaking mirror and handing it to friends
Neon lights illuminate young faces
Offered lemonade is stuck up noses
Sidewalks turn to moving pathways
No one understands your languages
People from the stereo talk just like you
Bright red and always somehow dead tired
Gnawing at the edge of every hanging string
Checking lotto numbers with everyone around
Feverishly calculating odds of going big
Waiting in the outfield for a grand party
Infield yells for you to come toward the light
Clawing at choices that remain inevitable
Beating at a self-built brick wall
Trickling down clues to secret services
Receiving coded messages that may be grocery lists
You nod your head and turn out the light
Punch your stomach, hug goodbye

#14

Twas Brillig
By XII

I'm tired
But I'm writing you a letter
Something substantial
To dance outright
I'm almost done
The water in my nostrils
Is a very simple stop sign
Backlogged into vodka
Puking onto journals
Mud monsters are on me
Pulling down my overalls
Whispers in my ears
Like the choir is my fear
Drink another beer
Repeating hymns to Dionysus
I hope no one ever finds us

#13

From the Desk of Dr. Pope
By XII

Don't look at selfish pentagrams
Don't eat on Shabbath
Don't touch your private parts
for thirty days
Don't wear white to Sunday School
Don't hold your breath
Don't just hate conditionally
Don't mention your sources
Don't hold me to this
Don't forget to read yr verses
Don't open yr mouth
Don't keep yr eyeballs
Don't shear the sheep
Don't touch the fence
Don't drink too much flesh and blood
Don't hold up the white flag
Don't talk to outsiders

#12

Sang One Song
By XII

Slowly, deliberately I opened the door
Wandered into my favorite store
She was behind the counter
Glowing like a street lamp
Put in by some workers
Half past their dimes
Stepped into half-light
These were innocent times
Checked my watch in one corner
Pretended that I knew the owner
Holding on to an opaque glass
I couldn't ask what I wanted to ask
Fell down the wheelchair ramp
into the dull, dim, dusty, dirty street
In my mouth, the taste of orange peels
The grim grim taste of defeat

#11

Hot Red Faced
by XII

Doctors want me to cool it
I will win the race
Strum the banjo
Break the tape
You are not an obstacle
But you are not a friend
Did you even care to call
I ain't gonna answer
You are not my mother
Never listened either
Something had to break
Pull us both down too
All around a tempest thing
Quieter, no padded shoes
Coming home to someone
I lost it down the drain
Hold the tempo/break the choir

#10

Bum Reputations
By XII

Someone call the infantry
To help me through my infancy
All these hurts on mah body
Are never very realistic
Did I cause it at all
Why do I even ask
Can't I just go to sleep
Slowly breathing meek
Are you alright
Are you OK
Who is having our good days
Is it a close friend
No one knows or ever cares
About your common love affairs
So if you keep stressing the throne
You end up even more alone

#9

Very Awkward and Very Terrible Feeling
By XII

I honestly cannot believe
What happened in the trees
Tension with no passion
Low grade migraine
almost passed out
Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse
Never, ever spend a cent
Hold it all like a washcloth
Wringing dry hands
Jump the stove or
Stay in your bed or
Actually find the middle ground
Spur horses to run down the Pope's office
if you want to burn it all down
I honestly don't demand
That you go where you can't stand
Kiss the Girl
Someone says:
What is this here in the closet
You have everything you need
You must stop crawling around
with your petty, unmentionable greed
The response that we came up with
sounded like a raw deal
It rubbed everyone
clean as the sun
Aren't we all the fortunate ones
Smiling sisters and brothers
No one talks about everything
Anything that moves or breathes
Walls are collapsing
I should not be laughing
But I've built them back before
Kiss the Girl

#8

Town Hall Meeting Lemonade
By XII

When I came in
The windows were busted out
Your really stupid child was
outright bawling
I actually wanted to smack him
No I don't want the Mary Tyler Moore boxset
How dare you suggest that
I don't love your brother
The foil on my lips
I felt static in my hips
Magnets pulled together for
ten odd yrs
Nothing in the sky darkens
like your attitude
I wish I had said something
Then you wouldn't be so angry
Hey, I'm on fire
On a string of burning liars
Geese gone south
know you want to go with 'em
Well just don't go
Or don't try to take me too
Don't make me say it
No one will go with you
Won't jump the cliffs
Just to make the motions
I have dreams that you are
dashed upon the rocks

#7

Watching Out
By XII

When I came to the American South
I took my careful look around
At the blue bird pocket jacket
that hurts my sanctioned hands
Tread soft on the rocks that
break soft in the bay
The noises they made
They almost drove me insane
Nobody, nowhere can quantify this
A desolate coastline lipping our kiss
Large stakes driven into larger holes
Rattling around to find a place to settle
leaning on an opposite embankment
Tom Sawyer has a hickey and he's
looking rather sickly
But the ice caps melted
Mississippi flooded
seek shelter

#6 (Actually Written Yesterday)

Charles Dexter Ward
By XII

I ain't got a space that's mine
I just jump along the tracks
Who's the hokey brokey mayor?
I need to talk to St. Sobriety
at the center for shock treatment
I need nipple clamps pushed
up under my godawful toenails
bleeding like a stuck virgin
Huffing up and down the stairs
Stands in a real cold corner
The street signs hate the happy
To make the worst decisions
of my entire human life is
like catching on fire and
feeling so warm for a whole
night and in the morning
well, at least you made it through the night

#5

Tokyo Cop Sounds
By XII

Through the speaker wires
I came alive
Went to the slim downed docks
Hasty in heat just yet
Not that no one arrived
on time
The worst players among us
Will rise up like a fetid tide
And the sample of soulful music
Seeks to elucidate my pride
Bright bright disco light
Nuanced nothings slink around
On the boats to upper town
Drank a gallon of paint
Searching for lead
To sink to the bottom
Commune with the dead

#4

Cancel Council
By XII

You say you stand
By your man
With a palm
From an open hand
No one tells me
Who laughs the most
I am the hurricanes
Whinging down to little Surrey
To say: "How do you do?"
We can be driving nowhere
And hit love landmines
Tripping into something
That smells like a discovery
It humbles us and we see
The fingertips clutch onto
Real hope in real people's lives

#3

Cleaved Wally in Twain
By XII

Hoopla'ed the circus freaks
All the warning streaks
Held the limp wrist peeps
On my shallow breast
Lifeboat citizenry clamors
not enough to please
the Caesars and their
hierarchies of any of the
chickpea pleas on the Nile
Who sits there in denial
On the coffee can throne
Slinging mud like family jewels
And the ripe men ponder
The woods are dumb motherfuckers
Everybody knows the old terms
Leave it to Beaver and the
fucking police state

#2

Hanging On A Tolerable Phone Line
by XII

Bright blue dawn on the
Super speed lawn
Stuffing meth mouth
Howdy preacher teacher
Darling I need
you to hate me
Some spark of justice
Dust of policy
Stuck in the mouth
of larger cotton diplomacy
Out loud!: I am okay
Downtown... Uptown no way
In a bright blue bomber
Some singer kicked her heels up
Sang a little ditty
About heading South of the Border

#1

Cat Plans
by XII

I'm gonna hurt you
Keep pressing on my buttons
I hold on too closer
I'm gonna hurt ya
Live on the rock slide
Live like a rebellion
The totally tame kids
Hate the no-stare look around
I am going to diminish
But I will never hurt you
I'm going to camel-back it
Do not worry Charlet, An
The whind whips easy
Like a soft lift can hurt
Every morning aches

Contest Tomorrow Assholes!

Dear Assfaces,

I am going to write a poem for every day in Septiembre. I dare you to not dare me to even think about doing so. Some serious shit is about to go down. I wish someone would give me some ideas about what to write. I have had one more good idea:

Coffee Sex

This is the last good idea I will have all of this month. So, give me yours and tell me what to write about. Otherwise, this could all turn to shit. Thank you and goodnight!

XII

Rejects and Forgot-Abouts

Handsome Devil
by Benjamin Morgan

Save a place for me baby
I'm going to end up in hell
But I'm not sure what it means
To be an asshole anymore
Is it just thinking thoughts that bother you?
If I act on a thought
Does that make me an asshole?
If I just think something
Maybe even dwell on it
Does that make me an asshole?
Is what I can imagine
Or what I act upon
The true judge of moral character


Pornography Explained
by Benjamin Morgan

I've got some really messed up words and thoughts
About your firm, round apples and their stems
I can see them through your shirt
I want you to be glad that I am looking
Rip your shirt open and offer me a basket of apples

I get pretty messed up sometimes thinking
Almost all the time about being supplicated
In the computer age
It looks like every woman is horny
They all have an unquenchable thirst to service me

I want to figure out how to separate from fiction
It's too confusing sometimes to know
How easy it is to lose my virginity
Did I have a chance before
Have I turned down a girl who would fuck me

Who is even interested anyways nowadays with me
I hate that even one look or touch is an explosion
Triggers days or months of thoughts
Explicit acts to fuel my angry hands
I think they see it in my eyes and turn away in shame


One if By Phone
by Benjamin Morgan

Hey.
Are you there?
I've been breathing into the phone.
I am just trying to talk to you.
Hey, what was that?
Don't give me any of that guff.
I'm a timebomb.
I am a hotplate turned up to 10.
Hey.
Are you my lover?
I can't speak the language of your body.
I spoke mispronunciations into your ear.
Hey.
Are you still holding on?
Let go of the building ledge.
Go ahead and see if those angels catch you.

The Cycles of an American Year
by Benjamin Morgan

The summer months
When you just sit around your house
In your underwear
Touching each other
Under the fan
With the AC on

The fall months
When you go out in the evening
Come home pink nose
Touching again
Like familiar leaves
Falling down

The winter months
When you can't go out because it's damn cold
The heat doesn't even work well
Touching with icy breath
Under too many covers
Not much sleep

The spring months
God dammit

not a poem
by Benjamin Morgan

I think I'm in love with someone that doesn't exist
I think I'm in love with the devil
I think I'd do anything to swim by myself
With a real big novel on my resume
Also, I would like it as a permanent badge
This summer is a cliche that rocks real hard
Nothing comes out of wormholes but hard thoughts
You can't push anything out that doesn't want to say hello
Ideas are pulled out of heady air with egotism
Thousands of people hate simple wordplay
Rambling is not writing and this is not a poem
This is not a poem
This is just words in a line
This does not even rhyme
Why do you think this is a poem?
Just because I say it is
or isn't
You know that you can think whatever
you want to think
This can be a poem or this can be a giant orgasm
Not like it is though
and that's really saying something
or is it nothing
and how do we decide
unless we all decide for ourselves
But then we're all so different that no one gets together
except those that make certain concessions
And those who won't willow waver get left
out in the tiny, little cold where no one can hear you complain
This is not a fucking poem
This is little words in a computer that no one sees or reads
I might delete this file if vague threats seem to be working
Writing is like something else I can't do well enough
Like anything I like doing or want to do
I hate eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
This is not a poem

Contest Celebration!

To Celebrate What Blogspot Says Was My Sixtieth Post I Am Going To Write A Poem For Every Day In September. (A Contest by XII)

Tell me your dreams and all your secrets what do you want me to write down just give some topics goddamnit just do it is anyone listening fuck it who cares

topics already chosen:

firemen
bloody family members
ghostly cats
Rooftops

Keep em coming and then watch the fruits of your labor ripen with some sort of devil sex.

-XII

If I Go To Heaven I'll Be Bored As Hell

A One Last Hosanna
By Benjamin Morgan

Somebody wants a nice hosanna
I'm gonna give 'em all of two amens
I'm gonna climb to the top of the steeple
Just to make amends

Everyone gathered round in the temple
Heard the gasp as the AC finally died
The elders all started making whooshing noises
So that the women wouldn't cry

The pastor he got up to make his sermon
He said no one will get by on just his own
He was sweating with a fervor to believe in
If only he had not been so alone

Right on the words "god has called out"
The pastor clutched his chest and fell
The people all tired and hot, mouths open
Wondered how the world had gone to hell

Somebody wants a nice hosanna
I'm gonna give 'em all of two amens
I'm gonna climb to the top of the steeple
Just to make amends

The coroner pulled out a soggy bible
Thick with the sweat of working men
He cut a cross in the pastor's chest
So that the family could see him once again

The whole congregation came around
Except for Margaret who was bitter still
They sang loud hymns to an unknown god
Waiting for the rain to hit the window sill

In the absence of rain the funeral started
On a hilltop in the heat that was unlovely
There was a new pastor with some old words
The sun set horribly and so very suddenly

Somebody wants a nice hosanna
I'm gonna give 'em all of two amens
I'm gonna climb to the top of the steeple
Just to make amends

The wife held up her hands to go to heaven
She wept onto the dirt in which he laid
She said "Bill I will come up there and meet you"
Just recommend the Lord my dying day

The last thing that the pastor ever saw
Was the white light like a mac truck blaring
He had time for just one last little thought
But he just looked up and kept staring

His last words were supposed to be poetic
His last thoughts were saved up for his wife
He cultivated hallelujahs like a madman
Waiting for the ending of his too proud life

Somebody wants a nice hosanna
I'm gonna give 'em all of two amens
I'm gonna climb to the top of the steeple
Hold out my holy hands

Watch XII Skewer Yet Another Teenage Thought Bubble

The Shit That Is My Life
By XII

Polar bears
on electric stairs
I hate my father
Hate my friends
Hope this bad time
Never ends
Because I keep my eyes
On everything
Waiting for the surprise
My torture brings
I tell every single human now
How bad I feel when I'm down
But they try to help me turn around
I tell them hold onto the crowd
Cause I'm a distant dark rebel
Cruising bruises on the planet level
Brooding in holes too deep
Frowning hard enough to weep
I wonder how Jesus cried those bloody tears
Because I've seriously been trying for years
I need some of this
I need some more
I want it all yeah
That's hardcore

XII is in the present and he is codified and fully in control like the switchboard captain at your latest cabana boy beach bar parade

National Box Wine
by XII

Driving hard night streets
In the god-damn dawn
Isn't all the good mice
Already taken
Mr. Sir knows it all
Down the hall he falls
But no one in my mind cave
Thinks about the steering
The cold wheel is suddenly
Upon my thrusting,
crashing body
Hard thoughts in my
firm jello reality
Time stretches the
highway always

God Boat pts. I and II
by XII

Pour down the firmament
Lord of the Sabbath men
Puke on my dresses
Sunday morning vomit
is the Great LORDS REIGN
Not the greatest

----------------------

Breaking tablet pectorals
White gloved women
Successful America
In the tye man's hand
Like a record player
Skips the all good parts
Bring back the B-I-B-L-E
So we all have
something to eat on again
I'm so starving senior

XII Speaks From the Past

I'm going to have very girl's name that I ever have sex with tattooed on my back. I'll painfully remove each one when I forget what her face looked like when she came. If I don't know her name I'll just use the name of a reality TV star. Like I wish I was society's little whipping boy. Please wipe the dust off the hieroglyphic playset. I used the plastic chisel then broke it into pieces for the drama. No one reads this. Do a man a favor whose running dry on pen and paper.

Was little Georgy Porgy just a porn store story? A failed actor with a big dick in his jeans, meeting up at orgies just to meet his common needs. Plowing into dumpsters like a trailer park full of limousines. His sweat suit came back from the dry cleaning positive for VD. Hacking back the back attack on his position concerning secular symbols in organized religion. He never knew he'd have to meet up to the director's standards saying pose like Jesus when you cum into the future fury just to please us Makes him wish for cafeterias.

-XII

Pyramid People

The tilt-a-whirl was fun
But aren't you a Christian?
She said, "This is boring."
Then leaned over and kissed him.
The night was alive
Yeah no one was dead
"Let's get fucked up"
She emphatically said.
With no one around
The parking lot hummed
The back of his compact
Moved with the drums
Someone had told them
That when it was dark out
They needed to lay down
To hold onto art house

Why don't we just go to hell?
He said

She looked all bruised
Her face and it's hurt
He wanted to take it
Right down to the dirt
She posed to be meek
He knew it like scripture
Which is to say that
He'd taken several pictures
But as to the whole thing
He couldn't complain
The ball game went on
Even if for the rain
She asked to go home
He just nodded his head
"That's the wrong way"
She timidly said

Why don't you just go to hell?
He said

The driveway in tears
And the helpful little refrain
Coming from the stereo
Beating out at the rain
The pulse of these noises
And their constant repeats
Shoved her out of the car
Right on her feet
She walked to the door
Went on inside
Slammed it behind her
Stopped pretending to cry

Why don't we just go to hell?
She said

Next saturday night
After movie affairs
The jumped in the car
Surrounded by stares
The windows were down
They yelled at the town
There is nothing around
When the windows are down
The hard rock he would play
She would always cringe
They knew all their motions
Knew they would binge
But someone had told them
That when it was light out
They had to keep walking
To get to the lighthouse

A Host of Horrible Things To Do

Here's the album I recorded earlier this summer with Kyle. It's finally done, you just have to download it and unzip it. The album art is in it if you want it. I'll also put it up here so everyone can see. You can listen if you want to, I'm going to put it up lots of places just to see if I can get some sort of feedback. Thanks to Kyle and Tara for all their help on the album. I hope you enjoy it if you choose to listen. I'll also put up a link to some stuff I've been doing this summer. Fun fun!

Album: http://www.mediafire.com/?3lmt07ytdts

Summer 08 Demos: http://www.mediafire.com/?mn2vmurbcji

Yours,
B Morgz

Older Poems

Cat Walks By
by Benjamin Morgan

I've got hobbies
Just enough of them
To build a fort
Inside my spinal nerve endings
I built a supply line
to my brain
So they can start a wall
Maybe one day it's a fort
No one gets in
Nothing gets out
I can be a pitch perfect machine
If you'll just let me be
If the waves come up to the edge of my beach house
I will not be afraid nor will I begin talking to my realtor

Bless This Home
by Benjamin Morgan

My mother stood on a hilltop and shot my sister
It didn't feel bad at first
And then it really got inside my head
What was happening, I mean
It was something that would hurt for awhile
But not something that would stop me
I felt so driven after that
Everything moved so quickly
Now I'm here
Writing it down to mail it off to a man
A man in southern Greece
When he gets it he has instructions
To dig up the floorboards of a house I purchased there
Bury the letter
And burn everything to the ground
What I'm trying to say is my mother stood on a hilltop

camping at the center of the crater
by Benjamin Morgan

Hey mom why won't girls love me
Hey mom why won't girls touch me
Hey mom I'm getting lonely
I thought I'd write to you from Wisconsin summer camp

The trees are all full and thick with green leaves
And Shelly's learning how to play green sleeves
I want to lay Shelly down in the green leaves
And learn my first steps like she learns green sleeves

Goodbye Oklahoma
I never want to see that state again
Goodbye Dairy County
I never want to visit home again
And the strangest thing that I ever saw
Happen to a full grown man
Was when one broke down crying
On a futuristic Tokyo tram
I was just a tourist with wide eyes
I touched his shoulder and he cried
For the lost love of his tender, doe-eyed
Female companion who he wronged

But i ain't wronged nobody
Since the last thing I remember
Is the first smile I ever got back
From a bench, in a rainy December

But here at summer camp it never rains much
We're always getting too much of the sun's touch
I run outside naked to brown my new body
But everyone stays indoors and gets lonely

Some Critics Are Always Upset

Started spinning one way
and then the
next way
Then I didn't know what was going on
This is what I told the bitchy
news lady to make her the worst
liar in the history of television (satanism)
I started the whole thing
I told my child to leap up from the
backseat and cover my eyes
We plowed along with the front of my
car moving the snowy people
At the end of it I breathed
and let the blood flow from the
gates of television (satanism)
Holding onto a ragdoll
My little man is so brave
I forgot to boast about him to
the lady on television (satanism)
Kill satanism
Kill satanism
Kill satanism
I am a star!



I saw it on the news - Ed.

XII Poems (VII-XII)

Shower Time is Power Time
By XII

I’m under a rock
well known

It’s like I’m taking a shower
People won’t stop stabbing me
No one wants to clean me
I can’t clean myself
The soap is all righteous
And holy
Like I’m not?
Whatever man
You’re the one watching me
taking a shower
I locked the door
Asshole

Living Like A Bedtime
By XII

Humbling the camel
A man of multiple humps
Jumps the subway
Screaming for a band-aid
No one listens
But he knows that
It’s all performance theatre
World’s a stage
Every motherfucker wants a piece
But it’s like spitting
To clean up an orgy
Everything’s already fucked
And no one knows your spit
From the actual shit

Don’t Ding My Doorbell
By XII

Harking the angels nightly
Her dog croons smooth
At my exposed midriff
Stepping on plush toys
To defend my territory
Man at Arms
Man at Arms
Flash the light as a signal
See no coat racks or lampshades
Only real danger partners
Who flash their teeth knives
Like itty bitty tornadoes
Calling Dorothy homeward
Horny Dorothy struts
Losing my exhibition
Red shoes and I’m done

Real Truckers Drink Kool-Aid
By XII

Holy grails are for panties
Not like sons of the flesh
Holding up bright power hours
Holding up wooden beams
Like a little bit of Elvis
And a little bit of natural selection
All the little red ones
Are the real nice turn ons
My words are like magicians
Powering wicked little deeds
Your body is an ocelot chalice
A fast little racing relic
On my bureau
Yeah dementia
Sing my heart to policy
Command me to lie still
New little darling struck stone

Whack-O Tobaccy
By XII

Crystalmethcrystalmethcrystalmeth
I never dreamed it up
I only threw up a fewsies
On the night of the new new years
Holding our little newborner
Returned to the waiting heat
Hold my refilled glass
Will you now receive under
Oaths of all my crystalmeth
The halls are going wacky
The disher is brand crystalmeth
Holy little fingers clamping
Screaming like a monster stamping
Wanting bags enough for camping
I put bows in his hair while you were out
Our son’s name is crystalmeth

Prom in Space
By XII

Hardcore little puritans
At a hardcore re-enactment
Screaming things like HxC
To see a man in stocks
And little bleeding shackles
The little HxC girl near me
Is foaming at her mouth
Neck veins like Wall Street
Eyes like murder or hardcore porn
Nothing her is like a movie
Don’t you even dare
The matinee is closed now
So simply stand in rain
Suddenly a cheering
All hats and bonnets tossed
The clanking of the pins attached
Like the rain I just described

It was so awful up in chains
Having long lists read to me
True scene rules
And heartbreak crimes
Thrown to the more metal fans
Like I ain’t worth a dime
My blood on the mic
Stepping up to plates
Bleeding on my toes too
Blood on cement stage
All your faggy costumes
I want to take ‘em off
I heard your mother calling
Like a howling little dog
Ain’t ya better answer
I won’t sit down no more
This is hardcore (now)

XII Poems (I-VI)

Thesis on Used Cars
By XII

All of this bad thinking gets boys in heaps of trouble.
You know, you know?

Ribbon
Isitnew
Ilikeiteitherway
Heyheyhey
ribbongirloverhere
suppersatmyplace
happygreetingstoyou
eatthewholeplate
consumemyclouddreams
sighmybigeyes
As you walk forward

Wax Dolls Dovetailing at the Speed of Light
By XII

Smiley! Smiley!
Shiny Happy!
Bombs on bursting hillsides
Smiling at my new children
I can guide them all
My curved hand
Beautiful napalm birth pictures
Hosanna!

My Maple Monsters
By XII

my grandmother’s picture
is the best picture because
her teeth are the sharpest
the same for her claws
Sanda comes a nightly vandal
With grim dark eyeballs
Heavy irons on his eyelids
I had never seen giant’s falls
Sharp evergreen bearded men
Holding conversations loud
Look away Santa, Grandma
Teetotalers always were so proud

Us Two and the Foggy Eyeglass Pills
By XII

Who yawned sunlight
Peeking through clouds
Shut your old mouth
I have my dear mothlight
Maps and pictures of dresses
Exhuming dead laces
Identifying the faces
Whose this dead dress is
Shout down the closet hole
I found miner’s hats
And a dozen bats
NO TRESSPASSING sign sold
They came at dark hours
Your mouth wired
I was too tired
They took what was ours

My First Girlfriend
By XII

Good morning Senator
Two more men are dead
Because of you
We need a decision
On the collision situation
Senator, are you listening
I will scream over oaken tables
Slam my fists
Tears cried for this war time
Open the window Senator
Get some cold fresh air
Decisions need to be made
All you do is sigh
And wag your head
Your hair is nice today
But your teeth are not

Our Whole Trip to France
By XII

You are such a whore
A dirty fucking whore
Don’t whore at me!
Whore yourself
For all I care
Just take a whore walk
Dig a whore hole
Do ya whore me?
Whoring winds tear
Rain in a downwhore
I whore you
I’m whorry
Whores on Parade
In your town
Tonight
Check whore times
For hocal listings

Over and Over and Over Again

I wrote this a few weeks ago on a car trip to and from Tennessee and a family reunion. It was eleven pages in my notebook and it took awhile for me to ball up and type it all out into my computer. Don't read it if offensive language is scary to your eyes. Or whatever, read it, I don't give a shit.

To Neal, Who Is In Prison

Neal, I’m feeling pretty strange so, this may be too blunt and you’re not around to tell me that. But I think that’s alright this time. Maybe that’s just all my strange feelings. Feelings is such a word, isn’t it? Isn’t it Neal? I’ve got my strange feelings so I can write down strange words. It’s like I’ve got brass balls clapped on right now and I need to run this shit out and take some hits before I start checking everything over. I’ve got to fuck up, I think, so I can finally learn how it all goes down. Of course, I mean, it’s really impossible to know all of that and everything Neal. But, I’m on such a high horse tonight that I think I just might be able to ride it someplace. It’s better than kicking it in the stables, picking apart horseshit for something to talk about and then complaining about the smell. Seriously Neal, do you get all this man?
I went down to Tina’s tonight, that POS bar and grill down close to where your dad used to live. Man, I miss your dad, where did he go anyways? He was all over high school. It’s been awhile. Anyways so I go to Tina’s and the lady there, behind the bar, she’s new and she’s being a real bitch, you know, about my fake I.D. I keep telling her that it’s legit and it’s like she won’t shut the fuck up about how it looks kinda strange and I don’t look twenty two and what year were you born quiz-type bullshit. You know man, just being about as big of a bitch as she can be. Actually she was being just about what I would call a c*** but you know I don’t talk that kinda shit out of respect for my sister. But man I know you get the basic idea here, we’ve talked about it all before. I can’t remember when but I think it was at John’s house. John Hope not John “I’mafuckingassholeprickshit” Davies. So yeah, this bitch is all up in my case and I’m trying to talk her down, like I’m a regular but my lies are coming up a little flat. Because I really just wanna get smashed and I mean my money’s good and what the fuck is her problem. Right? This is what I’m thinking anyway and it’s throwing me of my game. And I’m just getting kind of desperate pissed when Mellissa walks in with this dude. This dude, name is Rodney, first I thought he was a douche because he was rocking that whole original punk thing with the jacket and the hawk and the nose ring. Plus, this fucker had patches. I mean, he was up to his ass in DIY patches and shit, pins too. So Mellissa and this dude Rodney come up and of course I’m like “hey what’s up.” They say hey back and she introduces me to Rodney. I don’t say any of the shit I’m thinking about him because I’m not a total asshole. I have some tact, and also I’m not nearly that drunk yet. I had a bit of whiskey left but not nearly enough for this day and I was really counting on Cheap Thursday shots at Tina’s. So I tell Mellissa to tell this fucking uppity bitch behind the counter that I’m a regular so I can just get something to drink already. So Mellissa works her ways and all (what a girl man, she’s great, not to pull up any shit or anything I’m just saying) and her I.D. was, I guess, more legit than mine or something. But the counter bitch finally relented and we started taking some shots. It was all pretty chill, a good time. WE were all just kinda shooting the shit, but comfortable shit. You know? Something I can comfortably wallow in without drowning or felling like I just stepped in something. We were all getting kind of tipsy and I was headed straight for dead drunk. Eventually, Mellissa goes to the bathroom. Here I wanted to say something about how chicks go piss a lot. But man that’s a generalization and I’m trying not to be so sexist and shit lately, nobody digs that. While she was gone Rodney and I, we got to talking and it turns out he’s like twenty five and out of college already, for awhile. I though that was pretty crazy because I pegged him at twenty one at best. So, I’m pretty drunk and I ask him why he’s still doing the punk thing then. I mean it was a blunt question but not without merit, I thought. I told him I just didn’t understand how you could really get along with all that ideology and get by like in society and shit. It came to me, in the middle of his answer, that I didn’t know why I didn’t just assume he was in a band or something. I mean, every motherfucker who has one word to say or one tit to grab in this tri-county area has got a band. It made a lot of goddamn sense. Actually though, he works at a tattoo place downtown and he also had a lot of good ideological and political points. I mean, he was riffing some shit about Bush that I had never heard. But not any sort of crazy shit, he had a lot of facts with it, a lot of truth. He also had some good points on the whole punk scene and I could tell he really meant it. It was really a bad call on my part but I didn’t feel bad about it. The way I see it is that you can’t just stop judging people. Because there are a lot of dicks and douches that just aren’t worth anybody’s time frankly. So, for them and for me, I’m a dick and I judge people. I fully realize the dickery in all this and take full responsibility for it. But, hear me out here Neal. If I’m a dick and judge someone and then they aren’t what I thought they were, it’s a pleasant surprise. If not, then fuck them and I didn’t waste my time. I certainly didn’t say anything out loud about it. The key is secrecy here and no one gets hurt. I’m not gonna start felling guilty about it and no one can make me. And I know the counter argument here is to say that I’m losing out on meeting great new people. Am I right? But really, I don’t care. I know enough people and I have enough friends. It may not work for everybody but I think I have a closed case on this one. Besides, friendship might just be a fate thing anyways. I’m looking into it. Anyway, after all that talk we get started talking about school and shit. What else? We traded majors, which is something I’m too conversationally familiar with. His was Anthropology, which of course he recommended, but I felt like he wasn’t laying it up too much, just speaking. So, I didn’t take it to heart or anything but I listened. After that though we got around to my major, of course. I told him about my writing and my music but I felt so stupid doing it. He actually asked what (not if) I had published, which no one has ever done before. I stammered that answer out and ended up feeling like an even bigger tool. But really what’s the right age to get published at? I think there’s a lot to consider here and I have to admit that I don’t know any of the answers. I wish I had them but yeah that comes with experience. If you hit it too early you’ve got no chops. But you can just keep building chops all your life and come up with jack shit. And that’s kinda terrifying. I don’t want to be a speech writer and I don’t want to feel like I’m going to waste. I don’t want to feel like I have to be famous. I don’t want to but I do. I know that everyone feels it though so I don’t feel bad, most of the time. Writing is a great thin g to do and I know it’s for me but it can be such an exercise in fear and discouragement. I’m always so afraid of not writing or not writing good anymore. Because there’s always those dry spells. I get so discouraged too, when it’s not turning out like it should be or like it needs to be. I don’t mean to complain, just to expand.
At this point in tje conversation, Rodney and I hit a lull. This is where we both suddenly realize that Mellissa’s been gone a damn long time. So, we go looking for her. At first it’s like a joke thing. You know, we’re both pretty lit up, running down the hallway to the bathroom and banging on the walls. Rodney peaked into the bathroom real slow and whispered her name. At this point I was on the ground, rolling around because I though this was the funniest thing I ‘d seen in maybe weeks. Rodney motions me over and I get on my knees real slow like and start crawling towards where he is at the ladies’ room entrance, suppressing my giggles but not very well. Once we both got in we saw there was a couch and we bolted for that. It had pink roses on it, but I wasn’t that impressed. I mean I’d seen it a couple of times before, couches in ladies’ rooms, and the wonder had almost worn off. So we’re sitting on the couch now just grinning and calling out her name. Eventually we get tired of all that and Rodney goes to the stall door. And on the other side of the stall is this long ass hallway down to the sinks. I mean, it’s a long hallway, especially for a bathroom. So, still kind of laughing I say “I’ll check the hallway” and start marching down it, real Nazi-like, goose-stepping to the soap dispensers. I get down there and it’s nothing special so I just go back. Rodney has stopped laughing earlier so I was already starting to get back in control. Back over at the stall Rodney’s there and he’s banging on the door and screaming. I’m like “dude, let’s chill alright” and he just keeps trying to bust the door down. I’m grabbing his arms and screaming at him and just generally trying to get him to calm the fuck down. And I’m also starting to get worried that the counter bitch saw us come in and maybe she’s gonna call the cops. If she didn’t see us she can probably hear us by now. So now I’m thinking it’s only a few seconds before the cops come in and crazy ass Rodney is tearing up the fucking bathroom. So right as I’m starting to think about running out on everything the door busts down and Rodney falls into the stall. Mellissa’s there and she’s passed out with the window screen in her hands. It looked like she had puked everywhere in the bathroom except for the toilet, including on herself. I guess she was just embarrassed about looking like such a lightweight and tried to jump out the window. But, she didn’t get past removing the screen. I’ve taken all this in and I’m still freaked out about the cops. You know I hate cops. Well, I mean, I don’t have to tell you this do I? So Rodney starts getting up real slow with this painful moan. And I don’t even look around or say anything. I just bolt for the window.
It was actually a nice big one at about crotch level on me. I don’t know what dumbass put that huge window right there or if they thought about how easy it made bathroom escape but I was too happy to take advantage. I just opened it and slipped out and then I was in the alley. It was a cold night. I start heading out and wonder if maybe the cops are already around front. So I go to the back of the alley instead. Right as I pass the window though here comes a groggy Rodney carrying an even groggier Mellissa and they stumble out onto the street. Mellissa worms her way out of Rodney’s arms and is conscious enough to say that we could all go crash at her place. I didn’t need to be told twice and I started running and weaving. I know it’s not that far from Lisa’s to Home-Hill Groves but it felt like tow miles or some shit. By the time Mellissa and Rodney stumbled up to the house I had been there for five minutes and was strewn across the front porch, still catching my breath and fumbling with my lighter, trying to light a clove. Mellissa led us down to the basement. I didn’t even ask if her parents were home. I figured the esteemed Bob and Laura were off fuckling with economics in Spain or some shit. I figured they probably hadn’t stopped in the few months since I’d been there last. She unrolled the sofa bed for me and then went into her own room to change clothes. Rodney sat on the couch across me for about ten seconds before he followed her. I didn’t say anything about it but it seemed gross that he still wanted her with all that sick on her. I mean, I’m certainly not gonna fuck a chick with puke all over her, at least not without a shower. I didn’t hear any running water and that was sick too. Then I got to thinking maybe he liked it all gross and sick like that and maybe he was some kind of chronic sex-farting fetishist. That was almost a little too much so I tried to stop there. But I kept imagining Rodney having a huge Sex Farter patch on his jacket and it made me laugh. Then I imagined it as a tattoo but something else struck me. If he worked at a tattoo parlor then why didn’t he have any visible tats. I guessed that maybe they were all under his clothes but it still seemed suspicious. I wrote him off then because I figured he wouldn’t be around much longer anyways. Mellissa hasn’t stayed with any dude very steady since you left man. (Neal don’t take this all personal but I want to be straight shit with you. Alright?) I’m sitting there thinking about all of this and glad I can’t hear any noises or anything and then this dog starts barking. I kind of grunt disapprovingly and rub my head for a second. Because it’s a yappy dog and I just want it dead. I’m a cat man through and through, but I am not a dick about it. But man this dog was fucking past annoying and would not shut the fuck up. So, I go over ot the glass door that goes out to the backyard and I yell “Shut the fuck up, you fucking DOG! Go suck dicks in hell!” After that last flourish I slam the door and go back to my sofa bed and put some couch pillows over my ears but they don’t really do anything. Then, eventually, the barking stops and I look up thankfully. And there’s this crazy middle-aged dude in an open bathrobe standing at the door. The first thing I see is his fucking dick hanging out, which is all “hi hello there”, and I didn’t need that. Then I notice he’s got a baseball bat and he looks fucking pissed. He catches my eye and starts fucking screaming his head off “What the fuck did you say to MY dog!?” So I’m just like shaking my head and backing up on the sofa bed and then he raises the bat. And I start going “No, no, no, no, no, nononononono!” But he just fucking smashes the glass. At this point I’m looking for something to hit him with and all there is around me is a big satellite TV remote, so I grab that. Then I notice he’s got his arm caught on glass in the door and it’s gushing blood and he’s yelling and screaming. So, without thinking and in like total panic, I just lift my foot and crack him right in the face and he goes down. Blood everywhere man. I didn’t even know if he was still alive. That just cut everything loose for me and I bolted up and out of the house. I was headed for my house but then this giant gap starts opening in the street and I’m falling and yelling and the dog starts barking again. Then there’s this weird throb in my head and I sit up real quick. I puke over the side of the sofa bed. It was the most real dream I’ve ever had. It was just visceral. I hope you don’t think I was trying to trick you there Neal. I though the whole thing sounded better the way it felt to me. It wasn’t about fucking with you. After all that I had a really fucking awful headache too.
Then I really did decide to leave, even though it’s about an hour to walk. I figured if they found the puke I could tell them Mellissa did it or maybe they would already think that. I didn’t think they would remember much anyways. On the way home I stopped at the Dinosaur Wrangler gas station place and picked up some aspirin. Now I’m finally home and still feeling strange so I just started writing to you. You’re who I would always tell this shit to anyways. I figure this is great writing practice too. I think it’s just life and everything that hit me. That sounds really full of shit but I’m not sure that it’s not supposed to. I mean, I’m just home after another night of bullshit, and sure there was excitement but I don’t wanna live like that. I never planned too. I never planned so much shit but everything I plan never even turns out. When am I gonna start living? When am I gonna just sit down and breathe because everything finally hit that bearable mark. I don’t even know if that’s ever going to happen or even what’s realistic to expect. And then how do I deal whit that uncertainty when I need something certain to just level everything out once in a while? How do you climb a fucking mountain everyday when you can’t see the top and you don’t even know that there is one of if the air is just gonna cut out? I mean, Rodney seemed to have his shit together but then he totally lost it and he’s fucking someone like six years younger. It scares me. Because I really do want to have my shit together. Especially when I’m fucking twenty-five. But, how do you get that and where does it come from? Is it all that adult responsibility? Because, I can’t even feasibly or monetarily accomplish that right now. Is it just a decision I have to make? If it is then I decide it soon, next time I feel strong. If it’s just the money and the place of your own then I don’t know what to do but wait. But, I think that I’m so tired of waiting, personally and culturally. I just don’t want to play another waiting game. I can’t go back to simple times but I’m not old enough to get my shit together. I mean there’s nothing left to do but say “Goddamn it all” and sulk on the couch. And everyone knows that doesn’t look any good. But, I almost don’t even care now.
Everybody misses you a lot, especially me I think. Craig and JH don’t want to have practice without you and I think things are going to start going downhill there. I wonder if you still get a chance to play. I really hope so. Craig is having a party tonight and I think I might go over. I don’t’ know it it’s all the feelings but I might try going sober for awhile. But, I think I would still go to the party. I bet that I could still have a good time. I don’t know if this is a social experiment or a wellness plan or what man. Neal, I want to tell you that what they did to you fucking sucks and everybody here is really behind you and just all of that shit. If you ever need any more testimony you just tell me and I have got your fucking back. No problem at all. Hell, it might even go over better if I can stay clean. I’m sure it would. I want to do anything I can to help and I’m going to write again real soon, hopefully not just when I’m feeling weird and confessional. Feel free to write me back if they give you the time in there. I don’t know all the rules about everything, just what I’ve seen on TV. And that’s limited too because you know I don’t get any of those premium channels with all that edgy bullshit. I don’t want to have to focus on all of that anyway. I really just wish they hadn’t carted you so goddamn far away. Once I get enough cash to get out to Walla Walla I am there though. I promise sincerely man. I think I’m gonna pass out again soon and then I’ll probably have to go to work before the party. My dad got me a job working at Smith Warehouses outside of town. I’m working with pharmaceuticals and medical equipment, shit like that. It’s pretty simple and I like the pay. I do have to put up with a lot of stupid pothead shit there. I swear they are like the fucking living dead just shambling about and messing every little goddamn thing up. I guess they got fired from dish washing. That’s what I always think and it makes me feel better, to belittle them. I can remember when we would go out to Gorgeous George’s Gorge and take potshots at the stoners with our BB gun, your brother would drive us. It’s tough to remember all of that stuff these days and I think it might stay tough. But I’m always trying to stay tougher and man you’ve gotta do the same thing. Shit, my fucking parents are up now so I better hit the sack. Like I said, I’ll write more later. I won’t sign my real name for various reasons.
But Jesus Christ Neal you should know it by now.

Love and Sincerely,
Shits and Giggles

Lame Life Update

Dear Blog,

This is my life this summer, because Ian wants to know (and maybe other people, I don't know). I have a job at the local Schnuck's grocery store. I work at the seafood counter. It doesn't smell that bad but it is kind of gross. It's very laid back though and it's a nice job. I work with some old friends and can reconnect with them, having not talked since high school. They will also allow me to come back to work over Christmas and next summer. Otherwise I stay in my house and watch TV shows courtesy of my Netflix account. I watched Season 1 of Dead Like Me and that was great. Also, 30 Days is very good. The third season of Weeds was less disappointing than it was made out to be and I still like the show. I've become enamored with director Paul Thomas Anderson and all of his work. Magnolia is now my favorite film. I also play my Xbox 360 a lot. It's not a complicated life but I am getting by. I look forward to returning to school. I am still writing, mostly fiction that only gets half finished, so I don't post it here. There's one thing I can post that I just have to get typed into the computer. I am being lazy about it. I am still writing songs and I posted a couple new ones on my facebook page today. Kyle and I made a whole album of my songs and Kyle is still mixing it. When it is done I will post it lots of places and make announcements and you will know. Unless I think it's not very good. I'm reading a lot too, thanks to reconnecting with my local library, and have a Shelfari account. It's a wonderful thing that helps you keep track of what you want to read and what you have read. I know there is a Facebook app like it but I prefer the separate website. I've recently found Skype totally incredible and my name there is: tehmountaingoats. Hit me up if you want to have futuristic chats. Tonight I looked at a bunch of guitars and mandolins on Musician's Friend, trying to determine how to screw up and not save the money I'm making now. Everyone have a good night. This has felt entirely too self-indulgent.

Yours,
B Morgz

Chariot, Swinging Lower

I spat in your hair
You fucked with my tie
I gave you a stare
And received my black eye
The bride's side gasped
The groom's was passed out
You tried to laugh
But I covered your mouth
And the chariot rose up in a heavenly flare
I just looked a second, I had learned not to stare
When the angels blew their trumpets
I heard it all to well
I cursed about the seraphim
Really starting to yell
How dare God to bring down heaven
When I requested hell
The chaplain was pretty speechless
I could already tell
The crows broke free
And quickly flew away
Why did there have to be
Crows here anyway
My cousin started toasting
He never meant to trip
I said there was no ring
You let your anger slip
I thought about passages I was supposed to remember
Jesus came to Israel in the month of December
But who held up God's clouds
In the month of September
To bring fresh life as manna
Upon these pitiful sinners
If I prayed just once before this
I can't seem to remember
All that shit that's spoke upwards
Comes back returned to the sender
I held matted hair
As you wretched hatred
You looked pretty fair
Eyes came up blood red
I grabbed your hips
Like mountain law tablets
To breathe in a kiss
We hadn't had yet
The chaplain spoke up once for the space of a declaration
Collapsing the whole house in a ravaged celebration
But still who is the potter
Did he bring us a card
Where were all the Lord's angels
Gone back to the stars
I rubbed quick at my eyeballs
I was transfiguration scarred
I think all those drugs in your Bible
Hit us a little too hard

It Ain't Gotta Be A Statement, Just Let It All Go

Dear Blog,

I am here to represent. I am in the house. I know I haven't posted here in a while. While I've been gone my life has only spiraled downward and here I sit in my basement. But, I will spare you the details and do as little complaining as possible. I have a lot of half-finished prose at the moment sitting on my computer. If I ever finish any of it I will be sure to put it on here. For right now though, pretty much nothing. My productivity has been, shall we say, lacking due to a wonderfully absent sense of creativity. I tend to stay in bed all day.

Yours,
B Morgz

First News From Home

Dear Blog,

Home again and still job searching. It's really annoying and I'm procrastinating an awful lot. Here's the only thing I've written, besides a poem for mom, since I've been home. I wish I knew who sent me that weird ass thing in CPO.

The Cucumber King Relates His Last Battle
By Benjamin Morgan

I'm like a man crawling out of the wreckage of a 1997 Toyota Corolla
That was painted lime green
On a whim in '03
I'm like a man chasing his money around after it's been all cut to shreds
There's a twenty
Yeah, there's a ten
I'm like a man slowly trying to reassemble legos at 4pm on a schoolground
People looking around
Say that's not allowed
And when my four year old son asks about what happened on November the fifth, two thousand and eight
I'll say it wasn't a product of hate
It was simply two people falling out of love with each other quickly and catastrophically
And when he understands
I'll know I raised an even-tempered man
I hope that he doesn't want to fight with me
Because I've got a weak chin you see
But if he steps up to deliver blows to my body
I'll say "Give it your best shot sonny."
Because I won't go down without a fight
That's what I told your mother that November night


Yours,
B Morgz

Sucka

Here's a link to the new novel I'm working on. I've gotten pretty far into it and I'm very proud of how it's turning out. Enjoy guys!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Summer Haikus

Dear Blog,

Here are some haikus I just kind of puked out about summertime. Maybe they are vague enough to sound good.

We are circles now
Pushing up against each other
Ah, Terrible pressure

Lemonade on lawns
People pushing past parts
Touch my summer soon

Hold to heartlessness
In June but not in August
Hold my thin blonde hair

Old watch ticks on me
On my shoulder gazes down
Picking off the flies

Hearts hurt hardly Hal
Don't take the sack race like that
What were you promised

Did I pack the bag
It is time to go on now
In our newly worn

Heavier than no
Drops hang in the taunting air
sick hollow sound

I hate the sun times
Thrive for nighttime blood ritual
Stale with tradition



Props to Ian on the first one, his circles discourse started me off.

Yours,
B Morgz

Finishing the Purple Notebook

Dear Blog,

Still working on the story, it's called "Other Important Things" I think. It's something Mellor said today that struck me. I just finished off a purple notebook that I have had for two semesters and two classes here. It has brought me some really good poetry and I commend it. Here's the last poem is was able to eek out:

A Writer Writes

I wrote a long, boring novel
that no one will read
about a parent's approval,
stagecoaches, and greed.
The protagonist jumped up
right out of the page
but had no timeless phrases
on his lips to say.
I've left it all stacked
on the top of my mantle
hoping to catch flame
from a curious candle.
I want everything burning
all through the night.
Then, I think, at last
I would know what to write.


Yours,
B Morgz

Wooo! Yeah!

Dear Blog,

Just had the best complete story idea I've had in a while. Look for the fruits of my labor soon. Hopefully it's pretty long, not crossing my fingers for novel length or anything but something longer than ten pages would be nice.

Why am I posting about this? No one is reading!!!!!!!!!!!!

DICKS!!!!!

Yours,
B Morgz

Lost and Confused in a Borneo Churchyard

The night is alive with heat
Snapping at my ears
Its winged voices: flustered and red
I go to sleep drenched
Wake up in my morning dew
Yelling for anyman to leech me
If anything at all will help

Sometimes, in the dense tropical
I remember things that never happened
Your lips on my lips
Like puzzle pieces finally
Instead of terse-lipped rabbit hunts
The subtle king and queen of rock 'n roll
Hiding bottles like whispered prayers
And touch the blazing, holy chariot
Come to take me away at last
For I have predicted heaven down
Right down onto mine own deserving self
So now it must come to be partial
I know I read that somewhere a long time ago!!!

Tense sheets twist alive
Wringing fresh sweat
Into my dry canyon mouth
Calling out for anything but water
Something so new
That the calm is refreshing
Pull the shades

Back to the overgrown trail
Cutting down stereo noises
And all the native's uncomfortable frowns
So that dreams can bud out
Spreading like a fire weed
Twisting on my ankles
Gripping up my legs
To hug my weak thighs
I writhe in a flash of white
Tripping into a mud pit (like a volunteer fireman)
Spend all day getting clean
Hoping that next time
Someone else falls in with me

Home for the Holy Day

I came home one sunny June the 18th
I found all the places around my house
Where I used to play and talk to friends
I sat on the old swing set and rust stained my pants
The whole thing seemed like a movie
It was more of a documentary though really
Maybe even just a TV show length production
Coming Home:
today's episode- Steven Chambers from North Shepardsville, IL

I ran my fingers around the fence that I painted
My father paid me way too much for that job
It felt like an old wooden friend
Not even ready to yield after all of those years
It gave me a nice big splinter in my thumb
Old friends hold grudges and make new ones
They push them up out of the hard wood
Fences can't aim though or I would have splinters in my eyes

I felt the grass on my bare feet after chucking my shoes
It felt cold and new like a sterile resurrection
The bugs didn't bother me as much anymore
I lay down and felt it in my hands
Pulling it like your hair
I mean pulling it like the hair of some beautiful woman
I laugh thinking about meeting new people
The sun is so bright in my brand new eyes

The realtor was so nice to give me the bronze keys
Some time to myself and a knowledge of the past
I go from room to room, crossing myself slowly
I've brought a black notebook and I read aloud
Slowly intoning phrases and key syllables
The whole thing seems whitewashed
Which is fitting enough for me at this point

My bedroom takes me several hours alone
Meditation never struck me as very useful
So I just stared and yelled at the ghosts
That happy little kid running back and forth
Calling his friends and rushing too fast
I tried to trip him but he isn't even there at all

My parents were so beautiful and I see them
In every room they hover and I gaze awhile
A hollow buzzing fills all of my senses
I strike a deal with God to bring it all back
But the outlines remain gray and distant
Like the tombstones in the cemetery far from here

As if this is a message to go ahead I lay down
I brought a sleeping bag and I rest now
My body curls in the night as I dream
I meant to have one last adolescent dream
A fantasy or a final super-vivid pleasant memory
I dreamt of a blue pall on your face
Your visage was unknowable and beyond my thoughts
Nothing is perfect anymore, oh the humanity
I wake up groggy and my head is heavy like lead

I step out into the backyard right at dawn
I always hated the dawn
You kept your grudges like the fences taught you
My memories never meant something to you
I made it through twenty years without you
I was only happy twice in that short span of time
You proved one a fake and derided the other
There is nothing left for me
Neatly scripted in the black notebook
Placed on the rotting picnic table
Here where it prospered I will conquer the whole civilization
The dawn of a new age comes with a literal dawn
Pull that trigger