I AM SORRY BUT THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO

makes less sense than skin
a dust jacket for your dust jacket
or a floating device
a puff of air anywhere but your lungs

your ocean swims in
a vat of dull stars
swirling around like drowned ants
maybe something much less
destructive
where i stop mentioning my arm
as a cape
or i start questioning why i can say so little
w/o being insane

walking on walking on walking on the side of
a swamp-boat standing in the thick-shit
where it's hard for your face to smell
the difference between what dies and what isn't yet

then everything was a whimper
big bust of a building earth as a micro
Oklahoma City you might remember
a jet flying as fast as sound and or a future's future
the twinkle you see when you wait for
Semisonic to tell you what to do now

what the real world is or when you want to
title a poem REAL WORLD ROAD RULES
CHALLENGE or something a little more specific
like how hilarious it is that Seattle is still a city
worth any ones shit and not that i know but who
really gives a crap about where you are at

and i am not sorry for you or your broken nose
from watching someone else's someone else's hips
shake like a iphone4 instagram picture
tell me to shutter
tell me to freeze in July
standing where i stand because i can't walk
on these drunk wobbly legs
and learning how to drive again
seems pretty pointless

i used to fantasize about driving a motorcycle
through ditches
and it seems funny that in some places
there aren't ditches
or some places
there are no tornadoes
or some places Kurt Cobain didn't shoot his face off
and the Foo Fighters never made
the music video
Learning to Fly
which is a pretty good video i guess
but it makes you really wonder about alternate realities

like this reality where luck exists or love exists
in a way that makes sense to your average love boat
and this poem becomes something about Kyle
and the way when you read his poem you feel like
he is lifting you out of the swamp

but you wonder what he was doing in the swamp
in the first place
and you try to write a poem back to him
but he moved to Idaho
and that seems like a pretty strange place to go

like the moon
is one way to put it
like if they were going to do a fake moon landing
i would assume it would be shot
in Idaho

and back in 2005 or some other year that Bush
was the president again
there was this homeless man
the way there are always homeless men
and i remember him telling me that he was going
to Idaho to die and it really stuck with me
and i wrote some poem
but the poem really was about Eva
and how this relationship that i valued
was falling apart
but you know
i guess that's OK
when things fall apart sometimes

kind of like a forest fire
i said
i said
i said
sucer pas le poison
ne buvez le poison
vous etes le poison

and laugh for no reason
and drink if you don't have to
and tell death shes a fucker
or tell the sky to breathe you in

there is always a try
and everything was
and green is a color on both sides
how are your eyelashes
they call me giraffe
and lions like to gnaw my spotty neck