this is overkill
it's said to say sour grapes
by some and move on

audiences you know
come and go as do poets
shovels dig and bury

maybe I am heaping
dirt on some corpses
who's time has come

sometimes it's trash
sometimes innovation
sometimes observation

I can't remember
the lines I desired to
set in the middle

sometimes the fighting
spurs brainstorms but Katrina
drowned new orleans...

in a hall of those
said mirrors images distort
I can't tell syllable...

shapes formless and
lovecraftian, madness
ah yeah right...

caveman on a car insurance
commercial

I guess lush means the
guy who sits at the bar and
asks for free drinks, huh?

folks fight because they
like heroin and the booze
are addictions, fold...

so I am and you
are enemies of self, once
that war is won then...

speaking, the foes of
someone else are idiots
who's worst foe is self

sit in a room and
have no one about, no folks
just you and a book

we need audience
hecklers, fans, and writers
are a bad audience

sodomy is a
way of also tearing ass...
but not my sticking...

the black soul is just
weak, republican conv. batch
smashing lib'rals...

when you die and have
nothing more to say who cares
they bury you down

all is left is scribbles

I can't write Haikus
I'm like an empty vessel
Need a Nemesis

mine horrid posture
serves purpose none, erasure
blackened soul escape

'pon keyboard collapsed
smashed, a tortured synapse, eh...
bottled idiocy

submersed bathosphere
beneath the worst, tongue most shear
testicular schmear

follicles failing
developing monk's tonsure
emboldened whilst bald

novel asshole torn
thrice from several directions
no one digs bs.

I am wounded but
I know this is no excuse
but to get back up

how many times has
the world ended in the past
only to keep going

some Bible code stuff
more late great planet earth stuff
end of the world stuff...

wiser voices at
times prevail but Saul is still
doomed to consult death

no flagellation
don't try to please everyone
just laugh at yourself

Oh my mighty flask
O'er the waves of grain
please ease my pain

the eyes turn glassy
my ears hear nothing but wind
it's death by lecture

Wind and rain and
shivering at the bus stop.
The end of summer?

people are a drag
a distraction, not evil
just, not like me...so

it's hard to relax
sometimes, introversion
90210

I am also told
that the harder one fights then
the other fights back

good for sex, bad for poetry

to stroke ego is
masturbation posing
as sacred artwork

a scythe, for harvest
cutting down old growth for fall
colors appear flat

what worth is this
site anyhow, what value
do any of you have?

to lose self in the
winds of emotion to be
tossed by human tides

some people give up and
when they are gone, and I want
you to get lost you

stick around when you
wouldn't give me your time or
space, and it repeats...

the slap on the back
of the car,the fool does not
repent, he's stupid

a period of
loss often leaves empty
the sense of the self

i fear in anger
and frustration i will snap
and hurt someone if

if I don't know how to
fight socially, it seems like here people use their snobbery and elite natures
as a weapon to put down others period, just because they can, and real violence is a real choice,acting in a way one cannot resist

I can't be violent, I don't want to be

but for years i say
and repeat myself, and so
take me as I am

i will not change

the artifcats of
argument go no where and
end in spiration

angered or ignored
ignored is better, impose
dispose, pass on, no

some people retain
a judgemental void which is
the realm of the clique

I mean would you fight
back or shut the hell up and
stop reacting, how

\i find myself in
distraction, who's face do i
right hook first hardly

I find that in a
realm of ego, there is no
room for haiku thoughts

judgment, control, pride
demons in secure lockdown
tatted up workout

i remember feet
covered in blood and feeling
drunk without the joy

old but not boring
there's no accounting for taste
there is for haiku

no apologies
great internet warrior
the boring old guard

not a lycanthrope
but indolent cannibal
the flesh doth await

saliva drenched fangs
crave autumnal equinox
and a harvest moon