quasi_sean

i apologize for my abscence.

drink, drink, drink.
i owe everyone comments and cookies.
i miss you all.

it's the sound of the rattle.

how much can sean drink before he goes completely mad?

i don't know the answer.

i do know that the times are changing and it's almost December and the leaves are breaking in the air. i have a look on my face that reminds me of coffin photography. it's alternating--heat, chill, heat, chill, cheat hill, it's confusing.

the boogie man doesn't scare me. it's those...
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i cannot be helped.

it's a sad night spent lonely in the car

it is here that i watch the flowers dance & dangle dead like a trapeze artist developing a rodeo skit for an apathetic audience--devoid of actual contact or memory speaking thru twelve panes of glass-ware vaguely sensitive & alive & loud.

draw curtains & the show.
the show is cigar smoke filtering thru the mask. the...
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Dear ******

Jesus scares me.

I held the candles for way too long and peeled off my eyebrows w/wax and left myself burning in an alleyway, drunk and confused reeling from the fucking--the seance the scene the screaming mobs of people holding me while I decided that yes, I will be a star someday. somewhere.
it is my time to shine. it is time I...
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bar notes on a napkin

I

the funnel
is closed.

i spent dirty
the afternoon
the genius
the ballroom
a spectacle
machine--

laugh.

the callous knock
doesn't work
hands down
for nothing
like innocent.

the bus passes
a stranger
packing &
wander the road
alone.

i'll see you
in a different shadow
than the others
clawing
--fit--
at the homemade
noose

& the Idiot
plays...
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i have no bone of originality left in my body--
i have sunk beneath the skin to search for words.
there are graveyard poets putting me to shame with bizarre haikus and
benedictions spoken in tounges.
there are flies around me.
23rd cigarette of the day burns too much on the bottom.
i'm following.

i'm walking.
i dreamed of a man w/acne sores and vodka...
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yeah. i'm lame.

i'm alone without your shadow...

of course
there are 300 reasons
for the sun to never rise again.

in the grave
i will proclaim my
disease is a factor
& the pallbearers will
choke back their laughter
& condescending hysterics--

& the monument
that stands to
a lifetime
of crisis
will crumble
in her eyes.

i'll write songs for you
w/dirty hands and the
taste...
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After mass evacuations, freezing jugs of water, and filling up my bathtub....

Not a goddamn thing happened here.

Now, we are stuck. There is no gas and nothing is open. All I can do now is hang around and be bored until people come back.

I thank all of you for your well-wishes and concern. We dodged a bullet.

Poetry to come later.