Hand-Me-Downs:

Threadbare, With Corduroy Patches

And the young, they can lose hope 
'Cause they can't see beyond today,
The wisdom that the old can't give away.
Hey, constant recoil...
Sometimes life don't leave you alone.

It's a cop-out to say
   the wait
     drove me mad...
  I was already a wreck
   when she appeared.
I took the vermin's path;
        ended up alone
     just like before.

  The Yellow Sun retreated
        from me,
      taking with her
    warmth.  In rushed
  the chill of solitude
       and vacuum loneliness;
     weak willed,
   I did little to resist
 the bottle hanging over
    my head by a frayed thread...
  I found the carrot,
          got beaten by the stick.
   Oh, if
 I could have been just fun...

This behavior's not unique.
 I figured myself damned to
   end up alone, like I began:
single in Carrboro, stumbling
   blind rage, foolishness.
 Fuck or Fight.
Touch me, I'm Dick.

 I'm sober, again, now...
             everything has chains;
    absolutely nothing's changed.
 I cannot take back
    her entrance;
   cannot chase her out of my head.

  The lights are out on these
     quiet streets,
quiet dark houses where
    clear conscience sleeps.
  I tread lightly,
      listless,
           aimless,
     an insomniac mouse,
             alone
        just like before.

Today on to another today;
   but this place is not so
                       God forgotten?
First comes Love,
       then comes Pain...
    Such is the game.
   I accept my insignificance.

I've put away my sledgehammer
    and my wrecking ball.
   I will be okay; and
     I have faith—
    it's been said
           a million times over,
   "All you need is Love."

arrogance is bliss

 or
I Stole This From Kurdt

The point creates space
and all of infinity
collapses to a point.
Singular Being: Existence exists.
   identity or blasphemy
 not condescension
   only transcendental consequence—
              who am I?
           I am who I am.
But me and not me,
         self and not,
    play complements
   in
    quantum coincidence...
 Perception keeps life
           reacting   to the now—
     My hand wringing over
            yesterday
        brings neglect
                  and entropy,
                              today.
I understand that
                  it makes more sense
                  to live life
                  in the present tense.
True words,
        and not my own.

     I sit,
         cigarette lit (I know I should quit.),
      sipping my coffee...
               have I learned
                  to accept some friends
               of ridicule?
      Can I be a disciple of The Clown?
"My whole existence is for your amusement
   and that is why I'm here with you."
          Follow him to nirvana;
      The Jester's only
                    satirically
                  a lonely character, right?
Does Enlightenment
     silence the dull
        and constant
      hum
             of being alone?

Tongue in cheek,
      foot in mouth,
   head up ass,
does that make me a yogi contortionist?

stretch and a yawn

I will get out from under
  my rain cloud; put away
         my hopeless situation;
   fill in
     the mud hole I've
        wallowed in so the
   sun couldn't touch my skin;
let wild flowers grow over the
    sleepwalk beaten path
            visited
          and revisited...
   I've long suspected,
         but now I do believe
    these were all chosen destinations,
                    safe houses
            of settling,
     secure self-sabotage,
a low bar for half-hearted achievement.
       The
  same lame methods of self-neglect,
coffee, booze, and cigarettes,
         empty sex
       and cold hearts...
  I'm no more special
than any of the other fat
   and skinny asses—
    we're all sending ourselves
          to our deaths,
      and it's not painless or
                        quick,
                    in the least.
But it's easy.
I've grown tired of easy.
         My body aches with atrophy.
        My soul aches from apathy.