Ipod Found

Over the course of the last few years I have been making contributions to an ongoing social journal of poetry stored in the notes on my Ipod.  My recent, larger scale art projects, in addition to this blog, have caused me to focus my artistic energies on more pronounced and refined artistic endeavors.  However, we must go back, and I have flipped through to deliver some of the more profound contributions.  Those include a moment of survival, a conversation on my continual drunken bicycle accidents, and the overwhelming emotions that accompanied being removed from everyone and everything I loved in college.

• 
  

Crawling across the floor
Every moment falling
No balance left

Dragging lower limbs
Screaming, howling, naked
Woke up into this hell

Seizing, sweating, gasping
Alone in this empty house
Not gonna be any help coming

Can't even dial the ambulance
Can't swallow the juice
So breathe it in desperate coughing

Go for the thick needle
But can't make it operate
Through vial into muscle

I am dying
Seizing again
Approaching coma

No
Get up
Muscle fuck this

One
More time
Not willing to surrender now

Get the unbroken needle
A new one
Fill it

Jam it into paralyzed thigh
And depress relief into me
Before passing out
On syringe scattered carpet
Breathe

• 
  

The pavement feels soft
As I throw myself against it
I like it down here
Bleeding from the bicycle
It goes towards something
All the tenderness in the world
Couldn't dare to approach
Tells me to get out of the street
Before the cars run me over
But most of me wants to stay.

• 
  

None of this is real

Not to me

Not without you

Like seated figures of stacked stone

Left by transient men

Hoping to make something

More permanent than themselves

Following a staggered stream

Of stars into the cloudy

And shifting translucent above

Hoping to at long last become

Into a breathing machine