Found this old journal entry from Nov. 2009:

"Today Lou and i made a fort in my room, dragged up my dad's amplifier and blasted music with the windows wide open and the wind screaming in. 
We drove until we found Africa, smoked until we couldn't tell the difference between sky and ground.
We climbed on opposite hills and whispered secrets into the valleys, smoked rose petals and tasted butter; stumbled to the edge of the earth.
The greatest adventurers there never were; I'd hold your hand if only you wouldn't kiss me."

I remember that day vividly, though the details have all blurred. Looks like I was up to the same old nonsense.

Oct. 15, 2:13am

Sean's tree house.

We said we were going to stay up all night studying but instead we drank and smoked and wrote poetry then promptly passed out.

The dreams are always shadowy now,
and cunning.
Just last night
I dreamt of the cabin on the shrapnel hillside
and pills that were dimes and pins
but still made my breath short and my body purple-tinged, shivery
and then I was watching Collin, who stood across the room,
as some fire devoured the cabin with us
in it.

I saw Dan yesterday and he said that phrase again which rung through my head like an alarm
"It's neither here nor there now."

I want to walk in the step-rhythm of whatever it takes
to move and continue to move
so nothing is ever here nor there
but for now it's still
scattered all about me.

acirema of states united

Traffic jam in the local clotted artery

like, sorry man

but there's a lot of us here and we've

got to make it to that 

ninetofive,

alright?

Dream 4 — Cabin Pin (2012)

there was a cabin in the woods
on the side of a shrapnel hill freckled with snow.
we sat at a table.
you had a bitter face on,
left the room then
i looked down for
o  n  e  s  e  c  o  n  e  d ,
and
you walked in and
you were smiling.
your smile reminded me
of how big your mouth is     how
one-hundred-thousand years ago
when I was still awake,
you were smiling at me
now you just smiled at a plate
in those hands.
it was a china plate
with an assortment
of pins and coins
that reminded me of the bird's bones thrown
to the ashy red dirt back when I was awake
and eight, staring down a witch doctor in africa.
they were magic
you took one —a dime
popped it in your mouth
smiled.
one time some years after my trip to africa
when we were awake one hundred thousand years ago,
you smiled so big you
swallowed me up
and I stayed stranded
in the pit of your belly for
t h r e e w h o l e d a y s
before resurfacing.
i saw laughter form in the hollow of your lower ribs
and watched it spiral until it broke loose:
noisy out the mouth,
flinging your hands to a clap before
it settled in your crow's feet.
i took a pin
from the china plate
i put it on my tongue
and then
a fire came that took everything promptly left
and left us    stranded;
shrapnel on the hill.
but i felt no remorse as the flames receded
because I heard your laugh one-hundred-thousand years A.D.
it was echoey and dull but unmistakably the same,
burning in the crackles of a moving flame.

Life Piracy and a Guest Appearance

Last night I
gave in to my selfish,
pressed up against
some pungently boyish smelling
Peter Pan
flower child

Last night he
tasted like Kyle
back when I was still
madly in heat
back when I was
vulnerable and
un-ignorant, not- naive
15
and pretty
and pretty miserable

I guess,
not all that much has changed,
save for the tally:

nineteen now,
at least I understand
just how naive I was (I am)
just how cruel
and foolish
and cracking;
a piece of the broken mason jar
that once held captive my spirit

now it's all this:
"I couldn't give a flying fuck
tonight"

and all that fuck-giving in the morning.

It's the disintegration of a moral compass,
the deregulation of Jiminy Cricket
who has not sat at the nape of my neck
since I mistook him for a regular cricket
and stomped the damn thing
with the heel
of my boot.

The Garden .001

The Garden .001

Satan never said I was at fault for
anything at all,
and she smelled so good,
coiling around my torso.

Satan promised me a bed
and not just any bed
but one
coated in white sheets
and some misc. birds' down feather pillows

She said it would be
white as snow
white as fucking angels

then chuckled
"fucking angels," she said.

But Satan never said I was at fault for anything at all,
at all!
And she smelled like Olivia
whom I had held, carefully
the night before she fell ill,
the night I dreamt of holding
a thousand white rabbits.

My ribs began to splinter like trees in a fire,
suffocated by the force of her grip
but she promised me a bed
and she smelled like Olivia
and she said it was no fault of my own

so I sold my soul to her

and she took me to bed
and she
fucked me senseless
like Olivia never would
and that night I dreamt of the rabbits again
but they weren't real rabbits,
not really at all.

Persona Poem (In the style of Sean Urbany)

Listen up people
please
just
fuckinglistentome

I am not going to say it again
it's not fair
its just not fair for the rest of us to sit and wait for your bullshit

alright:

the mind is slowed by suckling myriad
sun princesses
lusty in their haste

no, fuck that

listen, play in Bflatminor
yes, that's right, B F L A T M I N O R
and not so fast
no, no, too slow now
dammit
count your measurements

Michael Stillwell
Michael Stillwell, your timing
just
isn't happening

I'm going to be an actor but right now
my face
just
isn't happening

and if it isn't happening
then
it isn't at all.

someone please
roll me some fucking cancer.

Bad Entropy

BAD ENTROPY

In the 3rd district,
dogs don't wake up
to chase the mailman
when the mailman comes 'round
because the mailman never comes 'round
and the dogs are dead.

Well damn,

In the 3rd district
the factories pump soot
into our lungs until
we can no longer work the factories
so we build factories to build machines
to build factories to build machines
to work the factories,

And in district 3
we finally rest.

In the 3rd district
young women sprout wrinkles in the sun
to no fault of the sun at all;
shrouded by a veil of soot and birdshit

but even that doesn't last
because nothing does
in the 3rd district.

In district 3
birds rain from the sky
and dad says they are belly-flopping
which is something people did
all the time
back when there was water.

In the 3rd district
we cough until we know nothing else
our ears rendered deaf by the sounds of eachother,
vision no more
than a permanent image:
the insides of our eyelids

coughing coughing coughing
until we synchronize
in a pulsing S.O.S.

We cough until we slow and sputter out
and the machines slow and sputter out
and the factories spew
soot and slime and shit
until they bury themselves alive

and district 3
finally rests.

In the 4th district
a man sits on his porch reading an article
that promises a 20lbs loss with no change in diet.
His dog drops dead at his feet and he muffles a cough
but only thinks of the superbowl.