Ten Years of Posting to The Day

Ten years of words
Ten years of rain
Ten years spent absurd
Ten venting in vain
Ten minutes of joy reigning
Then ruled by another
Ten years of pens smothered
Ten years of keys covered in
Grease and tears  
From my veins weeping
 
Ten years with very few brothers,
friendless
Years flew by,
at times seemingly endless
and still my word relentless
 
Picked up the passion to pen while cutting grass
where a mind does wander
I imagine some of the greatest lines
come from fishers and farmers
 
I was 19, 29 now with no more sheen,
thumb still green but I see no garden
 
I see blisters bloom  
in caged rooms
I see a reflection easily startled
I see myself in both  
sinners and martyrs
 
Feeling full at the table,  
I finish with starters
and break bread with empty chairs
 
Dearly departed, toast now
steal crumbs from ghosts
I'd die to save hearts of
 
It's been Ten years
and I've not  
read a lot
 
Figured my best source
would be my own mind,  
rotten  
and that foolish thought
came from me
a celebrated poet,  
not
 
Just a wannabe poser who owes
more than he knows and has  
earned less than he's taught
 
I am recipe hot  
in moldy bowl
who's messiness wafts  
out porous holes
onto couches and cots
 
I've hopped
Ten years job to job
but mostly just jot, indisposed
 
Drunk off Ciroc, or something  
a fraction the cost
 
My stomach has caught
at least ten million drops
 
No zen  
till I drop
each night and in life
I'm hellbent to turn  
white and then flop
 
Ten years
 
That's how long I've been here
my real birthday in a way
 
Displayed a whole lot of fear  
written in poem and phrase
Rhyming and summing up life,
humming and drumming for mainly one  
for..
 
Ten years,  
insight drained..
 
Studying lives from  
window panes
and personal strife
 
Tidbits have lived as script  
on tips  
of curious knives,
life stories written on paper  
destined  to  
see  
shit  
wiped
 
Note books filled with bile  
and swill
phone memos defiled by  
memories still
 
Lend me some will  
for the next Ten
or send me some pills  
or show me oceans overflow and then spill
from glasses of children  
running down hills and  
round bends
 
Slit further
my booze soaked gills
 
Open my spine,
slither inside me,
painting your  
soul could be my reassigned assignment,
my lines and you in alignment
 
May I find a new spry mood
in my miserable office
 
I tend to type about  
the same old topics
I drank a lot of drinks and need to stop it  
but if I were you I wouldn't ask any prophet
as to when I drop it
 
or you may wind up..
 
Depressed,
I find myself that too  
trying to impress a handful
for no profit  
Ten years a mess
 
I need you to know
that I'm the best,
ask me if I am and my  
answer's usually yes and
thievery  
gets me stressed,
no one seeing me  
gets me stressed
because I'm beautiful,  
just happen to be blue too,
red, purple, green
you deserve to be seen too
we all do for sure
 
I am here to floor goofs, as we
all are, plus here  
to enthrall, abhor, soar so high  
clouds  
become our floors and
lightning cracks become our doors
to go and bowl with angels
where God gives  
premium tours
 
A place I'll never be
 
I can choose
not to believe  
or change ways,
accept my fate or set blaze to  
Earth and pearly gates alike,
desperate to have a voice yet  
I've avoided phones, friends and then Mics
for Ten years
 
Barely earned me a stripe,
long lulls in which I don't write,  
I often think about it,  
it just doesn't  
always excite me
and when it does I'm alright
and things make sense..
 
is the
biggest lie I tend to  
hold tightly
for you know how long,
it's Ten years
that's too many nights
Reality's shite and so is being alone,
so is company's light  
you don't like shone,  
proportions over blown
and voices exploding,  
ear  
grating  
tones,
my social side is as  
water in stone..
 
for Ten years
 
Damn near recluse
I go from here to the store
gazing at branches for noose
where I can let ill  
concepts loose
 
Amazed with the echoes
of banter of booze
 
Strolling, I've seen dogs' barks
pried apart by fists like  
antlers of moose do  
to trunks  
of trembling spruce
 
Another fine Demon ramble
 
Ten years approaching  
I'll try to make words clear as I scramble,
life's sources are ample and
my will is nearest to being strong
as it's been since pampers
and Costco samples
 
Ten years
 
I implore my fingers and arms
do my mind's  
fleeting bid
So for days I will sit,
not for years but for hours and hours to
close this out  
before I quit with a feeling I've written  
something special,
some display of my power,
some ode to my id
Some photo of me, the loneliest kid
the woe is me shit,
ramped up,
tweaked, bones stripped,  
properly bleak
to show marrow leak like sieve,
to put out something that insists
I stop making all of your 'top phoniest' lists
 
Ten years of little  
style or substance,
at times I try to  
but can't be concise in describing
what the rub is
 
Problems on problems, metaphors mere  
reflections of gold,
how many years  
before my story gets told
or is worth telling,  
fore my art's worth selling
for more than a dollar, art that once scholars with
turned up noses seemed to be smelling
but they scoffed loud
at me scribbling along moth balls, proud
 
and now I quiver
 
Ten years
 
I suppose I'm no quitter but maybe I should
hang up the keys and the ink
on the hooked hands of some shrink  
who says they see me  
for misunderstood before
publishing my everything  
each armor chink that I've spilled,
my heart, kitchen sink,
crafting trees and forests from pieces of me
thoughts drive me to brink
my poison dripped as parcels
 
That high, seen by all air  
sparkles,
down here we just muck about in  
not much remarkable,
I say as
stick under foot
 
There's times that's how I feel,
Ten years have beaten me down
I'm scraped, bruised and I'm peeled
 
I'm not real  
and god this is bad
how did celebrations ever get so sad
like milestone birthdays
or becoming a dad
 
Ten years
 
Where's my pride,
that fluctuating sentiment
send it in or toss  
it down, spread it around
I can't hang Ten years on some dreary
old cloud bound for a town
that's done nothing but love,
is always around,
always supportive,
my ego flutters
 
I carry cities past gutters
like beams carry two tier porches
and everyone behind me only
burn marks from my servant's torches
smeared
 
I'm the one that we need,
the tree and it's seed  
in soil clear
I am king Lear wandering these last Ten years
 
I've toiled, I've tinkered, I've touched
I've boiled in rage, engaged, I've blushed
typed  
similes, most of which  
hold up as mush
 
At times,
no time taken,  
I've got no reason to rush
and I've clicked  
and we've clicked and built trust  
there's times
I look in disgust  
and then we discuss
and conversations are steered
amidst rhymes myriad
 
for Ten Years near..
 
Soul of a poet, soul of insatiable worm
soul of one stoic, soul small and
frantic as germs
memories of antics burn when I wake,
I'm tossed into turning,
 
Ten years spent
sicker and sicker
 
Smiles flash and they flicker
each fading quicker than last,
grins hard to catch as  
words of bumpers stickers you pass
or middle ground when we differ,
sharks tails and flippers
splashing and jumping
 
Ten years of nothing
Ten years of madness
Ten years spent searching for something
 
Ten years of stupors and sadness
 
Ten beers for my ten toes
Ten for my fingers
one for every freckle on nose
Ten cuz' I'm triggered
Ten to implode
Ten to be blue
Ten for a friend
Ten for me too
Ten to pretend
I have some wisdom astute
Ten for the stars, the sun and the moon
Ten at the bar, in the car  
and Ten on the roof
 
This is what made the years pass and
this what makes me feel like  
there's fire on my gas,
it's what burns me to crisp,
the gripped char  
I'm clasping till palms are stripped,
Ten beers before napping for at least Ten more,
I fade
 
Life near the same  
as when all of this started
my first poem written around the last time
that I sharted and ran home from work
to shower and change,
my boss mad I disappeared  
but those garments  
couldn't be saved
 
I wrote of a deer first, I'm not sure  
that session remains
but I think of it often, that land of mystical mange
upon coyotes and foxes, their forest a stage
and I'm a playwright
 
Ten years ago
 
When my mind wasn't so slow and
accumulation of harm had not yet
started to show and I could roam
wherever my heart decided to go
Ten years ago
Now I sit and I flow
and sideways grow, and I growl
and drool and can't say no
to drugs fowl  
and fools
and I hang my head low and
you know it's true because that's
what this opaque lead wrote  
 
Fortune to bold
poverty to miniscule
switching hands is what minutes do
but that's one tightly wound clock
liable to stop for  
pretty pennies and  
options in stock,
call it stock home, overwatching  
the standstill flocks
 
I've been handed seconds twice
when my final tick turned to
audible tock, clear
faced a few hospital stops  
over the inhospitable years and chased
rotating desire to continue  
this life as uninspired
snack on menu
or maybe one day running verbally  
vibrant venues  
 
I am held by thin glue,
time saps sinew and
time maps when you
give it your all and when you  
chill and quietly coast
 
Time tells you  
when to die and
turn to a ghost
 
Time goads  
if you're feeling worthless
and makes you nervous
 
Feeling important
time gives me the nerve and
Ten years here  
have given me purpose
 
Ode to Ten years
 
Ten years of words
Ten years of rain
Ten years spent absurd
Ten venting in vain
Ten minutes of joy reigning
Then ruled by another
Ten years of pens smothered
Ten years of keys covered in
Grease and tears  
From my veins weeping
 
Ten years