Archive for the this living is less than loving Category


Posted in funny noises, is it really real?, this living is less than loving, what the hell is wrong with me? on October 16, 2012 by matt questionmark

vicious lines through the consciousness
they divide the light
they divide the color
sharp hearts
bleeding course dust
cutting the veins of this internal existence
corpse love
the backwards romances that followed
empty as the tank in the car I’ll never have
limp dicking through reality
wishing the past was the present
denying the fact that sometimes things just die
if only we could just get over this whole attachment to others deal
if only dreams were real
/these giant pink slits in the black nucleus of my fullness
of the dark matter
that seeps through us all/
-this all said by a 6 year old me, in singsong voice, walking through the dark brush, in October, he acted out, as if it was a choice-



Posted in heartbreak, this living is less than loving on November 14, 2011 by matt questionmark

This closet fetish supplements
The quantifying motives
Of sad suppressors
Filling stations scam for remorse
With this wind blowing black after orange pink orgasms in western sky
With this we spill our senseless banter
Onto barstools and sidewalks
Into hondas and empty bottles of high life
We had the high life.
Now gone like fuzzy math mouth breathers
Fucking our freedoms like BOA does to every account in south Detroit.south America.south Africa.San Antonio.
All the pueblos and hobos.
The discos
Burn the retro
Abort the credit
And forget it
You and I will never have our mazes
Or jeffco motels again
Filled with smooches and Spanish gospels
Sermons only meant for temporary times
Serums to destroy our common thought
Leaving us feverish and distraught Separated by liquidated faggotry
We both fight ourselves when we should be fighting for each other

Posted in this living is less than loving on October 10, 2011 by matt questionmark

sick draining stomach
brings tha noiz
brings tha nostalgia
raping my gums
scraping my feets
sick draining stomach
pushes acid up my throat
flushes out what’s real
flushes out all feeling
wine in blood
blood on shirt
deep cuts depend on
the withering of the soul
smoking a bowl
deep frying the afternoon
indian summer sets
dries out leaves
now crunched on boozewalk
now crowding grass
the yearly decay
baring it’s young teeth
baring a bosom of white death

Soft Sky Tonight

Posted in heartbreak, this living is less than loving on June 22, 2011 by matt questionmark

Soft sky
Humps my
Making me
So fucking
Wishing to
Never see
Your eyes
Ever the
Fuck again
But I
Know I’m
Lying to
My love for
Those eyes
Goes so
Very deep
Brown eyes
Deep like the
Sicilian shit
You are
And my
Love goes
So very deep
Into the
Of this dead
My head
Is so far
Up the ass
Of this
Rotting corpse
Of a romance
That I can almost
See the
Budding of the
Flower that
Was our
Fuck lust

In Red Wine

Posted in is it really real?, this living is less than loving, what day is it on December 5, 2010 by matt questionmark

whilst grasshoppin
through thee
merriment of your
eyed lovers spoke treatments
and humanity kissed my cadavers
7 muscles flex
eating eggplant
and smoking meth for Philip the Fifth
James Beam
Sally Jesse Ralpael.
tell your mothers!
tell Eugene O’Neill.
along the highways
into the mud
eyed lovers intertwined.
kissing in the merriment of mine afterlife.

alice coltrane

Posted in this living is less than loving on February 12, 2010 by matt questionmark

slipping on ice
with blood rush
head collapses
sun rises
waking birds
light passes over trees
spreading slight heat
like herpes
body melts
into blacktop
damp jeans remain
a somber refrain
birds shit on wet grass
singing wildly
for forgiveness
off to the west
sirens wail
down manchester
the birds don’t care
the sun doesn’t care
the wet jeans don’t care
it only hurts the air
all of this repeats
like a cd track scratch
flaunting its blissful ignorance.


Posted in this living is less than loving, Uncategorized on November 1, 2009 by matt questionmark

damp voices fading under leaves
softly chasing smiles across the streets
teeth gnashing
pulling former fears back into the forefront of reality
backbreaking mindlessness
a wish for 1999
weed smoking
and some chicken soup