HIGH CLASS

...i might be multi-lingual
but have never spoken "posh".

i lose myself in a martini glass,
imported windows, and class
with abstract art; hanging like earrings
dripping off the personified
wall...the curtains
swell...giant lungs that are always breathing in
of everything...and there is an opening
sound like a bottle of wine unscrewed
while my pessimistic throat is screaming.

and politics over too many drinks
sound of orca whales in mating season.

but i guess elegance
is always served with a side of intelligence.

it's funny how money
can seep out of a wallet
and become something almost real,
something tangible, made
of wood, a social pedestal.

so a waste of it is fascinating, an
accident scene you drive by on a highway.

in this sickness,
you feel so lost as of what to do,
so you end up looking around
and clapping...as if to praise
the end of a game you don't remember watching
but can't advert your eyes from.

and classes are made this way, and

so you realize with which one you're in.

TO BE A MAN

...maybe it's that
height doesn't matter
horizontally, or

it's the fact
that the world disappears
when you're doing
something worth living for.

you never really know
someone until you're actually
lying down next to them.

and that's why
part of me thinks
that i can feel people
better than i can ever
get to know them.

as if the things
that are left unspoken
are talked about
in the silence between
two sheets. as if, the

woman that i truly love
doesn't get phone calls from me,

'cause i wouldn't want to get
her hopes up.

INHIBITIONS

after a candle lit
dinner for two
you stop to swap bodily fluids...but
not like you used to,

this time it's test tubes...
blood, a little bit of piss, some stool...it's two thousand six...
and we're all grown up now.

so you offer
a blueprint for the
disease ridden...pause here...(that's right)
public swimming pool you invite me to...and it
relates to your entire family’s
medical history...metaphorically of course,
but i still pick up on it.

which means,

that instead of throwing caution,
we tend to offer up something else
to the wind.

but the gods somehow know it's half assed,
not true, strangely misinterpreted.

hamburger helper
instead of human sacrifice...and
(hold on a second in this moment) while

romance dies inside
the tinker-tape parade
of political correctness...and yes,

your mind plays music for itself...a tiny
little song...as if it were a game;

and to win,

you'd have to feel better
about yourself.

which is to say
that knowing something is right
makes us all feel more
like a man
each time
that we're a part of it,

causing us all to be
a little older, which in turn
we might go as far
as saying...(not to be conceded)

less afraid.

because in this life
you have to decide what
you're willing to own...willing
to consume a section of yourself...
to compromise, and

even if that ends up
putting the 'hit' back into "in hit bition,"

you still have to consummate
any relationship with a clean
bill of health. always while

trying desperately
to pretend as if you didn't just see
a green light shimmer,
a checkered flag wave, or so much as
airplane batons
motioning you in to land.

all of these things
which in your scorched mind scream
"let's fuck my darling!
for the love of god can we fuck?"

...but you haven't met her yet...
and why is it wrong to just snuggle?

...i'll always know that it's amazing...
maybe it's because i'm matt...who is
honestly becoming a man...
(but secretly it's because i'm badass)

it's only life...and there's
no way in hell that i'm done
living it quite yet!

why not fall in love with it
for the mean time?

CHILDHOOD THOUGHT #23

...if money can't buy happiness, then why do i always have the most fun at my rich friend's house?

MAD SCIENTISTS

...maybe we're all mad scientists, trying to frankenstein some kind of beauty out of the people that we've loved. michele's eyes with erin's comfort...jessie's heart with monica's brain wrapped in a big red bow made of kate and heather's personalities. but it's the combination we're truly after...until we finally learn that the combination is really only long term compatibility...compatibility which is really comfort itself. i wonder sometimes if getting married is 'giving up'...as if somehow we started lamenting the game we have all played for far too long. someone asked me recently if "being with (her) was giving up." and my brain burst into flame. not because she'd asked the question...but because giving up is the greatest complement you could ever give a lover. perhaps that's why they call it "settling down."…because of course you’re settling…causing the ego to fall in only one direction. almost as if the endless field you've been frolicking through, at last gives permission to stop smelling it's flowers. and just to lie down for once...to take in the world with someone wonderful on your arm. a partner in a crime you haven't committed...but who would run at the same speed, pace, and vigor from the police that could for once, set your heart at ease. all i've ever wanted was a witness to my life. someone who could see me for who i am without the desire to comment towards the negative. i think i'd say "yes" to any and all of them if they dropped down to a knee, with one eye over my shoulder, wondering if any of the rest where watching me. if it only weren't for the women who i haven't met...who constanly fall short when i do.