shut up about dehydration

when the elevation finally changes
yr gonna wish you never ripped out them pages

ciders at discounts for the most
humble and reserved sages

where's that tasty powder
at without you, boy
where's that brave injury bleeding

when the motorcade breaks
yr gonna wish you never ripped out them pages

rugged lectures
rugged scriptures
from rubber-legged creatures

famously ignoring his stinking
defeating
self-aggrandizing thinking

we're watching and waiting
for his teeth to fly out 'cross the bar
while he sings us sonnets
self-assured and blissful
like some fuck looking for a fuckbuddy
in the most unlikely of faces

i don't care if it takes from now til the end of shrimpfest

hey now

"guy's gotta huge cock on him..." -norm macdonald, as himself

fuck a photomontage

musiking images w/bad sentimental poo
rolling tumbling down that hill
to get all that welfare dough
out the gov't store
take a bike back to yr
side of those trackmarks
and slide on into home

sea legs

i left work to get some lunch. parked at the apartment, went up, smoked, pissed, put out the incense, and walked down to the restaurant. it was slammed. family people standing in huddles under the rain out front. the OPEN sign was not even turned on.

i looked down the street to the tavern, which served a greasy spoon breakfast for another couple hours. i didn't want to spend any money. i wanted every cheap, insignificant dime to begin a nest egg for some new glasses, or for the scores of rainy days this city. or at least if i was going to piss everything away, i wanted to spend it only on what i felt was the most precious social investment in my life at the time. the faceless creditors would remain faceless. her eyes would still glint green marble. ...and of course i would always require tons of herb to feel even remotely in control of my surroundings. mankind.

i walked very slowly back up the hill. the neighborhood burdened me. though i had no rush to get back to work, i knew i would have to return sometime that day, and i felt no freedom in this indecisive moment. such a little thing to throw off the balance of one's psyche. no free food here. stinginess keeps me from going there. work awaits. overtime pay for my inspired savings plan!

i went back up the stairs to the apartment, and in a sad flash it hit me. the whisky. it was already bought and paid for. it was on top of the fridge.

so, this is how it happens? we wake up one day and we replace a meal with empty, deadly calories. i must really be hurting. i was no stranger to self-medicating. still i felt a piece of my naive child self slip into the ocean with the first pour. i was daring to keep kids off drugs. i would never spawn any.

look out for that tree!

self-assured and blissful after so much booze and food, the fresh new lush staggered into the kitchen, assessed the scene and flipped off the trio of high-watt bulbs above the sink.

"that's what we do to lights around here!" he cackled and grinned, a slice of absurd honeydew. his mouth felt like a desert, the mouth of some 1930s goofball fiend. a plastic bottle of water from the fridge.

typing it out he became aware of the kaufman tense confusion and cognitive story-telling unfolding before him and let such easy foolishness grip him that he sent a weakly metaphor-laced message to a woman friend he admired.

bad golf metaphors

i met alice and neil at her place. we had some beers and smoked a bit. we watched a documentary. it was one of those poorly-produced numbers where every ten minutes they stop cutting back and forth between talking celebrity heads to show a faux educational cartoon. usually its the kind of thing that is tolerable at first but once you have seen five different 'schoolhouse rock' takes on the same topic, it's unbearable.
i petted her dog and spoke a bit of baby talk. embarrassingly, the same nonsense i would sing to our cat and, at times, karen.
the beagle looked back up at me with bloodshot eyes, begging just by showing me their whites at the edge. it leaned in and humped the ground to move closer.
"that's enough"
"it's alright. i'll figure out how to let her know i'm done."
the beagle persisted and i cooed at it to make it relax.
"she's not gonna leave you alone."
later we smoked cigarettes on the porch. her menthols. i wanted to be bathed in that cheap, expensive smoke. smothered beyond breath. maybe beyond consciousness. the dog hovered in the doorway, but wouldn't come outside.
"it's a nice night. i kinda wished your place was twice as far so i could have kept walking."
"you've got a nice walk back to look forward to."
"indeed."
the moon was out, and despite all the polluted city light, the air turned navy blue as you looked up. the stars were like a movie scene. what kind of bad joke was life? and where was the fucking punchline already?
that night in conversation i found myself bringing up karen a lot. referencing other women who had come into our lives in the past. admitting i had a tendency to elevate all the strong, beautiful women i met. why was i pissing lines all over the sand? was i making clear to neil that karen was a huge piece of my life? why did i care what i was saying? this shit had to resolve itself. what the fuck could i do?
i had to keep quiet. that was the kind of man i admired. its the kind of man every woman deserves. particularly all my women. madness. god fuck it all. it was stifling silence that had blown this all out of proportion to begin with.
i resolved to live in my addled head anyway. seeking pleasure in many benign friendships and trying to evoke laughter and empathy in my loved ones. fuck it if i could scarcely count on making consistent love again. people just had different clocks. perhaps once she became thirsty, i would be fucking dry. men had lost genitals in accidents, wars. poor fucks couldn't even masturbate. you think they had loveless relationships? of course!
i would be a man: a quiet, resolute motherfucker with drugs in his blood, fucking on his mind, and in time, never on his tongue. happy with what he's fed. maybe just biting other people's innocent hands now and again if properly fueled.
a wordless monk of this debauched modern life.
simple.
easy.
karen's sister kept texting me. SOMEONE needed to meet her at our apartment that night at ten thirty. why did i have a phone? the shit was an expensive luxury and only some soft, suburban cunt like me would be afraid to get in a wreck without one of the goddamn things.
i arranged to leave with neil so i wouldn't have to rush back to my place on foot. it was smooth and premature like the end to so many things. but i couldn't leave it alone and after i saw karen's sister out and got settled, i had an awkward exchange with alice by text. i went to bed that night feeling i had once again pushed too hard.
play it where it lies, son.

dangerous and capable

let’s get hypothetical, girl
she’s a cop
she starts and restarts her siren to
make it squawk
rustles red lights from
sleep-deprived julep vendors
movers and shakers
a real man with
civil war sideburns
hovers over
my uppercut swings
stings lips, rattles teeth and
nasal cavity sings
let’s grab a cigarette

portamento

not enough coffee
in the jungle or the sea
restart my heart
pumping
so exhausted
seein’ stars
tracers cascading
off of wall
surfaces in
startled motion
more waving flags
surrender
claim lands
claim victory
in night raids
frank potion
parade
nails in coffins
driving softly
juggling flames,
sticks, bowling pins
cats and dogs rain

loose lips

in the nine o’clock hour
typing bold machine speak

last night late and long conversations
got a bit cyclical
but still he reflected on not losing control
in the loosest times
not regretting what you may have said the morning after

then this morning rolling down a suburban avenue
on four hours sleep
dry nose
jittery eyes
on the verge of angry coffee sweat
watching the flashing lights starting blocks behind me
praying for the speedy getaway
I thought
that’s all I seem to be after, pushing it so far
every dime aligned for a course in crashing

reviewing texts the next day too
I definitely felt a wave of that debilitating butterfly belly
looking back and hearing no sirens, seeing no replies
typing more and more fleeting revelations
‘cause “once the music leaves yr head, its already compromised”

this is therapy
costing only
all my money
my cells
my frame of mind, thrown off
like a pair of torn underwear from a convertible screaming down ross island bridge

sean lennon - wasted

platypus

smothered in your smoke
your posture in a still series
drawing the upper chest in deep
to an invisible point in your sternum
making that fabric
hang loose from
sharp sigourney shoulders
you bled me in my sleep

heights, escalation,
bloodshot expressions
on a lovely beast, unafraid
to beg when affection
mows its merry way

learn to pray
or at least say
what you want to
believe you deserve
long scratch behind the ears
reserve strength for months of quiet hurt

bulletproof glass

i told you they'd milk this thing all they could
whether shouting commands through the bulletproof glass,
facing waves of criticism,
or throwing a fundraising party
roma's war elephant shrieks for the hell of it
shakin' in your linens

who ya been talkin' to?

we think you're something to write home about
there's something blurry here about your age
there's so much time to kill before we die

if ever you find a promising lead
"and if ever you want me to come back and stay
i'll be there right by yr side..."
intelligence had something up their sleeve
modern beheading, beatifications and
simple contradictions

who ya been talkin' to?

we think you're something to write home about
there's something blurry here about your age
there's so much time to kill before we die