davey kick a hole in the sky

i'd kick a hole in the guts
of anyone
raising a cross word or
raining down spit
on her
instead i'll pick
this tiny scab
spread the blood
like warpaint
fold because
i was never
fucking dealt it

involuntary taste

there is nothing you can do that
i won't assign some super-
natural significance to

walking in right now could
only serve me mixed signals
like faces in the grain of wood

i hallucinate some piece of fate
my color drains and my pulse
climbs to an unhealthy rate

so keep a distance that's safe,
a piece brimming over with kief
relief for/from my waif

unrequited

i keep watching this equation
play out like a hieroglyph in my imagination
i reach for you
i'm slapped
i put a gun in my mouth

i am the zen poet master
i will write this all on parchment
and ceremoniously burn it

i'm going to tattoo
the word unrequited on my arm
and cut it off

poetry annoy me

messages massaged
into porno blog cafeteria fires

nevermind the bollocks
here's the death fantasy

send me up the river

you could set your watch by it

waking up stiff
restless
rolling back and forth
in these blankets
grinding head into pillow
hips against cool fabric

so much care
many touches
scratching, squeezing
stretching the skin
fingertips, nipples,
shattered sunlight reminding
me of a careful fuck fest
beyond their imaginations
and beyond my choreography

to grab those thighs
feeling tense cords of muscle
under milky canvas

or to kiss swollen breasts
big and small
see fleshy pockets shaking
feel beads of jewelry against my tongue

spreading moisture
before sensing at the tips of me
all the caves
and trapped explorers
with their arms pinned,
spelunking new spaces
within the
only universe
worth exploring

pawned

now's ok for a chat
not a sit down

when your motivation
is laid out
on a glass coffee table
plain as day
in front of me

how in fuck
am i supposed to
pretend you
are really present

pretend you're not
actually in
the market
for some adolescent
alibi

with the sweat in your clothes
and the grease in the air
he's out somewhere
and in drunk repose
you'll commit to
a night
but only for the
illusion of being
his equal

we be like them little bitches on the chessboard

not i

there's a hole in the bucket

i can pour my heart
into anything, watch it
spill out the bottom

those hours could be spent in bed

woke up wide
around three
this Tuesday morning

its sick
to notice i am
not thinking
like someone
working in a
collection
agency
already

i pondered
joining facebook
after all the
shit i've
talked

hilarious

and posting my
employer?
it was the cardinal
rule that drove
my pulling out
before

speaking of which
the fucking
birth control
has still not been
dealt with
so i'm starting
to think
vasectomy
and/or suicide

woah there
big drama:
its like butchie's
uncle said
'the bitch wadn't worth
more than a pinky...'

true enough
but that makes me feel like
a nail clipping
or a flake of broken skin
from her callus

with so much
wasted beauty
and hours of
paradise on earth
spent in office parks,
kitchens and
space stations,
this is no land
for young men
which explains
why so many
of them take
it as hard as
they can
on the old

sometimes
i wish i had
given them a rougher
go of it

girls
my peers
or the boomers
either

'cause fuck it all

a host of problems

the thing about surrounding yourself
with the people you most admire,
i'm tired of being in love with everyone
and never growing close enough
and i'm tired of being disgusted by the rest

i hate that i can't connect fast enough,
deep enough to satisfy
whatever childish expectations
i am driven by

and i hate that i want to talk
about it
fuck it
not only is love a bad word
my people have borders
and we can talk about illnesses
and menstruation and
botched affairs

but i am squeezing a pillow
trying to wrestle myself back to sleep
in the early morning
desperately remembering the sight of
your long proud torso in a tight
gray shirt, almost masculine its
so carved and V-shaped as
yr poised on a barstool

i hear shared laughter and
i see shoulder blades sliding under your skin
in some self-erasing fantasy
i still silently call love when i'm telling myself
what not to do.

she stomped the Tara

this chick got fired today
her numbers were way down
and she was missing time
more frequently because
of morning sickness
in the afternoons

apparently she saw it coming
even though half these idiots
would get fired for
texting or surfing their handhelds
at the greasiest fast food job

we had hung out with her
a few times outside of
the legal department
of the collection agency
but she was always trying a little too hard
bringing up herb and happy hour
every week
even though we rarely bit

i am watching all these folks
ponder how long they will be here
and most of them, especially the old-timers,
are congratulatory when they hear i am
quitting

they are wondering how many years
they'll keep doing this
and they know that unless something
falls in their lap
or they get fired
they will stay

i hope, for their sake, they all get fired

a toast to the children,
they are the future

his beard says he's virile as a drug-fueled race horse...

i would heal you if i could
i will come rushing over to listen
anytime
and i am going to keep it
tamped down

if its human instinct to make
vows and pledges
to the sacred
i choose to deify
those i can taste and touch

without your flavor
i might burn
but i might just stay at peace
at arm's length
learning how to speak while
waiting for moments that never come and
snapping out only the
substantive comments
like catching a fly with poised chopsticks

"recovery is in the remembering" - rebecca sanborn, bastions

folding themselves and time and light,
malleable in patient hands who
made a bold display of cold, gray days

metaphor or monument
its a script for progression

they are teaching me how to create
in the thirstiest times
but the most i can muster is
usually a tearful hug of gratitude

time comes mowing
forever stamping us with change
and robbing us of the only things
seemingly meaningful

we will throw banquets
and fundraisers
and pen tributes and poetry
or immortalize the lost on stage

and so death is
cowed in its corner
for now
even though someone pegged me for 38 the other day
and even though jenny has a shaved head
and despite michael collapsing on the treadmill
and forgetting all the troubled and maimed we'll never know

we'll still point and shoot for admirers, friends and lovers
and even in the death of dreams,
marriages, partnerships
careers and lives
the act alone is the only prayer of substance

creating song, myth, statue or pledge
we'll push past the moment
we always feared
and knew was coming
and the best of us welcome it

where are the dead milkmen when you need them?

"...in a world where ministers murder golf pros, don't you want to drink some bleach tonight?"

hang onto yr ego-o-o

if i think about it
evolution isn't necessarily equivalent
between the genders

we've got big dicks
187 skills
and a functional mind
for survival, sure

but if i think about it
i just want to pump enough blood
to fuck and die

i'm like a drone bee
ready to burn for the cause

i can smell perfume on the wind coming
through the apartment window

i can see curves under fabric
from yards away
and imagine them from fucking acres

i can imagine juggling for hours

or taking over the room with an anthem

and i can lust for jumping only to find
the parachute won't open
and i can see a bloody
splash in a soft
oregon field

turns out
sex and death are so much
hotter cliches
for poetry and music and self-aggrandizing
than i had ever given them
proper credit for

quitting

can’t tell the spider
it has cancer, I can’t tell
tobacco from trees

opening/closing
doors as if they will change me
simply by swinging

ambidextrous?

yesterday was a good one
total control, masterful thrusts
telling her to 'shh shh'
she was silently mouthing 'i can't'
and the red in her face
i only finished because she had
somewhere to be

i throw, punch, hold scissors,
tits, steering wheels and my keys with my right hand

i write, masturbate, hold forks,
beverages, and lead improvs on keyboard with my left

isn't it only ambidexterity
when you can switch limbs
to accomplish the same thing?

come to think of it
i am truly ambidextrous in that sense
when it comes to the drinking, smoking and all the sexual tasks...

...but every little red a-cup volks in the city
still looks like you approaching
and i can't invite you to this party
and we shouldn't go to that one
out of respect
for the dead
i assassinated something infant
(and it might still be in the I.C.U.
but will anyone even give a fuck?)

i want trivial little exchanges
and real big grown-up ones
on my phone
and in my ear
and even by post
and it's all about me
i know
but it can be all about you
when you need it to be, too

warm candy

queasy
knowing you can take
or leave me
freeze me out like a bad memory
‘omm’-ing me away like Ginsberg and those cops
is it your trust I have abused
or just my paranoid ego
black, bruised
is it every single time
I run my mouth and things fall flat
or am I only imagining that
friendless ignorant emptiness
fill me up, I am a white chocolate peanut butter cup
stuck in between ugly bus line cushions

i talk way too much

walking back up
tonight
just one block off the
same hill i walk down
every day and most nights
the plants out front of the houses were lit
with little pool lights
there was a huge red fixture like a pomegranate
in the front entry
and the edging of the glass
in the door
shone green
with the flower behind it
and yellow when you got past the angle
that revealed the big red bulb inside

tina fey is funnier than you

each smelling faintly of fish
stupid angry succor
heralding the theft of your every connection
administrative failures in tragic repose
folded my deck despite my hand
he was a man named marshall by both parent and decoration
secondary definitions avenged
johns doe with honest casework
beatrice returns to the port
fuck your independent streak
a thousand beaks offset by milliseconds
spell it out with crossed tees
to the last mouse smuggled into
prostitution rings around
the posies laced in a cold wreath

pensacola

the other night she
said it: "the sandest of whites"
best phrase ever, man

haiku!

I like to watch the
butts bounce off brick walls, showers
tiny orange sparks

tofutti break!

coming back in from a break
I saw a guy
on the other side of the locked door
jogging suit
cell phone to his ear
cute little planner and other stuff
balanced in his hands
in the crook of his arm
he didn’t open the door for me but
I chalked it up to having his hands full
I waved my fob in front of the
magnetic reader
opened the door
wiped my feet
looking down at the ground I overheard,
“I didn’t tell you about my flight back.
I sat next to these two girls.
Twins from the Caymans.”
as he backed out the door behind me

fair weather smoker

spring is the season
i'm lighting up in the sun
it embraces me

always channeling
someone through this aftertaste
of green beans and tar

that leaf looks like a
dried-up slug and this one looks
like a child's lost glove

empty parking lot
is my home away from home
please text me, loved ones

hold my right side up
the left side took on more tan
in the sun last week

wore a cowboy hat
i bought from a walmart in
rural washington

we drove curved highways
held on for life as she jerked
the wheel either way

at the time i wished
we would veer into heavy
traffic and burn up

over so quickly
only our memories are
hanging in hot air

got home after all
shame, but i'm disappointed
to find we're still here

fucking blogger ate my poem

blowguns sending messages and bullets
across a busy street

open sign
flickers
bartender flips a coaster...

and that's all i remember
from a minute ago

thats why i type this here
why i hit publish

fell down a stairwell
in my ER dreams
brought back some more:

making the most of this
shimmering overhead

stepping onto a breezy porch
waiting for the light to fall out
around us
like tiny leaves from some manicured bush

a cyclone whips them like
white trash snow
up into your car window

they will form a new stereo
or patch up rusted pockets
fuel your ride from home to milwaukie and back again

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

and sleep

don't delude yourself
behaving as though
something is at stake
in those little moments
when focus or
obsession
take hold

if the future is a place
we create
first with intention and
second with action
then strategy reigns
and effort is insect

stop
think
wait and plan and sleep
and sleep

made of tougher stuff

turns out she's made of
tougher stuff than i knew
existed

i had heard tell
of substances flame-retardant
and flourescent before

armor fit for re-entry
into volatile atmospheres
or swampy emotional murk

but nothing like
this ever shielded rasputin
or any of the risen dead

things tony taught me

remember when is the lowest
form of conversation
but still i envy
your nostalgia, and yours,
and yours, and theirs

my longing has
never been for the past
but for a thousand
unrealized futures

houdini's got nothing

I tried to speak to you this morning
there was nothing to convey
I’m going to have to go it alone today
another night with that fucking television
blathering away
I read two thirds of a book and
I have nothing to say - about
spending every moment isolated
until that great white someday
we need friends, conversations,
and dismal parades,
and real motherfucking
reasons to create,
so I celebrate my brain,
add chemical salts, deflate,
then start up first thing in the morning again.

a heart rather ripped

if I remember right,
fleetwood mac is one of
your anti-christs

even they are ringing louder
since I’ve been coasting
in this speedy wake

purified and sanctified, brothers
and sisters
it’s true
i’m her man
but you ain’t just a girl

I know love is a bad word;
four letters and all,
dozens of overlapping
uses and definitions

gordon and moore know
how to play it

“you won’t seduce me or attract me just ‘cause you’re a stray. It’s a perfect sin…”

“feel your wild heartbeat, lonely lover… your sweet lips on mine, like flowers and cream”

question the only pure motivations you've ever known, by force of habit, by threat of death

am I right back where this started
counting moments til I crack
a smile on that porcelain pout
or til I get to read a thought or two
from you
in your busy ways
counting how many days I have
kept out of the sun is
more fun than reading reason
from all that I have undone and
reasons for not doing all I have not done

Mistletoe Easter

“…at night she spoke to him of things heard only in hell.”
-Waits


bittersweet indeed, but maybe the most i have grown in a single bound in my entire life. i didn't realize how secure karen and i had become, i didn't know that alice could be gotten to, and i hadn’t expected my writing would actually push any buttons. karen is such an amazing woman to have held her ground and not exhibit any fear or jealousy. hell, just to hear me out about something that is completely universal, but still, so taboo… i hope that if she confesses a mad crush one day, i am man enough to encourage her to explore that. her devotion and maturity in this are some of the most remarkable human traits i've ever seen on display.

when alice received my poetry, she reacted very badly. she said i was mistreating my parter, and that as a man i was incapable of seeing how i was hurting her when we mixed socially. karen confirmed for me that this was not her experience, but the accusation of a brute misogyny was cutting. still, i was flooded with satisfaction to realize i had gotten a proper rise out of her. we're talking about a stoic, aloof woman who speaks very little about real, substantial emotional meat. she either won't or can't hug her loved ones… presumably for fear she will break the fuck down? i don't know.

we wrote a couple of times and she was eventually convinced that karen knew where i was coming from and had understood—even encouraged—my sometimes desperate and clumsy expression. as she cooled off, she seemed to appreciate my words, and hinted that she might not have blown up if it weren't such an impossible scene. i was unattainable to a woman who wanted ownership of a man. she had certainly been heartbroken before, and was maybe too traditional for all this.

i definitely felt at fault, but admitted to karen i was angry with alice for offering the token olive branch of maintaining a friendship framed with 'pretending it never happened,' and an admission that we ranked highly among a small number of friends, which, given the circumstances, felt like a selfish aside.

i knew the events, however awkward or painful, must inform our future. but much the same way i didn't ask for this ridiculous lumpy physique, she didn't ask to be built like a statue you can't take your eyes away from. she turns you to fucking stone, and if i had that curse myself maybe i would have a hard time locking eyes with anyone i didn't truly appreciate… when that gaze falls on you it is definitely a thing to honor, but the implication that after spilling my blood and tears on her reluctant altar and actually having chipped away at something of her shell i would still have to play completely by her rules... that was an emasculation of my work.

she had been 'teased' and 'flattered' by my 'very romantic' efforts. she no longer held all the cards no matter how guarded she might remain. it was my turn to set some terms. still, a few days later i wrote another apologetic and ginger message, analyzing things a bit deeper and telling her i felt awful for abusing her trust in me as a pal that she could hang out with a send innocuous texts to, which i did. but i left out everything about not being able to carry on as true friends without eventually discussing what had happened, and of course i held back my most burning allegation; that it was childish cowardice to run so far, so fast from anything resembling a real feeling.

in truth, she would always hold the cards, because she was so practiced in denial and avoidance. i really did miss chumming around with her, and after a healthy period of questioning my motivations i finally gave in to impulse and found a flimsy excuse to initiate some messages. she replied immediately. it was like getting on a bike. she was well-practiced at avoidance.

i assumed she had shared pieces of what happened with our friend, valerie, who cancelled plans with karen and i a few nights after the poetry fiasco with the cryptic message, 'i don't think now is a good time for tonight, v…' which seemed perfectly crafted to me. i had bitten off too much if some of our friends knew already. i had thought that alice was too scared of her own shadow to let on to anyone, but then again, valerie had known her longer. to make matters worse, i had popped into the diner once to find out if i was in trouble with alice. i suspected she had become visibly upset after i split, and that valerie, too, must think i was a stinking, deceitful cheat of a man for writing shameful love poems behind karen's back. i had no choice but to sit it out and see. maybe now that the dust was settling on alice, valerie would get an update that it was all above boards, whatever that meant… valerie and anyone else in the know, god forbid…

i texted bea to get hold of some pills on friday afternoon. she had been in touch two nights before to say she would be in the neighborhood for a tasting on thursday. i forgot about it and when she got in touch that day, i had to tell her i was off to a music lesson.

i got back from the lesson that night, karen was tired, we drank, slept, and when i woke up the next morning there was an old message blinking. it was from bea. 'still drinkin! oops.' this meant i had missed her at her loudest and proudest the night before. fuck. one thing that might’ve eased all this legitimate tension would've been to go out and meet her that night and make a real fucking mess. what rumors might have flown then? christ. then i remembered i hadn't actually gotten paid until that morning and that she had probably been drunk at the diner of my self-imposed hiatus anyway.

so on friday i waited for bea to get back to me, then we did the usual batting back and forth, not knowing how or when to meet up. she was busy hunting for rooms and--i would guess--too hungover to drink that day, but when i said i wanted some pills she shot back pretty quick. it’s odd knowing someone is using you and kind of encouraging it anyway. like women pushing a lap dance or a home cleaning service. or the customers who pay for lap dances and home cleaning services.

i was sat on the porch of the tavern under the spring sun writing some song lyrics about the naive and glorious concept of sex as a birthright when bea rolled up on her bike. she chimed her bell at me and i got her a pint. we sat down and talked about her search for a room. she almost had one secured when they rented the spot to an old friend who just flew in from wherever. this was the problem renting in shared housing, often with five or more 25-40 year-olds. everyone had a lifetime of friends from school and old lovers and old band mates and their sudden presence in a city flooded with more of this sort might change the delicate balance of your bedding arrangements several times a year. that is, unless you were in something committed. i thought of alice’s friend. the one who was scared to leave her unhappy relationship not knowing how to make her way alone in the economic hyper-shuffle of school and work in the city. i thought of me and karen and hoped she didn’t secretly harbor that fear.

bea had brought the pills. 'so you need to take both of these at once. one was a smaller dosage, but they're getting kind of old… so they're just getting weaker, so you just have to take a little more…"

while one part of my mind was tuning out and dismissing this vague alchemic logic, another began to remind me not to reveal anything about what was up with alice. it seemed like a stupid thing to be reminding myself of, considering i only half-trusted bea to keep her mouth shut in mixed company, and i didn't want to talk to anyone besides karen about it in the first place. then, when i became self-aware again, i found myself in the middle of explaining that i was avoiding the diner for my own mental health, and blah, blah, blah…

'so she knows?' bea asked me, knowing the answer.

'she knows.' i tried not to sound grave.

'awww, dave! your bottom lip is quivering!'

'is it?'

i cry early and often, but i actually hadn’t felt it. bea was in a fairly new relationship with this far more experienced polyamorous guy, and she began to grill me about how karen and i planned to make it work--if and when one of us connected with somebody we actually might love. i had to admit our discussion had only gone as far as being honest and direct about what we wanted and felt, and that we were on an improvised route at best. she seemed to genuinely sympathize with my crush and the anxiety i had been hoarding.

'anyway,' i said, 'it’s fucked.'

'…and i gotta go now.' she sang the words mournfully and looked a little guilty.

'no, of course. you've had your helmet on for like ten minutes.'

she gave me a comforting hug. another one crash-landed on the airstrip. pity and friendship and confessions… humbug. i walked alongside her on her bike back to the main avenue where she headed north to check out another house and i went back up the hill to the apartment to check my e-mail again in vain.



i hope you got into that sun today.
i am always still browsing my inbox
which means that i still need to be away.

missing your interest, is it a symptom
that i rightly cherish your friendship, or
am i forever storming that kingdom?

counting syllables and filling a page,
still as void of content as before i
began to type up this flat-ass champagne.

"oh, the cruelty's so predictable"

“whatdyouknow aboutit? Yr scared of yr own shadow”
-johnnyboy soprano

“I’d rather smother them with a pillow”
-livia

4/21, 4/18

PAPER MOON

on the way in this morning, “let’s just keep going.
I don’t want to stop looking at those clouds.
I want to go to southern oregon.”

they did look like 3-d watercolor paintings
strung-up cardboard scenery pieces
it would be a good day for it
just like each day would be
great for a lot of things
she’s been smiling
easier lately


YESTERDAY’S NEWS

wasting papers
my chest fills up with a
pounding pressure
sigh as loud as a
kid who has learned
to demand attention
I feel like a deaf child
screaming to feel
the vibrations
I must have made
a deep impression
cut off before even
sipping my first beverage
I will bury this in a
sweaty, torturous routine
until my body emits steam

soup or melodrama?

there is still a business plan
on my desktop
labor of lust

i talk shit about people creating drama
in their lives

i have a better way to fly

put it all onto a page
put those pages in a box
and drop it over baghdad
blast

the little stuff piles up
in weeks or sometimes days
ammunition for a
war on the ground
that i will win from the sky

i am Ozymandias stockpiling
words for retirement

i am the man
with a plan

a small distinction

i pop home from work
drain three glasses of johnny red
cackle maniacally at the mirror
showing my red little beard all gray
its finally on its way
the years rush ever faster
it feels as if i could follow the fuck through
before its literally pitiful

underbelly

I hope I haven’t abused the patience of a reluctant muse
with my stubborn refusal to accept what I am fed
underbelly white and fat and full of polite receipts
my contemporaries copy and paste each other
then breathe syllables of shit
I’m listening to their ludicrous love lyrics swim around, and
I know I have done the right thing
every curious moment is drawn into a tight focus, and
I know I have at least done the honest thing
no subterfuge in my game, 'cause
it’s all about self-deceit where I am coming from
searching for my own blind spots
changes the definition of blindness, nevertheless
I am still looking for my Achilles tendon
so I can cut it off and out, throw it from a bridge and
hide my soft spot forever

ethical is a warm gun

sex is not a lifestyle
sex is a nightclub
sex is a knife fight

work is for quitters, kid
pay me my fifty quid

service documents

the arc of this crush moving glacial
like the stages of acceptance
last night just another fun one that
turned serious on a dime
when I got near you and felt
the impact of my every word and tick
making impressions in a
long-forsaken lump of clay
I have documented each moment
my urge to know you spun out
of control and I want
so much to gift them to you, but why the fuck?
there was one where
your ass was a mushroom cloud: my salvation
and my hex
in another I saw you
on a gallery wall: a portrait
by one of the masters,
an angel prostrate and puking
these funny little
messages to myself
or to my partner to
let her know I am going mad
inside myself for a fantasy
but it’s alright, we can sit tight,
together as ever, and she fucking gets it,
so allow me to serve you
these documents
and any other favors you require
(no substitute service mailing will
be necessary all statutes having
been satisfied in calm
conversation between two best
friends, both guarded in our own ways, like you)

my trunk radiates like a nuclear furnace

spoon-bending isolation
warm hangover waves flushing my torso

its sunday morning and
its time to rise

meet the morning
meters or miles from your bed

self-editing all the way
to the bank

fiona

“I ran my hands o’er a strange inversion…”
and she made me hear
the tears in a woman’s climax
and the longing sensation
and the unique pain
and their smoky memories
how a person so young
spoke with such clarity
and honesty is beyond me
as I learn to respect the curt
and brutal, truthful messenger
pigeons of the word
so much rainbow oil in
windblown plumage
east coast jaw line set in
stout resolution, short sharp
sentences unlike the tripe
you’re reading now
I want to tear you apart at
the seams of those jeans
until I hear a tune so sexy
I almost cry at this desk
and I am at the mercy of
a teenage girl somewhere
in the past, penning music to
fuck and die to

don't call it karma

extraordinary gratitude
unprecedented magnitude of grace
sunlight beaming onto
my sullen face
no interstellar faith would
shake me awake
my woman comforts and
consumes me
she keeps me
in place
what luck or
reciprocal cosmic system
granted me this
unburdened fortune in a
world of distortions and
empty promises made
just for the sake of verbal sounds
she commands a
better class of reality
invites me to share
we embrace each other’s
sameness and weakness
with the same enthusiasm
and understanding as when
together we devour
our tastes and talents

lurking

pouring back the wine now
after skimming a gallery of you
all long and dressed in summer clothes

the night will dry up for me
long before you hit your stride,
nocturnal animal turning me delusional

primed in my madness until
its all self-destruction and escape
from imagined burnings, public yearning

faulty, guilty and burning down
anything i can put into view,
i want to commit arson out loud with you

a few older ones

*it's been a busy week of music and scrambling for cash, so in that spirit, i have scrambled not to write anything new, but just to post a few from months recently past. a dear friend read some of my stuff for me and inspired the confidence to go ahead and post these three. zonino.

REGRETS

I am so sorry for your loss

cross me again and I'll aim to get you fired

(no words, insert decisive sexual maneuver)

I need to be alone. In a crowd. Now.

I cannot say
these things to your
faces. Moment
won't come. Punch won't
land. I sink down.

I'M NEVER GOING TO SLEEP

orange sweater with floral embroidery
one-off design from a previous time
scream to a place far out beyond the gaseous
realm of coincidence and tainted luck
discounted salads, paradise, talk of lust
savages roused from a decade-long sleep
hair in a league of its own, in the cages
swinging weaponry, singing lazily
I want to pitch like a machine and sing to
a heated stick of butter on the dish
teach a man to act cause he has no hope of
grasping it by instinct at this late age
or come seduce the flower you look after
take charge and drive at high speeds, petals drop
to the floor, beneath your barstool, past the shore
around the corner in the dark we breathe
my dreams return even when sated and drunk
telling me to hunt, always hunt. "Go now."
relentless pursuit shaped only in words from
my lips, my keyboard, my instruments and
quietly in moments of shame half-hidden
indulgent and gluttonous every day
repeated echoes of jacob lyin' to
himself about lyin' to himself, all
of the practice is masturbation and all
of the masturbation: practice. "Go now."

BROTHEL STEPS

unearth my honesty
avenge my loneliness
burn my bridges for me
I would do it for you
tell me all about it
step into my office
another agency
would never have yielded
but I would do it for-
I would do it to you
don't tell me all about
how things are going
to be in a few weeks
just cut to the quick now
and spend your feelings here
tonight outside in the
pissing rain, wet bushes
cold sidewalk, brothel steps
repaired by the neighbor
on holidays he works
hammering, measuring
twice and cutting just once
but still the neighborhood
mocks his wonky staircase
rickety and new in
front of the alleged
whorehouse. lovely evening.

synesthesia

PROJECTION I

we stood around in the cold
like a bunch of kids
waiting for permission

I left only the parking lights on
when I started to drive you across town
and could’ve got us thrown in jail
with the half-burnt bomber in the ashtray
and you were speedy as all hell

I felt like I couldn’t keep up
with the demand, and we volleyed the
aloofness back and forth at one another
and I left a party full of strangers;
nice enough people but I didn’t know them
and anyway
none of them were you

PROJECTION II

I had been tensing my jaw all night
and grinning wide while I moved
self-aware in the fake fog and the
humid darkness looking for a girl
in a green sweater I met upstairs
and then followed with my eyes
all night, then that friendly
sweaty guy hugged me, and
she shrugged

ORDINAL LINGUISTIC PERSONIFICATION

I assign arbitrary personalities
to numbers 1 through 9, and
when I send out a message
I drain the bottle first
then with great care and focus
I scribble something off the
top of my head which
I will later regret or
find better perspective
on in the future

mugwump luv

hooked up to a nectar-dispensing device that swells you briefly, then leaves you craving more sugar, more stares, more bald-faced attempts…

my dried husks of mobile intention blow away, turn to dust bunnies fucking in the desert

tumbleweed sounds permeate your tunnels and sewers

cannons rock foundations of impermanent creations and you put up all the posters, girl. propaganda for a youth movement riot over weed-covered public spaces. space-themed cookery, estate sale, realtor’s children, lemonade escape

electro-groupies get felt down deep, never deign to sleep, escape routes planned before the motorcade even parks

transmit across false goal-posts my admissions and intermissions of a plot too redundant

good kitchen sex

long weekend stretched on
into monday night
good kitchen sex
gourmet pizza
cheap wine
catching up on
television shows lampooning
the religious

back at the office again
overhearing conversations about
dress code violations
blood drawn in last night’s basketball game
no one will clean out
the fridge that smells
like death that we all
store our food in

other people's hangovers

six am
on a sepia road
iced over

my headlights are soft
in the pitch parking lot

I wonder if those cops
at the coffee shop are going
to write me a citation for
weak or burned-out bulbs

at least my guts
are inside me
not fighting their way out
in sour pools of acid
working up my esophagus
and my nerves
aren’t fried this morning
no shakes

little earthquakes open up
the pavement borders
between the panels of sidewalk
underneath me when I
step around the city thinking of
her in the throes of agony,
puking and gripping the bowl,
doubled over and taut flesh around
her midriff wrinkled
into little fat creases,
long neck straining,
veins and beads of sweat
and goose bumps and nausea

an angel
poisoned
perfect

engraved invitation

if we can’t feed the dogs from hell together
couldn’t we at least
be friends with benefits?

it’s a long stretch when you’re away
every fiber within me marking time

trying to find excuses
and strategies for
self-improvement

frozen in habitual
loyalties and indulgences
I fall back on the same laziness
you would love to overcome

like an animal sensing its
own bloodline in the pheromones
you shy away from a man with
all your same weaknesses

stand up straight, boy,
and take the prize
if it’s in you at all

evolved among
rape and aggression
I vainly, eagerly,
pathetically
await my invitation

five syllable night

those globes shook and shook
we both had bad breath
you kept your eyes closed
which made me feel so
very pathetic

now I want to tell
all these assholes to
go the fuck away
stop looking over
paranoid shoulders
during confession

you came home so late
that I fantasized
you were out fucking
or something like it
tortured myself with
the drink until the
second wind stirred me

all morning you asked
if I was alright
I lied through my teeth

fat tuesday

in spirit I am at mardi gras
with all of you

brass rattles the barely-cooled
beers in beige cans

today in the treme there’s
shades of célèbre

today on some islay a girl
with jet black hair

this week on an airplane
another one scared

two westerners teaching
future businessmen

in a strange and universal
money tongue

this morning my love and her
best friend stretch and sweat

then her husband and the band
bang out surf rock

together we all boogie,
drink, eat, sleep

crowd control funnels the river
into alleys, into motels

steamy and dim til the
lamp burns out

poor timing.

this weekend we saw the cops
secure the neighborhood
and it was just like the tv shows
with dozens of vehicles blocking both lanes
and even more officers,
plainclothes and uniformed,
milling around for hours after the shootout.
I made a bad joke about
pigs directing traffic
just beyond earshot
of the mayor
and the chief
making a solemn announcement
in front of the local media.
all day long the patrons asked me
what went on
like I was there
to be the mouthpiece.
me, who picks the worst moments to speak
and studders the most when I have the syllables planned.
fucking pigs.

some inspiring quotes from songs on shuffle today:

"fifteen years is almost done and i don't recognize anyone from the dial-a-view"
-grandaddy, jason lytle

"all the good in the world you can put inside a thimble and still have room for you and me"
-tom waits

"it may be foolish, but i don't give a damn, i'm gonna do this rain dance til you stand here where i am"
-bastions, rebecca sanborn

"do the aqua-velva"
-b-52s, fred schneider

the radical

the radicalization of love
serves you well
clears the skin
and focuses vision

don't forget the guilt
you can generate
when you don't answer texts
people feel like creeps

cleaning house is
a big chore
and the cobwebs never
sweep themselves
into bins
self-disposing guilt
napkin tricks

no one person can be
your window, widow and nurse
you learned it
first hand, girl

so long live your resistance
to all things routine
and futile
you radical,
you

a toast.

that name of yours means
beekeeper
occupational
surname from
southern germany

another good few
for you might
read something like these:
“takes the word mouse back for women”
“beat music culture promoter”
“revolutionary in love” (self-described)

conversation tumbled
forward, but
we never got around to talking
musical genres
yet, did we?

had too much cider
and sugar
and was shaking in
the middle
of the night when I
found the words

goosebumps are clearing
on me now
but there was never
doubt about
whether I should have
just gone out

another time will
unfold, I
know, and then I will
be prepared.

for the time being
we drink to
you and your newfound
love affair
a toast to the revolution!

first-world problems

petulant desires, first-world problems, bucket of wishes, washing yourself clean with self-absorbed admissions, honest in your hypocrisy, like a wasp stinging its brethren, keeping the hive free of ethanol abuses, steeped in a marketplace of flesh, never before leapt upon, never before seen on tv, “never again am I gonna be late, never again am I gonna be late”

wake up and talk to me

the loneliest moments
by far:
are not spent in despair for intimacy
or even with tears welling
but the breaks at work when no one
is awake

every friend I want to grow with and connect to
is either across the globe
or fast asleep in their beds just minutes away

I can’t think of a thing to say to them
that could justify the text

when your window is breezing,
no one is there to peer through

alcohol helps me get to the root of it

i am waiting for
something
to develop

time moves slower than
all my
expectations

machine-gun fire rings
over
a dead valley

someplace where the real
people
harvest decades

intended bleeding
feeling
free the first time

declaration of
comfort
in loyalties

sacred, murderous,
lustful,
beat me, best me

blown apart for the
sake of
brief ownership

come to me on your
own and
really want me

illusions just for
my self-
esteem, thank you

safe sex

Metro to conduct random bag checks
Customs agent charged in year’s top ecstasy bust
TSA under fire after businessman boards international flight with loaded handgun

these are the headlines
in America this morning
the rubes
all distracted
by the shiniest
of sequined dresses flashing
dancing for the prize
on television
secure in illusions while
big brothers grandfather’d in
pull strings on high
spend borrowed caches of liquid
to perpetuate the avalanche
keep the momentum building
keep the world from spinning
expensive atom smashing
experimental volumes of peoples
indulging fetishistic sterilization
group living, safe screwing,
self-adhering dietary
mechanisms nourish

v day

i would have loved to
but i got your message the following morning
and besides
i spent a lot of
mental energy yesterday
burying the urge to
drop off all these weak poems
on your little porch balcony

i imagined hearing
your dog bark
as i made a quick exit,
hoping you were at work
so i could come by in
secret, but not gone
so long that
your neighbors might
venture up to read/steal them
to publish in 'found'
for the mockery of young
beautiful people everywhere

super bowl sunday

i stagger back up the hill to my apartment
stance of a soldier stranded
straining for balance
under the weight of your oppressive heat
beats down like sunshine
till my back shoulders and feet
spring and shudder
pins and needles
falling out from under

that bar was a place
i learned to lean on
and now every face i look in
gives me pause
and i don't want to look them
in the eyes acknowledging
the thrill is gone
without the tiny glowing
promise
of your skin one day
revealed under tinted lights
i never am going to hold the rights
or put up the fight
so do i deserve to taste honey wine?
fuck
taste
learn
teach
feel each
of us growing
sublime
once again 8pm is my
bedtime

cash money

precious metals
have only been
assigned value

heart-shaped jewelry

cuts through metal
cans with all the
precision of
cutting into
a tomato

movies music
intellectual property
you know my name,
now gimme my
money- the hook

sample lifting
mining for ore
among the dead;
wasted hard-ons,
wasted livers,
bleeding hearts and
seething rage, blind

precious mental
images have
only been assigned
to characters

assassinated in the snow
holding onto the
nighttime, children
under sleepwalk
trance

square shoulders

her square shoulders
slender frame
and clothes hanging on
like I would
for dear life
straight marble nose
white skin and
specks of oatmeal freckles
in the whipping cream
she can dance
but I’m not about
to volunteer for that
game
how would it look
to step up
and fall flat
animals dance for their mates
wind up
tortured
by fate
what does she do
in her downtime?
she works too much
then goes home to that dog
with the lovely eyes
digs books
listens to blues music
without humor
without shame
doesn’t watch
a lot of cable all night
this is certain.
she has no internet.
a friend loaned
her a laptop but she
doesn’t seem
interested
in utilizing its word-
processing or
pornographic capabilities
I need to get
in that mind
behind her eyes
or
anyplace else
like that
which can be breached
before the will dissolves
like salt on
the wind
a slug bathed in it
drags itself toward
a crack in the
sidewalk burning
no relief there
and no one cared.
who left you to lay
awake in the morning
wine coming back up
and dreams shaking perfect
bony limbs
to restless butterfly wings
in bed
trapped in memories
and trapped in a
town far from home
where the dream called you
back and then
turned away with some
other vacant dream…
now are you
here for me?
vivid daydream
of wooing you becomes
a vivid daydream
about the day
you leave this place
leave me here head
in hands broken
false sense of sensitivity
but I cried
in the daydream anyway

eugene retires to florida

eugene retires to florida
and I weep for joy

i cry for that
cigarette i asked for
and those last couple
beers and that
slice of cold pizza cj
offered

it was a long slow morning
that passed over
my eyelids
in a ferry ride flash
green yellow
waves rocking each
passenger to
sleep or to heaving

i chatted with matches
for a long while
trying to drag
smoke out of a
swept chimney
with my lungs

they filled up with
scotch and burst over
the dam inside

but veranda took off
to a better place
than planned, so if she
enjoyed herself
with that guy with the
ridiculous moniker
then Everyone had a
decent night!

but this morning
eugene retired to florida
and i wept for joy

i should really be
writing a poem
to jay for never
throwing me out when the
motherfucking
doors close

but he'll get his share.
no doubt i'll be singing
karaoke on someone's
grave with that
magnificent bastard
one day
in the future, of course
all in due time

for now he seems
content to have
a fellow there in the
same boat, slaves
to the same cattle-call
drones unto
the childless future
we will share. at least
in the genetic sense
of parenthood

not quite emasculated
but certainly not rolling
in a two million dollar
inheritance
with go-go dancers
on either arm and an
abusive intolerance
of misunderstood drink
orders

and when jay hears
these thoughts he'll
mock them with me
because its not
the money or the
dancers we want
just freedom to
say it out loud
and maybe get
the fucking job
done now and again
feel like men

so i should call him
up and rustle up
some sin
good safe family
drinking
boys out on the town
next month though
when there is money again

A COMPULSIVE BEHAVIOR AS INSTINCTIVE AS BITING MY NAILS OR PICKING MY BEARD OR A CAT MEOWING AT SOME UNSEEN SOURCE OF WATER

I check my email
in vain
as if there will be an onslaught
of messages unread
since the last compulsive
login/logout

this is the reason
I disengaged from
social networking

ghost town

stretch for time
in the ghost town
called morning

never call
parents again
its tiresome

yesterday
yoga was good
but again?

relative
quiet of mind
complacent

gushing to
anyone who
cares to hear

favorite
pastime of the
poor worker

satisfied/
dissatisfied/
wife/husband

we've got no
place to lay down
and dig in

cattle skull
tumbleweed brown
cold prairie

she said that
he was begging
and that it

angered her
so much that she
punished him

two shells left
cabin creaks sharp
prairie wind

LYRICS TO SONGS UNFINISHED: girls with 'A' names

I sing a song for girls with A names every chance I get
There’s nothing new to this
Lewis don’t do us like this
I sing a lullaby for each one of you I forget
Is there something in your hips
Telling me to take that kiss
I break a bottle every time I get a chance to fly
Don’t waste nobody’s time
Pitiful young concubines
We get down to it, push on through it, leave it in the park
We’re moving in the dark
And stripping down the bark
If you ever find you’re waiting on a moment, girl
That won’t come to your world
In fashionable curls
Remind yourself of every mother who devoted time
Memorizing nursery rhymes
regurgitating countless lies
integrity and mystery abound in you
but nothing that we do
can disconnect the glue
so hold onto the moments where we all look fine
allow yourself the time
to go out of your mind

inciting incident

how much can my insides sink down
pulling at the speed of gravity
ulcers tickling burnt lining
time bomb ticking in reverse
tears breach the edge
of the reservoir and grief climbs
out of my skull hovers overhead
then soars toward your memory
or my memory of you
or the memory of what I projected
onto your creased screen, blind contours in the fabric of time and light
color gels dull by the time we reach the plot’s inciting incident

work

put your nose to the grindstone son
and you’ll have won
self-respect comes to those who
put on the chains by choice
but the kink clubs all fill
with ones who need to
be beaten by strange hands to
find the means to roll out of bed
iron their jeans plug in the electric head lamp
and stare into the heated coils of their american futures

education

what did we learn?
the word that burns
unseen never
heard or over-
turned

flight case of a
traveling fool
waiting for the
departure from
portland to my
fucking house in
the islands i
bought

cash was no way
to compensate
the greatest piece
of fantasy
i ever did
hate

we're drunk now at
the time of day
when i should be
getting sweaty
all times of day
are ripe for sex
or exercise
exorcism
of my hopeless
expectations

salutations
my good sir, what
do you have to
learn from today?

the only one losing sleep

It’s the urgency I’m ashamed
to say I can’t shake
play out in my head
a silly scene
calling you up in the morning
when there’s almost no
chance you’re awake
only to stammer out invitations
to parties we’ll invent
with fermented spirits
cigarette taxes
filed down to nubs
of petty income
expendable like our labors
neighboring counties
place priority on secrecy
tune in coastal frequency
a binaural tragedy
come to me
believe me you’re not the
only one losing sleep
tumbling forward
I want only to
break up the
monotony
perform ultimate
lobotomy
on me

dare

it doesn't seem to matter
how small i feel
i will still manage to drive
myself too far
into view in front of you
shouting the truth
in whispers of small talk i
regret planning

-but yr cool- no spin on men's
self delusion

felt right then the need to shut
the fuck up Now

who even listens to the
voice within that
protects me and you from the
folly? saying
out loud what no one cares to
acknowledge. dare.

bread crumbs

these adhesive
things
on back of
certified mail forms
are forming a trail
in this office
from a
fat man’s desk
to the toilet
in the
men’s room

comedy gold
to be sure

lucky for us

it takes a lot
of poor people
to take out
rich people’s
trash

we miss the proper storms

the talk turned to lighting
back home
then
wind rain and hail
outside she smoked
he spoke
and the octopus squirmed
in his cage

conversations where
nothing happens
ain’t adequate
so morbidity ain’t
nothing
to me

this morning I notice
a bruise on my leg
I’m sick to my stomach
With fear
deep-vein thrombosis?
panic attack
breath short
some adventurer.

analysis

oh what a crime
I’m too cerebral
for the girl who is
bragging about
taking nitrous in a hot tub

oh what a crime
I’m too callous to
empathize while he bawls
his eyes out over a mental case

I never asked for this
I only wanted to
test the waters
til they went
splash but then
there was blood
then there was blood
and tattered limbs
pink water thinning
and what did
we want to do
with you
again?

the bats from that poem the mouse reads

stroll through the neighborhood
ambient blanket of pitches
spreadin' 'round like sloppy watercolors

last night
i saw a dancer
who smelled like cocoa pebbles
when she leaned in close

russian illustrators never
dreamed of bats so ornate
and so high-tech

sonar clicking outside
our realm of hearing

a wash of pitches
doppler diffused

floating on decongestants
bacteria fighting one another
i splash through the rain
for breakfast

wind up head in sink
choking up bile
and antibiotics

splash away tears and
snot - coldest water
i can find
wipe the sweat off

get back, get better,
get rest

the random sounds
splash 'round like
sloppy watercolors
or chalk from the kids
in the driveway next door
streaming down the sidewalk

no news

shamed because i didn't save any cash
didn't enjoy my weekend
didn't get over it
didn't earn any overtime pay for next week
didn't even stay up late
didn't taste anything

i did show up
a few times, but
i missed the exercise
i missed the opportunity
i missed the game
i missed the bullseye
i missed her lips
i missed the camaraderie
i missed the tips
even when i have time
i yield it to
futile pursuits
mental bland fruit
soured or bruised
we bring you the news.

human after all

I have this
friend who believes the
Saudi royal family,
and the Kennedys
belong to
a different species
with reptilian features
like scales and tails and
cold, cold blood

he turned us
on to battlestar
and i have to admit that
it is pretty great
for a sci
fi type of story
endorsed by friends whose
philosophies I
truly do
admire, but whose choice
of beliefs in alien
overlords seems at
best a sort
of entertaining
and willful self-delusion,
and at its worst a
"human" flaw

leave yourself wanting

leave yourself wanting:
this is the key
it seems.
If we’re to believe all
the hard-working
spiritual gurus
self-help authors
exercise-bike salesmen
diet supplement spokespuppies
singing contestants
disgraced anchormen

I don’t know about
You or Her
but I, for one,
have wanted enough
-and maybe even already
had enough-
for scores of lifetimes
but still I want more.
so who’s
most devout?

take take take
this is all
there is
to it.