March 2, 2015

they’re out now
looking around the corners
and digging in our back yards
for our secrets
to hide them away
all winter long
where we will never
find them.

they use our secrets to keep
warm, and call it hibernation.

they’re out now
and digging around, looking for
buried skeletons.

Not about a walkabout skeleton
in a black robe, with a threshing blade
or a plague or a sickness
or a rock-and-roll band

This is about the feeling
that washes over you
as you stand in a room
while another human being
struggles to keep blood pumping
through their veins
even though everyone knows
they should be gone by now

This is that stone in your gut
as you hang up the phone
from hearing the news: someone
whom you loved very dearly
had wrapped a strong rope
about their neck and throat
and tightened it somehow
until they were no longer breathing

Here, now, the dizziness that comes
when you remind yourself
that the phone number you were dialing
no longer connects

Here, the pain of knowing that
nothing you can do can
bring somebody back,
so it’s too late for some things
and all the apologies you owe
will have to go unsaid

This is a poem about death
and it is not romantic
because there is no romance in death

It is not beautiful,
there is no beauty in it either

it is dark and cold
and it is sad

poem writin’ time

February 23, 2015

i done downright forgot to get me round
these parts the days
done gone and valued other things
o’er my old values
and i’ll prolly forget again
here in no time

what with the chaos and all.

but if any time is poem writin’ time
seems like unemployment ought be it

what with the chaos and all

This time will be different

Just like every other time was

The screws are to me, now

I can feel them on my forehead

and my finger-tops

and just in to my spirit

so I will try to erase a decade of knowing better

I will understand that late is better than never

but I will know that late is failure, too

These screws will make sure I don’t forget

harness your dreams

December 18, 2014

the lighting of a candle
starts with the intensity
of a spark born of friction

and when this spark finds
a body for flame, it eats
and eats and eats and eats
because that is what flames do

but the candle’s body, by design
slowly kills the flame

there is no more intensity
only a slow diet of the same shit

when at first the flame was eating
with the passion of the spark
given to it by the friction and destruction
and even a type of devastation on a
molecular level it now,
distant from such an event,
eats only to stay lit

each day it dims with it’s steady diet
and lives in it’s own shit
and one day won’t even be able to breath

about midway through its journey
the flame dreams of the spark

if only it were a human
and not a lit candle
and could harness
it’s own dreams.

i am the third
the unwanted
the abortion surviving fetus turned
useless member of society
raised by a cocaine fueled ignorant
party girl on a steady diet of
denial, abuse, and lies

and yet i press on

cum on my boxers
tears in my dress-pants
business-casualty sitting all day
affront a magical light box connected
to under and above and beside ground
wires piping information for money

my consciousness is like
a genius newborn
or a confused world-weary old man

my illusions of grandeur now reduced
to simplistic forms of survival
like a bourgeoisie upperclass boy
turned homeless and unto the
streets comitting depraved
acts of crime and violence just to
stay alive

i have nothing left but to suck the
hours out of my body in a
self-serving fashion

i sent a letter in a bottle
onto the sea once

it is probably stuck on that
man-made plastic island
floating through the ocean

that letter is some type of metaphor
for self-validation

i don’t fucking know.

a poem for Xu Lizhi

November 5, 2014

all meaning is found
scraping the dirt off the feet
of the blind giants that
stumble around crushing
what is left of natural beauty


malnourished is the mind and thin
and childish and tired of we
who truly do live the land
and i could not begruge you
for picking your own last sunrise

who could?

every soul-filled puss-bag groans
at the sound of the rumbling giants
first thing in the morning
and only the calloused want to watch
the last sunrise, the last beautiful thing


losing battle

October 27, 2014

wrestled today with the things
I was unsure I wanted or needed
the feelings I had about where to go,
how to get there, or even where to start

stopped wrestling

found I was being pinned down in
a losing battle as the referee
hit his hand to mat and said I was out

And with each long breath
I suck them down,
spiraling down my rasped gullet
to my pulsing, flexing guts

These spirits chill me completely,
to the center of my very bones,
and I only hope I give them
any warmth at all,
for all their trouble

I think of threshing out
a new life in a jungle somewhere

where you only worry about
Dengue and venomous

The parking fines are low

Near non-existent,
I would guess

Of course,
so is the parking

I wish to go a-sailing
and ride high tides and
low swells while the ship
I cling to dearly sways
to and fro and port and

while I stare down deep
through the roiling froth
and flashing wash I
would start to know
that my wit and strength
and even my love is an

as my muscles tense and
my eyes begin to water
I will understand
between a great blue sky
and a great green sea
how absolutely
I am

then the angels would glance
down, and so, ‘Look at my ship!’
I would say

but they would glance
away from me, again

because absolutely paltry
is an overstatement, too
among these crashing waves

wasting potential

October 2, 2014

i will leave you on the shelf
fresh and new in your wrapper
but i will shop here every day
and buy anything but you

every day i will scan the isles
just to catch a glimpse

sure, i could take you home
unwrap you and use you
find all the things that make you great
but also the shortcomings
of your design

i’ve come to hate my own tastes
and i’m sure i would treat you
no better than i treat myself

even the illusion of you
deserves more than me

so i will leave you on the shelf
shiny and wrapped up
i will shop here every day
and the distance between us
will feel like miles, to me
just another nameless face
at the store.

the wolf on wall street 2

September 25, 2014

now i will tell you about
the wolf on raymond st

i had been holed up blissfuly
in my home for who knows how long

i heard you howling outside
caged by my spineless greed

and i hiding away from the
relentless cold wanted to check
to make sure you were still living
boxed and forgotten in my back yard

startled at the cold, yet the
only one willing to brave it

a child of maybe 12 wincing at
the truth of your morbid reality

you had always greeted me with warmth
even when in the most bitter cold

your water-bowl had been frozen over
for days, possibly weeks

i would refill it, only to forget
again and let it freeze over surely

and you were always a wolf, to me
wild as the virtue of nature

and in the dead quiet winter night
an unwilling accomplice to torture
i sat with you and tried my best
to beg forgiveness, crying

and one night i saw you
climb clear over the fence
and unflinchingly sprint
into the night

like the truth in world
full of liars.

on 26

September 17, 2014

he changed his surroundings and then
they changed him in a cycle that would
spit out each year for evaluation an
entirely unanticipated product

engineers could not figure out
this mechanism

“and here we see”
it was mused
“our 26th variant.
this organism which had built a hut
from dinosaur bones and aspired to
dominate its surroundings has since
put on considerable weight,
lost all appetite,
and lost all vision and drive.”

at what point
they wondered
do we cancel such an expirement?

never, said the boss
who colluded with the stars to
what ends no one could imagine

“let him stew in his own filth,
as he is doing now
and if he dies from it,
make note.”

“note down what?”
asked one of the engineers

“everything he ever thought and did”
said the boss.

“if we don’t get it right this time
at least we won’t have wasted data.”

the engineers scoffed at this idea

from their perspective,
this one organism had no worthwhile data
to note

the organism, however,
agreed with the boss
although neither of them
knew it. the 26th variant
would hear these things in
his sleep
every night
but could never remember
his dreams well enough
to break the endless cycle.

the humble spud

September 14, 2014

oh humble potato
my hero in the dirt
destined to fulfill thy purpose
and free from the burden of ambition which so oft hampers it.

oh humble potato
destined to fulfill they purpose
my hero in the dirt


September 1, 2014

I wish you’d grow up… my mother said
not because I’m irresponsible but because i am a petulant child
slow to grow up-
I marvel at the smallest things
i still run around the house, i do not walk to the fridge i run to it
i dance unsightly dances and laugh silly- laugh hysterically, talk, clap my hands
and jump up when I’m super excited (never outside my home, though i sometimes slip up)
i interact with TV, have conversation with inanimate things
i name things, my car has a name, my kettle,… generally things i like, things i am attached to
I have few teddy bears that I like to hold (only show them to people i’m close to)
I dream of living in a tree house, time traveling and meeting an alien named “Voila”
and i think it can happen or it is happening somewhere already because i secretly
believe thoughts are living things- and someday i will go to a place where my happy thoughts and dreams have settled.

but my mother wish, I’d grow up ( though she likes that I’m joyful)
that is that I’d be more “womanly” (in my choice of clothes, in my approach to life in general)
that i’d be a tiny bit cunning, competitive, and worldly- that I’d want things that most adults go for
or that at least I’d have “regular” dreams
of prince charming or marrying a nice/decent guy, have children-
a “successful” life in short
I know she means well, so i take in the good intention and forgo the vexation
for she wishes me the happiness she knows
and I am still looking for mine and i do not think it hinges on prince charming, money or status
not that there are such things as small or regular dreams-
dreams that you dream define you,
my most cherished dream is to be more open, loving and compassionate
regardless of where my choices lead me
but i know, for as long as i live, i will gobble down
candies, moist cakes and, hot chocolates
(and enjoy it better than the finest of liquor)
while smiling happy (toothless?) smiles

you don’t dare look your mother told you it is a monster when i open my chest wide to let out the pressure and in a moment i cannot feel the shame woah it is just me and the beast born in me which to me is an old, clever friend who licks at my face and wags its tail and jumps around on me, it’s negligent captor, only knowing of its cage and its surroundings and that i am never home with it or let it out to be pet glad to see me, like i am its father, and in the darkness it is a cruel beast with red eyes pretensed though that is i cannot disagree, much, and yeah maybe i admit that it is a bit monstrous and yeah maybe i admit it needs the cage, the malnutrition the snaps of anger i have when you walk into the room and it growls, and grumbles, and shakes its rusty cage, for the sake of civility and sanity and all of the rest but what i find to be curious and what i know to be true and what really drives me nuts and what really doesn’t seem fair is how the dark ages for me are like a renaissance for you and you parade your monsters all around town on thin leashes disregarding the damages done and it doesn’t seem fair, not one bit, for me to live in shame and hide this natural human-monster that wants only to eat and eat until it is full, and be carnivorous, and do all the bad things that your monsters secretly crave YES I WILL SAY IT your creature secretly craves this one to be let out, maybe only leashed, but even sometimes then let off growling and snorting and sniffing the dirt on your body looking for a place to lick clean of nutrients and then move right along to the next.


August 22, 2014

When I was younger
than I am now,
I’m sure I was a fool.

I am sure of it
for I have fooled myself
for some time,
it seems.

So I guess I’d like to say
that I’m sorry
if I ever worried you
but I meant every word
that I said,

and I know that,
words are scary.

So I see you now
through the proverbial
windows of a proverbial
ice cream parlor

and you’re on the other side
and you’re walking fast
and I’m happy for us both, I think;
I went driving hours ago
and you’re not stuck
behind the register


August 12, 2014

you leave the angel in your bed for the street
afraid that she will wake up
and want more than light-beams for blankets

you know the rent is not due
and all-around people love your pictures
but they can’t love you
not even you love you

in your eyes are the shadows of 23,000 ghosts
give or take
and as the madness sets in
you don’t know what is more real

maybe my couch would not have been good enough
for you
even if we talked all night
maybe your back was crooked beyond the repair of
any doctor
maybe it is like that

for all of us, one day

and only those who like the pain
fight through it

but what you didn’t know, robin
is that you held the hope of the world
and if your eyes saw enough
what are mine good for?

Rider on the Storm

July 9, 2014

Last February
I saw a man in a top-hat
ride a tornado through the center of town

It was quite a spectacle
and if I wasn’t so sure we were real
I’d have chocked it up to a most excellent
CGI program

He rode out the other end of town
after just a few moments of his
monumental display,
knocking over garbage cans and even
tearing the soft roof from a parked
sports car

He was cackling with glee while
my friends and I stood and watched
and whistled through our teeth saying
Boy, I wish that was me right now.


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