there is nothing as satisfying
as slowly awakening
on a freezing morning
wrapped in the warmth
of a full night’s rest
not wanting open eyes
because you know
nothing can compare
to this comfort

so sleep

whether it’s a quick
twenty minutes stolen
in the middle of the day
or an indulgent twelve
hours when you’ve nothing to do

sleep

from the lowliest
vagrant upon concrete and cardboard
to the king upon silken sheets,
we all just make it through the day so we can

sleep.

it is the answer to everything:

long day? sleep.
ate too much? sleep.
didn’t eat enough? sleep.
just got dumped? sleep.
lost the big game? sleep.
failed that test? sleep.
poor? sleep.
stupid? sleep.
in jail? sleep.
dead? sleep!

Oh, Kelly thinks he’s so god damn funny,

Especially since I have no money.

When he’s got the sheep and I’ve got the rams.

He tries to beat me in poetry slams,

Sixty second haiku’s when it’s sunny.

Cauterized flesh wounds,

Once crimson by impaling,

Ailed pristine troikas.

says the bumper sticker
which would be placed
between the license plate
and the trunk
if i owned a car

four wheels to call my own
in which to sit
roll up my sleeves
– down the windows
let the insects in
my hair
my car
my ride

happiness is burning a cat
would be the motto
on my four dollars per gallon
gas guzzler

and people,
they would think highly of
the person in that ride

and yield to my wheels
because lets face it
you don’t mess with someone
who finds happiness there.

in beautiful dander flaming slowly

I can’t cuss like I used to,
or perhaps I never could;
when I speak explicitly now,
it just doesn’t sound good.

I like the sound of expletives
and wish I could make them sound convincing,
but whenever I utter one myself,
I don’t believe in what I’m saying.

My wife’s family cusses well,
and does so with conviction,
when they say damnshithell,
they mean it, no fucking fiction.

So when I cuss in poems,
the sensation is usually forced;
I try to use all words equally,
but they end up sounding cursed.

Every time I try to whiten my teeth,
I gag and wretch, feeling like
I will heave up my bowels,
but I still keep whitening my teeth,
sacrificing my bowels
in the name of science.

i never figured you for a saint
but i could not have guessed
a snowman

when we would dig in our yard
build forts and play
you could climb the tree the highest

and your awkward affinity for carrots?
is that like snowman eskimo kisses?

i feel betrayed
you’ve been so cold to me.