when i eat deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
the chickens to eat the grass to soak
in this sauce, the sauce made of the
the grain fermented by the yeast of
heaven for beer to be boiled and
then chicken to be thrown in. i cannot
help but worship the One who made
the ground nutritious wherein the red pepper
can grow slowly more spicy to be chopped
and added to beer sauce for chicken to
soak in.

when i smoke deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
this Indian weed, and the ground where
the leaf can grow tall, strong, and be cut
down. the One who made the sun dry the leaves
and the One who made the ground perfect
for this tree to be cut down, for it’s wood to be
porous and cool, and light, to be perfectly clenched
between my teeth so i may worship while
my prayers are slowly carried to heaven
in clouds of smoke. something i know is unnecessary
but i like to imagine happening nonetheless.

when i smoke, and when i eat, and when i drink,
i cannot help but praise the Creator.

mine pipe part 2

March 2, 2013

when handled with care
and filled just so
she brings me calm for
some time in a way so
few others can.


February 25, 2013

take my
face and dunk it in
chemicals you’ve “man-made”
in china.

water-board the amnesia
out of me and remind
me of life and what it was

mine pipe. part one.

February 22, 2013

i’d say this made me
a better person but we would all know it was a lie.
it does nothing to add or take
away (for that matter)
from my personhood-awesomeness

rather it makes me a more approachable

it makes me seem down to earth
(as i’m stuck down in it)
and open’s people’s minds to hear
what i might say
or do.

they don’t look at me and my aesthetic
and open up naturally.
my beard ruined that possibility
(though they do giggle sometimes).

but this.
this of all things,
brings a personal note they love
relate to.

opens doors otherwise closed
and lets the air in to filter
out the smoke.

no these words will not do you justice
just as they entirely failed me.
leaving me to grope around in the dark
chasing after a poet teachers said i
wrote like, and then later—forgetting—
they told me said
poet should have stuck to editing
and i just stared in response.
because that’s what words do, they fail.

or maybe it’s me who fails them and you’ll suffer an entirely different fate.

but wait….

February 18, 2013

i’m fairly certain this will make me feel manly,
or look manly
or be manly.
what’s a man anymore?

yea, i’ve been distracted.
uhuh, it’s been bad.

my mind has gone places
i wish i could bring it back from
but the beach it’s found there
is wide and the sand is white,
the water is clear and warm
and the mountains are something
of a comfort to a soul that’s simply
tired of fighting the good fight
and want’s a rest.

the problem is my mind
left my body behind to fight
and void of intellect my body
isn’t fighting very well.

sure sword is in hand
and the battlefield is where
i’m standing, but i’m uncertain
if i’m facing the enemy or my
own combatants. what color
are we? are we home or away?
and why are all the commands
of my leadership seemingly in
a language i cant understand?

my mind has gone places i wish
i could bring it back from, but it’s
told me on no uncertain terms that
it expects me to win this one
on my own. when the battleground
is clear, then, and only then will
it brave leaving the beaches behind
for the dumpster that my body
has become.

February 8, 2013

for these wounds
keep healing
faster than i can re-open them

A message of desperation

January 24, 2013

Sometimes when I’m sitting in class I get bored and I start to think about ridiculous things like eating my weight in raw-unpeeled potatoes or cliff diving from absurd heights in to freezing cold water while wearing a clown suit. But somehow no matter hard I work I can’t distract myself well enough to check out.

i’m an artist dammit
and i don’t need you
giving me your opinion on
the curvature of my
sculptures or the shading
of my paintings.

sure art is subjective
except for mine you asshole.

my melodies are objectively
beautiful, my stick figures
objectively perfect and
my nude self-photography
accomplishes exactly what i
was going for and objectively
what you wanted it to.

i’m an artist dammit
and this live exhibition
i’m doing here on this
street is a piece i’ve been
working on for months so, no,
it isn’t my fault if you’re
too stupid to see the work
that went in to the smell in
my dreadlocked hair and the
perfection in the placement
of the holes in my pants.

and i couldn’t give a shit
if you think something inferior
of my objective superiority.

there is that feeling
you get
(not me but you)
(not a universal you, but you)
where one minute you’re
(you you, not all of us)
on top of the world and then
you (… you get the idea)
just fall

and i
(all of us)
stood there
watching not entirely helpless
to do something
but doing nothing nonetheless

i hide my face
from the eyes
of the passerby’s
looking down
from the bridge
i’m on at the crowded
street on the
fourth sunday
since we said
we’d meet. i came
again, but
i know you haven’t been waiting for me.

i know the crickets sounds
will grow with time
and overwhelm the beating
of my heart
in the grass near my
head as they inch
out towards my nose
and my toes grow further
numb buried in the sand
below me.

can’t press this
duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh nuh, bump bump
can’t press this
duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh nuh, bump bump

yo i’ve been around the world
from san fran to LA
and everywhere i travel,
wordpress and various copyright restrictions always say

can’t press this
duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh nuh, bump bump
can’t press this
duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh nuh, bump bump

desperate measures.

December 18, 2012

the pipe drain down
which i shove my productivity
has been clogged with
bits of banana and carrot
peelings which i’ve been
using to make juice in an effort
to get more vitamins in a
time where i feel deplete
every morning, noon, and 3am
when i wake to tremors and fears
this will never happen,
then i take a banana and
shove it directly in the drain
to clog the pipe so productivity
can stop at my will instead
of indirectly so that for
once in seven months
i can actually be in control
of something in my life.


December 1, 2012

i haven’t the time
for words to flow.
i’ve filled it with
flowing other things.
i’ven’t the time
for poetry
and whatsitmake me
to be a guy withn’t
the time to poet?

and so i’ll be boarding a plane
in no time really
and heading to africa
because it’s time to start being
a dad to my boys
and i’ll be away from my family
for christmas.
well 1/2 my family anyhow,
but that was unavoidable
as the shit has been hitting
the fan in a steady stream for
some time now and the fan is starting
to slow.
and so i’ll be boarding a plane
in no time really
because before that fan stops
i want to stop saying goodbye.

pavement underfoot
until sock-sweat induced blisters

amos. tiger. come on God.

November 13, 2012

my sons are held hostage by spiritual forces
which have been hassling me for some time
but are really starting to piss me off.

it’s been two years and they’re still there
waiting to be James Bonded out, and i’m still
here in my pajamas checking email powerless
to change things because of international laws,
bureaucratic foolishness, and folks with

my boys are held hostage and i’m on my knees
with all the power of the Almighty listening
in to my requests but He’s not answering the
way i’d like Him to.

where there is no air to breathe
or folks with whom i can commiserate
in a tongue i call my own.

a place where the food brings me joy
but makes me dizzy, threatens fainting

a place where the lack of sun and it’s healing warmth remind me that i’m to look to a city that is not seen, which is not here, that is to come.

a place where i go foolishly by any man’s standard, but where i don’t measure by the standard of men. a place which fills me with utter fear but i haven’t any choice if i hope to speak of greater things to my sons. and hope they’ll remember.


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