In Boston
I see boxy blue cars.
Tired blue buzzards.
On roads, I can’t
Tell if they come or go.
Parked, I don’t know the front
From the back.

They have flown cross country.
Seen deserts and
Churning snow storms.
Fine Swedish engineering
You wish would last forever.

But I ride the train.
I come and go.
In giant, clanky lunch pails
On wheels.
Peeling and rusting on rails.
Full of boots and coats and earbuds
And more blank stares.

这么爱那个
坐被破的沙发上
永久未来变

love like this
seated on broken sofas
futures forever changed

aint poetic in the least
they stream like uneducated
ebonics flow from a non-minority’s
mouth

it aint pretty
it aint even funny
and they damn aint poetic

every piece
of packing tape
comes peeling off
the bits
it’s meant
to hold together

Packing tape
as substitute
for roofing gun
and superglue?
Never.

Everyone
gets just one
first mistake
however.

the problem with the digital age
is the lack of analog
‘digital’ reproduces in my brilliance
in too strong of color for the average
man to take in all at once

you’d like me better softened
by the blur of wear and tear.

I have tasted it
putting my whole
in to everything
and hoping someone,
just one someone,
gets it

I’l never get that taste
out of my mouth.

and they never quite go
exactly how i would like,
until sometime after,
safely shut up in my office,
with only Dell around,
and a song on last.fm playing,
i reinvent the whole scene,
giving myself the best lines,
wowing my opponent with wit,
swooning her with passive-aggressive charm,
and above all, showing style
as i say the exactly perfect words
at the exactly perfect time,
and there is no sense of lingering guilt
and no feelings of inadequacy
but only triumph,
exulting in complete and total
verbal dominance.

they always fail to reward humans
where a cow receives praise
simply because they call it cud.

(you’ve something in your teeth)

this poem constructed in my dream
had different words
but the form (very similar).
better punchline for sure

When they jingle their keys
and the music plays in their heads
do they listen?

Do they roll around on beds so
soft and big and lonely all night
just to prove they can
because god damn it, they pay
the fucking rent?

What happens when they
leave their different city
for the same city they left
for the different city because
the different city was so much
better?

Where did all those long years go?

oy these days press in on me
like walls in windowless rooms
with padded white cloth linings
screaming lack of money
lack of faith
worry worry worry

i know the cure but i fear the pill
because i must focus to partake

ache eases in slowly like the pain
in my back as i sit on these all too
soft all too cheap couches knowing
my posture is bad now but my
back irrevocably ruined

i know the cure but i fear the pill
because i cannot be numb and partake

up here they call me dr. hugo
i work at a chinese restaurant
where my boss
(an old chinese lady named mary)
calls me josh-ah
i have a scrape on my
knuckles from punching
the bathroom fan
the earth is monochrome
i am only charging the
sun a one trip-fee
for a round-trip flight

i am hoping that it takes
a hint.

I breathe
oh, but hardly it seems
this new lung so unusual

The brass is the same brass
the growl is the same growl
but I breathe
I can’t breathe
I breathe
oh, but hardly

And it sings!
The song not so strong
but will get stronger
lungs pushing against lungs
pushing against valves pushing
against tiny metal springs
as I breathe, oh,
but hardly.

Knowingly or unawares;
I cannot tell.

A single strand slung
around my calf or across
my chest.

Her long feathery threads
attach like lithe stowaways
on my socks;
cling to the gruff stubble of
my chin as if it was
the single hair to
escape my razor.

She declares through radiant
wisps that which is hers,

Wisps in predictable and unlikely
places announcing;
This man is mine!
This man is mine!
I claim him and he adores me!

Do strangers notice?
Do passersby see the signs?

It matters not.
The signs are there.
Her precious woven gold
marks me.

i want none of you and all
of you at once

i mean that both ways

i want to live freely
but exactly
and i want it warm
i want it right in
the middle, where
it belongs

but i’m having the
hardest time getting
all of that,
even down,
i guess.