draw some damn roses

I consume so much
lately I fail to stop and draw the roses
I sniff and breathe
view, appreciate, enjoy,
and fail to create. and fail to create. and fail to create.
allowing all the beautiful roses to be representations of others
failing to give back

well shit. no more.


dehumanizing search for sources of moola

when I took off I was without a job
and here I am on the ground
still unemployed (for the future)
feet firmly planted
no more turbulence
except in my soul
where the atmosphere is unsteady, shaking, and causing my shoulders to cramp as they try to keep in all this explosive stress.

as a general rule, i attempt to avoid such situations.

i wrote a brilliant poem
about how the leak in my engine
is so comparable to the bleeding
of my heart.

but the hoses spraying all over
the place, in directions no one
understands, and the repairman
redirecting things and getting
his hands and arms all
filthy in the process—while poetic—
were much too awkwardly sexual.

sexually awkward.


I was the only one there without a suit on
without a shit
to give

and the topic was great
and the food should have been better
but I was in jeans and a short sleeve shirt

the only one
without a shit
in the world
to give

my eyes see only inside

i’ve grown appropriately concerned
with the way my head has turned inward
on itself,
my eyes see only inside.
i’m entirely incapable of looking at others,
neither noticing nor acknowledging their existence.
my eyes see only inside.
my ears hear the world
around me. the very one my vision ignores
and the signals in my brain are confused.
at once aware of the world, and blind to it at the very same time.
inward facing, while certainly more familiar,
only gives me front row seats to watch
my heart harden.

hey dude

(to the tune of Hey Jude)
Hey dude, don’t get that backpack
Take a side bag, and add a strap to it
Remember, to save a sport for your fart
Then you can try, to save it for later

Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey dude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey dude

ponderings on pot

toilet design was taught in college
completely void of training in the field of acoustics.

hey na. hey na na na na.

i’m pooping in my in-laws
considering this clear omission

hey na. hey na na na na.

befuddled at the human race.

hey na. hey na na na na.

unrelated: too many bathrooms are designed in to houses too close to kitchens or dining rooms.

hey na. hey na na na na na na.

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.

poem writin’ time

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

losing battle

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

the humble spud

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

still reflecting

for the times i wrote
a brilliant thought
in my head when my paper
was just a bit too far
away in my back pocket

i’m sorry you were left
behind for only my mind
to enjoy. i’d remember you
but really, i only remember
the memory of having you.

as wonderful as you were

i’ve lost my shit

and i can’t find it
despite my best efforts
it’s been months, and nearly
years since it was misplaced
and this bus across this
bridge over this river
to this mountain seem
largely insufficient to help
me find it.

maybe you think you’re better
than this, like there is little
need to go find shit when it’s
been misplaced as most people
would just flush such shit
anyhow, but this is my shit
and i can go looking for it if
i want to and there is little
you can do to stop me from
seeking after it when a ticket from
houston to here is as
much as it is.

so i’ll giggle at you while
you laugh at me for seeking
so earnestly after my misplaced shit

some things die slowly

others lay around and slowly
beat the wind with their wings
refusing to give in
fighting to keep on resisting
chasing life support
from the sun or the iron lung.

knowing the difference between
the two
and when a situation calls
for one and not the other
can be the difference
between slow
and quick

say what you will about ball sports
the truth is there are guys out there
with the talents to make incredible
things happen in split second decisions
without a second thought and then
they’ve the muscle power and memory
to execute in a way that i can only
ever hope to mimic in my pipe-packing.

speaking of which, football is on
and i have a particular latakia blend
waiting for me

hank. born.

i feel i’ve planted something
here, by this place for words
but forgotten to water it or
something equally as life
threatening. i return with some
regularity to check on things but
find the withering distressing
and move on, blaming my lack
of a green thumb for the death
here. the decay. but I know a
bit of elbow grease and forgetting
for a moment myself for the sake
of these organisms would do some
good. i’m just unsure of how to
proceed from here. i know its
hard to begin to kneel and get to
the work when your back is
out of shape from lack of kneeling.

and these fingers. they need newly
acquired calluses.

i can’t believe these new surroundings
are smelly like this
and the grass grows so thick
i can rub my toes through it
(you know, it it weren’t covered in dog poo)

the driver says this is what it’s like
and i should get used to the rain
and the grey.

the neighbors tell me it doesn’t bother

the police work with the shades closed
and terrible dark blinky blue lights
reflecting off pale white walls and
a grey ceiling somehow pretending they’re
not in deep depression, or perhaps
genuinely happy.

who knows.

but foolishness and foolheartedness,
and fattiness will be life.


here to there.

uprooted for weeks
in the in-between
waiting in nothing
living with nothing
hoping for little
until the dust settles
and is swept away
then replaced with
new carpet and the
sunshine is removed
for rain and gray
because life sometimes
throws you a fastball
you mistake as a
curveball but discover
altogether too late
to do anything about it.

at that point you’re
already settled.
waiting on nothing
living with little
and hoping for nothing.