poetry

i’m sure your brain is just fine but i just wanted you for a few passionate minutes so that i could really feel alive for once but whatever

poetry

oh you’ve got such a
pretty shell
and if you’ve got to go
for you,
they’ve got
a pretty hell
where they stuff you in boxes
…but not too tight
where they close you in for
eternity
but you’ve got a light
you can turn it on
and off
and on
and off
with your pretty friends
each with a pretty face
and all of their dumb ideas
in such a cramped space
because,
you see
there are millions of us here
there are billions of us here
and some of them look as pretty
as you,
so when i give you a note,
and you do not return it
and you turn up your nose
because you think i’m a hermit
just know that
your skin will fall off your
bones when you die just like
everyone else and i only
wanted you because you
make me really,
really,
really hard.

Disembodied

poetry

I never needed to win
being on top of things was too uncomfortable
yet there was the possibility of life
at the back of my mind.

The person I wanted to be
standing across the street, waiting for the green light
was so real.
While engrossed in nervous greed to make his smile mine,
worry sucked the glow out of my soul
I lost sight of all things true

Something is happening without me,
with the friends left behind
the dreams I dreamt
the children starving in far away lands

The sunlight has me recoiling inside myself
looking for the perfect escape
but it is nothing important or new,
only little sharp pains
to enjoy rainy days,
coins lying down on the pavement,
and fruits a bit too ripe.

Break

poetry

For so long I’ve been staring at this pale ground.
But these cemented feet have stood still too long.
With every inhale, this casket crumbles
And the vestige of your binds dispels to ash.
If you thought your insults like razors
Would keep me raw and wounded
And your seductive words like siren’s songs
Would keep me snared, then you were wrong.
Because I won’t be here
For you to tear me down,
And moving on is
One.
Step.
Forward.

giving poems to strangers day

poetry

i have never been more indecisive
in my life
i cannot even get 1 cylinder
on this damn thing to fire
i can be found always, somewhere
on cornfield avenue
thumbing for a ride
that i am always refused
(without paying cash
up front
of course)
as they know that i
will rob them

i am always sitting
next to cloudy headed
johnny law
he is a bright-eyed
son of society (or of-a-bitch)

i am as dry as the periodic
table of elements

Here, Take This

poetry

There’s a demon in my esophagus
I should audition for a monster
But I’m too preoccupied with
Blowing my congested nasal
Passages into oblivion.
Double-fisted if I can help it,
Slugging shots of
Nyquil.
Dayquil.
Afternoonquil.
And they’re multi-symptom.
Where’s the all-symptom?
Wrappers of a thousand
Menthol-eucalyptus lozenges
Make my mouth taste disgusting,
If I can taste at all.
Navigating over a spire of tissues
And a forest of childproof locks
Searching for respite.
I’m sick as a dog,
Whatever that means.

Decisions, Decisions

poetry

Solar
indescribable yet
palpable in every
single nation
of the Earth

Lunar
Mass-Insanity
although there’s
never been an ounce
of proof in any
single nation
on the Earth

Strange to choose the
latter when the
former, it lasts
longer, and is
stronger, at lest

that’s how it seems to
be in every
city, every
country, every
nation, even,
on the Earth

Safe Bet

poetry

I never bet on
the sure thing.
They almost
never end up
quite right
anyway.

I’d much rather
bet on the
little guy all
the way in
the back.

See that guy?
He’s got spirit.
He probably won’t win,
but he’s got spirit.

a hundred bucks on that guy.

the summer’s ending

poetry

the summer’s close
is drawing near
and i would like
nothing more
than to dig in my heels
and stay right here
in the glorious summer,
reminiscent of my youth,
where there is no work
and there is no time,
where responsibility
is just a word
and does not concern me,
at least for the summer,
the beautiful summer
where anything is possible.

memorial definitions

poetry

you were the kindest person
i had ever known,
and you just so happened
to also be a conniving lier,
lying to everyone
for who knows how long,
lying to yourself
to keep your self-perception focused
on the good that you did
on how you served everyone unceasingly
on how you gave openhandedly
on how you loved unabashedly
on how you always put others first;
until that one night when
for once you acted
for yourself
alone,

with a .45 to the brain.

does that change
who you were?
who you are?

change

poetry

i’d like to imagine i’m
politically progressive, yet
yesterday i changed my own oil
and became a man.
I slid beneath the car
as if entering some secret
mancave, the license plate
transforming into a NO GIRLS sign
I peered into the mechanical intricacies, nodding
in acknowledgment of the innate knowledge
embedded in My Y-chromosome
and I set to work
with the solemnity of a samurai
some time later I emerged
cleaning My hands with the greasiest of rags
these oil stains becoming the lifeblood of the vanquished
evidence of excess testosterone.
now, Come, women:
bask in my musky glory.

Have I posted this before?

poetry

If someone asked what life is about,
I would say things small
[cheese or roses like
aromatically nice or genuinely sharp]
most of the time
a huge blur
a poignant question
a horizon or a ceiling with your soul stuck
Just let the cork go free
pour the wine down the throat
laugh, gurgle and spit
your desires away

a little about you – with some help from a old family friend we called websters but whose real name also included a merriam

poetry

you are exalted or worthy of complete
devotion as one perfect in goodness and righteousness
of, relating to, or proceeding directly from God
you are having great power, prestige, or influence
you are great in deed or exalted in place
you are marked by stately grandeur and lavishness
and exceptionally superior in kind, quality, or appearance