fairies and
pink unicorns
and bricks
(leaning towers)
they use
the first
two to
muddy our
peripherals, and
the latter
to hit
us over
the head
with.
poetry
sometimes late at night i’m so very tired its difficult for me to think and so i settle into a pattern of just feeling instead. i don’t want to sound like a woman, but sometimes emotion is easier than rational thought. is that chauvinistic somehow? it seems chauvinistic
poetrytimes like these are sad
and past
because we long
for hopes we do not understand
and smells on which
we can look back
to remember music which makes us glad
and then nostalgia causing
distress
fant-assy
poetryi’d like a perfect ass
on which to sit
others would stare as i’d
saunter by
i’d seldom clean it
and let it defecate wherever it
should please
it’d look so good no one would mind
but stare as i pass by
wishing they had an ass
like mine
instead of gas guzzling
tin asses
mine would produce natural gas
my ass
and i’d call him Juan
freezing smiling knowing i’ll catch a cold
poetryfragrance blaring
blasting, blowing, passing
people standing in far too perfect of lines
music wafting
shaking the blades of grass
i see locked behind green picket
knee-high fences
dear dear dear dear
poetryyou remember
the things you do while
alone that you think
no one can see
and you stomach the days
knowing the ways
that you throw all you say
to the sea
when your alone
and your back
is turned
to the world
and what you really love
and what you really hate
and what you really think
and what you really do
and how you cope
and how i hope
you choke on all the
blood you drew
when your alone
and you think
i’m not
watching
el nido
poetrycalm radiates
from these cliffs standing like
gods
holding in a crescent the
rhythmic whispers of
the south china sea
and the combination
of clouds tinged the color
of lips kissing the horizon
and your form supine sleeping
and slipping into this setting
leaves me
as silent as the land
we cannot see.
Fall is here
poetryin the wind,
in the air,
whipping,
swirling,
blowing leaves
in my eyes
in my hair
in my face,
bringing the cool
air of death
and the promise
of future life
friday
poetryeach motion intentionally synced
to induce thoughts of another individual
in a state of near meditation
but more active prayer
hand after hand foot after foot
precision
perfection
years of practice
as it set, the sun
poetryillumined
a tree of buttery
leaves
and something in it
reminded me
of our first
week.
why does it always come back to
poetrygreed and dreams
of land
somewhere
in texas
Thoughts upon visiting the home of my brother-in-law’s supremely rich friend
poetrybeing rich would be nice
because then I could spend
all day everyday
watching my 7
ridiculously large plasmas,
drinking from my private bar
while talking to my
private bar-tender brian
and watching my 7
ridiculously large plasmas,
wandering through the jungle out back
drinking from my private bar
while talking to my
private bar-tender brian
and watching my 7
ridiculously large plasmas,
swimming in the pool
while wandering through the jungle out back
drinking from my private bar
while talking to my
private bar-tender brian
and watching my 7
ridiculously large plasmas,
sexing my wife
swimming in the pool
while wandering through the jungle out back
drinking from my private bar
while talking to my
private bar-tender brian
and watching my 7
ridiculously large plasmas,
and doing naught else
haiku
poetryfreshly cut blades
strewn across the path–
squirrel-dug holes.
All chocked full of fajitas
poetryMmm
mmmmm
mmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmm
I hate disappointing people
poetryit’s bad when it’s my fault
but perhaps it’s worse when
it’s not because then I still
have to take the blame without
getting to enjoy any of the
fun of living only for myself
night. berlin ’99
poetrysilence causing snow falling on
cobble stone empty roads
lined with trees we duck to pass
under the leaves as we walk this
peaceful night
the first time you knew snow
‘i want a flake to land on my eyelash’
you beam as we skip then walk
hoping we wont get where we’re going
passing by a statue of an italian chef
daily specials written in words we cant comprehend
we go inside to watch the air battle the
white bombardment
the ground begging to lose the fight
slowly being buried under blankets of white
walking home its quieter now
only one light on the street as our feet seek
to glide to the crevasses between worn brick
hoping for surer footing
and i know this night is salvation
when you light with joy and begin to cry
‘look look! a flake on my eyelash’
thin skin
poetrywords sever
flesh you’re made
of paper cut outs
ripped up
and dropped down.
Predicament
poetryI really want to go
hunting today
but I don’t want to
call the uncle-in-
law to ask if I can
hunt on his land so
now what to do? what
to do? what to do?
what will I ever do?
hakpoo
poetrydark squares set in white
framed by blue marble tile
holding up my bathroom
out of the matrix and into the wilderness
poetry2 pigs, 4 cows and 12 chickens sacrificed for me to send this message, “I’ve been captured by savages(stop) I do not have access to a computer(stop) Do not send Chuck Norris to the rescue (stop) hope to be back soon(stop)”
wtf
poetrywhat was
it the seer said,
leaving us coughing
fermented dreams?
the sieve and the sand 
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