backwards good as just
be always should poem good a
poetry
hudson
poetryhudson is the name of a dog i
won at the fair,
put a ball through a basket,
brought it home to you
hudson is a pretend dalmation
with big brown eyes
like mine
only he can’t see you
hudson is immortal
and he can never die
because he is plush
so he cannot leave you
at the water park there were no lines (except the scratches on my shoulder blades from so many rides) and i got a workout just running up the stairs to come back down again… it was SOOO much fun
poetryslides and all
up and down
down and up
lines (weren’t none)
up and down
round and round
down and through
the hole of the toilet bowl
up and down
back and again
scream for joy
like a little boy
slides and all
up and down
water round
a haiku in three images
poetrya bird departs
a shaking black bough
a silent street
(butterfly). i couldn’t whistle until i was 16. i vowed if i ever learned how i would never stop. now almost ten years later i whistle incessantly.
poetrystuck to the ground and crawling
squirming
knowing you’re the disgusting one
people feed to spiders then observe dying
it could be you in that web
having your insides made slurpee
sucked out. so
crawling into reclusion
build yourself a home with
walls thinner than cardboard
cold when it rains
emerging
i dont blame you for ALWAYS
being in flight
i’m just shocked i never see
you lounging around
basking in your own vanity
my dog farted and it smelled like poop
poetryso i–sniffing
incessantly–scanned
this house–sure i’d
find it somewhere
waiting to be discovered
like some ironic twist
at the end of a rainbow
when it struck me: how
many of us live
our lives like this?
Shipwreck
poetryIn the middle of the night
the stranger came again
“Let’s go sailing,” he said;
the moon and the stars, carved out of the sky,
wept in the palm of his hand
the humming bird trapped inside my ribcage coughed fire,
but I could not swim in the dark.
My eyes flashed its last picture
Yesterday’s party
full of chatter, color, chimera, and … me
filling my skin with speed and artificial light
orbiting, hanging on someone else’ s shoulder, arm, waist, eyes, lips as
though afraid to break some heavenly thread;
I fancied myself free.
a blue mind
poetrya blue mind walks over
green hills
turning
everything a cold
grey
a blue mind stares the
clock down,
with success,
until its ticks dull
down, infinitesimal
a blue mind rips
the pages of history
coming undone,
himself,
with the pages
fancy head ticks
poetrywhen you shake after
a cold gang green
agent orange driven
frost bitten day of
joy in a rice paddy marsh
up to your neck
with your gun over your head
knowing whats coming
but avoiding the
cancer filled lungs
following days after
work like this?
we dont get paid enough
autumn is a bike ride
poetryat night when
the temperature is
low enough to finally
wear a sweatshirt
and you begin to
dissolve.
head cold
poetryMoments are phasing
Between hot and cold,
Pressure escaping
today eh. great day eh.
poetrytimes like these
lacking comfort
given up for adventure
standing up while riding
with the wind in your face
passing the crowd by
street lights aglow
parties but you dont partake
food and friends
thanksgiving
so worth the sacrifice
why the hell am i still at work?
poetryi hate
cliches
but the sunset
set this hallway
aflame
that ethereal
wavelength
soaking
in the freshly
waxed floors.
I got nothing
poetryno inspiration
except for poo,
poo, poo, poo, poo
glorious poopoo
smooshed and smeared
and oozing across the page
in the form of words
pooetry day
poetryand when on toilet i did sat
things came out and i did shat
the things i knew to come they did
unfortunately some on the lid
but poo is as poo does and we all poo poo
from small ones to big ones its still doo doo
be hard be it small or be it round
best if we keep it in our pants, in the bowl, off the ground
be it well written or be it shit
anything today will fit
poo in a can, a crapper, a bus, a tree
a day it will be of pooetry
christmas stalking
poetrytickled fallen broken lacking
all things never wanted throwing
out the back door trash can burning
lighting laughing smiling churning
noting nothing ever smoking
feeling nothing never wanting
waning knowing never stopping
till then growing walking talking
stalking
motherfuckers put a filter on my brain
poetryit’s hard to see past your own nose
it’s hard to put that in your prose
and when i’m on a slump
and revel in muck
i want to throw myself in the road
fall
poetrywe fall into
bed like jumping into
the ocean welcoming
the undertow of
our dreams and
gravity’s
effect.
because friends that create awkward social situations all the time should be syndicated. put on tv. laughed at by multiple nations. not enjoyed with a beer in hand in a neighboring couch
poetrycut the tension
with a noodle
then you know
good company
Memoriarum Quae Mortua Sunt
poetryOf the memories
What is a memory when even you
don’t see
What is a memory when you can not drift to
some other time
and world and space
How often do people say don’t dwell on the past
Live in the moment
Why not when you have not a single regret
Why not live off in the other spectrum
Do you feel it like I do
A gentle, warm Summer breeze back when I was…
the sieve and the sand 
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