within poems to strangers is said more clearly what

is felt than can be spoken.

written and floating in space not real maybe unread

but better than thoughts kept silent and alone

 

 

i don’t mind getting wet in the rain

food off the floor is just fine

i swim in the schulykill

wash my hair once a week

i don’t care for combing

or shaving much

and my favorite shirts all have holes

 

people say i should care more,

should take more care.

in return, i wish they cared

more about other things.

more about others than things

 

car scratched and dented

with bumper dragging and headlight gone

i will care so much forever

trying to smile with windows down moving fast

 

 

Re-arranging dirt:

So simple, yet so much to learn

Thick, sweaty leaves

Lazily weigh down branches

Aloof and thirsty

dealing with bearded
folk is like dealing with
chester the molester
(who clearly is clean
of chin but mustached)
who is no molester at all
but rather a man of extreme
listlessness
confused because he has been
single for much too long

but the man with the beard
married (as usual) but completely
living like he’s single
these people are the antithesis
of what we call
“whipped”

and while they see it as freedom
they’re wrong.

when, beat and tired we see clearly

the things we wish not to see in ourselves anymore,

promises like tears after death

flow fast and sorry

while hands fly up

white flags fly

up flows relief.

surely this time there will be no more one more time

surely the fan has seen its last shit

surely the sand will hold this line because

i don’t want to do this anymore ever for awhile maybe never

The boxes stacked 
everywhere beg to
be unpacked but d
o not tell me whe
re to place their
contents, so they
stay stacked in t
he corners and em
pty rooms, making
me feel that my l
ife is a messsss.

I’m finally catching up with the world

I am now wired to win with my gizmos,

Gadgets and all the rest of an electronic nature,

Overpriced and mass produced by Steve Jobs and Bill gates

Out of sight, out of mind.

Not so true when left behind.

Familiar cries of sorrow,

Directed at me when I haven’t gone far, sooooooooooooo

you’d think they’d give a rats
bottom but then you’d be wrong
the only bottom they’re going
anywhere near is the bottom of
the pile where they’re all sitting
around and not writing poetry
like good little english pub chips
if that means anything to any of
you maroons out there. so here
i’ll just keep afloat everything all
nine of you were all so passionate
about just two weeks ago. to the
point where we had to ask you to
back the freak off. but look where
that got us now? as the french
say les incompetant or something
of the sort. but who likes Macaulay
Culkin? (I almost called him Hulk
Hogan – which would have been a
funny mistake to have made in
print – even if electronic) afterall
anyone who looks that much like
a girl at 19 should not be respected
in the least. or so says this guy
who didn’t get the memo
about how we’d all stop writing
on the same freaking day and have
a whole 24 hours of down time
something never done in the history
of the sieve. the heck with it. i’ll
crush ya’lls heads like Hulk Culkin
if you dont get off your slacking burros!

I want to kiss your belly button and
hold your toes
give you a backrub while you
blow your nose

to rub your feet with lotion
so at night you’re leg-cramp free
and wash the dishes for you so you’ll be
extra sweet to me

but sometimes I just want to
lay my head on your thigh and
together we can turn to the evening
and wish it bye bye

im happiest when im loving
you
but i wish that you’d just take
it
when im overwhelmed and tired
loving you helps me make
it

you’re not the reason I live today
but you sure make do make it better
you’re my love and my joy
my favorite ever ever

its true you make my
life so much better

but dont expect i wont
hold the same against
you

I
Where do the hours of the day go?
Quickly they run
the body go through the motion
[but] it’s all wrong
gray hairs and pimples
artless eyes and wrinkles.

II
Patched-up youth
screaming “bloody awful!”
forlorn, wistful and bounded
ready to abide to the universal bold laws
like poached eggs in the the morning breakfast.

Ecstatic painful joy-madness of a mother
at the sight of the long lost child, [and]
the subsequent needling sadness due to the lack of eternity;
loss recedes only for a while.

III
We were hopeful once
Our lungs expanded and contracted with mirth

We were happy once,
Our erected limbs stretched and scratched the sky

We were, once
effervescent souls
Sown with a string of luminescent words

Nature’s arrow pierced our hearts
So deep it broke us in halves, and
the void reaped our efflorescent breaths

IV
One second before January, one success on our belt;
“We have stayed alive”
…and here comes the cheer,
here comes the new year.

[Whatever for?]

For the plum wine
for the lake that didn’t drawn us, [and]
for you and I

just to see if you wiggle
in your sleep

it is nice to get things done

to move about and do things

yes, doing things is nice

 

better is many friends sitting in rooms on couches close and laughing

 

we are invincible when close and laughing