trained my thought (of)

poetry

the days have been less kind to me
lately
i find myself more prone to awkwardly timed
bowel movements
than i did when i was young
depends
i suppose. what did i eat? where?
was there lactose? spice?
the days i suppose it depends, was there spice?
i find myself more awkwardly prone
to lactose timing
lately
less kind to my bowel movements
days lately. lactose and spice
awkwardly kind
where i suppose i eat
prone to when i was young
it all depends

dreams of a budding politician

poetry

i’ll dress in silk and finest cotton
thread count higher than my favorite sheets
wearing suits from companies whose
names i’ll only know once i consider
a grand here and grand there spare change

i’ll nod the the concierge as he accepts my
vip card and passes me a glass of brut
just to let them know their place i’ll shake
their hands and act uninterested

i’ll call them george, vladimir, bill, and steve
they’ll call me dr. mugs and i wont give them
the time of day (i have a secretary for that)

to no avail

poetry

i sit
unaware of the slow rate in which the paint on my walls is crawling towards the floor as if even it would like to leave

i sit
in complete ignorance to the fact that millions of ants are building a penis shaped tower that you can see from space

i sit
with all the momentum one could use to sit, all of the gravity and kinetic force that one can do nothing with

i sit
and i sit
and i sit
and in all of my sitting i never once get up to stand, i only do so in my head, and when i do that with my head i stand on a ledge, you could stay i perform a headstand on a ledge, a ledge that is very high up above some building and i hold my balance there as if i had performed this one headstand my entire life, and with the grace of the greatest ballet dancers, salsa dancers, street dancers, naked dancers, and all other kind of dancer, i let the wind push my headstand to wherever the wind has decided

i sit
and i sit
and i sit
and i fall off of a ledge in/on my head
the wind as my chair.

With Corruption There is No Tower

poetry

When Building the Tower
That measures your Greatness
Buy the impact you have on others
*
Foundation is first
Before you apply the mortar
To set each stone in place
*
Each stone is an accomplishment
Each stone is a breakthrough
Each stone is a fulfilled responsibility
*
Each dollop is the path you took, a choice you made
Each dollop is the crossroad that ultimately led to the outcome
Each dollop is the way you’re judged
*
The Strife that tests your love and faith
Betrayal that makes you writhe in pain
But shows you’re like Job, one and the same

eviction notice

poetry

you don’t know what you want
but you know what you don’t
you don’t much want to hurt
but are not sure that you wont
you don’t know what to keep
’till it all gets too old
you can’t make up your mind
you don’t have the mold
nor do you have the receipt
or know where they’re sold
you don’t know what you want
so you don’t know what to hold
to keep out of the snow
so it won’t die in the cold
you can’t navigate this maze
so you don’t know where to go
and this is all in your head
and your head is your home
and this is all
and your head
and this
and your
and
and
where’d you get that gun
that the bullets shoot so slow?

this is a long drive

poetry

ohio,
dramamine,
this is a long drive
for someone with
nothing
to think about

i might
show the custom concern
and head south
into the tundra/
desert
because she
ionizes
and
atomizes
while i’m
talking shit
about a pretty sunset

and we go down to
her beachside property,
dog paddle,
and it’s all about
making everyone happy/
mechanical birds
so she goes to sleep
while i’m at the lounge
where
space travel is boring…
wait, breakthrough,
exit does not exist.

(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.

poetry

stuck 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

Shipwreck

poetry

In 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.