switch

poetry

imagine a switch that you could
flip to turn day into
night—
shutting the sun off like
a halogen lamp dissipating blue to
black revealing blinking
stars and emptying streets of
people and cars

gone, will be all signs of life
(or at least, into hiding:

beneath rooftops and cotton
Sheets—where i’d really rather
be
with you)

at the flip
of a switch.

things that made us famous, but you’re still nobody

poetry

all too many people
shy away from the topic of poo
out of fear of offending
their mothers reading
their works when they finally
publish their own book
someday

the sieve can address it all
from rape to cannibalism
when we want to say pants
we say trousers

if i say trunk, i mean both
the ass of the car
and a garment to cover your ass
whilst you swim

i have boldly gone where you
have not
the deep has never challenged me

hover, and hold
squatting will keep you from having
to squeeze

but dont fall in
or you’ll become famous
you nobody.

Epiphany

poetry

Today,
beauty cut through me
awe came a bleedin
stardust slipped from my eyes
dark-hued clouds dissipated
At last!

Hope, grace, peace
move closer
warm my skin

Life spent in the LostAndFound
left a pain-print on my soul.
Drunk from the unhappiness,
I threw the innocence away.

Oh joy come nearer
I’ll hold and cherish thee!

ignorance is bliss

poetry

i work with this girl who is always

working hard

sometimes all night long, often on the weekends.

she drinks lots of coffee and laughs loud and desperately

but i think she is happy in her small way

tonight her friend asked her to hang out

she said yes, until she remembered

the “optional” work meeting she had agreed to attend.

sorry friend.

 

but i think it’s better for her that way.

i’d hate for her to find out how much of life she misses every day.

 

Over-inflating my ego (when no one else does)

poetry

I sit here, planning out my students’
future for the next 6 weeks;
it’s strange to exercise this power
over what fifty people will be
reading, thinking, and doing;
power to mark and label each person as
failures, slackers, average, good, or excellent;
power to influence what opportunities will be open
to each of my students for their futures;
I am not only the master of their future
for the next six weeks, but I am the master
of their futures for the rest of their lives,
in which every moment will be influenced
by what I do in the next six weeks.
Do I feel exhilerated or scared by this?
Mostly just unprepared.

windows down moving fast

poetry

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

 

 

A fool’s vows of devotion to the goddess of repetition

poetry

I love you and I’m afraid
of the wild, aloof, hollow part of me that wouldn’t yield
unexpected, unexpectedly like layers of frost in a summer’s field
If you were the sun wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I not shine properly, completely?”

I love you and I’m afraid
of the gray, rocky, silent corner of me that doesn’t need
unexpected, unexpectedly like the sight of a ghost in the night’s warm bleed
If you were darkness wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I not bedim properly, completely?”

I love you and I’m afraid
of the sinuous, slippery, cracking part of me that wouldn’t rein in
expected, expectedly like fuel hours lost in the clock’s stern reign
If you were time wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I betray properly, completely?”

bearded freaks, i vote ratstache

poetry

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.