the wolf on wall street 2

poetry

now i will tell you about
the wolf on raymond st

i had been holed up blissfuly
in my home for who knows how long

i heard you howling outside
caged by my spineless greed

and i hiding away from the
relentless cold wanted to check
to make sure you were still living
boxed and forgotten in my back yard

startled at the cold, yet the
only one willing to brave it

a child of maybe 12 wincing at
the truth of your morbid reality

you had always greeted me with warmth
even when in the most bitter cold

your water-bowl had been frozen over
for days, possibly weeks

i would refill it, only to forget
again and let it freeze over surely

and you were always a wolf, to me
wild as the virtue of nature

and in the dead quiet winter night
an unwilling accomplice to torture
i sat with you and tried my best
to beg forgiveness, crying

and one night i saw you
climb clear over the fence
and unflinchingly sprint
into the night

like the truth in world
full of liars.

on 26

poetry

he changed his surroundings and then
they changed him in a cycle that would
spit out each year for evaluation an
entirely unanticipated product

engineers could not figure out
this mechanism

“and here we see”
it was mused
“our 26th variant.
this organism which had built a hut
from dinosaur bones and aspired to
dominate its surroundings has since
put on considerable weight,
lost all appetite,
and lost all vision and drive.”

at what point
they wondered
do we cancel such an expirement?

never, said the boss
who colluded with the stars to
what ends no one could imagine

“let him stew in his own filth,
as he is doing now
and if he dies from it,
make note.”

“note down what?”
asked one of the engineers

“everything he ever thought and did”
said the boss.

“if we don’t get it right this time
at least we won’t have wasted data.”

the engineers scoffed at this idea

from their perspective,
this one organism had no worthwhile data
to note

the organism, however,
agreed with the boss
although neither of them
knew it. the 26th variant
would hear these things in
his sleep
every night
but could never remember
his dreams well enough
to break the endless cycle.

if time could travel backwards part one

poetry

i thought if someone asked me right now
i would start over at that beach

and maybe i would do everything differently
or maybe i would try and keep it the same
but i would know if someone came to take me

back to floribama
instantly

my mind spends time there
sometimes
i freeze as i peer out
to the part of the beach that
curves around to just more
ocean on the other side
like we had reached the
end of the land
sun beating down my face
ocean breeze whipping around
right before the first love
that i had known since loss
crumbled in my hands

and maybe i would watch it crumble
or maybe i would stop to save it
i can’t know now
but i would know, instantly
if someone came
to take me.

urinal bug

poetry

you don’t know that you are

the bug in a urinal

 

standing by your broken car

on romence when the great flood

comes

 

even in hollywood

they will all scurry

with no horns playing

to add to the suspense

 

just bug screams

and the loudest sound you

ever heard

as the water come down

feelings

poetry

you just want to fall down wherever you like you think the tears from your bruised knee should stop traffic you think fair for you is fair for everyone you think your mental boulders are real you think it makes me cold-hearted that i think you’re wrong you are crushed beneath the weight of a boulder and you are lying there with no strength to lift it you will spend hours wondering whether your time being offended at other people’s lifestyles helped you in any way move that boulder but it has no feelings to manipulate and you are powerless to move the objective things with no subjective ones around you are an individual worm who all along felt it was more.

what should i say?

poetry

i understand the river
of thought and learn
to breath among the
creatures of the riverbed

i speak but the words
get carried away
back down the curvature
of the giant sphere

i add my own water
to the stream but it
seems a pointless
endeavour

it becomes foreign
immediately
just like my reflection,
the morning after

one thing remains true:
that i cannot breath
in this land
of fish and mossy rocks

i feel freer with
my feet hovering just
inches above the ground
and drier, too.

she hid him beneath her bed

poetry

if i could only write one good
poem
it would be about when we went
south
and the humidity of
the middle part
of alabama

how it did fog up
my glasses in
just seconds

it would be about how i felt like
a stowaway
the whole time i knew you
a small puppy hidden under
your bed
and when we got to golf shores
i felt the foreboding of
being set free
by your sullen parents

in this, the best of my poems
i would remember and in detail
explain the last moment we
spoke
in person
but only the beach remains
that
sunbleached afternoon
walking barefoot and
the new freckles
i would fall between

and i would end the poem
very poignantly
and much before i spent a week
at my grandmother’s
in ocala
far from home
vomiting out religiously
all the sickness i had
endured.

a frozen ghost

poetry

i spent night
with my aching past
t’ward the poorly
lit 31st street

it’s been so long since
i spent time in that world
we built ourselves

i wait, breathless
to hear the whispers
of only 17

i am a ghost in this
world
and to stay too long would
freeze me
have i been on this couch
before?
with the record player on
the shelf
reclined, afront a vinyl
big-screen
you nuzzle your freckles against
my skinny
frame
did we watch the movie flubber?

was it cold like this,
back then?
i wasn’t
disappearing.

of that i am
certain.

it wasn’t fair, no one said it was, now go toast the happy couple

poetry

the lights were
still on the music
still loud when you
ran crying into the
cold night

the sand ate up
your steps and
when you met the
sea it was so cold,
and so uninviting

what did you expect?

maybe a caring and
warm omnipotent
cloud whose womb
you would climb inside
of and wish it all away

yet the air outside
the wedding tent was cold
as was the water that
lept at your toes
as you stood backwards

let go
fall into
the ocean
wait for
the dj to
stop alltogether
and the
party to
come for
you

drift into
the icey
ocean of
your feelings
and your
ambitions and
your perfect
universe never
to be

or, don’t you have the balls?
or, walk back to the tent
let the sand eat your steps
wipe the salt water off your face
and toast the happy couple.

masturbating to pornography

poetry

it is dark she smiles at me shyly i stand up unzip my pants she sits on a couch i won’t let her speak i want no one in my house to hear her

her skin covers her
fat cells
that are
proportioned perfectly over her delicate bone structure and to me she is a vision of beauty and she stares at me like i am a million gaping mouths and i am hard for her in the dark silence of my bedroom

everything goes down perfectly
she strips slowly and takes time
pleasing me and when i finally
get into her it is pure euphoria

just like i imagined
just like she wanted

when it ends the silence floods back in and i pull up my pants up as she revels in semen

her name is candy bar or something
she won’t tell me her real name
she puts her clothes on and smiles at me again
this time her smile makes me sad she is leaving with money and doesn’t want to know my name, either
when i turn off the computer screen we will be strangers once again

i don’t know why i feel this way but i know she wants me to
i don’t know why i want her to stay
i don’t understand
like how bugs are attracted to lightbulbs
but sometimes they are designed to destroy.

when i ran away, rachel robinson

poetry

if i could live
16 again
i would meet you
in the open field
with your boys
at 2 or 3 am
and knowing then
what i know now
i would close my
laptop lid
and walk miles
in the cold country
darkness and
fight you with
everything i had

even if your boys
came in, as i
had feared
and stomped me
to pulp
i would lie my
bloodied face
on the thick,
dew covered grass
of my hometown
and laugh a crazy laugh
and spit the blood
out and laugh

and if you didn’t
kill me,
i would be better
for that

maybe better, some
how
than i am today

maybe i wouldn’t shake
or worry so much
maybe i’d be a better
man.

becoming

poetry

a lengthy buzz ricotches
between my eyes-
I hurtle from the bed
before the second splits,
lights on, shoe
in hand, manic
with mosquito possibility.
black comforter
is shrunk into a crack,
pillows launched into closet,
hands lusting to smash frantic,
too late. The itch,
the unbearable itch
pistoned into dwarf bumps
begins. Left arm, three bites.
Right arm, five. Forefinger
marred, my back
one big bug bite, pulsating
scratch down my veins.
I blanche and blotch pink,
speckled skin crawling
so fast it vibrates.
I can feel them on me,
one million tiny feet
caressing, digging
thirsty, penetration,
a well is spring
I lose myself, straws
sticking out into lips
red like I’ve never
seen before.

The windows are sealed.

I check under the bed.
Gestated swarm
fills my mouth,
I cough out MOSQUITO,
legs caught in my teeth
whole body surging
bug wave washes over me, clinging
to every vein. Three
fly up my ear
and my brain goes MOSQUITO
bones buzzing I claw wings
from my back, fly
through the crack in the door.

What is that light and why
is it so beautiful?
Where did all these legs
come from?
The itch
is gone.
But the thirst,
the incredible thirst.
I drink,
and I drink,
and I give nothing back.

on josh at harvey’s

poetry

josh said “what?” to himself
dipped in disgust as we
crossed the boulevard

sometimes i use my body
to play with the universe

josh was disgruntled with
that,
as some can be,
raised in a modern
anal retentive middle
white class up-
getting

that too is the murky
gene pool i awoke in

josh would talk freer
and more openly with me
when i used my body
to play a human-being

just like at my job where
i tickle change from pockets

that night and through
alcohol he would forget
even more that i was actually
light newly freed from the
sun talking his language
and reminscing on
being human

and i like having friends
because,
it multiplies the
positivity

krokodil

poetry

i first heard your name the
winter of my returning home

you were the promise of respite,
a gentle wave lapping on the shore

your words were hyperbole and
placeholders for others and
you said i didn’t have to stay
or that you could go and

some years later it is finally
the morning after
the waves are garbage trucks
the sunlight is acidic
and my arm is rotting
from the paths you traveled,
krokodil