because life is
on thin ice
due to sin and vice
gimme some advice
to make it through this life
rhymes a precise trajectory
straight mental telepathy
to hit you in your empathy
Come on — be a friend to me
tell me how to beat my enemies
you tell me they’re not enemies
they’re just friends yet to be
got me drunk
on my own bullshit
looking for a pulpit
or a culprit
something to worship
even a dirty ol’ hermit will do
even a radio wave will do
an Internet page will do
a Television stage will do
gimme something to look forward to
like a million dollars or a love to make me holler
Wanna be a baller like Steve Balmer
break shit up like an Oxford comma
creep up like an undercover in an Impala
life flies by then it’s time to see the embalmer
don’t tease me, yo
with the easy road
that’s a dead end
I need to keep it low
foot off the throttle
there’s no genie in a bottle
to be my bro
so just peep my flow
and let me continue on
until I hit oblivion
and my bones are gone
Lips and legs and and loops of these…
Dwindling days, my hair is all grey.
I look upon the lawn wondering
what the night brought on
and what stayed behind.
When you appeared through the glass
with a scotch and a smile and some sass,
then stood underneath the mistletoe–
with tinsel in tow–
singing too loud to a crowd
that didn’t want to bow;
I thought I saw a slice of salvation.
But it was just you preening and
running out of patience.
When snow falls and the angels crawl
into shapes that little children draw
I can’t help but wonder if we’re not all
reenacting a bad TV movie we once saw
when we were too young to know the law.
Ah, mom, I thought you were nice
when you were on your third drink,
splashing in ice, and we were up north,
but I think you were on your fourth,
and we were somewhere down south.
Damn, how time’s change.
You were funny on The Apprentice,
now every breath of yours is a menace,
makes my teeth clench so much I need a dentist.
Never got anything in this world you didn’t cheat to get.
You may be president but you ain’t got my respect.
I used to like him, but now he claims
the devil’s got the energy of a dragon, just like him.
Flies in a 747 with only him and Kim,
selfish human beings with no purpose beyond greed.
And your shoes look like doodooo
Sorry, if I’m being mean.
And all the enablers in congress and TV
as scoundrel rats they’ll go down in history
Fuck you too, propping up the clown for political grounds
I hope your guilt follows you into the next life
and all the harm you did letting the narcissist skate by
while America tore apart in the dark you suppressed the light
in order to be reelected you let Democracy die
And Fox News, fuck you too.
A haiku be like…
then it’s all, like, well, you know…
kinda, like, just, yeah.
People like haikus
because there’s structure and shit
to drown the drowning.
Woke up too early
maybe I woke up too late
maybe I’m not woke.
Still use foul language
still scream in public places
Still write from the heart.
Running for teepee
with my pants around my feet
capture my essence.
Still counting syllables.
Rambling wordsmith without a pen, then, when the walls crumble,
I’m the man with the shovel. Above it all, the Earth looks like a marble
somebody shot on a big black carpet, it ain’t far fetched to think I’m
the creator of this detonation. Blow it up. My ego and us, shards
of Woo, shards of You. Part of me needs a lobotomy, the other part
needs a tender hand to grip when I slip. I’m gone, ragged vagabond.
But I’m also here, peanut shells and flip flops and whiplash. Come over.
Call me. Kiss me. Punch me in my soft cheeks. Everything is confusing.
Everything is inspiration. Inspiration is everything. The roses in the trash
and the one blooming on your face when I whisper something sweet.
Though, I usually shout nothing sweet. These words carry their own micro-climate.
This weather buries my snow angel and melts my burning heart. My yearning
start to this life put me in an anxious, sickening tailspin, I type these words
in an airport bar…. again. I fly back home in a metal bird I know no science of.
I’m just a poet researching what it means to dance and cry and high-five the
passing sky. If there is one thing I leave you with, it’s that I hope you never lose
your hope, and I pray that a day comes when the anxiety goes away. And I’d love
to see you in love, even if it’s not with me.
I don’t edit. I don’t repeat. I will keep on truckin’,
even through all the fucking defeat.
Spiraling little sparrow
Broken spare wing.
Choking on bone marrow.
Going home tomorrow.
Talking to yourself again…
In the bathroom with the
Looking through my phone,
at old numbers that I’ve called.
And don’t remember calling.
Listening to Damien Jurado
over and over,
singing about leaving
I’m thinking of quitting,
but I know I can’t.
I’m thinking of you,
but I know I shouldn’t.
Put the pin in the map,
stick the needle in my arm,
watch my blood fill up
the vile. Vile little blood
droplets. I know these
claws and these jaws,
and it’s the only bite
Singing about leaving,
while stuck in this place,
it makes sense then that my
bark is worse than my bite,
if I have teeth at all.
“You’re at it again,” She says…
“Is it you?” I ask.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
after they stop putting candles on the cake
and everybody stops singing for us
I’ll be there with a cupcake and a match
to make sure every birthday is happy.
the flowers I sent are still in a vase
and the card is still in the envelope
but I added water and cut the stems
and kept them fresh for you, anyway,
because one day you’ll notice.
It started as a day by the river
that turned into a poem that
became a tattoo on my shoulder
and now it’s a story I tell strangers
that ask what’s the one piece
of ink that means the most.
When everybody stops looking
and you feel like the spotlight has dimmed
and you wonder if you still sparkle
I’ll be there to shine that so bright
you feel asphyxiated by the glow.