Jeff Goldblum

We don’t want to look at ourselves
so we look at our selfies
I want to get drunk, old and wealthy
mail me checks to the Florida keys
be chilling with my cat Monkee
pull his tail he gets spunky
pull my tail I get funky
the crunk be stinking up my teepee
remember me from the Stinky B’s
lyrically little loony cuz’ I got no chills
dude in the back in the espadrilles
pour me a glass I’m gonna spill
run ’round real fast like Benny Hill
motherfucker don’t know I pay my bills
and dues I got dudes in the cruise
and the Earth moves so smooth
it’s like Mikey J doin’ a moonwalk
that cartoon talk don’t fly in the real
like blooms of gold hold onto my pole
baby doll I’m outta control
misfit with a fifth of Titos
and a big fat wad…

It’s Independence Day
Oh My God (3)

in a maze of waze…

with these dot dot dots… emojis… impassioned texts…
torrents and streaming tweets… screaming bleeps…
a holy terror of interconnected never there… never aware…
forms a fog… deforms our perceptions… our emotions
stare at a mirror reflection… filtered through a million pixels
even a trillion pixels you never get a real picture
I eavesdrop on my own thoughts… my iPhone’s unlocked…
I live brave and foolish… do stupid shit for the likes…
It’s a brave new world with the same old assholes
But another model… with some tinkering… a new me…
I’m all about this season’s upgrades… blue eyes new kicks…
from flip phones to hovering drones… smile for the camera clicks…
My panorama fills every frame of this stuttering eye…
I’m remembering this memory as it’s happening…
In this maze of waze I’m glad I stumbled into you…

Bad Marge

Mary was sick of her name so she started calling herself Margaret because it was the only name she could think of that was worse than Mary. So when people yelled out on the street for Mary she would just spit on a nearby wall, even if it were a window that was there. One time she spat right in some people’s faces that were trying to enjoy their pasta. The woman had a noodle hanging from her mouth as she stared at the long drip of saliva proceeding down the glass.

Margaret wanted to be bad because good was so boring. It’s not even like she had a good cause like a molestation or a broken home, just boredom pushing her to do the delinquency that gave her the name that followed her everywhere: Bad Marge.

When she got Bad Marge tattooed on her shoulder her mom had a minor heart attack. Nobody would know until years later that the blockage began back then. Well, this could never be proven, but Mary knew…


Jean liked to paint her lips bright red and go to the Red Tavern on Saturdays and tell people her name was Roxy.

Roxy also wore safety pins through her leather jacket.

Jean gave it all up when she met Pete.

Pete wasn’t a guy she felt like playing with.


I would have written earlier but I didn’t where to send the letter…


Stephanie was from Tunisia. Her skin was the color of cream. She had a laugh full of teeth and we drank wine until the record skipped. She only went by Stephanie, that I know of. We saw each for two seasons and almost through Halloween before she got sick of Denver and decided to move closer to the ocean.

We were supposed to hang out in Tahoe but you know how that goes.


I started calling myself Jacob in my religious phase, when I hung out on Venice Beach too much. I had started a cult, two friends, and my girlfriend’s dog. She wasn’t really my girlfriend, just a girl that hung around a lot that I loved in a sunny 17 year-old way. I was too dumb to know what having a woman meant.

Jacob had a telescope he looked out before going to bed. Every night he had the same thought, there must be some kid on one of those points of light looking back at me. I lost Jacob around the time I started on the methadone.


Lauren told me she thought love was a cheap word people with no imagination threw around. Last I heard, she was married with twins. I wondered if she told them she loved them.

Lauren left one night after tearing down a concert poster. It was college so you know the type of poster.

We were both young and full of too much passion. To this day I don’t remember which band it was, but I remembered I liked the poster more than her.


There is a stretch of highway they named after Patricia. In non-drought years there is a drainage ditch that has frogs in it. If you drive slow with the windows down you can hear them croaking. People say Patricia had that kind of voice. Later on I learned there never was a Patricia.


I got the nickname Captain Telegram because of the way I set up my stories. I had a real obvious way about me, I suppose, a predictability stout enough to earn a nickname. Well, people only called me that when I was drinking. When the spirit is a-hold of me I have a tendency to pontificate and get on with myself. Captain Telegram is always right, even when he’s wrong. He can make something out of nothing.

Women, Captain Telegram might say with a finger pointing to the ceiling, are the embodiment of perfection — except when they’re not. Captain Telegram would act like it was something serious to contemplate. I don’t know where he comes from.


Like I said, I would have written but I didn’t know where to write.


Last I had heard you were a waitress in Portland.

And you went by Mary again.

Food in a Box

I promised you a garden and a bird house,
but the birds never came, and neither did you.
And the newspapers landed on the doorstep
with the thud of a third war.

They’re working on a machine that can record your dreams.
I’m working on a dream that is worth being recorded.

Waited in line for an oil change.
Nobody gets out of their cars anymore.
Everybody’s waiting for bad news.

The guy cutting my sandwich never looked up.
We both watched the knife slide through 21st century bread…
breathing in the plastic as my credit card swipes right
like an old Tinder flame without a last name.

If it feels like we’re in a civil war it’s because we always have been…
I live in Los Angeles with the YouTube stars and Has Beens…
We’re born into News Feeds and start building our own aquariums…
From delirium we form customized holograms and emoji hearts…

And I got one I can’t send over the airwaves.
It lives in my chest and weighs a ton.
And it’s up to me to carry alone.
Through the war and the digital displays.

I can read a book on the dock in Barcelona but still my Spanish
collapses under one como estas? from bonita oros de Felicias
(this is where you laugh)
I could put on a puppet show, but still we’d never know
who was pulling the strings. Sometimes I think I’ve died,
and this is just a dream.

(Violins and humming and maybe an Icelandic chorus?)

This is where everything changes. This is where as an artist
you make a bold, big move; if I was a singer I’d scream
like Mick Jagger; if I was Jackson Pollack I’d drink a fifth
and throw my shit at the wall. But I’m me, so you never know
what I’m listening to at the Aerosol Ball (by the Felice Brothers).
And I can make these inside jokes all day.

Because art like life is only interesting in the surprise.
It could be a fresh snowfall it could be a flood.
It could be flowers for your birthday or stepping in mud.
My life is a long staccato series of sunset and sunrise.
My life is a full metal jacket rifle…

(this is maybe where the drums come in)

And if you could make any dream come true… would it be the one
where your bed is a magical raft you can float to the stars on
and space isn’t cold at all, and the wind blows through her hair,
and the moon isn’t made of cheese but made of music and melody?
Would it be that one?

I once thought it was impossible.

Because we’re vestibules filled with medical edibles and hentai
we unravel in a scramble for safety from bombs that aren’t falling
flirting with the comic because the drinks were free
my blimp read art of star what a fool…

(put in sounds of a jet flying overhead… trust me)

You wonder if it’s cosmic…

You found my diary and looked for a TL;DR
We took our drinks underneath the lemon tree.
Jumped from an open window with Parachute sheets.
My scarf flapping in a downloaded wind hangs me
from telephone wires like old Nike Cortez
Diamond Opal Imperial Topaz…

This hot air balloon has no fight with the wind…
I blow toward the sound of your voice saying my name.
My heart is filled with helium and makes me talk funny.
I take my photo in a booth and eat my food in a box.




All day I spilled coffee on myself.
All day I cursed Donald Trump.
All day I missed my girl.
All day the world was against me.
Or maybe I was just an inch behind and a second late?
Maybe at the beginning of the day I never did wake?
Maybe this world never did even exist?
Wouldn’t that suck?

I saw a man yelling at a newspaper stand today.
He was screaming about the news, I suppose.
That’s all of us these days. But he didn’t have any shoes.
He was singing a tune. I didn’t know the song.
He wasn’t there long. Then I was gone.

I was in North Hollywood mailing a letter.
Side by side a Home Depot and Best Buy.
Across from a Boost Mobile and wrong directions…
like a white reggae band. Just humming.

the mountain becomes a sea as time
gently rubs everything into liquid
my face becomes a photograph
as my mind hides everything.

Go on written on my arm
Tunneling ant farms
subway getaway

I was in
the valley


41 and an hour older

The ambulance came wailing little letters turned into words and rainbows fell
into colors across streets where the chimney sweeper forgot to sweep
I come naked into the semicolon semi-sober; 41 and an hour older,
I’m not from Illinois, but I can make noise, California boys like me smile
at the sunshine little wiggles when the night comes tickling the middle,
drinks are spilling, the gentle laughter filling up the bar makes me nostalgic
for when I was sixteen throwing pitches at the batter and interest rates never mattered I’m Amsterdam-bound lathered in lattes and lackadaisical attitudes
dazzled by the star splattered happening above my love 24 karot shinning
like a universe spiraling disco ball style into the future and my cares
drifting away like fleeing life rafts from a sinking ship
I hop on a rat and float to shore.

Morning Dew

She had chubby cheeks and pictures on boats
while I had a beeper clipped to my billowy jeans
and I know when two stars get too close
it’s either a supernova or a black hole
but I don’t plug my nose
I dive headfirst and go for broke…

as the world bursts and the plants choke,
I keep my face smooth with a paste of goo
that tastes like glue and a smile 90 proof
you light on fire when I tear down the roof

Eating Greek yogurt and crunchberries
while October scary goblins be robbin’
Basken Robbins for candy cane ice cream
I skydive with angels and vikings
Back up, baby doll, shake that thing
to my liking.

GPS way off in these streets of chaos,
I want to stay off the grid and kiss your eyelids
when the sun goes down I get excited
random thoughts of having five kids… what?!

men in skyscrapers but my trade is pen to paper
I send ya ten thousand poems and a stapler
my taper tape parade don’t feature halos or capes
but my crew rolling deep in Escalades
the text it say Woo on another escapade
My life is lemonade pour a glass in the shade
laugh about how these games get played
but you and I get along
like Romeo and Juliet
and cyanide
like an Allen I crossover
in your eye…

we fall asleep in arms of peace
and normally I dream of ease
enchanted forests full of trees
but right now, I dream of you.
Your lovely face a lovely view
I dream of the morning dew
on your ass cheeks.