20/20

Hydrate
my dreams—
nighttime comes
at a cost.

I’m just a poor schmuck
with too much head
on my beer, but also,
the brains to know
when to call it quits.

Start anew,
and now,
I’ll mail you
a vowel.

Sometimes
I feel like a word;
not the thing
the word describes,
but the word itself.

Pliable like wood
from a fortress.

27 Going on 23

Your passport
is expired,
and so are you.

I could never
understand
your corgi ways;

You keep the water
extra shallow
so you can paddle.

I should keep youth
at bay to avoid
sinking in solipsism.

86

A year after
I was born,
I passed on.

I was reborn
into the same
shit-ass life.

Everybody
wants to rule
the world was
still the anthem.

Politicians
have not
changed
a lick since
the eighties.

I’m waiting
for renewal.

I scalp my dome
every Sunday.

Where’s my peace?

Adulting (All Work, No Play)

Put my cause in a garbage bag.
Don’t be afraid to say the word
“cunt”—it’s not the problem; you
are the problem. It’s not just you;
it’s me, too. The problem is us.

When one acts a fool, we all tip
our stools. I sat on the throne so
long today, I could have fallen
asleep. But I’m an insomniac,
and I could have sworn I heard
horses trotting on the street
tonight. Us humans, were all just
jockeys in this life. It’s a short-
term death. Make it last, right?

Aigoo

The horrors
of sleeping
alone match
the comfort
of cold sheets.

Tildes can be
so tender, right?

The nighttime
is the right time
to write one’s
novel; selfishness
can be so novel,
but selflessness
can be so poetic—
I have found my
muse, and I am no
longer lost; to love
is to live, and I feel
alive in spite of life.

Alternatively Speaking

I’m a freak
on my own
leash, of my
own making.

I mean, rules
apply within
reason; and
so I must ask:

“What’s the
meaning of
my evenings,
morning glory?”

As the weaving
unwinds for bed,
I notice my harness
has been stolen.

Even if temporary,
I feel naked; I feel
afraid, for what my
body will become.

Anonymity

I walk in pleasurable steps,
I talk in measured cadence.

I drop fresh walnuts
and hirsute kiwis
into my fishnet sack.

I watch bodega boys drink
away their sorry status,
and I dream about freedom.

I lubricate my sandy skin,
I let it burn like a pig in a pit.

Antifreeze / Coolant

As you zigzag through Coachella kids washing down pomme frites with pale ales, trying to avoid potential ex-classmates, the aesthetic misfortunes hit you on both sides. On which one do you land? I ultimately tumbled like Tom Hayden because my green wall crumbled. This land is no man’s land even though men control the count. I am a woman at heart and this country is lacking a pulse. My belly is bursting, my back is broken, but I love the love I’m given. I have finally found clarity, yet my head still hurts. Noodles for, in, and on my noggin. You’re golden, we’re walking—stepping on cockroaches as the forests are in flames. Sierra Nevadas for a humble rodent: good boy!

Apostate

How can you lose
something you never
had in the first place?

Faith comes and goes,
and the train moves
along with or without.

April Flowers

A birthday
A baptism
Whatever
Whatever

Shakespeare
Seemed to be
A poet but he
Was no Jesus

No more typos
On the Western
Front I promise
Back to East or

I’ll get so born again
Agnostic how novel
Whatever whatever
Forever or whatever

Art Fare

A conflicted child
claims to want to
rip shit in Hollywood.

Is she ignorant
or just foreign?

No motorcycles
or pool tables
allowed after
rounds of MMA.

Beer shot through
the heart, and now
I am depressed—
hotels are so lonely.

Is she departed
or just absent?

Fascism, feminism,
and fortitude run up
the seaboards tonight.

Ascetic Waltz

Bore a calf
to the cafe.

My left one
was left to
get deflated
like Wilson’s
friend again.

I’m trembling
with pain, but

my desire’s got me
beyond my means.

I wonder where
I can be going

when the surgeon’s
clipped my wings.

And momma!
This is the end!

Now, I’m stuck
in Cedars-Sinai
with those
Hong Kong
blues again.

Astrodome

There is no difference
between streetlights
and constellations.

As we stare at stars
with our backs in mud
the power is just enough.

Avuncular Dude

Will I ever give life
beyond my own?

Is the future I’ve been
contemplating lately
worth placing bets on
after all we’ve done?

Are our past days
worth reliving when
the first time was
already hard enough?

It must be pretty nice
to be a reeling stone,
crushing insects and
grazing on warm bones.

It gets really ugly out
here on the dusty plains;
despite my urbane ways,
I’m still a rusty slouch.

I see myself in blood
and leaves, and I leave
myself out in the fog
to find God in peace.

I will own a life beyond
the forever giving one.

Bad Crop / Good Crop

Wheat beneath
my soiled feet.

I am the speed of a
Home Depot turtle.

Turn down the volume
on the trust funds, stat.

The coke and Coca-Colas
litter the codified cave.

I cannot be around that;
I am no Neanderthal.

I am just a craft yreptile,
coming out of my shell.

MSG caught between
my tongue and my teeth.

Banana Leaves / Sour Grapes

You give me head
aches sometimes
but it’s my fault

and the problem
isn’t the content
it’s the context

your passionate
pendulum is some
where between

lure and repellent
like adults listening
to the Descendents

I feel pulled far back
like the rubber band
of a cynical mall rat

but I’m not cynical
and neither are you
so let’s just make out.

Bard of Fig

Dude of the nite
Prince of wails

Extemporaneous
Diplomatic deals

...

He’s a pugilist
When caged

Stacking sorrows
At the Mandalay

...

Transient con job
Pro-am wolf jive

Grapefruit vodka
That apericena vibe

...

Slow dance to Sicilia
Paul Simon is a drag

I’m okay with silence
Gaslighted ghost jab

Barrio Disco

Tequila sips
Carte blanche
No icy business
It’s a hot-ass one
Sweating on a high
Mixing up my words
Smoothing out nerves
Impulsive tip daddy
Screwing patches
Into my own skin
Licking the salt
From the rim

Beaten Canvas

Empathy,
Keith,
Generosity.

It doesn’t
Take much
To be decent.

Heart attacks
Brain in abstract
Painted stanzas.

Been Seen

Clogged throat box
Cramped mandible
Crumpled maniple
Cross-wired soapbox

Been Thinking

Don’t sweat
the skull fragments.

The skull is filled
with pills and skills.

Don’t fret;
I know—
frick, frack, man.

Slack is still
enough—
time, space, stuff.

Better Business Bureau

The uncanny organic soup
on my free range stove boiled
over and splashed on my shirt;
there’s no such thing as perfect
in this broken economy; there’s
no bleach that can cleanse our
collective anxieties, but don’t
worry—compassion can be
incorporated in a sense, if we
decide to roll up our sleeves.

Biologics, Therapeutics

My ankle is a circus;
my calf is an elephant.

My neck is ebony;
my brain is ivory.

I’ll play the piano
like a jester alone.

I’ll play my life
however I know.

Bird Dogs & Horseshoes

I’m so modular
with my shifty
soft nodules.

Poison swallowed
with bad choices.

Churn and cough.

I’m so red in all
the wrong places,
feeling blue for
myself and pacing.

One, two, three, four, five...

Days have become
tone-deaf covers of
karaoke songs belted
out at cop bars, and
my face holes bleed
from hashtag poems.

Won, too, free, for, fine...

If it’s luck you wanted,
go to a Chinese diner;
if it’s honesty you fear,
I’ll try to be a bit nicer.

Fist in the ear.

Tantrums thrown
with steel kidneys.

Oh, you’re so candid
with your obscured
angles and lenses.

Blustering Noir

Specters on Main Street
Banshees on Broadway

Drinking overpriced coffee
Near Superior Court

Kicking discarded syringes
In Pershing Square

I feel all of the world’s pain
In my tender shoulders

These slender boulders
Are like a tympanum rolling

February is the month
I will backflip into routine

There are sky-high sights
For these depressed weeks

Look upward if you can
While town gets down

Body Politics

My skin is stretched out flat
like the raw hide of a tigress.

My teeth are more brittle
than the key of an ivory-
bone whistle in the wild.

This country is vulnerable
and constantly penetrated
by disgruntled dickheads.

This world is vulnerable, too,
and we are DNA in its body.

Bounty Hunter

Cashed-out salon committees
commit egregious typos beyond
any and all comprehension, and
I’ve learned over the years that
that’s okay; I’m okay, and you’re
okay. You have changed me, and
for that, I am in debt to you; I owe
you all my love and conscience.

Brain Farts & Wet Dreams

So much health;
so many problems.

I’ve got it coming
from left and right.

I’ve got disorders;
I’ve got infections.

Two fingers to six
packs and I’m done.

I’m drowning, I’m numb;
I’m mixing math with umm.

The water is cleaner than
ever; it was replenished.

The furniture is deader
than when I slept on it.

Ego-bruised until my
muscles are schooled.

I’m tucked in because
I’m tuckered out, in key.

Dream on, like an un-
likely pointed arrow.

This has become un-
ruly, but I do like it.

Ring around and
around the worm.

Bruxism

The only thing
to fear is every
thing one might
imagine—fear
itself is greater
than oneself—

go with the grind;
find yourself in it.

Bug Juice

Some thinned-out
cum soaked all
beneath the seats
and dried up in
the soulless sun
with our cerveza-
stained limes.

Anchored to the
smoke stream, I
suck and I puff,
and I focus in on
a slipping silhouette,
lighting its perimeter
with a dimmed flash.

My private eyes are
no match for pettiness.

Burglars Gone Ham

Eternal privilege be damned;
the resistance cannot provide
protection to those so ignant.

My worldview was taken,
and so was my memory.

What else is left of myself?

My brain is on hiatus for now.

Reflexology gig economy,
doing it themselves, alright.

I’ll let the cardio border boots
sport my jock and strap back;
but I do want my hard drive.

Bus Driver

At the end
of each day
he steams
my slow roll

&

as I begin
to come back
for breath
I poll alone.

Call Me Frank

I am who I am
I say what I say
I do what I do
I am who I am

Campaign

Low-key keyed up
on this second floor,
on this second chance;

Tell me about yourself—
what’s it like to be a
desirable person?

It’s noon, and I only
need wholesale
conversation to
keep me caravanned.

Hey...

I got a cheek scab
when I mirror scan,
and ahhhhh, I might

have fucked up on
a voicemail earlier—
what’s that shit, man?

Hey...

It’s 2018, and I only
leave voicemails
for my mom and
like, I guess, doctors.

I’m so scared of my
future self, the future
state, the future period.

But I’m more frightened
by retrogressive ideals;
make America great.

Captioned Court

Why do people
add r to mine
and Steve’s
last names?

[briefly, but
legitimately]

I am tired
or working
for so many
selfish others.

[run it down,
& wrap it up]

Carried Worth

Grinding out tips
through pounded
digit lips—that’s
a wrap! Glide with
new horizon lines;
it’s Christmas in
November! Where
my bears at? Oh,
right—poolside
in Palm Springs!

Cashino

Lifting dumbbells
In Pyongyang like

Hollywood socialists
Trying to catch breaks

A streetcar named Paris
Turned me on to myself

Indiana is for lovers
Even homosexuals

Nevada is for divorces
Especially white ones

Texas is tripping wires
And I’m worried for Jack

The bathroom is soothing
No matter its given moment

The kitchen smells like
The sewage of a skunk

Gargling peaches and pears
I poke needles in both ears

I am ready for antacids
I am ready for anything

I’m a fisherman’s friend

Chicken Shit

Sometimes
you get caught
driving down
a one-way street,
and all you can do
is keep on going.

Chief Keith

Tart cherries
drip down my
double barrel
into my bowels

Am I on fire?

Marischino
in your glass
Moschino
on your feet

Is this a dream?

Chomper

No two things can read alike;
snowflakes are the headlines.

I polish my teeth with
this spicy peanut sauce
you made for both of us.

I think you should
cook more often, and
also, I really ought to
learn how, myself.

I am an electric pole;
I shake in bad weather,
but you make me walk.

When it rains, I slip up some
how, no matter my own grit.

City Slicker

No service
in the country;
no leaving
the cunt tree.

Proud to be
honest; lead
a man to water,
and teach him
how to phish.

It's so dry by
this new age
Bay of Svengali.

Tool and dye by
trade; I mean, I
swap words like...

Oh, you know
what I'm saying...

Clock Sprung

Lightbulbs
flicker above
the dome.

It’s time
to revive
the rhyme.

Never mind
the bald docs
in the high fog.

I’m going home
for sickened love
found in spite.

Coasting No More

Hell no.

Pistachios
and cream

in California’s
glam dreams.

Cottoned gin
and pink wine

in New York’s
pulled spine.

Redundancy
is kind of crucial,
legally speaking,
and peaking like
an eagle, I’m full
on old stories.

My house
is fuming

of Old Spice
and Camels.

My brain
is soothing

from gushed
skull pills.

So long.

Coffee of the World

I smell like a French madame—
elderly and elegant, prepared for
a lonely evening with my poems.

Shall I eat my avocado or pear
first today? I want to protect
what I have left under my skin.

My bones are brittle, my muscles
are tender—I am a rickety truck,
lying low to the Latin dirt fields.

The locals speak en lenguas;
they heat up the pork barrel
and defend what is rightful.

I am no wonder, I am no bimbo;
I want you by my window, I need
you under my blankets; please?

The church bells are banging;
they play on repeat like a DJ,
drunk off his self-importance.

I am up and awake and already
have six—seven—more stanzas
to my name; chock full, no? Hey!

Cold Noodle

This new season
of stubbornness
must end now.

I am a noodle
ready to cool.

No longer willing
to set my own roof
on fire in order to win.

Commie Companion

My commie companion
is a true comrade, for real.

My body disintegrates
like sodium bicarbonate.

My mind is fine; she mines
it, and connects it below.

We are skeptical together
and apart, but I much prefer
suspicion in tandem; we all
need another set of paws.

We’re not wet blankets;
we’re just shocked cats.

We’re tangled and woven;
she’s the bed I love to be in.

She’s my commie companion;
she’s a true comrade, for real.

Comportment

I am
who
I am.

I try
to be
alive.

I try
to be
allied.

I am
who
I am.

Compound Interest

How did I follow up
shitty service with
a phoned-in life?

I have been footing
hellishly steep prices
for at least three years.

Con Zipper

A bee?

I’m deaf;
ode here.

No more
anymore.

[intermission]

No way
anyway.

I’m blind;
own errors.

Why see?

Conjunction Function

I’m with you
and
without you.

I want to be
in you
and
I want you
to be on me.

Conveyance

Love moves
one to loathe.

Hate moves
one to have.

Debt moves
one to death.

Conviction

Freedom
is making
peace with
yourself, and
with others,
and no longer
drowning in
doubts about
how the past
played out—
why force your
self to live in jail
without bail?

Corduroy Boy

Burp with the best,
whether it’s with
liars or tattletales;

belch what the tube
tells you to, and push
on, along the shuffled
boards and bar stools;

my buttons are up
to no good, up all
the way—the lines
fall flat near my neck;

worse for the wear,
worn to the bones,
joints all on deck.

Counter Talk

I am a canine croissant
looking for a feline mama
to butter me up and clean
up my crummy history.

Couple Capital

If I was a millionaire,
I would buy a bungalow
in this ridiculous market
so that we could watch
each other sleep daily.

If I was a billionaire,
I would rent Carnegie Hall
so that we could perform
our improvised tone poems
for nobody but ourselves.

Crossed Phaser

God...
I think...
I think I’m...
I think maybe
you’re right, no?
Right, yeah. Ah!
Okay then; okay,
I’m so high now.
Hello again; so
what about
the anxieties?
Into it all, while
being within it all.
Nothing is worse
than nihilism. I buy
vegetables to try
not to die too soon;
I order a green onion
pancake and feel my
insides begin to bellow
for some hot tea. Any
minute now, Netflix
is going to give me
a call. I’m so pregnant
with good ideas, I’ll need
to create a see section; the
take a knee session is now
in season. Beg for the end
to come to a near-ass clash.

Cutting Room

Duplicate deodorants
are cluttering my home.

The pharmacy smells
like Middle Village or
maybe Maspeth, and
I like no longer sweating
my old petite problems;
I’ve locked them in a wall.

The front porch feels
breezy like midnight
on the James River or
maybe more like dawn
on the Raritan, and well,
my head’s swelling again.

Ibuprofen can be intimate
if you let it into your blood.

DJ Macabre

I slipped in
a snarky line.

I pummeled
my own beat;
I chewed on
my rancid feet.

A chilled-out Mountie
melted his frosted tips
and unleashed a flurry
of heated insult dogs.

The beer he flung
on my face froze me
for a moment; I went
from Molson to molten.

I need to learn
when to leave.

Dead Bloke Sandwich

Went to the market
Near the overpasses
Bought one croissant
And one can of tuna

[the air is thinning here]

I drained the oily fish
Dug it into the dough
And washed it down
With Sanka and spit

Death of a Stale Man

When I was in my twenties,
I never thought I’d be buying
shoe polish from a mall near
the ocean; but then again, I
also never thought my thirties
would become such a trivial
pursuit in the face of Quixote.

Democracy When?

I drink coffee,
I floss my teeth—
at work, at home.

I listen to the news
on my computer,
on my phone.

Adults watch Pixar
to feel innocence
among corruption.

Corporations spray
aftershave in men’s
rooms to mask shit.

Loneliness is frigid;
aren’t you all tired
of skiing with crooks?

Aspen, wow! As of
now, I am a mouse
in a foreign flurry!

Absurdly, surely,
I will twist and I
will tumble; weed?

Yeah, I’m stoned,
but at least I’m free,
for how long, you say?

Fuck if I know; fuck
before I go; fuck it—
let’s never be alone.

Desperation Cuts

Coffee drips on wood
and water is my blood.

Clipped my own ear
just to sense what
being held hostage
might really feel like.

Is it actually all that different
than it was yesterday or before?

At this very moment,
it is more like some
scram of simulacrum
I desperately cut away.

I need to remove leeches
and clean up my inbox.

Dia

How are you
feeling, today?

Yes, I’m talking to you, Dia;
because if you’re not well,
how can any of us expect
to ever get through you?

So again, how
are you feeling?

Dingbat

I dented my left cheek
while trying to get some
Sunday oatmeal snacks
for my inner chia pet.

This is what adulthood
is like for an always-poet.

What’s my rising sign?
I’m going horizontal.

Dirt Bike Lounge

Around the fur again,
I’m feeling tone-deaf
in every direction.

The air smells like
camp on film, set
and shot by a punk
down at the crick.

Yet when I open
my mouth, all I
taste is Saltines.

Dodge Caravan

How can you
not have an opinion
on the significance
of human life?

Embrace the warmth
from below your comfort;
hasn’t it been cold
from where you stand
for long enough?

The bodies
are plowing forward;
don’t you see
the many tires
aren’t screeching
anytime soon?

Dog Breeze

When Meat Loaf sang,
“I would do anything
for love, but I won’t
do that,” maybe he
was tired of talking
politics? I know I can
be a bit extra now
and then, but then
again, so can you.

I, too, would do
anything for love;
but sometimes, I get
drama fatigue, and
it makes me want
to hop on your top
like a Pomeranian
and lick your face
like a Pit Bull Terrier.

“Drop a knee, take the key.”

It was August
in Dallas.

It was the greatest
of all time.

It was online
and in real life;
now it’s lost
from the hard drive.

Echt Heart Chart

She reads my flows,
notes my body flaws,
and transfers touch
to make me feel more
authentic, more typical,
more together—maybe
like matzo ball soup
for the arthritic soul?

Eggplant Harm

While slicing
these eggplants
I bought from
the overpriced market,
I overhear
VICE-type humor
from the living room.

I squeeze the veggie
like I’m a vise,
and watch the seeds
and the rest
turn to a bruised mush.

It is dead,
and so am I.

Elliptical, Eschatological

City of the enraptured...

The body and blood
of an Italian Christ—
carbs and alcohol,
consumed as rights.

Puke in the corner
of a closet, just so

that the sober guests
don’t pass judgment.

How many times have
you failed judgment?

I would suppose I have
lost my wits in weakness.

On weekends, I crave
to be a fly on the walls
of bars memorialized
by disco-era auteurs.

Planet of the bagel grind...

Elitism

Organic afternoons
are a coastal delight;
post-dusk is the same
gassed-out grind here,
there, everywhere—

the minority report is in:
I’m here to listen; I’m here
because I have nowhere
else to go, but also because
I there is else I’d rather be.

Elongated Platitudes

Don’t tell me I’m too proud;
I am who I am because of
what I am, and what I am
is these quilted wives’ tales,
spun on bended knees—
every person, place, and
thing that can be patched
together like a mangy cats’
back in the paved yard of
your yawning summer days.

Emergency Exits

Nothing is real anymore.

Authenticity is just some
sort of attempt at decency.

I hate when I feel
Nixonian, but I do
embrace all feelings.

Caffeinated lions,
perverted by nature,
emanate from the
laminates and linoleum.

I am a poet of and for
all people, so I must
forgive all of my exes,
and overlook or rectify
neocon hexes and vexes.

Emperor

Scabs on my scalp
Scan me in the Hills

Knotted ball on my jaw
Knead it with your fist

I need something more
Than prescription aspirin
I need something more
Than life after commerce

I want to eat your plums
So sweet and so cold

I want to be the emperor
The only emperor of mochi

Encyclical

Sometimes I suck
On stone fruit
In mountains’ views
For longer than I should

Sometimes I spill bitters
On the juiciest melons
In my dreamy mornings
In lustful splendor

I often dictate my own laws
By which to self-govern
But occasionally I get spirited
Away from my chosen paths

There are so many stories
Upon which I can climb
If and when I myself
Compelling enough

English Exit

Brains in my belly;
knots in my knees.

My lumbar has been
braced, beaten, and
bundled like Rainier-
soaked acidic lumber.

My crumpets have
gone moldy like lo-fi
fruit baskets, and my
fridge is a nutty cave.

Brains in my belly;
knots in my knees.

Entitlements, etc.

It's cold out in the streets;
this interior is designed
to mimic real suffering.

Minivans full of Caucasians
in North Face fleece vests
stare out, both East and West,
and look down upon the South.

And nothing changes...

Ignorance and negligence
most always trump diligence.

And nothing changes...

Pumpkin spice latte activists
with multiple vanilla personas
drive culture off of coastal cliffs
and drive me into dark hole fits.

I hope I stay alive long enough
to watch all the powerful men
and their fantasy decks die off.

Epileptic Hook

I am so bloated,
full of cheap beer
and heavy ideas.

I think about
when I met you
at the Celtic pub:

You softly said
you were goth;
I said, in a way,
I liked disorder.

You are a science—
controlled variables.

You give me hope—
consoled with foibles.

Expiration

I am discarding
all my crushed
beans today;

one way to tell
a lie from a life
is to toss on-site.

There is no need
for past due truths.

If it appears
to be weird,
it probably is;

is an impinged
life different than
an infringed one?

Stay weird without
becoming a cliché.

False Security

Blue is how I am;
green is how I was.

You were so my jam
until you made me nuts.

I’m so sandwiched between
the times of now and once.

I was so your vegan ham
before we melted cheese.

Blue is how I am;
green is how I was.

Feces Species

Some bodies
are just bodies.

Some minds
are less mined.

People all go home
on the phone, and
juggle personas
in person, in time.

What's a word but
a word when you
don't even know
what you're worth.

Some minds
are less mined.

Some bodies
are just bodies.

Fed Up (Accounts Dept.)

Why do you
take so long
to do what I
ask of you?

It’s minor, yet
it’s important.

I would do most
anything for you.

Because feelings
are not logistics.

Why do you
take so long
to do what I
ask of you?

Flexeril

It’s a game
night of sorts;
sporty spice
of life on my
white shirt—

grease drips
down to each
of my ankles,
swollen from
the jeopardized
life batch, and I
catch a glimpse
of what decency
could be in 2018.

Flirt Cave

In my bedroom
watching dystopia
unfold past dusk
I chat with strangers
until the glow grows
dimmer than ever.

Foo

I don’t need
a tarot to tell
me she is real.

I don’t want
a crow to spell
out what I feel.

Come on, get out;
please split this bao.

Fool Admissions

Reno is a dream
caught in a corn
tortilla condo.

I want to go back
in time to when
I was not gambling
on my mental health.

“Is that your Prius?”

My intestines
are cold, spicy
mixed noodles.

I want to fast forward
to when I might not be
lying face down on
my mom’s heating pad.

“Is that your Prius?”

Forever Stamped

I wish more folks left
me more voicemails;
I kind of feel like that
is a true sign of love.

Sadly, I don’t do it
myself; that said,
I do make the calls.

Do you just type out
letters, not full words?

This is senseless, man.

Fruit of Desire

Pare down
the paired
pears—

they look
too full,
you fool.

The juice
and the
meat do
somehow
meet—

skin and
sin come
together
like words
worn out.

FuckWitIt

I’ll take Clorox
with my coffee
thank you oh
I know my index
is purple but I’m
not certain if it’s
blueberries or
bruises or bust
in this dim light

Gemini Trip

Siamese stitches
all across my torso
from where hitches
clawed my appendix.

Index the entire narrative;
slide through the spirals.

A heist quickly followed
by a sheist—rising signs!

I’ll donate all my organs;
like, who needs insulin
or insulated interstates
with likeness killing time?

Graf Infection

Whenever I enter
a doctor’s office,
I almost always
think of Keith
Haring—is that
weird of me, or do
I actually see him?

Great Dane

Where have you gone,
my foreign friend? You
once were such a good
dog. Now, you are just
a big, disconnected lie.

Hairy Chess

Chapped my lips
Chapped my ass

I am worn down
I’m feeling crass

I am subterranean
I’m a toad on a lawn

Drowned the king
Drowned the pawn

Handmade Tales

I fantasize
about utility.

I’ll build you
a bench to sit on;
I would have
started if I had been
more focused;
I’ll blame it on health.

I fantasize
about utilities.

Healing, Treatment

Saliva
dissolving
through
physical
parlance;

steroids
distributed
throughout
portended
paunches;

constipated
thoughts;

contemplated
thumps.

Tick-tock
until ought
becomes
some will.

Hello Kitty

Rodents are cute
They’re just trying
To live like us man
And man I feel like
Death these days
This world is some
Modernist plague
Like how do sales
Men do it anymore

Histrionics

She said,
“Show me your penis,”
from inside the closet.

And I’m the dramatic one?

I stroked myself until
she came over to me,
no scrubs.

Hold and Fold in the Cold

Grease the sheets—
I’m a wheelbarrow
in my longest dreams.

I’ll wash my sorrows
when I’m ready, okay?

I’m fairly constant
when I want to be.

I’m constantly fair
when I need to be.

I’ll clean my furrow
when I’m ready, okay?

Oil up the skin flint—
it’s time to burn paper
like your name is on it.

Hollywood

Head reels

Picture
In
Picture

Heads roll

Holocene

last year
felt like all

modern years
packaged up

in a brown box
used and abused

like a Macy's brain
parceled flat to Earth

there's no way
I'm going to look

forward until the
past becomes

a timeless present
for all to unwrap

Honor

Where are your slippers?

I’m hanging onto ropes
like a hemophiliac boy
scout in a basement
gymnasium, and that’s
a pathetic feeling. I feel
like this mirror in front
of me is no longer fun;
it’s slim now, and slinking
the way cats do in damp
weather. You can have
your dog back whenever
you want him; whether
you ask or not is for you
to decide. You have my
digits; I have my code.

Where are your slippers?

Hwang Way

I made a new friend;
she treats me the way
a friend treats a person.

She is the best woman
I have met who does not
share genetics with me.

We eat omelettes together
and listen to Motown classics
in our bare feet like old lovers.

She is spicy like fresh kimchi,
yet her lips cool my anxieties
like deserted cucumber water.

I have webbed enough sand
between my toes to know
she is right for my soles.

Ideal Image

From here on out,
I can’t be bothered
with white chicks.

But then again, I say:
all girls gotta have fun.

A woman I believed to be
lovelier than she, in fact, is
recently told me that I am
obsessed with being good.

Is that so bad, considering
the world is currently burning?

I’ll set this self-portrait on fire
as soon as healthcare is free
and we can all afford therapy.

In a Nutshell

In the heat of most
of our conversations,
you could be so cold.

In my attempts to be
more of a selfless man,
I shield myself in a shell.

Let the mixed nuts
sit out for a week;
now, they’re stale.

Let our romance
cool off for a month;
now, we’re stale.

Inflammatory Commissary

Stress is a wax doll
melting away in Reno.

Aniety is pinball
that costs more
than like a dollar.

My gut burns from all
these Freudian fries.

I watch alcoholics
hop in their whips
from atop my perch.

Information, Technology

Tommy died roaming;
Johnny died surfing.

There are too many
nets on the road—
the days get wiped
away with the current.

The kitchen cuts deep;
the library is still sacred.

Hollywood squares
and Midwest shares
make living life like
a slice of an island.

Sweep left, swipe right;
new morning, good night.

Insolvent Suffering

We all have
fragile egos,
but some of
us are strong
enough to let
ourselves just
admit we are
weak, because
what else can
we do when we
can no longer
feel more pain?

iPhony

Stomp on
the worms
of the world.

Stamp out
the burns
of the cold.

The echo
is too much;
I’ve sunken
into myself.

I hear you,
or in parts,
and maybe
that smarts.

Regardless,
it hurts to hear
you’ll never be
here or near.

Emo intel:

{into e-mail}

Is As Is

I am the asphalt—I am bolero—I am a catalyst—I am desperate—I am escargot—I am farcical—I am a gringo—I am Hungarian—I am indeterminable—I am janky—I am Keith—I am limp—I am a man—I am nobody—I am omnipresent—I am pathetic—I am quotidian—I am rational—I am a socialist—I am Transylvania—I am a universalist—I am Varadi—I am the Walrus—I am Xeroxed—I am you—I am zed—

Jade Tree Leaves

Advanced warning:
There will be no
advances, and my
missiles can mislead.

My nipples are hard,
yet tender, itching
to be flat and smooth,
kind of like seaweed.

It gets so raw here
in the city—black
cowboys cruise
the boardwalks.

I’m one salty nut,
but even I know
you can’t force the
cracking of PR cycles.

Antacids can’t cure
the nausea and
the neuroses from
which I suffer, daily.

Jasmine

You are a revelation;
you are an inspiration.

Okay?

Curling up in your warmth,
smelling every square inch
of your smoothed curves

so that I’ll never forget
the lines I have traced
with my digitized eyes,

I think about who I was
before I met you, but
also, who I want to be.

Okay?

I admire that code;
I desire those bones.

Jukebox

If I leave you,
it means
I love you
a little less;

but at least
we’ve got
each other
on the jukebox.

Keith Jason Version

In the beginning,
there was light;
by midnight, life
blacked me out.

I have found God
in a small bottle ship,
and fear in bullshit.

There are no bubbles
on the interstates; no
salvation on the surface.

You wield what you yield
on the semaphore streets.

Key Key

I am a dead bolt
in a lightning field.

There’s only one more
vacancy at this inn.

You can enter
if I can stay.

Nine stories,
nine lives.

Currently,
see me?

Killer Tofu

On this cold night,
I slurped some
soondube, and
I thought of you.

You were
a puzzle,
and I lost
the pieces.

You were
a building
I watched
implode.

I am happier now
without your hate,
but I miss your love
every single day.

Knucklebones

Puke on the carpet,
piss on the mattress;
I’m just a dog-child
in my own nightmares.

What time is the time
to change your mind?

It’s now or never, or
whenever clichés
become passé, but
isn’t that so blasé?

It’s past midnight—
should I sulk a little?

Korea Doll Trumpet Vibe

There is no soul
Without support

I have learned
A good woman
Is all you need

I went looking
For a new friend
And I found
A real partner

I went looking
For new plants
And I found
A real vibe

Her voice sings
to me like that of
A pleasant peacock

She is kind porcelain
That breaks me daily

Korea, Korea

Korea, Korea:
Girl, where you been
all this time?

I’ve been thinking
about you since we met;
please, come over tonight.

When you’re in my bed,
the birds come out
to waltz and sing.

Korea, Korea:
Girl, where you been
all this time?

Language Poem

Don’t go on the offensive.

Conversation can be
consequential, but it
doesn’t need to lead
to unjust punishment.

Don’t call me defensive.

Communication can be
circumstantial, but words
ought to be open for some
contextual clarification.

Don’t sweat, my sweet.

Leaky Gut / Sacral Boned

No house is a home
without the hookups.

My abdomen is a box
sliced with a sickle;
my cranium is a globe
smashed with a hammer.

I’ll bend myself over
to be flagellated like
some cardinal sinner
drunk on raked wine.

Traffic cones all along
the garage rock bed.

Lifestyle

Jealousy is
an industry,
no different
than others.

Put in work,
get burned.

Dip out of it,
feel the cold.

You miss what-
ever misses you.

Fear everything;
expect the worst.

Life Detector

There is no place
for a middle-class
straight white man
in today’s America.

And maybe that’s
okay for some folks.

But life is more than
a grayscale, I think.

The spectrum is not
linear like time, and
even time flies up
and down at times.

I suspect that I will
suss out something.

I detect that I can
detest myself, too.

Lincoln MKC

Today, one state
voted for an out-
and-out racist;
that same state
gave free felons
the right to vote.

America is racist;
America is free.

I fell asleep, listening
to a robot in khakis
crunching numbers,
predicting two years
ahead and beyond.

My half-empty bottle
of beer from Berkeley
sweat out calories
that were supposed
to be mine tonight.

I am getting old.

Lobster Breath

Before her,
I had been
eating sand
for breakfast
and dinner.

But then I sank
my thin potatoes
and salty dough
into Ethiopian
swimming pools,
drank two wood-
paneled beers,
divided pleasure
from occupation,
like a Bauhaus
brat or a sad bat
from the Far East;
our faces flamed
like mortuary grins.

Once I met her,
I could taste all
the buttery rolls
of ocean waves,
morning to night.

Lone Gringo

Slim in the shade,
Junior by my side.

We’re cruising through
a Modelo type of life,
twisting ankles up
in a Proustian style;
this used to be where
the Jewish merchants
piled nickels and dimes.

Slim in the shade,
Junior by my side.

Lonely Planet (Bathroom Stalled)

Osteoporosis gets handled
in a misplaced baggie, and
a dog is left to eat in the fog
of a stranger’s brown paper
feminism—what’s what in
this new world? And who is
who when all the glued tile
becomes crummy ant grout?

Loosies (on the Corner)

Slowed my roll
with some syrup
this morning—
leaned my way
through the
Mediterranean
and Korea, too.

Everything looks
better in purple
lenses, but this
prescription costs
an arm and a leg.

Loot Tenant

Vegan brats
roast on the
coast lines.

Show boats
draw close
en plein air.

I drink like many
men I swore off.

I smoke like many
men I write on.

Loser, Baby

Don’t reveal your hand
until your fingers flame.

Caution is as caution
does, and caution is
never what gets you
to the status of won.

Don’t curtail your blind
vision of a bland utopia.

Caution is as caution
does, and caution is
never what wins you
the status of wonder.

Love Poem

I blew my love
down the hill,
only to push it
back up again;

and she, my love,
was still standing
right where she
was when I left.

Low Sodium

I made a mistake—
this food is not
complete, is it?

I’m a baby carrot,
I’m a diced beet
in a hot tub of broth.

I’m a peach on Tramadol,
working the pain away.

I think I’ll go Russian tomorrow
to keep the bad news at bay.

Magellan Stick

God and ghouls
walk among
the trash
with canes,
so able.

Here, I spy
a father
and a son
taken by
the Holy Spirit.

It’s times
like these
we must
all learn
to explore.

Magpie

I am a magpie;
I am not blind.

I see the way
I saw myself.

The ortolans
of the arts can
devour them-
selves in dis-
guises, urbane.

I am a magpie;
I am not blind.

I see the way
I saw myself.

Man / Down

Man is a man
Up is a movie
Down is a life
Man is a maid

Man, United

I apologize
for my semi
awkward mo
ment but may
be that shit is
groovy cause
after all it’s so
well umm well
uh conspired
and joyless I
am not I am
just divided

Married to Myself

Sometimes
I can be the
opposite of
tone-deaf.

Sometimes
I can be the
most tone-
dead of all.

I let the way
words flow
affect me
more than
the words
themselves.

I must divorce
my own habits.

Material Revisionist

Riffing through
the rough-slung
stuffed rifts on
a sinkhole raft.

Getting nothing,
going nowhere.

This drift has been
caught on some
canned-in camera.

Documentarian,
dossier contrarian;
truths are lies, too.

Mechanical Bullshit

One American flag
does not make one
more American than
no American flags.

Hippies enter through
the front door in 2018;
hipsters slide through
the back and slam jam.

I’m guilty of being white,
and the love for which
I live is that of an Asian
goth—how about that?

Sure, all lives matter, but
none matter more than
any other, and that is just
a fact a flag can’t swallow.

I dictate these words myself,
but they’re processed some
where in ether world among
character and characters.

It’s all mechanical today;
it’s all bullshit, anyways.

Mediation, Meditation

Sensitivity can become
solipsism if one is not
consistently conscious.

Nature is contentious;
naturally, the psyche
gives in to the self.

It is not the obligation
of an outsider to guide
what (de)constructs
the creeping inside.

Generosity is generally
appreciated, but never
expected; how does one
better own one’s onus?

Memorialized Me

I got red by the port
on this nationalist day;
my comrade shared
secrets and cholesterol
with me until we agreed
to disagree—something
I’m not yet used to, but
willing to accept in this
new black and white
reality. I will aim to be
more humble in order
to avoid humiliation.

Mercenary

Sometimes
cities, counties,
and states
become blurred.

Coffee and chicory
become blended.

Wars out on the streets;
battles between the sheets.

I was recently called
a mercenary—
I contemplate objections,
I report objectively.

Do what you will
with the information
I provide you.

Modern Lover, Bad Religion

1.

Dogs on the streets
God’s on the screens

I was in the ground
Now I’m in the clouds

2.

I was born dead
Now I’m born again

There are no gods
There are only dogs

Monk

I shave my head
once a week—
self-service mass.

I can be as monastic
as my body will allow,
but I prefer to let myself
drink from the chalice
of a better-served life.

I jerk myself around
at least once a week;
it’s numbing, in a way.

Monsoon

Face down
in the pho
you taxied;
my back is
on track to
attack my
foundation.

Cracking eggs
like a teen star,
I am no longer
as stable as I
once believed;
the line is back
past the quarter
life—I will never
drop a dime out
on the open field
like rivals in heat.

Rain comes down;
now, stir-fry my life.

The Musk of a Mug

You want a hug?

Go down to the nearest
Goodwill, and try not to
be so thrifty. Empathy is
not about pragmatism; in
fact, it is about maybe the
opposite—compassion is
a passion of generosity
and, naturally, reciprocity.

Smell yourself in the mirror;
hear what the waitress says
about you when she leaves
your table, still suffering from
a bad hangover and, naturally,
decades of rank misogyny—
you are not special in your
discounted social donations.

You need a hug?

Must See Me

Burned my lip,
bit my tongue;
made an error,
erred without
my conscience.

I never meant
to let you down;
I only ever tried
to maintain pride,
and failed; how?

Nine Steps

Intersectional
infighting (un-
compromising,
unconditional);
unaware, and
unbecoming—
this path is one
that leads us all
to wilted petals.

No Feign Zone

Origins of inventions
and lost shortcuts
in Koreatown bring
me back to where
I am, mostly, or who
really, when I think
about it. I’m so done.
I am tapped out like
a studio prostitute.

No Reply Necessary

A boiled taint
on a cupcake
plate—a thing
to be, tonight,
but not every
night. I become
balmy when I’m
around you, and
I’m no longer
afraid to enjoy
the life I have.

Noodle

Cracked back
Fondled foot

Fried brain
Dried heart

I am as thin as glass
Fronting my flat ass

You are the sauce
I need to complete

Not a Drill

I could have
gotten a better
angle, but my ex
called me and I
had to take it.

I don’t feel bad;
just sort of sorry.

Now, I’m dealing
with a spider bite.

Soon I’ll be dying,
but in the meantime,

Santana is playing
in this fleabag motel.

Where is some coffee
when you need to live?

It’s just like: only
so many antacids
can cure my issues,
and I’ve had some
grow in the gutter.

November Creeping

It’s such a sight
of delight when
the banana be-
comes one with
the oats after
a long night of
itching, typing,
and listening
to warm math
on repeat; turn
over the discus,
spin on watch-
guarded wrists,
and flip over the
bold Christians—
it’s a new day in
a new America!

Off Week, Injections / Weed Out, Objections

Cream soda capsules
for my clam of a chest;
the vodka zings summer
vibes, and Zamboni ice
is what this chalice needs
as the glasses and plastic
pile up metaphysical shards.

But it’s still spring, and I’m
barely the adult I said I’d be.

This planet is such a goner;
I want to live on you instead.

Man, I am on this ledge again
when the smoke signals hum.

Security smears the smokers,
my ex flexes like an itchy ass,
and I’m not really trying to
watch people snort things
in a bombed-out dynasty
down the street from nips
stretched out on walls.

Off-White

I haven’t budged
in two days, and
I’m starting to feel
like I might bowl
over like a candle,
pinned to the wind
of an aggrieved man.

I don’t know how
it feels to be petty.

But the radio tries
to talk to me anyway.

Okay Now

Connect
the spots
or else
the wires
will rot.

I shrunk
my shirt;
I shrunk
my head.

Get right
or get gone.

By night
I’ll be beyond.

How does
it always
come to this?

Omo

Giddy like a child
childish like a god

I shove citrus into
glass hardware
cause I want to
keep my emotions

mellow like a mother
in a moment to herself.

Ostrich

I have a long neck.

Sometimes, I stick it
in narrow doorways.

It fits inside, but it
does not belong
on the other side.

I have a long neck.

Sometimes, I stick
it in the hard sand
that surrounds me.

It fits inside, but it
does not belong
beneath my heart.

I have a long neck.

More often, I should
rotate it around like
a savvy periscope.

It might not feel good,
but not all things should
when you say you care.

Outback America

Deep fry my life
beneath the arch;
down under here,
I accentuate stories
otherwise told by
my outlawed self;
satire blooms like
a bulbous biennial
deep cry for life.

Over Land Under You

I wanted a bagel or a pretzel
You wanted fries or samosas
We ended up standing alone
In a car wash drowning in our
Own shallow misperceptions
From an earlier exchange we
Shared in our aching evening

The mind is part of the body
The body must always win

I stared at the stucco ceiling
The cracks dimples and seams
And painted pictures seeming
To be what you might imagine
Me to see and I couldn’t deem
A future of vocal suppression
In a house of electric freedom

A voice shines light on life
A life must always be lit

Oyster Bay

She is the most
exquisite oyster
out in the upright,
uptight populace;
how did I find her in
my slippery palms?

The waters get testy,
no matter the details;
x, y, not today, why not?

She stays current with me,
and I with her; conditions
remain sane in the storms.

I can get so salty;
can’t we all, though?

She is the saltiest of bays
while we’re slashing about
through the city’s jungles
like pirates among poison;
but alone, she is sweeter
than fresh tamarind juice.

So many people still go fishing,
but I have my oyster in hand.

Palimpsest

Sometimes
everything
seems like
a sham like

premium gas
but sometimes
life is more un-
leaded than it

seems; I stand
pumping alone
with the primo
dinosaurs and

I think about
all the nights
I’ve held onto
your abdomen

like a farmer
with a fruit
basket under
impasto skies.

Palm Aid

I’m sorry
for saying
I’m sorry.

I faced myself
in a vanity plate,
for the first time
since the last time.

My head was inflated;
my ego was deflated.

I raised the white flag;
I pocket my card, always.

I’ll keep my words
as keen documents
for future discoveries.

Palm King

It’s okay to feel
guilt, but shame
should be reserved
for the most pathetic
moments; guilt is like
a healthy palm on
a faithful forehead.

Paper Tiger Balm

I raised Arizona
and read Aristotle;
teenage dreams
of eating tangerines
somewhere along
the Rhine, you know?

Line break, clean format;
mall a la carte, remember?

It’s a Hockey Night
in Pittsburgh! And
Dave is now a dad;
“What has my life
become?” The Irish
dog begs for answers
every time I see him.

I’m so tired, I feel high.

Pass the Joint

How do you know
if cheese has gone
bad? I mean, a mold
is a mold is a mold.

Antacids
for an
arthritic.

My ribs are still
adhesive after
all these weeks;
now, I’m peeling.

Passersby

I move
I am moved

You move
You are a stale mate

We move
We moved apart

Peaking: Diner’s Court

A slight tip
from the bottom—

A tight slip
from just above—

A Punjabi party
in the back...

Getting Sikh
up front...

Peaks & Valleys

It’s almost
summer so
bring on the
picnics and
deer ticks...

Trunk full of
soda water
like a minty
redneck on
a Sunday...

Chasm on
charisma;
schism on
sciatica!

Nomo walk;
Noho run—

Pugilist,
Feudalist,
All-out scum.

Peasant

Staring at a woman
comfortable enough

to lie in bed next to you
with her face cleared up
and her clothes shed off

is the most pleasant
experience for a man.

Pennsylvania Double Dutch

I’m a pretzel,
tied to myself.

I’ve gotten salty;
where are my nuts?

Time to slow down;
the rhyme is now.

No dough, all bones;
the knots are sewn.

I am a pretzel,
I am tied down.

Personal Geometry

I will not respond to any
more calls until all banks
stop living their own truths.

I will no longer believe shady
individuals until they start
living in the light like you.

I don’t call it “off the grid;”
I call it personal geometry.

Reshape and reclaim
the life we deserve.

Philosophy

Academia
is basically
necrophilia.

One awaits tenure
by perpetually
penetrating dead
ideas until they’re raw.

I watch my peers
clamor about like
wallflowers, waiting
for their time to drop
their trousers and slip
it in like crass punks.

And yet, my brain
drains like my joints,
and I cross my fingers,
swollen like street meat.

I’ve stolen enough
ivory for my mortar
and pestle to peddle
mortality until single
payer becomes some
thing more universal.

Deadheads sing songs
that nobody remembers;
lingering regrets live on.

Photojournalism

The cheese is
in the breeze;
the pasta is
on the floor.

Tiles go for miles,
and rubber hits
the road, but I want
to know why John
Divola stopped
chasing dogs and
seeking danger
and instead chose
to sip Arnold Palmers
like a bored uncle
on a retirement plan.

Some punks grow up,
and some never existed
in the first place—I say
be the freak you want to be.

Pigeon Boy

I’ve carried
my own
message
for years.

Since I was
a teenager,
at least,
I’ve dragged
myself about,
asking for
nothing much
other than
some decency
from mankind.

Women get
something
of a pass;
women get
something
I do not get.

I am just
a pigeon;
I am just
a boy.

Pinkies Up / Index Down

[worst day since Brexit]

These walnuts
were left out in
the open again
from am to pm;

desired iced treats
were more distinct
out West, though;

your advances
are welcome
any time of day;

no neuroses can
put me in reverse
once I’m shifting;

this stye shows I
am on edge like
a drunk mother
against driving.

[still sleeping off the week]

Piss & Vigor

Drink beer;
be here.

Big, sick energy...

Democracy
is dying.

The republic
is lost.

Big, sick energy...

Drink beer;
be here.

Piss Slip

I imagined you singing
in an anarcho-crust band
while watching you wash
your silky hair at dawn.

I have such a small appetite,
but eating with you is divine.

You cuss for fresh asparagus;
I slide in claw tub showers.

Isn’t it funny how maximal
Marxism can be sometimes?
Isn’t it sobering to see yourself
reflected in mall elevator doors?

I am an ambulant contradiction,
but I refuse double standards;
thanks for the transparency,
thanks for taking care of me.

Pour Richard

Take a hatchet
to a red Dixie cup;
drink the contents
if it makes sense?

What’s the difference
between binaries and
dualities in this cycle?

I am hung up on wood-
paneled planes here
at this rugged outpost;
won’t you spritz me now?

Praise Be

I’m a gold miner:

I found treasure
near a borne lake.

You’re caliente:

You smoke the air
like a silver hump.

We’re thankful:

Snow, sand, and
a pleasing pie.

Preventive Text

Jodorowsky,
Khodorkovsky:

The spirit of
[Jesus Christ]!
What compels
you to be you?

A day in the life;
a day is alive!

Primary Care Partner

I love how you
shed your head
on my bed before
you slip out after
taking care of me.

I wake up to pieces
of a jewel scattered
among my dead skin.

I touch my coarse face;
I grew a beard this week
to prove I can be a man.

I found it to be static—
the reception was spotty.

I am older than I look;
my reflection is wild.

But when you slide
your tips along my
carotids, I can lie
to myself and find
life to be tolerable.

Professionalism

Perpetually finding snow gear
in this arid domestic desert,
I want to slide and grind past
conversations down mounds.

I drink coffee like it’s water,
but I don’t really “do” coffee.

I guess you need to “do” things
in order to get ahead in life.

Never had the desire to justify
just getting by, but goddamn it,
I’m so fed up with scheduling.

Propaganda Existence

Post and parcel
partly deliver the
news, but the cut
of the nut busting
most of us loose

are the injected
hams, hanging
nooses, nightly,
over and over;

Cronies bet on
ponies; phonies
pawn rotten jawn.

We die in darkness,
but in plain sight, too.

Taxed, evaded, now.

Psyche

Headbanger,
headshrinker,

get ahead again
get ahold of men;

a barely betting man
once said, “The end.”

Published Space

I need some in private;
I give some in public.

I edit and revise,
as needed,
all the time.

Hours go by;
days do, too;
now I’m just fine.

I need some in private;
I give some in public.

Punitive Pew

Fingernail clippings;
newspaper clippings.

I’m not the person
you think you are.

Today was a day;
tomorrow is too
much to mourn.

A week is a weak
wreath to wrap
around oneself.

Neck tied far too
tight, like a noose.

Loose lips leaked
like wet smooches.

How deep is your state?

Radical Pragmatist

The military madness of now
is not just some nightmare
of heyday hippie proportions.

The coastal capitalist columns
explicate false equivalencies
that only six figures can mask.

My own foundation was feared,
weakening all my logical lines
on such a long, spartan drive.

I was wrecking dusk,
barreling through
the dusty bowels
like a furious lush,
and you just soaked.

You are the loveliest sponge;
all of my compliments belong
to you now, even the dry ones.

You are a puzzling riddle, love;
I'm not accustomed to one who
is so balanced in the dramatics.

I, on the other hand, am more
of a radical pragmatist—like,
say, if Warhol was a Marxist.

Rapture

I do not want
to apologize
for being taken
by your presence.

I am a mortal,
but my words
will live beyond
my early demise.

Thank you
for always
being honest,
if not bubbly.

I am ready,
I am waiting,
I am here.

Reader, right on.

Red wine spilled
on a white shirt...

Dead skin dropped
on spring sheets...

Hair clumps stuck
to a skinny head...

Fair gripes about
some flimsy cred...

Real Humans

We are all real humans;
even you, man.

We are all real humans,
oddly woke man.

Fully courted press;
fourth estate, taxed.

Where do you get your facts?

We are all humans; okay, man?

Real World

Adulthood is impossible—
I’m sorry for my apologies.

Forgive me for a rambling
rip tide of regretful pauses.

I found a Polish pistol
down by the docks—
port of call. My name
is my name, my life
is alright. She claimed
I am a humanist, even
a pierced ear. I’m just
trying to slide down
the hatch like the
proletariat bubbles
that brew in batches;
turn the key, smash
the stone. Don’t give
up until you’re alone.

But also, don’t worry
because I am no loan.

You are the best prize
at a countless fair.

Reed Instrument Solo

That was yesterday;
that was now then.

Finding crumbs
by my bum
the morning after
I watched
true crime for hours.

This is my life now;
this is how I look now.

Reflections in China

Frozen cabbage soup
on a slow, melting day
just before disregarding
sludgy-ass dead leaders
makes me want to mold
a different kind of future
with a less scented effort.

Remote Control

I am keeping off
the ipsum viral
men and giants.

The absurd and aloof
luxuries of millennialism
are of no interest or even
consequence to me.

I am creeping on
my own bacteria,
eyeing up horses.

Repetition

This and that;
here and now.

Expectations
can be redundant.

Now and then;
now and again.

Explanations
can be redundant.

Now I hear:
this and that.

Reservations

Technology
is like the house—
it always wins.

But we are
complicit;
we know
the rules.

What’s the best
date for us
to use ourselves?

Am I tripping,
or are these
mushrooms
too old to eat?

Risk Abatement

The quota must be
met to be content.

I never played
backgammon
back home, &
I don’t care to
learn now that
I’m born again.

The quota must be
met but don’t fret.

Rogue Comma

There goes another dollar;
gone off, gone flaunting.

The clauses are flossing;
my words are so binding.

The net shows me to see;
I look for dots gone missing.

Royal Treatment

My dream queen
makes my reality
better than before.

She raises my brows
and drops pretenses.

When my throat
feels like a sandy
cocktail cleanse,
she substitutes
water and honey.

When my bones
become rickety
and my muscles
make no sense,
she rubs and tugs.

I’m breaking all bad
habits and cracking
down on my cough.

But goddamn! Mucus
meds and marijuana...

Salat

Sometimes
I get clumsy

Sometimes
I get drowsy

Right now
I’m dizzy

Right now
I’m cloudy

My jaw is raw
Flaws are flaws

Salubrious Landing

Crows saunter along
the highways of my
slowly aging face.

My skin stays dry
in the midsummer
heat, while the streets
pour over themselves.

I spot an agave mirage
just in front of my feet;
I have misplaced every
one of my dimes again.

Looking forward to
looking forward—the
future ain’t so bright.

Saranghae

Daydreaming again
in the palatial bubbles.

A constant crescendo
has rattled my reality.

I live in a world where
movie trailers cycle
like the most trusted
ticker on cable news.

I breathe the oxygen
like a sloth slurping
cosmopolitan congee;
my water is carbonated.

How do you do when
I’m not around you?

I miss you every day,
while months carry on.

Scamp

I’ve got a case of
Basketball Jones
on the Metro North;
January Jones, too.

I’m a raw dog
when I’m East;
I’m a chill pup
when I’m West.

I’ve got a case of
Rolling Rock or two
on the NJ Transit,
and nothing feels.

I’m a bled hound
no matter where
I roam and I roam
no matter what.

Scarlet Nights

Called on
to collect
fingernail
and toenail
clippings
to recall
memories
otherwise
lost to age.

Sensei Tip

Baby got back,
and not to front,
but I’m feeling
extra sensitive

in my gut, in my
bones, and in my
brain, I know that
I’m just one man;

and I think that
one can be a great
individual within
a greater society.

Sensual Interlude

You are somewhat new,
yet I somehow know you.

You are my foreign fruit;
I admire your shiny skin.

I am a Hong Kong skyscraper;
climb me at will all night long.

I am finally somewhat free,
and now you know me.

Seven Seconds of Separation

I am hollowed-out
Deutschland dough.

I am Pennsylvania
in a preserved bottle.

I am a handful
of salty peanuts,
cracked up and
tossed about on
a bleach-bombed
floor, one state
below and a few
thousands of tiles
beyond, at least
in flown bird years.

I am snack food in
sheets, chased by
oxygen and carbon
dioxide—some night
mirrors, only in dreams.

Shalom

I was absent with my mind;
she was absurd with her words.

Now I’m hooked
up to a tube,
pumping iodine
into my left arm.

When I walk,
my right ankle
drags like a dog
ashamed to submit.

Socialist roses peacefully rest
in a hospital garbage pail.

Shit-talkers Anonymous

Isn’t it exhausting
to always be going?

Apples are only
so filling, aren’t they?

Ears get hungry;
eyes feed, too.

Potassium is crucial
if you’re going to stand.

Liquid diet no more;
meat-ridden for years.

Shit Séance

Cracked
another
code &
scratched
another
surface.

Called
Britain
to hear
my nana.

The agent
told me,
"Better luck
next time."

Sickle Man

She was just a constant feed
of shallow memes to me: put
them on repeat, scroll away
the memories until no more
exist; she became a trough,
and I became a bored farmer.

Sigh, Nigh

Hot yoga and UV
burned her face;
Fireball shots
stubbed her toe.

False heroics
cut his waist;
helmet hair
nixed his head.

I’m just a fly,
stationary on
a slim gurney:
Neither/Nor Co.

Slum Bum

I forgot
my serum
again today—

I left it right
on the bottom
of the industrial
fridge (otherwise
used as a scented
sculpture, among
paper and puddles).

You can squeeze this
in, between all of the
sucking of guts.

The structure
is malnourished;

no courage left
in crossed words;

swords buckle
in oral battles;

tip the needle
towards the meat;

slip the feeble
foibles to the street;

this rope is tight,
this cord is slight—

I just want you to be proud.

Social Media

I read headlines;
I write footnotes.

It’s hard to tell
what is useful
and what is
more or less
user-friendly.

Sad redundancy
or rad repetition?

Son of Liberty

I’m, uh, sick.

Too tired
to talk to
strangers.

I’m fiction!

Believe you?

Believe me!

Hung, rung,
and left to
become.

I’m a bard.

Soul Sucker / Vibe Seeker

I hug the pain
of my prior self
in a crowded
Chinese mall.

I distract myself
with a beautifully
accented flower.

I sip tea and martinis
in smoky lodged rooms
and wait for the return
of maxed-out dreams.

The weekend must end,
life must go on, and I must
embrace the man I’ll become.

Space Juiced

Bobby Digital
laser show out
side the Vons
up in Burbank

Man that was
quite the poetry
I ain’t ever seen
anything like it

Smoked a red
cause that is
just what you
do if offered

If you want to be
buds with the king
you listen to what
he wants to sing

Spinal Fusion GPS

Oh, the trinity
of feckless
individuals...

Personal lies,
professional lies...

Spend my time,
spend my money...

Oh, piecing it all
together, finally—
ads, ad infinitum...

Sprung League

Jerusalem crickets
crawled up each of
my nostrils and shat
down the shaft called
my throat. I’m inside
my own trade again,
unloading my bases.

Steward

My knuckles
appear to be
geriatric beets,
red and swollen,
shriveled whole
and warm to hold.

I just want to punch
white walls so my
fists become wet
with grape juice;
I’ll soak the dry
walls to dust.

Stone Zone

Changes
can be
changed.

Sorry.

My skull
is being
squeezed.

My abdomen
is being turned
over clockwise
with a screwdriver.

I would rather be
researching sports.

I would rather be
getting soaked in
Chinese lubricants.

I would rather be
drinking espresso
in Orange County
with my copilot.

But my skull,
my abdomen,
my apologies.

Thank you, mom,
for this marijuana.

Here come the asterisks...

Supreme Facsimile

Surrealism
on the court.

Judgmental
pavement
going boom
in the box.

Automatic
riffed rafter.

Surface Treatment

Craters
on my
cranium

exposed
for the
exercise

prioritize
for the
prior ties

cut among
my only
community.

Surgeon General

Two beers
transfused;
thus I must
decide if I
try to try to
scrape my
toes alone
with some
Rx type of
knife blade.

Temporal Grind

At night, I saw down
the ivory dentils
of my fortified mind.

By morning, I’m clutching
onto the perpetual pangs,
praying for relief like a jester.

A gesture is no more
than an empty oath
soaked in salty wounds.

The Hill

When I was in my
second-wave phase,
I would take Amtrak
up to the Beltway
to fry all theories.

I would drink shakes
from Checkers and
dream about where
I might move once
I hit my third wave.

Niche communities are,
like, so goddamn political;
like, what are the policies?

I mean, is there a code?

I know where I stand,
and it looks like Moab
from up here—death.

The Naïveté Scene

You allowed me to smell
the salt and other scents;

I was Frankenstein at times:
unconscious, unrealistic
to the needs of the now-then;

I can be such a virgin dealer,
tugging at the miracle set.

TKK

Blanked redundancy
while I get ready for
my trivial morning—
thank dog it’s Friday!

Oh, Saturday—you
are like a new love,
always ready to leave
for cracked pistachios.

I dropped my screed
on my scale and
weighed my options;

I hopped up towards
the gold rush and
eyeballed the Balkans.

Draw on the cinders
with other cinders.

Welcome to the desert.

Tell the Truth

It’s tea time
on the seaside,
and I’m scanning
records, listening
to lies burn skin
in mesh shorts.

All I want is for
remorse to be
shared equally
among all parties,
but some drugs
are just too dirty.

Testament

How could I possibly
read my life’s work?

I am only almost
as old as Jesus,
and I already have
enough parables
to fill a new book.

Who would possibly
edit my lived Earth?

The Exhibitionist

The proposition
of a vitrine can
make a man even
more neurotic than
he might be inclined
to be, at least typically.

I have my issues, and
forever is a long time
to be put on display,
if you know what I am
saying; do you happen
to know what I’m saying?

The Suture Is Real

I take comfort in commercials,
but absorb fear in capitalism.

I can’t get anything straight
in these Americana slacks.

Take my word as a bandage;
I’ll patch up my work until death.

Give me patience when I need it;
yours is at your door, I promise.

Throbbing Whistle

Pain in the ass,
hamstrung again,
I could probably
use a Percocet
and some Pinot.

Let’s just lie down
and watch true crime.

Make my water
bubbly—no, no—
make it boil over
and into porcelain
cups so I can sleep!

Times New Roaming

I lace up my
musky boots
to rove about
on my planet;

I draw my shades
to stare upon stars
kissing my soles as
I glide along Sunset;

the signs are right
in front of my face
and if I blink I might
miss the big picture.

To Own Thyself

Bandages
on my bow.

Damages
in a row.

Red wine caps
sub for my eyes.

Sudden time lapse
is my new sunrise.

Sunsets are sorry
without end credits.

Preface the surface
and read a critique.

I’m going in again
and backing up.

I’m going out again
and facing forward.

Sandbags
for shoes.

Granddad’s
point of view.

Truck Lord

Jesus takes the wheel
of those drunk on life;
these roads are awful
frosty, and I’m looking
out for some salvation.

Two-Thirds Ellipses

I call because
I miss you
But my calls
Go straight
To voicemail

You are out
Of town
This week

I am out
Of my mind
Forever

I call because
I miss you
But my calls
Go straight
To voicemail

Two by Two

I am of two minds
of having two hearts.

You call it narcissism;
I call it pragmatism.

You said you have never
experienced something
like this—neither have I.

You read blogs and plot
against romanticism.

I am of two minds
of having two hearts.

Two Four Team

Eating shrimp crackers
Under a fresh duvet
Was the best way
I could have spent today

Unsubscribe

Custodial questions
dirtying up my morning;
I try, nonetheless, and
I receive a response
more tone-deaf than
a heavy one-percenter
halfway up the river,
talking about pleasure
in the face of a firestorm.

View Edit History

Colloquialisms
and prepositions,
coalescing to be
interned as interim
chirps—the sensors
are in motion; what
was once a mentality
is no longer a reality;
it’s perfectly kosher
to replace emotions
with salt to be seen.

Virile Yet Vulnerable

I’m a manhole,
sinking in myself.

Drinking days old
wine with cheese
at quarter after one.

And it’s one of those
nights where I’d rather
be sleeping stoned.

Thinking to myself
I’m a man, whole.

Vitriol Reality

I always have
had something
to say, but I mean
not to be mean;
it’s just I have
something to say.

Facts are musts;
opinions must be
muttered, no matter
what the consensus
might offer; I mean:
who are we anymore?

No fear in the panopticon;
namaste in the therapy
chamber—it’s all poetry
in the sheets, it’s all prose
on the streets, and I spit
like a youngin gone gleek.

Vortex as a Verb

Bedside pharmacy
running mad low,
as if it’s Loisaida
back in the day...

Tell me again
not to care
about boomers
leaning in...

I’m too high
for this shit.

My new sheets
feel great, though.

Waffling

You are the Dutch cookie
I bought you last night.

I want to crumble you
after you palm the veins
that connect my neck
to my head and my heart.

Your caramel gets lodged
in my throat and my teeth.

I choke up the words
I otherwise write for you
and hope they’re worth
more than just paper.

West of Eden

I, fig

You’re a date

In a year
On a farm

I, dece

I’d be better

In a year
On a farm

Whats & Wants

Patsy Cline incarnate
asked me what my stakes
were with regards to ladders.

I climb every peak I fancy,
but I find privilege to be
a most slippery slope.

Wild Flower

I’d like to say
that I ain’t
too proud to
beg but I am.

I can only reach
out so many times
before I reach the
point of no more.

Emotional truths
are exhausting.

There are facts
and then there
is this and that.

Some of us
are incapable
of extraction.

It’s imperative
to exit oneself.

I’m leaving these
types of exchanges
exchanging old ideas
in search of new ones.

But after half a joint
and some herbal tea
I want your belly back
in my stiffened palms.

Will? Sure, Okay.

Surrounded by cranks,
my mouth bones become
wound up with routine
stress wounds, impacted.

I jaw alone, yet also absorb
impartial nutrients, intently,
as I observe my companions
gnaw at their own anxieties.

These digital compendiums
squirt knowledge out like
sun-baked flatulence.

I drag my bespoke bags
beneath my bespectacled
targets, encased in fear-skin.

In the midnight light, my feet
point forward, bouquet in hand.

Won’t you accept my sorrow,
and grab hold of the empty?

Wingspread

It’s key to see
how you fall short.

Sometimes, you
have no words.

Other times, you
have too many.

Most of the time,
your wings get cut.

It’s about the failure
of falling with freedom.

Winter Bones

I spy five senses
in the cold heart
of a mastodon—

we speak in tongues
because that is what
adults believe we are
presently fixed to do.

I have investigated
all humans, and not
much has changed.

Withdrawal

Chase
your
dreams.

But don’t
bank on
America.

It’s an
existential
scam.

Work on Egress

Come and go
I want to leave
I’m sleepier than
Ian on a Sunday
In the Beltway
Now I’m done