247 Man 365 Dude

You don’t need space
between lines
when they’re as long
as the tails
wagging the dong.

35

It’s taken years
to accept chaos
and fully embrace
the ways in which
the world can be
so cold; I’m so old.

9 to 5 (PDT)

Sucking on Ricolas
like a sad vampire
wanting to live
more humbly,

I try to empty my nose
and clear my throat.

Wild cats strike
in the workplace
and in the wild.

I’m tired of being tired.

A is A

Rrose is Rrose is Rrose.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Let cold curry
melt in the igloo;
let the bitters
bail out my belly;
let the crickets
sing on sidewalks;
let the children
breathe their air.

A Cleansing

I made myself
a late breakfast
today, like life
is some sort of
version of normal.

The smoked salmon
was kind of old; so
was the goat cheese.

Maybe I’ll get diarrhea
tonight or tomorrow.

But that’d still be better
than coronavirus.

A Day’s Work

Morning

“Sure” is such
a lukewarm word;
it’s gotten me
into trouble twice
already today.

Why do we say
things one way
when we clearly
mean for them
to be released
so much more
cleanly, huh?

Afternoon

Growing up in Pittsburgh,
I often wondered about
the rest of America.

How am I, how are we
similar or different?

When I first
headed to a coast,
it dawned on me:
we all become dust,
eventually, really,
but in the meantime,
some are steel
and some are rust.

Evening

I was talking to
an old friend
a few days ago—
we were discussing
how hard it was
for us to accept
the musical chairs
we were assigned.

Another friend
was talking
a few days prior
about how
he sees geometry
so differently
now that he’s
lived a third
of his life.

Night

I’ve always been
more of a words guy
than a numbers guy;
I’m good at math,
but better with language.

When I mangle my words,
I wrangle some new ones—
if you’re not a solid editor,
how can you be a solid writer?

A Great Saint (Gone Fishing)

I can’t swallow
all of the sadness
I felt when I found
out you were gone.

Sometimes coal
becomes coke;
some think coke
makes you cool.

I smell menthol
cigarettes when
I rub this aloe
all over my skin.

It’s so hot out here,
it’s so filthy outside;
I’m just trying to stay
safe and sane inside.

In today’s sad world,
you’re either locked up
or locked down; either
way, no clouds or crowds.

What’s a yesterday
in tomorrow’s time?
We don’t need watches
to lose our minds.

You were a sueprhero,
despite the heroin;
you were the happiest
madman I’ve ever met.

a new hope

lambrusco
or lexapro

acetaminophen
or ibuprofen

it makes no difference
to me in this state
of myself in this state

of the world
on the whole

in the mirror
oh my dear

you make a difference
to me in this state
of myself in this state

ah california
is something

pennsylvania
is no new york

but home is whatever
and wherever you want
it to be for you and me

A Noble Estate

blood of beets
on tracks of arms
near stacks of art
on wooden knees

bend to the wife
and blend the grapes
of nearby states
and give in tonight

A Paper Towel for Progress

I’ve got one hundred words
or so to describe my life.

Wipe them all away
with toxic chemicals.

I’ve destroyed myself
maybe ten times over.

Why I keep coming back
is to keep on the come up.

I’ve got a paper towel tabled
for the progress of my own kind.

A Perched Perspective

a goldfinch
flew through
the window

as I sat
on the shitter

it was briefly
boxed in

we spoke
to each other
for a moment

little things
add up

until the mass
is uncontainable

A Perfect Irony

Sometimes
I have more
than one drink
and my mouth
tastes kind of
like New York
and it makes
me remember
what it was like
when I didn’t
have to worry.

A Simple Question

I am you and you
are me and we are we
so please let me ask:

Why would you
not listen to me
when you asked
something of me?

A Statement, Really

Have you ever asked
an inaudible question

and ended it
with a period?

Perhaps that
is the most

passive-aggressive way
to address someone?

Acceptance

The guts
I have stay
better when
they’ve gone
out to lunch.

It’s such a shame,
really…

The crust
on my face
better not be
here by dawn
or else what?

It’s all the same,
really…

Acupuncture, etc.

I’ve got allergies,
I’ve got anxieties.

I’ve got everything
I’ve ever wanted:

a good woman,
a good job.

My health
could be better.

My wealth
could be—

here’s the thing
about America:

this country can
make you want

things you didn’t
know you didn’t

need until you
see the greed

of the economy
of one’s self.

And back to my
health and wealth...

my arthritis squeezes
as my wallet flexes,

and my brain freezes
as my body tenses.

Give me your herbs;
I’ll still take my own.

Adverbial Change

I keep adding to the clank;
I keep bristling at the jank.

And people rave about
milk and honey, but
the former makes me
squeamish, the latter
is too sweet, and really,
I just prefer wine to both.

You ask how these things
are comparable at all, even.

And I don’t know how I could
answer, other than, I guess,
thinking…basically, broadly,
essentially, generally, mainly,
mostly, and so on and so on
and so on and so on and…

After Hours (Dead to Each Other)

You rode the night
with the cocaine kids.

I stay up later
with words
and the birds.

You had no right;
I mean, uh, I mean
there’s no right...
only wrong.

You never sang
karaoke; you
never had any fun;
what’s your song?

Sometimes—
in fact, many times—
a question is rhetorical.

Don’t answer;
I don’t care.

Agenda

I trap
poems;
I keep
poems.

They’re
my mind;
they’re
my vibe.

Airplane Mode

For seven weeks now
I’ve felt like I’m
Stuck up in the air
With too many cups
Of coffee in my blood

My eyes are at least
Six feet below
My sluggish feet

And all I want to do
Is watch basketball
And drink a few beers
To hold the tides

I want a better nickname
I want a blocked number

Aleatoric Life

When I wake up

and then I walk up
to the next blow of
the fist and shake
of the wrist I mix it
up like a god getting
drunk on the Aegean

and then I pass out.

Alien Head

Well shit,
I accidentally
huffed some Lysol
in a back aisle
at the nearest CVS.

I wanted to throw
my chai latte
at all the dickheads
standing in line
at the Whole Foods
next door, but I didn’t.

What I really want
to do is coast out
to the desert
with my bald eagle
and do mushrooms
to celebrate maturity,
but life has other plans.

Allergies

When I’m around
pessimism and
pettiness, my eyes
begin to swell.

America Online 2.0: A Sign

$200 BUCKS is what I saw on the side
of a psychedelic ceramics store—I’m
not sure what was for sale or why; I’m
not sure where I was or why; I’m not
sure if I was sober or if I was high; I’m
just happy I’m happy, and that is all
because I decided to be with him. He
is the vibe of all vibes, the kind that
could reshape the century, extra-large.

American Expressionism

I haven’t painted
or done admin work
in quite some time.

I mainly write poems
and stack facts and
figures on my time.

At present moment
I sit on a picnic table
in an IKEA showroom.

The air conditioner
is busted and blasting
continuous currents.

These Israeli gherkins
taste like finger pads
soaked in linseed oil.

American Real Estate

Golf is a form of terrorism;
Wall Street is a war zone.

There are winners
and there are losers
in the coastal cities
and the country clubs.

There is a gulf between
you and me and history.

You can’t ever go back
to where you are from,
if you were never going
to proudly wear your past.

Anachronism

I was never meant
to live here or now.

I don’t expect any-
thing from you that
I wouldn’t from any-
one else, here or now.

But I must say, life is
no better or worse
now than it once was
or soon will be, okay?

I was only ever meaning
to be authentic forever.

Anarchism with a Capital A

Be skeptical, not cynical—
it’s not criminal to be liminal.

I’m not red, not even pink;
I just say what I think.

I’d prefer it if government
would help us now and forever.

But since that is a pipe dream,
my poems can be pipe bombs.

And what’s a socialist, really,
if he is not able to socialize?

He’s a buttoned-up anarchist,
stiffly opposed to bullshit.

Another Cycle

Summertime,
and the living’s
sleazier than ever.

Wet sheets
from sweat
and sex, and
the wood of
the world is
worn out.

The grapes
lay upon silk;
the roses wilt
beside the gate.

History is alive
in the present.

Don’t hate what once was;
love what you’ve become.

Another Week In Limbo

I got stroked by the swirling sun
while walking in Chavez Ravine;
I got home to find expired aloe
and a distracted woman too
hungry and tired to give a shit.

I went to the overpriced pharmacy;
luckily, I had a decent digital coupon
for whatever I wanted, and what
I wanted was some soothed skin.

Upon my return, I removed my mask,
sprayed bleach everywhere, made
the lady engage (briefly), since her
herbal tea now unfortunately might
contain some nasty disinfectant.

Despite what the president says,
my wife does not want to drink
household cleaning products;
I don’t blame her for being pissed.

Anti-Supremacist Verse

Raccoon at night,
racketeer by day;
that’s just the way
they roll, the Whites.

Apology

If I didn’t include you,
it doesn’t mean
you’re excluded.

Please forgive me.

Sometimes my memory
is not as good as
it’s claimed to be.

Please excuse me.

April’s Fool

I’m sorry for saying sorry
more than usual; I’m sorry.

Tragedy causes trauma,
and now, this is me,
and this is where I’m at,
but I want to go to
where you want to go.

I’m sorry for not seeing
you sooner; I was blind.

Aries

sometimes
my young self
reminds my now self

how encroachment
and effacement
are replacing

the everyday
expectations
of being an artist

and my now self
reminds my young self
why we left people

dusty in the desert
with their caked noses
stuck in snake holes

happy birthday
to me and the homies
born to butt heads

Arrangements

When I cry,
I’m glad you try
to be my wife.

When I die,
I hope I lie
by your side.

Artforum After-Party

five years ago
poetry was hip

I’ll take a piss
or a shit all over
the blogs of
the kids who
don’t know how
to spit feelings

you can doodle
text bubbles
and eat noodles
and fumble
the language
you are given

but I will not show
respect to anything
less than a student
of life graduating
from the deepest
of day-drink dives

I am here to remind
you of the mess you left
in 2015 it’s not fair to
deny me of the thoughts
I share and you can’t
complain you can’t okay

poetry is in motion
at least on subways

Arthritis, AZ

Kneecap me baby
Destroy my hope

I didn’t feel like
Walking today

Anyway
And anyway

Some people
Take steroids
For sickness

Some people
Take steroids
For violence

And anyway
If you want

You can be like me
And drag your ass

Across state lines
Like a skinny gimp

Ascension

My dog is like a wallflower
learning how to sprout;
my child is like a wild cat
figuring everything out.

As It Is / As I Am

When I’m staying
on the surface,
I finger all the cracks,
contours, and crevices.

I want to be sensitive,
but not overly sensitive.

Sadly, poets no longer
piss off the public,
and artists won’t
piss on the streets.

I want to be fluid
like traffic, not fussy
like the screens.

I want my words to be
both heard and seen.

I want to wake up
healthier than
when I fell asleep.

Asbestos Daydream

I went back to
middle school
in my mind

then I graduated
to high school
in my head

it felt good to be
back there where
I could be sincere

it felt bad to be
back there where
I could be in fear

I’m absorbing all
the shit that hit
so hard then when

I could wash down
six chicken wings
with no problem

and then came real
ethics and education
and sad girlfriends

hey punk will never die
punks all just need to
grow up as they age

Asterisk

I’m sorry
to have to
follow up

to tell you
I’m sorry
I fucked up

and I’m sorry
about the
punctuation

to be honest
I’m sorry
I have to say

anything at all
even though
I talk so much

Attn: Freak

Blow this fucking foghorn
in the center of this lobby;
I brought an induction burner
for good luck, my baby mama.

Can you hear me screaming
from the hospital parking lot?

It’s more of a stacked structure;
I don’t like when people call these
garages, because then, definitions
have less meaning than perceived.

Wow! I can get so collegiate,
so congenial in this deep web.

But anyway…

Someone slid their scooter
in the spot next to my Jeep.

The impression that I get from saints
such as this mystery motorist is that
they want to be impressive, in kind of
an effortless manner, but holy shit…

And goddamn! Haven’t you heard
that not trying is trying too hard?

Some women don’t have to try—
they just do, and they do with grace
and humility, in ways I wish I could;
but also, I’m glad I’m not pregnant.

Audio/Visual

Maybe you heard it
the way you wanted.

Maybe you read it
the way you needed.

Autumnal Fumbles

I can’t find my phone,
I’ve got a pimple on my nose,
and my garage is like
the back room
of a Phoenix Goodwill.

My mind is cluttered
with the ashes
from all the fires
forging up and down
the West Coast.

Maybe I’ll move
back East somewhere;
I wouldn’t mind skipping
over most of the Midwest,
and yes, the South, too.

I actually love
America—
all of it, really;
but like the doctor said,
It doesn’t like most
of the people
who call it home.

And what’s a home
without a house?

And what’s a house
if it’s in flames?

When I lost my phone,
I lost the time…

And hey—
it’s September,
and hey, you know
what that means!

It’s almost time
for pumpkin spice.

The bubble has burst;
this country’s the worst.

I hate the NFL,
and I can’t stand
the fans who can’t
stand the fact
that players
don’t want to stand.

Baby Problems

When a baby
gets a pimple

or has the hiccups
it seems way more

problematic than
it is for you or me.

Bachelor Huh

You miss the days
when you answered
to no one and could
cover your face with
paint if you didn’t feel
like dealing with ding-
dongs or door knocks?

Me too, my man, but
there comes a time
when you must just
become a man, and
ah hell, say the hell
with those who don’t
understand the dance.

Life is like laughing gas:
It comes and goes and
kicks you on your ass;
you get lost in your own
stories; you find details
change as does your age;
the tears all stay the same.

Bad Butcher

Her salami
is so stale.

I don’t know
why anyone
eats from her
dusty counter.

Her window sills
still bore before
the black-and-
white moonlight.

Whether inside
or outside, it’s all
a fraudulent game
of Clue, but for who?

Vegans are annoying,
but meat is appalling.

Bad Haircut

I used to have rough patches
until I got stung by this bee.

She was as strong as pollen,
but sweeter than honey.

Before I met her, I began to buzz
my head like a gay commando.

Once, I rushed, or maybe
I had just gotten too stoned.

Either way, when I look back
on the heart attack I grazed,

I don’t feel so bad about how
I used to put nights before days.

I’m just glad that now my head
looks good, and my gut feels

better, and when I dream about
angry Canadians, I stay real.

Bar Crawl

It sure would be something
to sing songs like a drunkard.

Let’s go to Little Tokyo.

It sure would be something
to piss in alleys like an artist.

Let’s go to Chinatown.

I’ll write your name on concrete
until there is nothing left of me.

Let’s go to Koreatown.

I’ll right the wrongs of my songs
once I’m sober in the morning.

Let’s go back home.

Bay Bay

picking lemons
off of trees

parking lemons
on the streets

drinking vodka
with soda

until the needle
starts over

the vinyl spins
more slowly

the bars feel
extra lonely

Becoming My Father

I was working in the yard today.

I was starting to get moist,
which rarely happens.

And I became frustrated
with my task,
which happens more frequently.

As things progressed,
our sweet but super-talkative
throwback butch of a neighbor—
think, like, ‘90s West Coast tech—
pulled up to our driveway
and was like, “Heyyy!
Has the little guy arrived yet?”

And I was like, “Sorry—
I’m kind of in the middle of something!”

And she looked at Julie
and was like, “Ohhh, okay!
I can see he hasn’t come yet!
Well, good luck and keep me posted!”

I told my dad
what had happened,
and he said,
“You’re finally learning.
I’m proud of you.”

I asked,
“What do you mean, dad?”

He told me I need
to shut shit down sooner:
“You don’t need to pretend
to care anymore.”

I was like,
“But what if I actually do care?”

And he said,
“You’ll continue to learn…
you’ll start to care less…”

Been Served

I swallowed a date pit;
I swallowed my pride.

Ego is a trap suit;
I’m skinning my hide.

Earnest is a name, too;
I sincerely killed a fly.

Bellicose Boy

Light it all up
from the front,
from the back.

Can you get
down? Well,

I don’t think
it’s worth it to
spend one’s

energy on this
shit all the time.

Bernie Sanders

“Why is everyone obsessed with the everything bagel these days? You can’t do anything right, if you’re trying to do everything. Listen...if you get a good bagel, and you schmear some good cream cheese on it, and then you top it off with some good lox and some good capers...you know what? You essentially have everything you need. That’s an everything bagel. That’s a good everything bagel. I created the damn bagel!”

Big Boom Queries

Older people always ask me, “Hey kiddo, why don’t you fix America?”

I always respond, “Why’d you have to go and fuck it up so badly in the first place?”

Big on the Luck / Smog in the Sky

I was listening
to country music
all day and all night,
and I realized
it took making a human
to finally be able
to understand humans.

Binary Poem

I will not listen
to the harangues
of blanked men.

I cannot listen
to the hagiography
of sanguine men.

My only wish is
the stenography
of sane women.

My other wish is
the stenography
of all women.

Blue Collar Blues

Drink Budweiser
for breakfast.

Smoke a Marlboro
for lunch.

Eat some Percocet
for dinner.

Pack your tools
and die, man.

Body & Mind

I’m taking a shower
I’m getting clean

I’m coming clean
Just give me an hour

Bondage

I swear
I was a hero
in a past life;
I’m sorry I was
hard of hearing
last night.

On occasion,
it’s like,
I’ve got two
left feet,
and I just can’t
go in the right direction.

Tell me what you want,
and I’ll do what I must.

Give me what I need;
I promise it’s not much.

Boardwalk Bird Talk

I once heard
a fun SoCal head
say goodbye to bread.

He was as positive
as a peach
and
as glad
as an orange.

One,
two-step,
sit on
the stoop.

I replied, “Hey, I
would like to say,
‘Hello, friend, and
I will sadly
accept your sad
proposition.’”

Peace out
to all the funky molds.

Shout out
to all the bold freaks.

Your ego is low if you hate the high.

Bootsy

This feels good;
this feels right.

I’m sitting alone
in a fiberglass patio,
smoking a fat cigar
in my wine-blind mind.

Okay, since I’m getting
drunk; I mean, since
I’m getting my way,
which doesn’t happen
anymore; well, okay…

I’ve got two goombahs
inhaling and exhaling
their memories with me;
we’re in this together.

This feels good;
this feels right.

Bored with the Message

I can’t be bothered
to be bothered
anymore, or
at least any
more than before.

I have another
life to mind.

I have other
things on mine.

It’s a wonder
how some folks
invite cynicism
to dominate them
like a pleather queen.

Bounce Edit

Ampersand and
comma fight for
the right to thank
multiple Buddhists.

Brutal Truths

All cops are bastards,
but I didn’t need to tell
your two-year-old son
that he can’t trust them.

All dogs go to heaven—
now that’s a message
any toddler can hear
and share with whoever.

But don’t call 911, unless
it’s truly an emergency.

And don’t answer e-mails
from strange addresses.

And in case you’re unsure:

It’s okay to speak up and
speak out, when you have
something you need to say.

It’s okay to repeat yourself;
it can have a profound effect
on yourself and your people.

And in case you’re unclear:

All cops are bastards;
all dogs go to heaven.

Burnt Coffee

I ordered a coffee today;
I feel so much more alive
than I have in months!

I think I’ll type like a butterfly;
I think I’ll sing like a bee.

I’m so over the minds
of machines always
cooking the books
and stealing the jobs.

I’m so underwhelmed
by the promises people
never seem to keep,
and that includes me.

I want to eat every apple
in the state of Washington.

But if I had to choose
between mediocre fruit
and burnt coffee, I choose…

Busted

There goes
another toe;
I’m nine down,
and that’s wow.

California Concrete

I stack words
on top
of each other
like um
maybe sand
or pan
cakes under
neath
neon signage
near
a pier or some
thing
approximating

California Isn’t What You Think

Maybe if I was better
at guitar, I’d be more
magnetic. Maybe if I
I was more country,
I’d understand how to
be more Western. But
in a decade’s time, I
think I’ve done okay,
or is that just the type
of thing someone says
when they’re standing
alone in a Central Valley
field by themself at night?

California Shit

I left my shoes in the sun;
the dust wasn’t enough.

I tied a knot on my toe
while you played bingo.

Who counts as royalty
in the Inland Empire?

Who counts your cards
when you’re too tired?

Catcalled by an Ese

I was walking down a busy commercial boulevard in Northeast Los Angeles. I was wearing gym shorts. He was driving a low rider.

He said to me, “Damn, son. Hike up those shorts a little more. You look like you could be pretty behind that mask.”

After I finished running my errands, I went home and took a nap. When I woke up, I walked the dog and ate pickled herring on sourdough toast for dinner. That cholo thought I was a cutie; my wife thinks I’m an old man in training.

Catharsis (Is Real)

art
and entertainment
and literature
capitalize on
I mean
profit from
those on the margins
without giving them a lane

not a separate one
but a parallel one
to enter and exit
as they choose

not like the freeways
that turn blue and green
to black and blue

and few have spoken
in public
about the ashes rising
only the initial flames

these discussions
are meant to be
hushed ones
in dark spaces

but now
even dim ones
are becoming
enlightened

hey look
when you look
in glass buildings
and you look
on blacktop streets
one is not like the other

it’s been like this
for like ever
but that doesn’t mean
it has to be forever

Catholic Guilt

Oh, Christ…

what does it feel like
to realize you’re pretentious?

I don’t want to know…

I just want to watch
my saved Criterion selections,
and I want to watch
in peace with my dogs and a beer.

I don’t want to know…

what it feels like when
you realize you’re pretentious.

Oh, Christ…

Chinese Medicine

I shot myself in Reno
just to have a good cry.

Too much pain,
too many pills—
my brain
is filled with
too much
of everything.

Steve says,
“Gotta hit
the asphalt
if you wanna
move on.”

I’m trying, man,
but it burns...

Hey! Brand-name
metal ain’t cheap;
it is durable, though.

You, you, you
gonna help me
with this or what?

Chunghwa, Please

I ate dumplings
for the first time
in a few years.

It was relaxing;
it was celebratory.

I drank three beers, too;
three seems lucky—
to me, at least.

Luckier then seven
and thirteen, obviously.

My wife wants me
to enjoy my life—
to a degree, at least.

Cliffhanger

Running recklessly
like a hedgehog
led me to leave lines
where they were.

When I turned 30,
my ego was bashed
by a cold discovery.

After spending two years
on a selfish peninsula,
I got a brand-new ID.

I flipped a switch,
walked a few miles,
and never looked back.

Meanwhile in Berlin,
late-night dinners
and dance parties
wait for no one...

Commie Commingle

I put a base coat
of red scare
on my toothpick limbs
up near the shaved armpit
of California today.

Commish Shit

Walking on Beale Street,
I think back on every time
I’ve ever been hurt.

I get so low when I’m high;
keep it on the down-low
if you’re trying to learn.

Common Folk

I think most people
just want a job
that will allow them
to live and die
in peace and comfort.

Communication

Who decides how
conversations begin?

What is the point
of dulling a blade?

And where does static
come from in silence?

When are words going to
sharpen like old tongues?

Finally why are we
further apart now?

Compartmentalization

is all about being
physically present
without really being
emotionally available.

You can’t be
in two places
at one time.

You can’t have
integrity without
knowing what is
ultimately integral.

Compass

My ankle has calmed
down, down, down;
my calf has loosened
up, up, up; and it’s
wild, wild, wild how
my body can wreck
the lives of all those
around me for weeks
on end, and it doesn’t
end until the insides
turn themselves out
for long enough that
I no longer know which
direction I am facing.

Compliant / Complaint

Hey man, need a nap?

Looks like you’ve got
an accidental bracket
left wide open in the
center of a statement.

I didn’t even know those
were commonly found
in places such as these,
but what do I know, really?

I’m just a guy with letters.

No, I’m not a mailman—
that always sounded like
a complicated gig, but now,
well, the gig looks rigged.

Listen, if you want to bitch,
there are phone numbers
you can call; if you want to
chill, hey—you’ve got mine.

Complicated Bird

I fly in the sky;
sometimes
I swim in streams.

I eat worms,
I eat words;
they’re all
the same
to me.

I am a complicated bird,
say the animals at the bar.

Conception / Perception

I was born with
an understanding.

I am living with
an appreciation.

I will die with
a loss of both.

Concubine

I see the rain
from my window.

I feel all your pain,
despite you, though.

I know about slights;
I know about spite.

I'm doing just fine;
I’m still a concubine.

Conduction

Orchestrating worms,
I’m a crypt keeper.

Symphonically speaking,
I’m a puppet master.

I surf lightning bolts,
and I spit thunder.

I morph words; I squeeze
all the sounds in between.

I’m the maestro, the man,
the reason, and the rant.

Conduct(or)

With conjunctions,
a person can cross
a bridge as originally
as they want; they can
also sadly become a
redundant connector
like a drunken train.

I’m just living my life,
no different than you.

Confessional

Life is sad
The world is mad
Most art is bad

Conflicting Sauces

Some people
are divorced
from reality.

Some people
are divorced
from lovers.

What is worse?

Who can tell?

Confluence Plaza

How dense is the head
that comes up with such
asinine designs as the one
these neoliberal city officials
expect everyday people
to circle in cycles over and
over on a day-to-day basis?

Consumption

I eat my verbs;
I spit out nouns.

I digest so fast;
I must slow down.

Conversation

I left my glasses
near the wine.

What? I can see
what I speak now.

I talk like I walk,
and I walk like I

want to watch
my words play.

All language is
a game, after all,

and after all, I am
your punctuation.

My points contain
many multitudes.

I am here and there,
always and elliptical.

core_extremities

my toes
are webbed

my fingers
are stubbed

my head
is deep

my heart
is deeper

Corona Extra

I can’t breathe;
I choke on air.

Is it anxiety,
or is it death?

I can’t think;
I fumble ideas.

Is it anxiety,
or is it death?

Correction

It’s all so fluid.

Is it wrong if I fix it?

I’m oh so flippant.

Is it worth it to fix it?

Counting Days

three’s company
four’s a sport
high fives are hell

once in a while
it can get lonely

two wines
two beers

and I feel fine
now that
you’re here

Country Western Song

I said I wouldn’t do it,
but I did it.

I put that shit in a blender
and sucked it back down.

Hey, if I wanted to swim
in constant cynicism
and needless negativity,
I might as well just drown.

I said I didn’t have it,
but I’d get it.

I played that shit on a Fender
and plucked my feelings out.

County Line

There are plumes
above my roof.

There are plums
inside my fridge.

Stones on the dirt;
bones down below.

I wanted to smoke
a cigar to celebrate
the birth of my son,

but I can’t even leave
the city without fearing
the first steps of death.

Cracking Up at the Diet Riot

I can live on grapes
but I will die on olives.

Citrus is like the wind
and potatoes are mulch.

I blow my bloody content
into a vegan doggie bag.

Crated Salmon, Barreled Jun

I wrapped a children’s book
in Scotch tape. I wore shoes
too small for my stumps, and
then I had to wrap my toes, too.

I eroded trust like the side of a
foothill. It was a mudslide when
we decided to stop being natural
and that’s a disaster, I, uh, reckon.

I don’t know why I do some of
the things I do, but I know I’ve
got guts. I’ve wrecked them so
many times, though; it’s a shame.

Creed of the Crop

Focus on your hands
and you’ll forget
how to think.

Focus on your head
and you’ll forget
how to feel.

cuffed by words

my poor navel
has grazed upon
so many strange
surfaces yearly

i often over
think the things
i may have
misremembered

like the blood
of an orange
spilling onto
my sunglasses

in Palm Springs
or was it Malibu
when I pitched
poems to local

wildlife only to be
told poetry was
illegal in areas
with clean air

Cum On California

In the Valley,
in the Empire,

it’s easy to stay dry,
it’s easier to get wet.

In the Castro,
in the Tenderloin,

it’s easy to get lubed,
it’s easier to get lit.

Damn, God

What’s left
in the
West Bank?

What’s good
in the
Gaza Strip?

What’s up
there on
Mount Zion?

Danke Schoen

I am a white man
with a bad tan.

I stayed out
when I should have
stayed in.

But who can resist
a mid-week walk
along a filthy river?

Some of the dogs
twist, and
some of the cyclists
shout, but

they can all suck
on fried eggs
cooked up
by some other asshole
with a subscription
to the New Yorker.

I refuse to be like
Wayne Newton,
skeptically guzzling
bubbles from the
Fountain of Youth.

You’re welcome.

Danko

I miss getting drunk
on a random Monday
just because the beer
was so Goddamn cheap
and college hoops
was always on TV.

A decade has passed;
the memories last.

And now I get high
on random Mondays
just because the weed
is legal where I live
and I can afford
to have cable.

Date with Doom

Shake hands
with the source.

We’re all good
until we’re not.

Fate can be
quite the force.

It’s all good
until it’s not.

Day of Rest

Oh, my heavy head:
don’t go crying
over spilled wine;
in time, you’ll learn
you’re not dead—
you’re only dying.

Dead fish

swim deep,
like the mind.

We’re so
unpredictable;
we’re so
unavoidable.

Eggs are laid
just to go sour.

Dead in the Head

Dancing
while singing
doesn’t enhance
your mumbled words.

Cooing isn’t cute
at this age,
or any after,
a few months, really.

Deadlines

I’m fine with dates:

I like romance;
I like getting shit done.

I don’t like unnecessary
pressure to submit.

I don’t surrender.

Deafening Silence

Your baby boom
is killing my mood.

My days and nights
bleed like my thighs.

Take my needles,
take my people.

I was alone before;
I’m alone once more.

Deep Generation Enterprise

This afternoon
I thought
about space travel.

How nice
would it be
to hear Spock talk
about Sally riding
into orbit
or the various challenges
NASA has faced
over the years?

But I was reminded
that Leonard Nimoy
died five years ago
so I suppose
this is just a fantasy
like science fiction
but it’s true that
Picard is still alive.

So then
I thought
about time travel.

Degenerate

You make me wanna
smoke another cig

You make me wanna
pour myself a drink

You make me wanna
go to hell and back

You make me wanna
chip until I crack

Democracy Is Death

Freeze all mortgages,
make rent free.

We’ve got heads
to get high
and mouths to feed.

Goddamn the airlines,
goddamn the Ivy League,
goddamn the NFL,
goddamn the meat industry.

Double the pay
of all nurses
and teachers.

Round up bankers
and investors
with a zip-tie lasso;
ghost ride their whips
to the top of a plateau.

I’m looking through
windows like it’s 1995—
we’re all Crips or Bloods
in the supermarket.

For now,
I’m seeing double negative.

But soon,
I’ll be seeing snake eyes.

Depression

I’d feel
a whole hell
of a lot better
if I could dance
like Gene Kelly.

Deseret Blues

I went to Salt Lake City with my wife this past winter. She said it looked like the city planners had all the tools and all the materials, but lost the blueprints before construction. She was also bothered by the fact that the people there have a false understanding of scones and other basic items. I enjoyed watching them create their own fantasy bar games, though. And I enjoyed drinking high-alcohol beers in a Mormon-controlled state. And I enjoyed listening to death metal while watching the Jazz. But it’s just too white and too cold for me; I’m white, too, but I’m also warm.

Deserted Blend

I’ve got a date
with a milkshake.

No dairy, please.

I’ve got ill fate,
sick and stately.

No staring, please.

Devil Lock

I jumped the gun,
and I’m a pacifist.

I jumped the shark,
and I’m a perfectionist.

On occasion,
time is truly
of the essence.

Now that I see
so few people,
I rarely have
an excuse to
wear my watch.

On occasion,
I blame place
for taking me.

Where I go—oh,
that’s for me to know.

When I return—uh,
that’s for me to show.

Dialed Digits

I wash my hands so much these days I think they might fall off my wrists and I wonder if people would be grossed out by how much they look like splintered tree parts if they saw them but the thing is I don’t see anyone other than Julie anymore and her fingers might look even worse than mine and she prefers oil and I prefer grease and she prefers ducks and I prefer geese and she prefers trails and I prefer streets but honestly I don’t care about any of that I just want to go for a walk and meet new people and see new things like I used to back when life mattered to people other than you and me.

Dilettante Road

I’ve walked in more
than one pair of shoes.

I’ve changed my mind
on a number of things
in due time, in due time.

I’ve run in place like
a man on pace to...

Diner Verse

The thing about sweets
first thing in the morning
is they’ll never be as good
as you might possibly think.

DJ Jewel Man

I’ve got house music
blasting in this house.

This living situation
is temporary, I guess.

But also…

I don’t know when we
can walk the streets
like normal people
normally did back
when life was some
kind of normal thing.

But also…

What is normal?

And also…

I need another drink.

DNC: Desperation, Nausea, Convictions

Aw, shucks!

The fatigue is decimating
my every day; but hey,
I can’t complain—at least
I’m still getting paid.

Ah, I’m a schmuck!

I believed my donations
might do something
for progress, but people
don’t matter in politics.

Doctrine

How do you not
understand copy
and paste, as a
concept, my friend?

There is no need
to do extra work;
there is never any
need to do more.

Efficiency is key,
but so is accuracy;
take time, relax
your hands a bit.

Do not type what
has already been;
do not alter what
is up on the altar.

I will not proof the
previously proofed;
my word is my bond,
my blood is my word.

Documentation

Sometimes
it’s a scroll bar
on the side
of a screen.

Sometimes
it’s a white strip
on the bottom
of a great pic.

Sometimes
it’s the fact
that the image
just won’t fit.

Sometimes
it’s no big deal
but I’m somehow
still peeved.

Don’t Stress or Settle

If you look
at archives
or the insides
of closets
you might be
embarrassed
at mistakes
and misdeeds
but in this life
who are you
really trying
to please?

Doom Daze

I put salt in the wine,
not in the wound;
I put faults in my mind
to kill the mood.

Dosing Neuroses

Tiny spiders
the size of Moby
crawl along
my rib cage
across my abdomen

My chest constricts
like a snake
thicker than
an R&B dick

I cough when
I hear you
shriek words

I sniffle when
I think about mine

No pharmacy is enough

Draftsman with a Draft Beer

There are nuts
in my skull.

There are cuts
on my gums.

Where are you
when I’m cracked?

Where are you
when I’m slashed?

Dreaming, Midsommar, Night

I’d watch this Swede sing
karaoke in a basement or
a church, or wherever she
decided would quench her
lonely-hearted thirst. I’ve
never felt this happy, but
when I listen to her lament
what was and what could
be, I get sappy. Well, hey,
I guess this bar will suffice.
Basements are stuffy, so
are churches, and anyway,
they all have wine. What
else do you need to coat
your throat when the cold
has taken over your body,
especially in light of the
expected forecast tonight?

Drippy Drool

This tea tastes like fish,
and I can’t say I am sad
about the salt I believe
I am tasting right now.

I miss the ocean, I miss
the mountains, I miss
the desert, I miss my
friends, I miss my family.

I want to swim with
the sushi, I want to
give myself cramps,
I want to dehydrate.

But I’d prefer to do all
of these things with
the people I love most,
instead of in my head.

Dusty Stool, Rusty Fool

So I hear
you might be
coming back
to your senses.

I think I may have
lost all of mine.

I can’t see
the faults
in my steps.

I can’t feel
the love
of my love.

I used to be
able to smell
when I was
bleeding out.

But now I can’t
even taste defeat.

Drunk Poem

I am an aperitif android;
I am a digestif diuretic.

I drink and I drink
and I write and I
write some more.

I piss and I piss
and I write and I
write some more.

You are the reason I sleep;
you are why I’m still me.

E-motions

Sometimes
technology
makes you
feel stupid.

The irony is
technology
never feels
anything.

Early Retirement

Oil paint can spread
like peanut butter and
jelly on toasted wheat;
it can schmear like
cream cheese on an
everything bagel or
on anything else, really;
but hey, I am gluten-free
now—okay, who isn’t?

I am never going to
try to make my own
sourdough—don’t
count on it; don’t
have expectations,
either. We should
all expect less of
people—when have
they proven you
otherwise, huh?

As a poet, I can say
whatever I want; as
a retired painter, I can
discard canvases like
stale crackers that have
lounged in the fridge for
far longer than they ever
should have—the trash
is as good as a home,
if home is going to make
you expire; don’t die alone.

Earnest (Goes to Bed)

My lungs
are enough
to consume
your bloom.

I’m an A
on an inhaled scale;
you’re whole,
completely unpeeled.

I’ll taste your skin,
I’ll smell your scent.

I’ll do whatever
makes you content.

Earth-Moving Machine

To start, what starts a thing?

Oh, the music you make
is like concrete cum stains.

The tone and the tenor
are non-start beginners.

Your poetry is like the skin
of a slain dead lizard.

The forms and the format
are dreadful on the page.

No more; none left for the ring.

Ecosystem

Fires to the north,
fires to the south,
water to the east,
dry sky out west.

Elastic Fire

Okay, I’m trying
not to have a cow
right about now,
but my calf feels like
it might combust.

Explosions above;
eruptions below.

I know my body
better than anybody,
but every few months,
I feel like an alien—
even to myself.

Elephant in the Room

You can
go now.

Elginism

White men
have been

stealing since
long before the
18th Century.

I don’t know
who to blame,

but I do know
that Mr. Inside
was robbed,

and well, hell,
that’s a shame.

And the aches
and pains never
seem to go away.

Elysian Visions

11:11 is a magical time
for my magical wife.

Maybe 12 after 12
is my number to shelve.

It hit my eyes shortly before
a recently deceased squirrel
entered my semi-groggy sight line.

As the broken wolf on my wrist went
to lunge at the limp body chalked
on the temperate pavement,

I put plastic on my palm
and pulled it by the tail.

My analog digits were shaken
by the cruelty of this techno world.

Energy, Teacher

I embossed two chevrons
on the top of my head;
I always wanted to paint
like Kenneth Noland did;
but now that I’m older,
I’d rather sit in a shed;
“isolation is so peaceful”
is what I think Cady said.

Everybody Edits

Generation
after
generation
we all
make mistakes.

We revise
until
we die.

And then
comes
the posthumous
release
of our lives.

Extreme Sandwich

Society puts
the heavy shit
on the ends,
where there
should be bread,
and stuffs
the middle
with more
empty calories.

So it’s like:
revolt, rebel,
crave, starve,
rebel, revolt.

And then,
well, it’s like:
Eat the rich;
suck on this.

Everything Beige

I am so zen
in my new skins.

No hair shed
on my new skins.

It’s an unknown
comfort to be
cold while covered.

I feel the warmth
of a lover unlike
anything I’ve ever felt.

She’s taught me
to capture the earth
upon which we walk.

She’s taught me
that Earth is our
mother forever.

She is so zen
in her worn skins.

No hair shed
on her worn skins.

Exchange of Air

In my head
I ran from
Athens to
Portland

In my body
I walked from
Atwater to
Frogtown

Exclamatory Intro

Technically the prelude,
it’s a misplaced quote,
as per usual, you know?

Exponentially Ideal

Have you ever had
a gooseberry?

I cannot explain
a gooseberry,
or how it tastes,
but when I bought
my first pint,
I melted my face.

Remember
not to touch yours
now that it’s 2020.

You can’t look back
on mistakes you’ve made;
just keep looking forward
with aloe, alcohol, and
pragmatic sunglasses.

I’m allergic to beer
since at least last year,
and most other things
make me some kind of sick.

I can barely see my screen,
as I type these words for you.

Everything looks 3-D;
I mean, everything is 3-D;
I mean, everything looks 3-D
on my phone or computer screen.

These gooseberries look 3-D, too—
I can barely see them as I eat them.

I look up from the orange
and out to the greyscale
through the kitchen window.

It’s raining in LA these days,
and it’s like, “Is this something
I’m going to have to get used to?”

I play en plain air,
and my work
takes me to wherever
it wants me to flirt
with the dirt of the Earth.

It’s not easy being a poet,
but there’s no other way
I know how to go it.

For better or for worse,
life gets better (or worse)
as you get closer to death.

Extra Overtime

My breath
does not
determine
my death.

I’m actually
an actuary,
passively
passing out.

Facial Recognition

I drank
a bottle
of rose-
water &
thought
of exes &
friends I
used to
see more.

It’s clear
that we’re
not aware
of what we
can be, if we
want to be,
and maybe
that’s what’s
most, umm,
concerning?

Father Time

Is it so bad
to eat a sweet
potato for dinner?

How about
a handful or two
of dried mulberries?

I’m less hungry
now that I have
another mouth
I need to feed.

I’m more patient
despite what you
may or may not
already believe.

Fear of Contact

I burned my upper lip
on some hot grits.

I split my lower one
holding back words.

I need to go to the dentist—
he wears a hazmat suit now.

I need to hide in the ceiling—
we crawl in HVAC units now.

Fed Up

I am sick
of going
out the door

I am tired
of being

on the phone

I am sick
and tired

I need to be alone

Femme Fatale

The other Keith
told me he was
now going to go
by they/them,

and I must say
I could not be
happier for him—
shit, I mean them.

Fire Sign

I don’t want
excuses;
I just want
results.

First Aid, Second Response

It’s easy to ignore
the power of life
when everything
has the potential
to be such a bore.

But if you are willing
and able and patient
put a pen and a paper
on the table and write
out a list of demands.

And if you are still
unable to fasten
yourself to a plan
slowly walk away
and have a beer.

First Anniversary

A gaggle of assholes
stood by with their
hands in their pockets
or their arms crossed
like the religious white
and I watched decent
produce rot to its core
while a demented old
man welcomed my wife
to America in a Ventura
lot and not all that much
further up the bunk county
along the King’s Highway
light beer flows into the
sand and I picture flags
burning down to the dirt.

First World Problem

America is
Nothing but
Suffering

North
South
East
West

Stop
Thinking
We’re
The best

We eat shit
Like the rest
Of the world

Focal Numbness

I film my feet
as they drag
along city streets.

I zoom in on
my future life
as a family man.

All of my organs
absorb what my limbs
would like to grasp.

I toe the daily line
and tug nightly at
these familiar webs.

Forgive & Forget

As I have gotten older
I have learned
to forgive others
and myself
for that matter
and as a matter
of fact
I have forgotten
some things too.

Former Realm

I was a moth
in another life.

I cut the lights
with my pocket knife.

I was a goth
in another life.

I put the nights
in my rear-view mind.

For Your Information

I have nothing to disclaim
I have nothing to disclose

Four Dice

Vermilion is perhaps
the purest of oils.

Granules grow
unbeknownst to us.

And then one day
angles call attention.

Looking at reflections
we must ascertain.

Fuck It All

Late last week,
I scratched some disks,
I ditched some scabs,
I wasted time at the office,
I took some anticonvulsants,
and I slept in until Sunday.

I thought I lost all of my words,
but then I started writing these.

I thought I lost one of my friends,
but then I realized I let him go.

Game of Life

David Berman
is singing prose
in my bungalow—

I wish he had
hung on instead
of hanging himself.

Davis Bertans
is shooting threes
on my flat screen—

I think I might just
put this game on mute
and listen to the Jews.

Garbage Day

I’m in a 21st century dream,
plowing through memes
like a drunk garbage man
with his eyes on the prize.

Happy hour is only one hour
from right now, and right now,
I’m tired of walking and talking
and pissing and shitting and

the worst of it is an actual truck—
a garbage truck— smacked my
car like a turn-of-the-century
bitch; the trick is on me, right?

Generally Mustered

Question
all questions;
reply all to
each response.

You are beside me;
I am beside myself.

I am no longer the same
kind of masculine horse.

I see slippery beasts
sliding into the sea.

I say what I say,
I do what I do;
I am what I am;
who are you?

Generational Gap

After smoking a fat joint
on my creaky-ass deck,
I asked this prep-school intern
in a raspy mid-century voice:

“How do you graduate with honors
from these elite East Coast schools
and not have the patience to proofread?”

Kids these days don’t know the value
of homophones and homonyms…

Okay, I think I’ll go hug an em dash for comfort.

Get A Head Toe

I thought I had blood clots;
I thought about the have-nots.

Five and four and three...

My right shoulder is a sabotage;
My body is a wild collage.

Ghost Ride the Ambulance

It sounds like
turn-of-the-century
Kosovo outside
my Eastside cottage.

It smells like
Mercury rising
in the sky tonight,

and Saturn won’t
leave me alone—
fuck these fantasies.

I wish I could set
every Tesla on fire;
I wish I could film
the aluminum burn.

I will not sleep well
until cops no longer
haunt our dreams.

I will not eat well
until all citizens
are guaranteed
free healthcare.

Gitchy Googie

Dragging ass down
slippery streets
in Palm Springs
is a distant memory.

I want to sweat
my balls off
and sip on
margs in the sun.

Pink doors wedged
in white bricks
look like sick
minimalist paintings

made by the gayest
of all blades—
a palette for
a pirate to swipe.

Good Taste

Last night
my wife
told me
if she was
a stripper
her name
would be
Umami.

Golden Rule

No matter what you do
in your life, men, don’t
ever forget to put down
the goddamn toilet seat.

Gospel

I never understood Pringles;
I never liked chips, and even
if I did, I certainly imagine I
could stop once I popped.

However, once I pop open
a bottle of wine, well then,
the flow of the liquid must
match that of the feelings.

Don’t stop until you’ve had
your share of sentimental
regrets, and once you do,
make sure you sulk awhile.

It’s important to feel guilt
and shame, regardless of
if you’re religious, because
otherwise, you’ll stay cruel.

We are born righteous, we
are raised self-righteous,
and we must die with some
form or level of awareness.

Raise your glass, raise your
consciousness, and rise with
the sounds of the structure
in which you worship whatever.

Gower Gulch

I watched the West
of the past go broke
and burn like the rest
of this county, currently.

It wasn’t desirable, but
when ever were chaps in
reality? You can clap back
all you want, if you want.

Names get canceled on
cards and offline, too.

Games get played in
every field or room.

Gratitude

Thank Buddha
I found you
through the piles
of wooden legs,
stung by bees,
and transformed
into constantly
revolving doors.

Gravedigger

I was digging up a grave
in my head, and then
I was digging up another
in my bed, and then
I woke up to my wife,
and she said, “Stop it.”

Green Gills

When I was a student,
I drank Miller High Lifes.

The other students
drank Miller Lites.

Have you ever met anyone
who prefers Miller Genuine Draft?

I once worked for an ex-Mormon
who also used to be a DJ.

He also used to be the assistant
to a famous celebrity hair stylist.

He also used to sell cocaine
to the children of actors.

He also used to babysit
the grandchildren of actors.

He also used to be an accountant
before he was an art dealer.

Apparently, he is an accountant
once again—for a movie studio.

Anyway, this guy is the only guy
I’ve ever met who prefers MGD.

Grovel in the Hovel

Only the lonely
would understand
what it’s like
to have to crack
your vertebrae
vertically,
with your head
touching drop
ceiling panels.

It’s the freaking
weekend—
which day do I
rest again?

You know,
I heard
they say
it’s bad luck
to feel good.

Gullible Travels

A shopping mall
is a type of sadness
everyone can understand.

Walk around the food court
and hold hands with me
until we vomit dough.

When I was younger,
I thought I could be
happy and healthy.

I thought I could have
the kind of life
families I knew did.

But I’ve wandered
for miles and years.

I’ve seen the death of me,
clearly through the tears.

It’s getting tougher
to even stand still.

All my shoelaces
have frayed; still...

My disappointment is relative.

Guru Mediation

The bite was too tight;
it’s time for a timeout.

When you called me
an idiot, what did
you mean by that?

My intelligence cannot
be measured by a moment
in which I am distracted,
disgusted, or disengaged.

Sometimes I get angry,
but sometimes I have
to ask, “Why do we think
we must repress what
words or actions might
come to us, naturally?”

Don’t ever discredit
the brains that I cage
like a sacred animal
somewhere in the East.

When you called him
your property, did
you check his tags?

Hey, I’m meditating again—
it’s going well; well, it’s going.

Hard Drive, Harder Walk

Blisters on my toes from walking miles in the sun; speaking, I mean, listening to a tone-deaf woman; if I stopped paying attention, it’s just that I donated that part of my ear so I might not have to hear this type of garbage; there’s so much shit in the world these days; there’s too much shit in the world these days; if I forgot to save anything, well, I obviously didn’t think I needed to have it anymore.

Hard Labor

Tonight before bed, Julie asked me, “Hey, so when we’re at the hospital, can you, like, please not make casual conversation with the doctors and nurses and stuff? You know, like, ‘Where are you from? What are you into?’ Shit like that. Can you just not?”

Hard Sips

Today,
I ate two meals,
but I took
four shits.

Do you ever wonder
what’s wrong with you?

I do;
I mean,
I wonder
what’s wrong
with me
and with you.

It’s now 1:30 am,
and I’m drinking
another digestif.

Harsh Night at the Opera

The violence
of violins
can be subtle
or swelling.

Classical,
old-fashioned
olfactory
consumption:

I like to drink
bitter things;
I’d rather not
speak similarly.

Did you see
what I heard?
Did you feel
what I felt?

I’m going back
to L.A., baby;
I do believe
I’ve had enough!

Hate

is such a strong word
for a soft offense. You
cannot take back things
you say, even out of self-
preservation. The way
you speak to me makes
me want to go back to
my old-time reservation.
I’ll smoke my pipe and
make peace with myself.

Headgear

I wear caps outside;
she wears a crown inside.

Where is my mind
when I am searching
for the what and why?

A cap and crown to
keep up and get down.

Heavy Metal

My acupuncturist
told me today
that my heart
is too big
for my body.

He said
I feel things
more intensely
than most people.

He also said
I’m like metal.

Herbal Life

I drink nature from a sake cup;
the sushi is all stuffed soundly
into my roughened fingerprints.

I put my body on tumble dry;
my brain is soaking from
all the blood I have watched
drain from a flat screen to
a yoga mat—glory be to me.

After I worked out the wrongs,
I dabbed my face with a Q-tip
doused in hydrogen peroxide.

You might wonder why a guy
like me is bursting to bust
his own balls—I might wonder
the same about myself; but
the thing is, I’m just a guy.

Highland (AM/FM)

You thought
that was
a silver lining?

It was just
some white noise
I forgot to cut out.

High Contrast

A great poet
is always
a great artist.

But a great artist
is not always
a great poet.

High Times

Weeds grow
in the dark

It’s wet
in the park

After midnight
I feel more right

Homegrown

I listened to
the new old
Neil Young
album today.

It made me
miss alcohol
and cigarettes
and having fun.

It made me
feel old and
new but also
kind of young.

Horns in the Wind

I thought my anxiety
was getting better,
but then I looked
down at my elbow,
and the itch, it was
back in full effect.

I could scratch it
like a maniac, like
a man would, but
I am a poet, and
I have other itches
I’d like to scratch.

Hot Water Movie

A chance encounter
with a crazy rich Asian
led to a small list
of haughty intersectional
wind chimes blowing
smoke up their own asses.

Everyone has had it
up to here with Karens,
but what about
the emo millennial
over-sharer, who writes
Yelp reviews instead
of speaking directly
to the manager?

How Meta

Or rather,
something
we like to say
when we’re
being selfish.

I Do

it’s so easy
to regret things

you said
you did

it’s so easy
to forget things

you said
you did

do you believe
in shame

do you believe
in guilt

do you want
to be better

do you need
to be better

I do I do I do
I do I do I do

I Hate My Body

Depression can be both
the chicken and the egg.

Every week, I tell you,
it’s something new.

This afternoon,
my skin felt like it
was going to fall
off my bones.

Hey, last weekend—
my ankles and knees
were bowling balls
and my calves, pins.

The month prior,
my gut was a gas fire.

This is less of a poem
and more of a statement.

I Love L.A.

When I was growing up
on the East Coast, I was
expected to idolize Bob
Dylan. But now that I live
on the West Coast, I can
say with certainty that I
am a Randy Newman guy.

I Turned Away

There’s static hissing
from my new laptop.

It’s not the machine;
it’s nostalgia begging
to be released from
the digital speakers.

I am indifferent to purity;
I just want to eat my soup.

Ich Mit Ihm

Here I am, alone
in my dark kitchen,
drinking some herb
particles from clay.

I’m wondering why
the sands of time
won’t settle down
by now—it’s late.

I’m not alone;
I’m with him,
even when he
is sleeping in
the other room.

I’m going to take
these mochi legs
with me down to
Daytona Beach.

I’ve rarely seen
meat I’ve wanted
to greet, but wow—
these coated bones!

Ideas of March

Today, I got drunk and wrote 21 poems; ten more, and I'd be celebrated.

Identity Optional

I am more than a man;
skip to the cis rhythm.

It’s okay to be okay
with who you are,
even if that means
you are over the radar.

Please, don’t mind me—
I don’t expect anything.

I’ll Drink To That

Hard beats make me hyphy;
soft beets make me sad.

Off-gas the fabrics;
I’m about to be a dad.

Skunked beer is really bad;
skunked dog is way worse.

Tear gas makes me cry;
America is such a curse.

I Wish (Not To Sink)

Early this morning
I took a wild ride
On a wonky gondola

A philosopher threw
My finely tuned words
Into the filthy lagoon

He was young as fuck
And even dumber than
Rod McKuen’s fluff

I often try to simplify
Things for myself
Yet drama still ensues

I’m an old man.

Take a look at my life.

My skin is white,
my hair is black,
my brain is grey,
my gait is back.

I’m a lot like I’ll ever be.

Immaterial Existence

I felt pretty shitty tonight while I scrubbed the borrowed gentrification kitchen. First thing this morning, I got some dung flung at me by a hardcore nationalist fraud. Ever want to flush an entire man’s body down a toilet? Where would the head go? Would his limbs learn to float? Hey, did you know that ducks fly together? Did you know that when I scraped the stove a few hours ago, I soiled my pants by inadvertently getting some uncanny Clorox spatter here and there. How could you know? Trust me when I say it was a sad scene—I should have known better; I should have passed on the purchase, but supplies are limited these days, and people are taking what they can get. I’m lucky to be employed right now; in fact, I’m grateful to be alive. Why do I get so fixated on problem-solving? Why can’t I fuck up on purpose, or at least more easily accept failure? God, I hate the faux-idealism of tech. I hate power. Do I hate all gods? Here’s the thing: I’m only a part-time punk. I can’t find comfort in flagrant Fanta-colored abstract expressionism sprayed across my crotch. I tried to conceptualize my life as a carefree guy; lesson learned: Not gonna happen. I’m just going to be content with occasionally washing down a slice of fresh sourdough bread with an ice-cold Corona.

Industry 2.0

Peter Thiel drapes a towel
over Terry Bolea’s buttocks—
the crinkled skin shines bright
like the replaced headlights
of an old foreign sports car
in a boring enclave somewhere
not too far west of the 405.

But I don’t care about these sorts
of tawdry affairs, and to be fair,
neither should any sane person.

It was only five years ago when
rubbernecking could be a career;
now, I’m a real-life researcher.

Wow, how so many things change
while so many others often remain
no different than they once were—
half a decade can lead to the need
to find purpose, to seek searching;
I miss badaudes, I miss librarians.

Infinite Ink

Here’s the thing:
I’m fixing to getting

another tattoo
on my skin
for the sake
of letting you
know I’m into
getting stuck,

and I’ll stick with you
as long as you’ll allow it.

Inflammation

Don’t pluralize
my statement;
don’t patronize
my sentiment.

I will not stand
for your tone.

I will speak on
bended knee.

Cotton, nylon,
polyester drags.

Flags can burn like
joints and muscles.

Insomniac Act

My shoulders
have sunken
into the sofa.

My hips are
zipped into
the fabric.

My right foot
dangles above
the numb one.

My eyes feel
heavier than
a held Texan.

Intensive Care

Newborns are
optical illusions.

How can they be
such big characters
and yet so small
while sprawled out?

Newborns are
optimal allusions.

What could they be
referring to when their
tongues smack against
their toothless gums?

Internalized Revenue Servitude

Taxes are a pain
in all of our asses.

You think you are
one way, but then
you find out you
are another way.

The government
doesn’t know
the real you.

I don’t know
the real you,
either, I guess.

Do any of us know
who any of us are
in the end, after all,
if we think about it?

I’m tired of losing
money in my mind.

International Kardashian Blues

Slip on my Birkenstocks
Slide into the weekend

It’s paramount to stay chill
It’s tantamount to freeze out

The sun is so nostalgic

Shuffle my sandscape
Shimmy on boardwalks

I’m tuning out bad vibes
I’m turning into an adult

My son keeps me rising

iPoem

Sometimes
we forget
to include
a word or two.

Sometimes
it’s because
we’ve had one
too many drinks.

Sometimes
it’s because
a cyborg wants
to embarrass us.

But I’ve long been
over shame.

Yet I’m still curious
about faith.

And I wonder if
tech and gods
can ever coexist.

And I wander in
reality as fantasies
continues to persist.

Ironmonger

Hard-wired on an Americano
with two extra shots, I know my
true value to me and to you.

I am training to become the man
I always said I was going to be:
A poet with the mind of a woman
and the body of a beach bum.

I lift weights while I watch
the films of Fellini, Pasolini,
and Antonioni as Julie sleeps
in the bedroom with baby Imi.

The nights get younger
and the days get older:
Locked down and fed up.

Iso Mode Zone

So much for so long;
so long to so much.

Spit from a stranger
can put you in danger.

Properly articulate,
probably appreciate
the meaning of good
ventilation, my friends.

I am fearful of the future;
I am getting a haircut.

It’s Sunday, after all;
after all, it’s just a day.

It’s your God-given right…

You’re a real big guy
with a real small mind.

Take it up with
your own kind.

What if you maybe
moved to Montana?

Big skies for bigots!

In fact, what if you
started a new nation?

All of the other assholes
could live there, too.

You could call it
America—it’s fine!

Jackass

Don’t assume
I’m a Democrat
just because
I’m registered
as a Democrat.

Japanese Literary Review

“No matter if it is a poem or novel, I like something that tries to tell something impossible to express.”

Jimi’s Doodles

I’ll watch you draw
your own conclusions
as long as you’re willing.

My eyes hurt from
watching you melt
cheese on the stoves
of random strangers.

Guitar solos blaze
from stereo flames.

And, and, and…

My nose hurts from
sniffing your bullshit.

But what about the
other senses? I mean,
what do I feel, hear,
taste? What do I mean?

I mean, I want, I need
to be more than what
I smell or what I see.

July 4th, 2020

I find it rich how quickly people forget the dangers and disgraces of decades past. Reagan was an ex-actor; Cheney was a Bond villain; Daddy Bush was a hawk; Dubya was a fool. And Clinton—he was a weasel, swimming through the swamp scum. All these men pumped blood through the vessels that connect our evil empire. Yet, now all their supporters are drawing a line with Trump. After four years of atrocities exhibited worldwide, everyone on the spectrum from moderate to neocon is finally like, “Uhh, yeah, I guess this guy is pretty bad, huh?” Joe Biden will not save the day—he is mentally and physically incapable of doing so. He can barely save his leftovers. This is a complete shitshow; the direst of situations. George Conway’s statements mean nothing. What does he want? Does he want a pat on the back? He should divorce his wife. That’d actually send a message to the country. Otherwise, all of his posturing just reeks of a book deal or a CNN gig. Obama was not a perfect president, but he has been the only decent president of my lifetime.

July 16th, 2020

I’m sitting up in bed at 3:33 pm, drinking homemade watermelon juice, while listening to Young Marble Giants. I’m waiting for my mechanic to call me back. I’m wondering what it’d be like to have been born in Cardiff; I’m wondering what it’d be like to vacation in Cozumel. My baby is supposed to be born tomorrow: 7/17. That sounds like such a lovely birthday. I hope he comes on time. I hope my car is returned to me in time—our only car seat is in there.

Just a Moment (It Shall Pass)

I have a heightened sense
of everything these days.

My son smells like Tex-Mex;
I need to give him a bath.

My fun has been exorcised;
I need to go for a long walk.

I have nothing left to give
or take from this world.

Just Doing It (This and/or That)

“Are you tired?”

I spent too much time
shooting the shit
with this guy Nelson
earlier this morning.
I’m not sure where
he is from, or where
he is now, or what
he is like, but he
didn’t have much
to say other than
that he hoped that
I was victorious.

Some people run
circular marathons;
other people speak
in vague terms.

“Are you inspired?”

Killing Time (Rush More)

One hour wasted
on stiff machismo.

One hour wasted
on sour caffeine.

One hour wasted
on pious pizza.

One hour wasted
on cautious cotton.

One hour wasted
on conditioned air.

One hour wasted
on amplified Christ.

Kitchen Table Talk

How much fruit
is too much?

Is there such
a thing as
good going
bad, or is that
just, like, when

grapes go sour
and apples are
simply rotten
to the core?

I cut the side
of my left foot
with a cleaver.

Don’t worry about
me; don’t worry
about my feet.

Fish head soup
is good for the gut.

Is there such
a thing as
good going
on, or is that
just, like, when

Latin women
let words roll off
their tongues until
they melt on the floor?

I slipped on some hell,
I slid into some art,
I molded another poem.

Don’t worry about
me; don’t worry
about my poetry.

Kompromat

Raspberries and sardines
sounds like a bougie dish
you could find in Moscow.

I accidentally made it
when I let fish juice
spill on a plastic case.

My wife’s not Russian,
so she cleaned the fruit
as best as she could.

The soggy bottoms
got fed to our alpha dog
for his pre-breakfast.

Kosher

Is it Friday?

I bought a potato kugel
and some hamantaschen
for some loved ones today.

I thought I’d try to be as sweet
as the jelly filling and as filling
as the starch that steals meals.

We can walk around in circles
if that squares up with your plan
you’ve yet to unload on me.

We can talk whenever you want
for as long as you want if I can
finish my trivial tasks right now.

Is that kosher?

Late-Night Dinner Schmuck

I got some dirt
Under my thumb

I broke a chopstick
Washing dishes

Carts before horses
Carrots after potatoes

Brain farts for sources
Recipes are so dumb

Leap Year

I shortened my pants,
I scuffed my coat,
I watered the plants,
I kneaded the dough.

I’ve got resolve,
I’ve got resolve.

I’m not gonna eat shit
ever again.

I’m not gonna drink piss
ever again.

I’ve got resolve,
I’ve got resolve.

Floating through December
with papers in hand,
just trying to get to January
with a better plan.

I hope it’s a leap year;
thank God it’s a leap year.

Lesson

History is not always composed
of our stories, but our stories
can always make up history.

Let’s Go to Carpinteria

Listen to me clearly ma’am
I can’t help who I am

But I can change what I do
If you would like me to

Please just talk to me
Like I’m not a co-worker

Please just ride with me
I’d love for us to be surfers

Life Grips

Greasing the interior
of a dozen cloth covers,
I put my palm to my face,
only to see a coal mind.

What’s the point of gambling?

Is thirty-five past one’s prime?

I’m looking forward
to looking out
to look up.

Like a Song Title

turn a question
into a statement
with tone or lack
of punctuation

Lockdown

Here I am
stuck doing time
eating confinement meals
like a pregnant prisoner

Please
let me drift towards
the desert
so I can do push-ups
like a listless lizard

One two three four
I declare a fun war
we can die inside
or tour the outdoors
until there is no more
wasted anything

Lost in the Smog

I used to walk
on Wilshire
and glean things
from the glistening
of the neon nights.

I haven’t taken
strolls like those
in a few years.

It became too hard
to handle the soft
moments some folks
choose to destroy
with their bluster.

I am always surprised
to learn what others
are truly capable of…

Love in the Time of Coronavirus

hindsight is 2016

just one year ago
you could visit
any city you wanted

you could work
wherever you could
find a job or a task

you could swap
apartments

you could rent
a car of your liking

you could go on a date
with a boring intellectual

you could suck face
with a complete stranger

you could meet
melted minds
punching geese

in discarded parks
in forgotten parts
of the loveliest cities

cheers to next year

Love Songs

I write love songs
on my laptop.

They are a capella
at the moment.

Maybe I’ll sing them
for you sometime.

But for now, just know
they are about you.

Loyalty

If you don’t have it,
you will never have me.

Lunch Poem

It’s just a bit past
two o’clock on Tuesday:
did I lose a tooth,
or did I just lose you?

Phew! Neither…

okay, I think I’ll make
myself something to eat;

oh wait, you left me
a hard-boiled egg
and half an avocado—

you always think of me!

I’ll always think of you
nude, descending
a staircase, while
sipping on a La Croix.

Making My Porridge

Have you tried to actually get
to the point where the point
is more than just fine?

My head is like that
of a horse around
the circled mound;
hair, apparent to
one, abundant to
none; play boldly.

Did my shoes get smaller,
or did my feet get bigger?

How old do you have to be
in order to be considered old?

March On: Rad Dove - Broadcast Lunch - Pluralized Past

This morning,
I saw the spine
of my offspring.

This afternoon,
I imagined the poems
of a lesbian expat.

This evening,
I did curls in the den
while high on codeine.

Married with Child

I bought her wine
and listened to her
whine about how
I could be better.

I bought her cheese
and witnessed her
chin up about how
I could be better.

My lips are chapped;
the corners, cracked;
my hips are stiffened;
pants pockets, packed.

My nose is dried out,
the world is so lied out,
but I’m happy to be here
and nowhere but here.

May 1st

Today
is the greatest day
I’ve ever known.

It’s been
my favorite holiday
ever since I was a teenager.

I grew up
in a union town
and I am a working man.

My wife
was also born
on this sacred date.

She is
a working woman
and she’s paid her dues.

Meatballs in the Sun

Water rushes all over me
while I sit silent in the kitchen,
on hold with the long-distance
concierge service from hell.

Is that water, or is that lava?

Hey! It’s getting hot in here;
in fact, it’s way too hot for TV—
and I’d like to spill the reality;
I’d like to cancel the new Valley.

Trenton makes, the earth quakes.

Medicine

After the food,
after the booze,
I still need some
something to,

I don’t know, do
the thing I want
to have be done;
well, just because.

Meditation Man

I read My Vibe
until high tide

The salt rubbed
my wounds raw

But I felt comfort
in the word slaw

By around midnight
I needed peroxide

Mega Cults

All the president’s men
who proudly line borders
and intimidate softer souls
should commit mass suicide.

It’s the only reasonable ending
to the worst movie ever made.

Time was up for Hollywood;
time’s been up for Washington
for 230 years it would seem,
but who has the time to count?

Memorial Day Weekend (2020)

Are we all dying to live,
or are we living to die?

I can’t breathe lately,
and I wonder: Is it
anxiety, depression,
allergies, or the virus?

How can you tell
the difference
anymore, after all?

How can you tell
when things begin
and end, after all?

I’m waiting to exhale,
so I can groove again.

There’s nothing like
romance to cure
sadness—how about
dinner and a movie?

Men

A Burmese man
told me he doesn’t like
the name Myanmar.

I said, “Go on…”

He said, “Come on…”

A burned man
told me he doesn’t like
his ex-wife anymore.

I said, “Go on…”

He said, “Come on…”

Mercury, Everything, Temporary

Remember how
we thought it was
ridiculous
to go
in search of
stone fruit
under the summer sun
while walking around
Wyoming?

Well,
I just devoured
an apricot,
a nectarine,
and a handful
of cherries
that made me
change my mind.

My head
feels heavy,
my gut
feels full,
my ass
is chapped.

Metal Rat

It’s the Year of Corona,
but I’m not drinking to
the end up the world;

I’m drinking to the start
of a new life with my wife
and our golden rodent.

Microdose Me

Walk a personality
into a wall for kicks—

personally, that’s how
I’ve gotten this far
without getting sick.

Would you like to go to a bar,
or would you actually prefer
staring at the sky in a park?

Either way is one way
of going about going.

Mid-Atlantic Messenger

wiggle
while I
work

here at the
homestead
instead of
the studio

the poems
come and
they go

they leave
like women

I stay alive
like a roach

must find
a lighter

smoke
whatever
you can

in this world
that’s already
up in flames
oily by desire

I can smell
death at my
doorstep

Middle-Aged Poem

Too young
to come;
too old
to care.

Millennial Woes

Batshit crazy on the border
of adulthood and parenthood
is kind of where the country
is pushing everyone my age.

Mind Buffet

I hate ranch dressing—
anything creamy, really.

I hate Wyoming—
both Dakotas, too.

Some things aren’t worth
anything, and so they die.

Some places aren’t worth
placing; oh, what a time.

Mint Chip

I don’t fear
veneers, and
it’s okay to be
numb (now and
then). The world
makes us want
to be needed;
I just want to
be with you.

Misplaced Commas

Thank god
I kept my words
to myself
or at least to us.

I don’t know
what I would do
if they were
with anyone but you.

Missing Article (North America)

Add an a to an
uh another
uh another
uh another
and onto an eh.

Mixed Fruit

I went to the market
to say hi to the belle;
my local grocer said
she used to be into
cryptocurrency until
she broke up with her
cross-country partner.

I trusted her to pick
out some peaches
and plums, but they
were plenty pitiful.

They tasted like they
had been sitting out
on sand for, like, days;
no juice, all gossip.

I guess her Southern
charm caught me off
guard, but this fruit
is so far beyond bad.

It’s just a hump day
before the due date;
it’s just my wife wants
what my wife wants.

But we’ll get through
the sadness of this
lost summer—we’re as
sensi as the substance,
but harder than the core;
and hey, we’ll get on to
the sweetness, for sure.

Moments

Sometimes
I’m as solipsistic
as Streisand.

We all have our moments.

Some of us
are less septic
with our someones.

But we all have our moments.

Monday Night Fumbles

Standing in the Kalahari,
I dream of fried calamari.

My mouth is so dry;
my mind is so clear.

This house is on fire;
I’m funneling my fear.

Sitting across from spite,
I weigh maybe and might.

Moondance with Bedhead

I ate a couple of mints
from the lesbian dispensary,
then I pressed play
on the titanium keyboard.

The Belfast Cowboy
belted out his first words,
and Imi unleashed
his little leathery laughter.

And it stoned me like
the first time I got high;
and when I faced him,
I couldn’t help but cry.

Morton’s Script

Steak and eggs
and nerves and
pain; I am never
going to feeeeel
normalcy again.

Mount & Fix, Ate & Slept (Postmodern Posing)

Look, I’m looking!

The framing is off—
the walls go down-
ward to dog level—
the photo’s com-
ing into focus now—
I think I’ll spray-
paint my signature—
I think I’ll go swim-
ing up near Ventura—

I think I’ll think, I think!

Mourning

I feel bad
about last night.

Can I please
make it up to you?

Can I please
at least
make breakfast?

I feel bad
about everything;
I feel bad.

Mr. Ply Plays the Blues

A few years back,
I accidentally publicized
an acquaintance’s cocaine habit.

I honestly felt really bad about it.

I was in the second row
of a minivan on the mend.

Poor hunk of stuff was just
trying to get out of Dodge;
poor driver was just
trying to get in with his host—
he told me he was “in a drought.”

I think half the group
was fiending for gossip;
the other half just wanted
to go to sleep, I think.

Isn’t it ironic
that I was talking
so much about blow
to so many who
didn’t even know
this stretched nostril?

My left foot

has paper dividers
between the toes
and a few marbles
beneath them;
it feels as flat
as idiots believe
the earth to be;
it’s such a strange,
uncomfortable
sensation not to
be able to walk
like a normal man.

my own prison

it’s so tough
to place trust
in anyone

these days
or any year
before here

or anywhere
you might have
once mirrored

in time paid due
to me or you
while doing time

My Surprise

God, I swear
it’s colder
in California
on certain
weeknights
than any
other place
on this planet.

My Wild Life

Some things
will never change.

But that doesn’t
mean they have
to stay the same.

I’m always giving
my dad a hard time.

Jack Hanna
is always
on television.

I want to get some
tortillas for my wife.

I want to get some
horchata for me
and my two dogs.

Let’s lap it up
like desert water.

Let’s walk together
in the dust, in a pack,
and have a piss party.

Mystical Arithmetic (Give Me Life)

When I was thirteen,
I believed punk rock
was all that mattered;
now that I’m older,
I just want medicine.

At least in California,
there is good produce.

When I moved here
seven years ago,
I had no idea
how lucky I might
one day become.

Now, I sit in a kitchen
full of frogs and a queen.

The dogs are asleep
on a pull-out sofa,
and I am drinking
gluten-free beers
we bought from Bezos.

It’s the fucking apocalypse,
yet I’m somehow happy.

Nation-State

I’m tired of
the Floribama Shore
taking my money,
and blaming me
and my homies
for their problems.

I’m tired of Alaska
and Delaware
and Rhode Island
and Wyoming
getting the same
amount of senators
as California.

I’m tired of
pretending like
these states are,
or ever were,
united.

I’m tired of division;
I’m tired of imbalance.

Let’s just turn
this country
into a weird-ass
version of Europe,
because—
let’s face it—
that’s what it is
already.

I’ve had
an unrequited
love affair
with America
for most of my life;
I’ve wanted it to work,
more than it has,
but it just isn’t working.

The lack of respect
has simply become
too much to take.

Like with any
toxic relationship,
I think it’s time
to say goodbye.

Let’s break this thing off,
once and for all,
all my fellow Golden Girls.

Hawaii:
You can join us,
if you want.

Natural Poem, Natural World

Take the mummy route
up to the foggy mount.

Don’t breathe all the mall
scents coming from up
on high—god bless myself.

Watch the guys get rocky
while practicing Krav Maga;
yes, I’m talking to myself.

This flora just has no regard
for the fabric of a great poet,
a working-class poet, no less.

Of course no more, for well,
anyway, it doesn’t matter—
I’m a poet; I’m the admirer.

Take the clumsy route
back down to my doubts.

Natural Progression

She said,
“The bathroom smells like semen.”

I said,
“The bedroom smells like sex.”

She asked,
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with...?”

I interrupted,
“What comes before also comes next.”

Nature

Head in the clouds;
feet on the ground.

A look can be lewd;
a rook can be rude.

It is what it was at first;
earth is to be searched.

Nature Nurtures, Too

I was a gay man
in 1965.

I was a newborn
in 1985.

A couple of decades
makes all the difference

in how a poet eats,
writes, reads, and sleeps.

Neovision Vision

I think I’ll skin my back
like the mink you made
me out to be; please
be kind—I don’t want to
rewind all the scenes
we acted out. You were
always so good at acting
out of line, out of place.
And I cannot place
the things I left behind
or took with me—it was
a rush, it was winter.
We were both too focused
on winning; we could never
remember what was
for dinner. Now, all I want
to do is make word stews
for myself and read recipes
for the family I’ve found.
Or did they find me? That
could be a bumper sticker,
if I was the type of person
who liked to spend money
on stupid shit. But I don’t,
and that’s why I donated
all of my oil paints. I should
have set my paintings on
fire, too, but Baldessari
already did that last century,
and he died earlier this year.
Is it truly impossible to be
truly creative? Probably.

Never

When is the last time
you pressed some charcoal
onto a fresh newspaper
and outlined the contours
of our drab, droll lives?

Never Mind (This Body)

Indents
in lines

can make you
so indentured.

Serving the
servants

is such a thankless
sequence, after all.

Thank God
for Buddha;

I look forward to my
future life as a poet.

It likely won’t be much
different than this one.

New Message

I must have left
so many of you

waiting to be
saved or sent
away from me

for a moment
for a memory

but please guys
don’t think I have
forgotten to tend.

Newfound Fuck Revisited

Who’s the next Bob Dylan?

I remember being tired
of this being something
shortly after the first time
I realized it was a thing.

You can pontificate;
you can propagate.

But hey, I am as right now
as I was when I last spoke.

My poetry is political;
my politics are poetic.

I remember being tired
of this morning when I
first woke up and wrote
my first words down.

Who’s the next Keith J. Varadi?

New World Order

Tonight
I swallowed
a cherry seed
like Special Agent
Dale Cooper.

I washed it down
with Cynar
and watched
the ghosts
of basketball past.

Tomorrow
I’ll mute myself
on my morning walk
while power talks
about affiliate shit.

Nite Magician

You thought I had
died in my sleep;
it’s just I decided
not to breathe.

Non Sequitur

Since I don’t
follow your logic
let me pour you
another glass
and we can
switch subjects.

No God

There is no god—
how do I know?

Why else would
we have money?

A higher power
needs no wealth.

If there was a god,
we would love more.

There would be
no violent crimes.

We would all just die
at, like, the age of 100.

If there was a god,
god would party, too.

Smoking and drinking
would be good for you.

And last call would be
when the story ended.

No More Boring Art

The cables hung the wires
while I was getting boxed out.

Like Allen Iverson,
I just want to play.

I skipped all my payments
when I skipped town.

My days are my practice;
my words are my way.

No Tread / Off Trend

First things first:
I refuse
to continue
to be raped
by the withering
constitution
of dead men.

Contours in the sand
are realer than real, man.

Now, listen:
Are you willing
to forgive
the past deeds
and false reads
of said dead men
if we can look ahead?

Get with the future
if you need less regrets.

No Trespassing

Don’t go there
if you want
a normal return.

We can drive
back home
and forget shit.

We can enjoy
Lambrusco
and a big pie.

But please don’t
carry on for long
if you mustn’t.

Noon

It was noon
today
when I burned
my feet
like a pink-pawed dog.

I think I’ll go
take a bath now.

I think I’ll go
take a nap afterward.

I might not wake up
until tomorrow.

I might not wake up
until you do.

I probably will just
sleep in till noon.

Nor’easter

I took a flight out to Portland;
no, not the one you think.

The ferry up to Halifax
was quite cold this time
of year; goddamn!

I should have just driven
through Saint John;
there’s a ferry to St. John’s.

No, it’s okay; it’s fine;
it’s going to be fine.

When people say
they like to travel,
do they mean it?

When people travel,
do they like to do,
or do they prefer to pose?

Who is this John?
Maybe he knows?

North American Poet

What would life have been
if I had been born in Toronto?

The words might sound more like Vancouver.

What would life have been
if I had moved to Chicago?

The vibe might be more like San Francisco.

Nostalgic Negging

You wear flannel
to cover up
your insecurities,

and I wish I
was secure enough
to wear flannel.

Not Place

Horrible father
Terrible infant

My son is the master
I am the apprentice

Here in the kitchen
I am done fishing

Nobody wants toppings
If there is nothing to base

Good taste upon
In the evening

Notes for the Fall

It’s been getting
crispy out here
on the West Coast.

The grey skies
that apply
their murky washes
over the Hudson
will forever be
welcome in my mind.

I mean, I obviously
adore the vintage
expansive palette
of Southern California;
it’s just like, you know,
why can’t the sun
take the occasional
afternoon cat nap?

I’ve been listening
to all the books
I’ve read before
and drinking
caffeine from
pillow to pillow,
and I’m remembering
all of the energy
I used to have.

I miss walking
everywhere
with nowhere
in particular
as a destination.

November 7, 2020

When my tired-ass eyes
were tied to the transition,
my hands became idle;
coordination requires
concentration, and you
know, I mean, you know
this already, but all men
are fallible—women are
another story, one that I’d
rather allow them to tell.

Number One Special

I once had faith
in something
other than family.

For at least a decade,
there had been a void
in my life, in the world
that couldn’t be filled.

Then one May Day,
I took a new view
along the saintly sea.

And in my moment
of self-realization,
I painted the face
of a prophet in sand.

I lost my old sense
of independence,
but found salvation.

October Blues

I painted my one toenail black;
I ripped another one off.

I watched my newborn sneeze,
as he watched me cough.

My wife ignores me like she does;
my friends drink without me.

My life is more to me than prose,
but these days, all I do is read.

Oh, Boy

It wasn’t nice,
but I was right.

The day slept in
until it was night.

It feels just fine
to be alive;
now I’m dead
in my dreams.

I’m shaking
at my own wake.

I’m watching my son
drink to my name.

Oh, I

could barely keep
my eyes open as
you spewed your
skewed cynicism
ad nauseum and
then some more.

One Square Zero

Painting is so pregnant;
sculpture is for suckers.

I’ll take photos for proof;
first place for new editions.

Cool it now—is this the end?

Death to all art: World War, forever.

One, Two, One Too Many

Goddamn!

I miss the taste
of good beer!

Someone, please
give me a cigarette!

No, don’t—
I don’t want to die!

I’m a dad now!

Onion Fingers

I get so picky
sometimes.

My knife
gets so slippy
sometimes.

I can smell
the layers
in the stories.

I love sharing
more than most.

Oregon Donor

Blow smoke
on the slate
until it turns
clear as the
mirror that
reveals what
we’ve been
concealing.

Do you want
to climb high,
and get high
with me this
weekend or
what, huh?

Organic Parts

I was told I have
fire in my belly &
ice in my bones.

Maybe so;
maybe no.

I’m more concerned
about what’s floating
in my head & my heart.

Otherwise

I said my piece
twice in one time;
I made my peace
thrice, too—fine.

It is what it is;
is that not what
they say? Okay.

Otherwise, why
not just why?

Over/Under

More than
accuracy,
I desire
authenticity.

But fairness,
faithfulness,
and fortitude
get to the truth.

I’m so over you,
I’m so under used;
I’m so over youth,
I’m so under you.

Ownership

I haven’t owned
very many things
thus far in my life,
but one thing
I can say I own
is acknowledgment
of my mistakes.

Oy Vey!

Apparently,
supercomputers
don’t understand
Yiddish...

Paid for Money

I called a company a “who”
I called an asshole a “you”

No cop is a good cop
No job is the best job

P.I.T.A.

She is a steel trap;
I am a man of vices.

She says I dilly-dally;
I say I’m more patient

than she gives me
credit for, but still,
I’m not as patient
as she is, or ever

will be; but that’s fine,
I’m fine, it’s all just fine.

My ass hurts, so does
my head; I need sex.

(Pacific) Personification

Just one more thing:

I am the weight of the world;
I don’t weigh much.

Just like just so…

I ask so many questions;
I don’t need much.

Just give me the truth?

Pain Management

Pop that pimple
for satisfaction.

Rip that sticker
off your skin
for ecstatic action.

It’s a game anyway.

It’ll all feel better
in the morning glow.

It’ll all feel like show
if you practice the role
for just long enough.

Remember: It’s a game.

Pango Ate My Baby

metaphors for
a world on fire

a country in decline
and what’s more

is that I’m losing
my eyes and I’m
losing my mind

balls spin in reverse
on broken fingers

put me in a splint
put on some Slint

and let’s reminisce
over what life was like
prior it all went viral

Pango Stole My Lunch Money

I was planning on maybe
spending big this year
on supermarket sushi
and pureed vegetables
but you know the scales
were tipped and shattered
in Asia and elsewhere
and now I guess I’ll be
settling for fresh fruit
and vegetables and well
whatever else I can get
from farms in surrounding
counties and that’s more
than okay and actually
that’s more than I could
have imagined at all.

Papyrus

At least you’re not
comic, but then again,
you’re also not ironic.

You’re the type
that can’t save face;
your world is in flames.

Paradise Lost

John Milton
can fuck off.

But if I’m being honest,
I’d at least consider
debating over drinks
with that pretentious prick.

Milton Bradley &
Milton Friedman
can both
suck a dick.

Capitalism is hell,
& like Ohio says,
“Hell is real.”

Remember, remember
the days of November?

Donkeys, elephants &
every other animal
on this crooked ark
ought to sink for good.

The world is mainstream,
we’re all going downstream
& heaven is merely a dream.

Partner in Crime

Love me tender,
button my shirt;
pass me a beer,
tell me my worth.

Pathétique

We’ve got
a brownnose
among us.

We’ve got
a grown-up
puckering up.

Can you at least
take your face
out of that ass?

I can’t smell
this bullshit
one more day.

Patriotism

Have you ever
wanted to drive
your car into
a brick wall?

Well, hey, I have;
not on purpose,
though—I did it
while distressed.

When I speak to
certain types of
folks, I feel beaten
down like a pair of
Abercrombie jeans.

I don’t appreciate
their twisted labor;
I don’t want my joints
to hurt any more than
they already do now.

Penance in Reverse

Oh, God!

You have a lot
to say these days.

Oh, God!

I haven’t seen
you in years, I think.

Pen to Paper

How often do you
regret correspondence?

How often do you
feel bad about things
that don’t really matter?

On a scale of 1-10,
if it’s a lot, I think
we might get along.

Let’s try to keep
in touch, if at all possible.

Permanently Pressed

Did I shrink my clothes?

Did I shrink my brain?

I am numb to the world.

I feel it all the same.

Personal Accounting

The history of me
is equivalent to
the future of what?

Philly, Approximately

slide on sister
sister slide on

the gifted guitar
is in the gutter

we open our ears
on opioid avenues

some feed on
chicken hearts
with bad brains

some appeal to
the peeled loins
of backtrackers

backstab brother
brother backstab

this is no place
for the Swiss

this is a place
for opinions

Pilot / Light

God is your pilot;
I don’t know where you’re flying.

Good is the light;
I don’t know where the sun is shining.

Placeholder (Time Is Now)

A decimal was moved,
like a rock or a chock—
it was weighing things
down, down, down;

down by the river,
all the folksy types
feel decimated, per
their own sensibilities;

it’s 2020, you know,
and we know there
is no looking back;
just face the facts.

Platonic Boo (2020)

Everyone deserves
a ghost friend—
not a friend
that ghosts,
but rather,
a friendly ghost.

He could leave
fans or faucets
on after you
have left a room.

He could bring
you daydreams
served on silver-
lined platters.

He could transition
and become a she-
ghost, because
ghosts were once
people, too, and
gender is fluid for all.

Plumbed Mind

Toss a little twig
into the water basin,
and watch it float
if you can see it.

Sometimes skin
gets dented;
beware of brains
demented.

Everything is
on the surface;
everything is
so superficial.

My, how the moguls
go to the morgues
to revive their egos;
give me that id shit.

Plurality Rules

Shards of glass
reflect a spread ass
on an empty sidewalk
of a broken district.

We dump our problems
on strangers like strays
looking for newspapers
to use to wipe away today.

We clean our mouths
only in desperation,
and even then, maybe
freshness is flexible.

Bend and snap back
to the yesterdays
of youth when bushes
burned more easily.

Poem Person

I’ll stick to this:

I put my ideas
to paper, daily.

Sometimes
my words get
said aloud.

That said,
I’d like to
flesh them out
in the flesh.

Poet

is the greatest
occupation
in the world
because you
never have any
expectations
that anyone
will ever care
about anything
you say or do.

Poetry

Sometimes
I sit in disbelief.

What is any of this?

I look at the page,
I look at the screen,
I look at myself,
and I think to myself,

“What is any of this?”

Sometimes
I stand in disbelief.

Polishing

I wrote a dozen poems
in two hours today.

I ate half a dozen pierogies
and drank a six pack, too.

I read another novel by Jerzy,
I watched a show about Jersey,

and I thought back on college—
all the times I was just being there.

Pomegranate

You are harder
to figure out
than any woman
I’ve ever known.

Poor Kid

just needs a kiss
poured from
the pitcher of love

but love is only real
if you believe in it
like god and/or capitalism

and we all know that
faith isn’t cheap
but wealthy people are

Post-Bedtime Crunch

I’m feeling sharp
as a butter knife;
I’m feeling tense
from the grind.

I’m so toasted;
I’m flaring hard.

I’m so ghosted;
I’m bearing god.

After midnight,
I’m so parallel.

Just before sunrise,
I’m perpendicular.

Post-Dinner Pardon

A squirrelly drunkard
brought challah to the party.

We were grateful,
but he drank all of our drinks,
and we wanted to drink, too.

My friends asked,
“Who is he?”

He overheard
and interjected,
“Who are you?”

How confrontational,
how philosophical,
how sad to be sober.

So long,
and thanks for all the carbs!

Post-Hardcore

hard
and
fast
to
fast
and
loose

tie
my
neck
around
the
noose

Post-Needle Noodling

Put a sticker on my wrist
and push until you piss.

Put a sticker on my ankle
and push until I thank you.

Post-Studio Post

The ghost
came back
for a visit.

He poured
liquid gold;
I poured it
onto steel.

There is an
anchor tied
to my ankle.

I drag it along
wooden floors
as a reminder:
I’m still an artist.

Precisionism

It’s like this:
I will dismiss

anything
that goes

beyond what
must be some

thing and here
is the thing you

must believe:
I do not lie.

Prego

She belches like she just ate
her mom’s age in hot dogs.

But she has a rat juggling
oranges among her guts.

She heckles me like we’re
at an old theater and she’s
Bob Hope and I’m going to
somehow change my ways.

But there is no one I’d rather
want to be carrying my baby;
and there is no one I’d rather
live with until my body gives.

Preliminary Status Report

Too many prepositions,
too many propositions:
to go towards, to go to.

Pressure Drop 2.0

I want to go fishing,
as soon as I can
leave my white-
washed bungalow.

I want to post up,
drink piss beer,
and strike out,
like a royal bitch.

I want to audition
to be a weak Astro;
I want to shed tears
in slow-mo on camera.

It’s the best, if you
don’t know any better;
it’s better than ever,
if you live forever.

But here I am, with
a six pack in the trash,
and a red bottle waiting
to kiss my dried-out lips.

Last year, I swore to myself,
I’d be better than those elves
who tell stories on the shelves
where I keep my own novels.

Prolific Precarity

every day
the artist
wonders
how she
will eat

this keeps
her from
getting the
sleep she
so needs

yet ideas
come and
ideas go
and ideas
you know

PTSD POST

When I was in junior high,
school shootings became
a type of terror that would
crystallize into commonplace.

In high school,
our nation was attacked
for the first time since
before my grandparents
were even parents.

A few years later,
three drunk frat dudes
smashed my skull
against the pavement.

A few years after that,
I had my second
near-death experience
when I was flung from
a vehicle into a ravine.

I was never afraid to die,
but then I got married
and my wife got pregnant
and a virus swallowed Earth.

Now, I have daily mild panic attacks,
thinking I’m going to end up in the ground,
leaving Julie as a widowed single mother.

I’m not dramatic;
I’m not irrational.

I’m just growing into being a grown-up.

PullIng Guard

Impulse trigger?

Single digit
friend count.

Triple digit
like count.

Vice versa?

Quaalude Interlude

Reagan was a faucet,
and now the shit is
spewing; my son is
thumping like a bunny
bouncing at the clurb
on a Sunday—thank God
for the endless flow of
fucked-up fun we all
find ourselves fawning
over. But underneath
our shells of desire, we
rethink the wings that
keep us afloat—I try
to fly away; I aim to stay
somewhere close to
where I was raised, and
I take pride in why I am
who I have become, or
who I want to be one
day, someday. But hey,
the thing is…pills are
no longer safe, as if they
ever were, but don’t go
trying to tell me it’s okay
to drain three to five, like
an ancient Greek, flipping
powder like it’s meat. You
know, real substance; you
know, a treat—it doesn’t
matter; we actually are
what we eat, and I’m not
interested in consuming
any of your empty calories.

Qualified for Suicide (Squeeze Me)

Why is it that when you make an international phone call, customer service becomes customer torture? Why is it that when you ask a simple yes-or-no question, the person on the other end tries to morph one word into a string of sentences that amount to little more than nothing?

I mean, if you ask for a sandwich, you expect a sandwich—not a salad, and vice versa. If you ask for a prayer, you don’t expect a philosophy, and vice versa.

I know we don’t speak the same native language, but we are both trying to speak together, to each other. We are trying to communicate, to make a connection. No?

Why is this so hard? You are not a biblical figure, so stop dolng out proverbs. I am not giving a Ted Talk, so stop making me offer analogies. We are not in the Matrix, yet you’re making me want to take all of the pills.

I fucking hate you, whatever your name is...

Quarantine Me

I grew a mustache
to protest the world,
specifically America.

But I must also say
I love the world,
especially America.

QUAR-B-QUE

A boiled egg
on my tongue;
some flea bites
on my toes.

It’s hot in the city;
it’s even hotter
in the country.

Give me a beer,
bring me my baby;
I’m ready to dad.

Shrimp for stars,
salsa for stripes;
one nation under
ground out here.

Queen of Superlatives

she exists
in terms of
always and
never and
she always
wins never
mind the
situation

Raw Dog

“Smash technology,
then eat cold garbage.”

That’s the mantra
of my stepmutt.

I love him like a human;
I love how he looks after
my adopted dandy drooler.

I love how they melt pillows
mounted on sofas, and sleep
together like natural lovers.

Sometimes I can be a raw dog, too.

Razor’s Edge

Some days
I want to smoke a cigarette
like a pregnant woman
wants to eat a pork chop.

But I’m going to be a father
soon
and that seems like a bad idea.

Gosh
I hate the idea of meat
but when I smell certain meats
not pork chops
but other meats
I feel some sense of comfort
like it’s 1994
and I’m at a Shoney’s
wearing a brand-new t-shirt
that says
Arkansas National Champions
on the front.

Nolan Richardson
was such a good coach.

I wish more artists
of any kind
would take the risk
of going all in
on a full-court press.

What’s the point
of playing
if you’re not going
to go hard in the paint?

Real Cool

You think
you’re real.

You think
you’re cool.

And you
probably
are, but I
don’t care.

Real Talk (Word to Your Mother)

Every good mother
thinks their son
is a catch,
but the thing is,
most men are shit.

Reality Blanket

America is an amazing place;
it’s just had a pretty rough run
for the past 400 years. Damn.

Report

Aged the cheese
Burned the bread
Chipped a molar
Do not disturb me
Fuck tomorrow

Restless Neg Syndrome

Some people want to be
free of happiness; some
want happiness for free.

I can’t sleep until they all
stop using their delusions.

I guess I’ll wake up
when they go down.

I guess it goes around.

Am I dreaming or what?

Revised Eyes

I should have better
contained the clause;
I should have better
prepared the phrase.

I could have known
I would have shown
the lack of care for
the means and ways.

But really, actually,
I’m a tough editor;
it’s just, well, we all
have tougher days.

Rice Beer

Four down the hatch
It’s time for a dispatch
I’m going to be mired

I’m going to be tired
It’s time to get ironed
Onto bedroom sheets

Righting Written Wrongs

I’d love to have
a serious sit-down
with whoever
is responsible
for developing
autocorrect—

I mean, how can
I help you help us?

There is no sense
in your logic, folks.

Rising Sign Novice

Protocol says call;
I say I’m sorry—
can you ever forgive me?

I’m home alone;
that’s not true at all—
my wife just made me
herbal tea with CBD.

I’m sick as a god,
reading about
the Middle East.

My dog scratches
my skin like a lotto;
now I’ve got scars
like a tagged grotto.

Scratch-and-peels
come down the chutes—
bodies writ large, for sure.

It’s so simple to have
opinions from a distance;
you can make them count
in the binary resistance.

Rodentia

When I’m at a natural food store,
I often feel like talking to a manager.

“How does this gluten-free beer
contain 30g of carbohydrates?”

These are the types of questions
I have for these types of people.

I’m tired of all the rat-ass solutions
these fools draft on mood boards.

Just give me a Budweiser,
a slice of pizza, and silence.

Rolled Over

I lost most of my
guts when I lost
most of my youth.

Oatmeal
in the morning.

Oatmeal
in the evening.

I gained brains
when I gained
a body in bed.

Sabbath Honey Sabbath

Out of breath,
out of mind…

On to death,
on to life…

Sunday is break-
fast and wine…

Sunday is stead-
fast and fine…

Santa Barbara County

Let’s drive up the PCH
just to watch the world
slow down a few seconds.

Let’s drink Jun in July
and eat pistachios
until we feel high.

Santee

Cats will make you
regret many of your
daily decisions.

Go into an alley,
go into your closet;
you’ll find some bones.

Throw nickels, dimes,
pebbles, and stones
at whatever feels right.

By the time you know
you’re wrong, you’ll
at least be half-gone.

Saturday Morning Post

My wife is a patient woman. She is a strong woman.

Today, she asked me, “Will you please just let me poop in peace?”

I said, “Yes, I can do that. But soon, you will have a son.”

Scarlet Letters

A dear friend of mine
back in New Jersey
used to call women
broads.

I used to find it
somewhat endearing,
as did my girlfriend
at the time.

Now,
in the Age of Embarrassment,
I’m told my ex
scolds her Mormon husband
about past misdeeds—
how Catholic of her!

But in all seriousness,
the world could use more
people like her.

Anyhow,
I don’t know what
my old buddy
does with his life
these days;
I’m told he has a wife,
and he still
puts pizza
on top of pasta.

Anytime
I have an ice-cold
shitty beer,
I think of him
and all of my days
spent strolling along
college avenues.

Scholarship

When I stepped out
of the sport utility vehicle
that just won’t shut up
and stepped into
the ice-cold desert,
I felt like an ignored
ice cream cake, and hey,
that’s the thing—I hate
sweets, but boy, oh boy,
I love my baby boy!

I’ve learned so much
in only four months,
and I’ve got at least,
like, 500 to go, or
at least, I hope so!

And now, here I am—
in an open concrete den,
surrounded by coyotes,
yucca palms, feeling zen
beyond my 33 percent.

I’m drinking wine my wife
bought me this morning
from the Canary Islands;
have you been, my friend?

I’ve done some research,
and I say we go get drunk,
burn our skin, and forget
what we did or didn’t do
this past year, once it’s
calm enough to go there
or anywhere; no, really.

For now, though, I guess
I’ll just keep listening to
old Springsteen songs,
nostalgic for what I have
missed out on and what
we all very well can or will
continue to let slip through
our dried-out fingers—we’re
grasping; I mean, I’m grasping
for something new, something
I think I might want to feel good
enough about to write about.

{Scrolling Poem}

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Seasonal Poem

Intimacy isn’t simply
transmission, is it?

Finger a dead cactus
just to know you’re alive.

Lick the leftover summer
and squash the winter.

It gets hot in the garden;
it gets cold in the bedroom.

Self-Care

Drizzle a shadow
on the white board
of my bored life.

There is no way
to lay away
my daddy days.

Just let me watch
the Christmas games
like I’m back bubbling.

Self-Portrait as a Fountain

That wasn’t how
the tea ceremony
was supposed
to look or feel.

But then again,
what do I know
about traditions
and such things?

I’m way too high
for this bullshit.

My apologies for
whatever I said.

Sentimental Song

I’ll never forget
the first day
I spent with you.

We walked around
that fake lake
at least five times.

I surely would have
walked until after
dusk, if you wanted.

After the sun set,
I listened to Pharoah
for at least five hours.

By year’s end,
we’d be growing
a garden together.

Sex and Candy

Listen: The length of a rat’s tail
can exhibit just as much wisdom
as a lost haiku that has chosen
to wash up on any Pacific coast,

or it can prove to be as unruly
as the fools we left in yearbooks
and only remember at karaoke
bars, halfway through our songs.

Shaky, Still

Even the most careful
of men sometimes let
important details slip
like the piss that drip-
drips after an extra-
long night of drinking.

Shelter Island

Eating homemade trail mix
from a rental coffee mug
with a loaner tablespoon
is the way I now spend
my locked-down afternoons.

Where do the mornings go?

When do the evenings come?

I’m going to try to watch
every movie every cast member
of the television show “Friends”
has ever starred in, because,
well, I can’t see any of mine.

Short Film

It was raining like we were in the Cascades. But then the sun showed its presence like a fresh Japanese flag. I exited the fuel-efficient vehicle in retro sneakers, and I immediately split the middle part of my skin, like, right between the central Vulcan fingers on my right hand. A sharp, tall blade of grass grown locally in the empire also known as Glendale, California stabbed me. No fear; I (fucking) swear—my wife and I managed to cross the drawbridge shortly thereafter, and we got dairy-free frozen yogurt in a nearby village. The day really was okay, after all. Cue credits song.

Silky Snooze

My brain is
a wet fart.

My body is
a stiff plank.

My phone gives
a minor shake.

My limbs get
pulled apart.

Simplicity: How Charming

An aging Italian
tailor told me
I had the hips
of a homosexual
harbinger; I asked,
“Is that supposed
to be bad news?”

He seemed
uncomfortable
with my response.

I tolerate pain
better than
discomfort.

The bones
in my feet
feel like
the stones
on the street:
sore, incomplete.

I walk thousands of steps,
searching for signs of life.

Stress eats my sleep;
sleep shits on my weeks.

Maybe I need to replace
my colon with a semi-colon.

Skim the Waste

This aluminum can
smells like MSG;
most of New York City
smells like North Jersey—

you can only tell
the difference by
the type of train
you decide to take.

I have probably written
at least 10,000 poems
since I was old enough
to count achievements.

I have been drunk
enough to say what
I mean and think
and forget to edit.

An apple a day
doesn’t necessarily
push any of your
problems away.

Smart Phone

The concentration
is much too much.

I mean, well,
you know
what I mean.

The condensation
is much too much.

Smells Like Daisies

My middle-aged
Hispanic handyman
shockingly wears
the same fragrance
as a woman I dated
a dozen years ago.

Smile

I’ve never seen
as beautiful
of a smile
as the one
that my son
shines on me.

Someday Soon

In the future
everyone will be
pan or trans.

White people
will be scared
of shadows.

And Republicans
will only be known
in history books.

Sometimes (A Country Song)

Sometimes
you just need
a midnight snack
to make you feel
better about your
lips being cracked

Sometimes
you just want
a breakfast surprise
to remind you of
the photos that you
took with your mind

Sometimes
time is on
your side

Sometimes
time is just
well time

Sometimes
oh sometimes
oh sometimes

Song of Joy

My ribs want to exit
the prison in which
they dance and sleep.

They rest to push
and push to breathe;
I choke and cough
and cough and eat.

My ribs are covered
in piss and vinegar—
I am a free man now.

Souplantation

Can you believe
there is a restaurant
called this in California?

An ex of mine once
took me to one after
she picked me up
from the hospital.

I could barely move,
I could barely eat;
I’m kind of a geezer.

Did she think this
was the type of place
someone like me should
go spend my money?

Spacing

What’s the margin called
between being single
and being married?

I never fully understood
doubles tennis, but also,
I always had zero love.

There can be silver linings
in gold hardware; aisles are
just islands of commerce.

We don’t need to buy
whatever’s being sold;
we can just die, deserted.

Spell Checker

I wonder
how many times
I missed things
when I cared less.

I guess
I should let go
of my hatred
of typos
once my son
enters my life.

Spin the Handle

LA feels like
Vegas today

I’m drunk on heat
And high on pain

I bet I’ll feel way better
Once she forgives me

Look up at the sky
Smell the chemicals

Coming from the river
I need a glass of water

Follow the trail
To the punk bar

Hmm it’s still closed
We’re still at home

Grab the wheel man
Drive until you can’t

Spite of the Devil

I would donate my liver
to any decent person
in need of some vile bile

for just one more night
out on the backyard patio
of a bar on the wrong side

of the river that’s given
its waters to the bodies
of many of history’s men

I’d throw in my heart
and both of my lungs
for just one last pack

Camel Marlboro Parliament
I don’t give a shit what brand
we smoke as long as we smoke

Spiteful Storage

Come home
to cardboard.

Get drunk
to go onward.

It’s nothing,
after all.

And after all,
you’re nothing.

Standard Time Standards

A spoonful
of peanuts
at midnight
might be
the only way
to get to sleep.

Was that a
thick truth
serum, or just
one-third of
a sandwich?

I’m hungrier
than a warden
at a hospital—
give me mine.

State of Being

Maybe I’ll become
a migraine man.

Maybe I’ll become
the type of guy
who wears tie-dye
and drives a van.

Perhaps a person
might actually mean
to say duck or ducking.

Perhaps a person
might want to go fish
on a slippery rock
and issue a clarion call
for a handful of shrooms.

Status Report: Incomplete

Do people still like
to have fun?

Maybe it’s just me,
but does it feel like,
well, they don’t?

I love my city
to the max,
but the hope
and idealism
seems to have
disappeared
like a magician
in his smoke—
I mean smog.

When did you all
get so goddamn
cynical, huh?

Maybe I’m just
in a heavy mood?

Steady Diet

Ain’t no sugar
water or corny
triangles in my
days I promise
you that okay?

Sticky Caps

Back in the late ‘90s,
I thought I could give
the meaning of romance
to anyone who asked.

I’d stay up past midnight,
talking about future plans
with girls whose names
I can barely recall now.

It’s so wild, the ways
in which we train
ourselves to believe
we understand mysteries.

I am for sure locked
in my new home—
for how long, I have
no idea, but I’m stuck.

Plagued memories
are stitched in white
on my blackened brow,
with a crumpled bill below.

Straight Up

I remember
getting called
a faggot for
crossing my legs
while sitting
when I was in
the seventh grade.

I got so tired of it
that I started sitting
like a country boy.

But that only lasted for
about a month or two,
and then I was back to
sitting like a faggot.

Now my legs are
what get tired,
but it’s hard work
to write these poems
and also deal with
the poorly spun
narratives of men.

Strange Year for a Census

If you live long enough to still love,
I bet you won’t be laughing about
this holiday season’s statistics.

Studio 666

In this bloated
cottage industry
most lick the rich
while I sip on digestifs
in the cobwebbed corners
with my pirate friends.

Stubborn Engine

She never stops
She never stops
She never stops
She always starts

Summer Lessons

I’m learning
that for some
perfectionism
is like a delicacy;
people like it
in small doses.

I’m learning
that I can be
a real pain
in the ass.

But I’m trying on
grace and humility.

I’ll let you know
how they fit me
once we can
see each other.

Survival Routines

Rubbing alcohol on my phone to keep my lungs cleaner than the streets of Singapore. Running circles in my mind so I don’t lose it on the side of the road. I am a vessel full of vessels; I must keep flowing, I must keep going.

Talking About My Generation

Why are so many
of us millennials

such safe-ass
motherfuckers,

standing in line

to suck from
the teats of mostly-
drained udders?

Telephone Bitch

I need to pace myself
on poems and prose
and booze and snooze.

I can’t contain myself,
but maybe I ought to
restrain myself (a bit).

I can’t sleep, I won’t
sleep; I can’t see when
I’m so deep in language.

I write with red crayons
like a disco marauder
obsessed with semantics.

I feel bad about some
of the things I’ve said
and done, but I’m done

saying things to those
who have stretched
their skin so thin that

they need to slip me
pink notes through
infinite phone chords.

Temple Song

oh good
you’re here
oh god
you’re near

it’s nothing
like what
you once
would sing

a high note
for lovers
a low note
for losers

oh good
you’re going
oh god
you’re gone

Temporary Housing

I got lint on all my shit
God this damn apartment
Is like the lowest of pits
Like hell in a Balkan sermon

In a month we’ll be safer
Or at least sounding sound
To the masses of two or so
Praise be to me and my ego

Get me out of my head
I’m so out of my mind
I’m so ready for a beer
I’m so ready for summer

That’s Life!

Things change:
environments,
circumstances,
et cetera, and
thus, people do,
along with their
relationships, too.

Dynamics shift;
play your part,
eat some shit.

I’m not negative;
I don’t cast blame,
but I have been
casting iron lately.

So many cravings
in these recent weeks.

Must remain self-aware,
must maintain self-care.

I’m making progress
with my therapist;
I’m making progress
with myself, also.

I wish I could see
my friends, though.

I’m piling anxieties
in a foreign room
like a green sailor.

We all have flaws;
some of us tend
to break laws;
some of us tend
to stretch jaws.

I talk and talk
and go on and on,
but I’m listening
now more than ever.

Talk back to me—
this road is currently
under construction.

My hometown
is crumbling;
my adopted one
is struggling.

Oh, to experience
the lows
of sudden death
and the highs
of new life!

I miss the fun
I used to have,
but I’m grateful
for what
I now am able
to clutch.

You know…

Older, wiser
people have tried
to warn me—
they’ve tried
to prepare me.

They told me
this was going to happen:
you age,
you have less time
for yourself
and your interests,
your circle of friends shrinks,
you lose people along the way.

People move away,
change careers,
go through breakups,
and they eventually die.

Things change,
and I’m coping
as best as I can.

That’s My Bag

Don’t touch it

You don’t need
To know what
I’m holding

I’ll be folding
If you ask
Me again

You’re so extra

Totally
What’s up

Totally
I’m down

The Gamble

to get
or
to have

too nice
or
too sad

to bet
or
to hold

too wise
or
too old

The Long Goodnight

If I could be as cool
as Elliott Gould,
well then, okay!

But you know,
Elliott ruined
his own career—
knowingly,
even willingly!

At the height
of his career,
he was as tall
as I am now!

How about that?

So listen, I don’t
want any trouble,
and I don’t want
any regrets; I just
want to feel alright
about being right.

I’m okay with you;
I’m okay like you.

So long,
and goodnight,
for now
or forever;
I don’t know
much about time;
I don’t know why.

Theodicy

In the year 2020,
we are all Job

The Old Man, The Sea

Julie likes to say
I’m an old man
Despite my age

I eat lots of prunes
I count my steps
I sleep few hours

But when I do
It’s usually on
A heating pad

I live halfway
Between fire
And water

I want to hike
I want to swim
But I must sit

And wait for years
To be reeled in
Like a holy mackerel

The Sound of Sadness

Listen: I don’t just drink
digestifs after dinner;
I drink them whenever
I read the news, too.

The Surrendering of Hope

Over time
I have learned
to accept
that people
enter and exit
our lives
more fluidly than
we might expect
for whatever reason
and that’s okay.

The World Is on to Me

Life has forever
stamped me out.

I’ve got dust in my eyes,
bruises on my thighs,
and bumps on both sides
of my West Coast-
weathered face.

Where is the space
where I can find my place?

What is this world
when it comes swirling
down the tub in a bloody rush?

I look out my bathroom window,
I see a star crossing the sky,
and I have to wonder why
the words of the wise
no longer have their glow.

Maybe Earth has spun
too far out of control?

Maybe the globe is simply
a theater of uneven art
to get lost in the mail?

I’ll keep writing;
come and find me.

Therapy

I missed my meeting,
I miss my friends.

I’ve got the best friend—
who else do I need?

But, for real,
I can be a burden;
and, for that,
I guess I’ve been burned.

My apologies,
all apologies.

Thus, the sorrow
has been sowed.

Thirsty Prick

I don’t know where
the bug on my slug
came from, but I’m
a professional thug
now, more or less;

and I guess, this guy
is saying he’s got no
mind to pay, no bucks
either; aww, shucks,
I’m flush and drunk.

Three-Dimensional Poetry

Physical objects
are cumbersome—
they drag you down.

Words are fluid;
they can mutate.

Language is so complicated;
conversations are like osmosis.

Poets can transform
anything they want

into whatever they want,
whenever they want,
however they want.

Times Square Times

Fuck Lin-Manuel Miranda.

I moved out of New York
almost one decade ago.

Something I’ve learned:
I’m more human
than the Blue Men.

A small request of mine:
Stomp out the Mormons;
I’ve had enough religion
to last me one-third my life.

Tired Wheelbarrow

I’m half-asleep,
hungover from anxiety.

I am listening
to the new
Fiona Apple album,
while Julie is
squeezing fresh juice
from navel oranges.

It’s not about love,
but I am in love.

And at least
once a day,
I say something
to my son
through the button
on her belly.

Tonight, tonight:
I will read him this poem.

Topography

I’ve got red dots on my chest,
some pale bumps on my back,
peaks and valleys on my face,
and I’m walking kind of funny.

Torpid, Oh, Torpid

I can barely stand;
I am hardly a man.

I can fear me? Damn!
I am bearing me, man.

I suck on eggs
in the morning.

I swallow prunes
in the evening.

It’s a cotton shack
I live in these days.

It’s cut on slack
I give myself, okay?

Tracking

So many sources saying the same things. So many horses betting on themselves. I guess I’ll put down five on nine, from now until five. I don’t mean to be redundant, but pour us another round while you’re at it?

Treasure Island (The Currency of Self-Worth)

I should dig up
the tombs and
edit the mistakes

of my life
sometime

I should proof
my words in real-
time sometime

but then there
would be no
evidence

of who I was
before now

and now I ask
myself who
will I become?

Treasured Air, Troubled Grounds

Fuck your format,
fake your death.

I’m quitting
this casino.

Want to make a bet?

Give me liberty,
give me his head.

I’m splitting
my earnings.

Reshuffle the deck.

Trees in the Wind

I am high
I am mine

Smoke on the streets
Fire in the mountains

It all shakes out
It all comes down

I guess to whether or not
You love what you’ve got

Are you high?
Are you mine?

Trouble, Man

You can wear
a crucifix
around your neck.

You can wear
a swastika
on your chest.

The former doesn’t make
you better than me.

But the latter makes
you worse, that’s for sure.

Trying to Buy Normalcy

The windows are closing
Browsing is limited
Money is nothing
And tricks are not free

Unorthodox

I drank a bottle of Riesling
like I’m about to drive
a minivan off the road.

Now, I’m collecting recipes
for kugel and rugelach,
since I’m on house arrest.

Goddamn! I’m so Hasidic
on the weekends; weeks,
they never end these days.

Okay, sure—I’ll have a glass
of Fernet! I’m sort of hopeful
tonight will wash down today.

And maybe tomorrow, we can
go on a search for ingredients;
I want to learn to eat my fears.

Vast Deference

I’ve got an itchy breast;
my pinky has been snagged
again;
there is crust in my eyes;
I can’t see
the ground beneath
my feet;
I can relate to you,
but empathy isn’t equivalency;
the deference
is vast.

Vegas Love

My eye
is a golf ball.

My heart
is a club.

A spade
is a space.

And you
are my queen.

Vice Grip

To start:
My head is
a black hole.

I don’t think
about origins
as much as
I consider how
much plots
can develop—

like how construction
just doesn’t function
properly in America—

everything is still
far too imperial,
despite colonies
no longer being
very profitable.

Funny how
things can happen;
funny how
comedy is relative;
funny how
relativity is subjective.

Sadly, in many parts
of this crazy country,
people legit don’t know
the difference between
Bahrain and Bangladesh.

How do you measure
ignorance and empathy
in the metric system?

Wants & Needs

I dreamt of Vienna
and what could have been
while I was borderline drunk
on house Italian wine.

It’s wild what Europe does
to a good boy like me.

I’d do anything to be
able to hop on a plane now.

I’m dreaming of all
the scents of Cologne
and all the other senses
the Old World tickles.

Waste Management

I ate half a block
of cheese for dinner
and I woke up feeling
like I had just worked
the graveyard shift
with a dozen rats.

Waterboarding Your Loved Ones

I’ve got fine wine flowing
and a fine wife rolling
her eyes, but what’s new?

Elegant items made of wood
crack and mold throughout
our sauna-like kitchen space.

Some days, it’s Scandinavia;
other days, it’s Southeast Asia;
every day, it’s a noble idea.

It’s ideal to love your family
and for them to love you back;
it’s also okay to know when

to force-feed some bullshit
and when to eat it yourself.
Most importantly, you must

always have a glass of water
for the toxic waste and a bottle
of beer for the residual fear.

Wet Microphone (on a Limb)

I do not know
my own shape.

I do not know
my own size.

My arms feel so
long in the shower.

My legs feel so
short in my shorts.

I do not wear
shorts often.

I must return
to the shower.

What I Do Now

Late at night,
I imagine myself
as the driver for
a famous mobster.

Maybe I’d live
somewhere like
Buffalo or Tampa.

I could still be a poet;
Buffalo has poetics,
and Tampa has crud.

Nothing really happens
until the sun passes out
like a lightweight drunk.

Nothing ever happens
until the moon flashes
you like a girl gone wild.

I think I could be
an above-average
accessory to crimes
committed in a bubble.

What is a provost?

Seek a safe space
for yourself, friend.

Not the kind on campus;
the kind in the real world.

You’re going to need
to speak your mind.

You’re going to need
to save your body.

Who Art Thou?

Some like to make art
Some like to see art
Some like to take art
Some like to be art

WHO IS KEITH J. VARADI?

THIS PITTSBURGH-BORN
POET LIVED & DRANK IN
LOS ANGELES, WRITING
ABOUT THE ANXIETIES &
DEPRESSION OF AMERICA
WHILE RESEARCHING
THE WORLD FOR MONEY

wicker basket

put the persimmon
in my palm turn to
the left and right
the wrong then lie
down the truth but
only when i say you
can stay and at that
point you can swear
you will remain here
if and only if you can
agree to commitment
and then and only then
we can split the fruit

Willing God in the Golden State

Oh, Lord! Jesus Christ…

Let those buckets keep
falling off your roof;
we’ll take the water
whatever way we can.

Oh, you haven’t heard?

There’s been a drought
in perhaps the prettiest
land you supposedly
created at some point.

At some point, might
you help some of us?

You’re a lot more selfish
than I was led to believe.

Window Shopping

Literally
is the most overused word
in the English language.

Right now,
my wife is literally
shopping for windows.

I can see
infinite limbs spreading
through brand-new glass.

In the future,
I will purchase more
experiences for loved ones.

Wizard

I am afraid
of the rage
I am capable
of conjuring.

Word Life

“What are you going to do about the way the world wrenches your gut every day when you wake up?”

“I’m going to read the news and take a shit.”

“Word, life.”

Writing a Letter on a Ladder

Calling from the Catskills
Answering from the Adirondacks

I’ve got poetry on my mind
I’ve got beer in my blood

I miss you like a brother
I’ll mention like one idea

Raising mattresses for our kin
Belching memories for ourselves

Yerba Mate

I heard another
mondegreen
this morning

I poured another
cup of tea
this morning

It’s gonna be
a long afternoon

It’s always
a long afternoon

Then the night comes
and the lights go
and then you know
what your body’s worth

You Rascal

I have always
wanted you to
win your race,
at your pace.

You pose in
mirrors for far
too long, man;
the flex is a hex.

Sadness, for some,
is more like a disease.

Madness, for many,
is nothing to overcome.

Stay with me, down on Earth.

You, Sluts

Don’t talk to me
about sluts.

That word
is unacceptable
in public anymore,
and I don’t know
what it even means
at this point.

Jesus, don’t
talk to me at all.

Zen Men / Engine Joke

We all have problems;
even Buddhists
can be problematic—
who’d have thought?!

I’m on my third glass
of Pinot Noir,
and I’m feeling sorry
for myself, wondering
how I could have
done things differently.

By things, I mean life—
how could I have
done life differently?

But then, when I look
at my wife, I wonder
why I would ever think
such a dumb-ass thought.

I’m about to jump
headfirst
into the deep end
of fatherhood—
what a rad fad,
am I right?

The best part
is being a dad
will always be
in fashion.

Anyway,
this wine
is as smooth
as a native cycle
on a country road.

Where are you,
my friends,
and why can’t you
ride with me tonight?

Zone Therapy

I miss the smells
of Asian massage
parlors, in particular.

The detergent scent
is so distinct, and
the oils are so waxy,
in a way that nobody
who ever uses such
a dumb phrase as
“wax poetic” could
ever be—a real poet
would never dare be
that flimsy on cue.

I feel sad washing
my clothes after
getting a rubdown.