my windows are covered
so the cardinal will feed her
chicks tonight; and not fly,
head first, into a blind
meeting with death.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
it is strange that I find you here
unpopulated
w/o a bottle of ***** and orange
juice in backpack
w/o a ukulele in hand with which
I would sing about
drinking alone and my
******* roommates.
with the moon close
to the fretboard
and the electric lit windows
of the residence halls
like constellations
closer.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
the rain receded before
the sun crept her hands up
to the yielding skirt of ice and
snow on the ground.
I could put my boots on,
go outside,
crank music and
oscillate wildly
to distorted synths.
it’ll drive the neighbor men
crazy. coax a shotgun
warning. better yet, I’ll grind
my *** on their windows,
pressing my cheeks to the glass
taking their eyes off those
50 inch tvs. they’ll lumber out
wide-eyed and open-mouthed
at the pale peach outside
and its inebriated rhythm.
we will turn this arabesque
of morning into an open air
dance club, complete with
mixed drinks and molly.
ours is a sad cul
de sac if only the trees
are allowed to oscillate
wildly. it’s not a place
for nanoloops.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
legislature. no
music to it. another
endless distraction.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
I am 24
this is new for me.
I can't hang
it around my neck
like a silver
star of david.
it doesn't follow me
around like
a tame rhinoceros.
I am 24
and I don't know
what to do with it.
why don't you
take my 24.
if there's a penny
in your pocket
you'll have
a quarter and
there's nothing
you can't do
with a quarter.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
another nail driven into the bad news coffin
another nail driven by our hands -
inconsequential as it may be
the rusty patched bumble bee has been marked for
endangerment. and though Rusty Patched
stretches his wings over vermont
way and though I've never seen a vermont
sunrise I know that it does. and I know
it's the same as carolina's. and I've
never met a person from vermont in
person, but I know that they like
flowers, blueberries, tomatoes
and that Rusty is a good friend of
theirs because of that. planting his
pollinating pixie stick into receptive pistil
and flowers flowering, blueberries
blueing on bush, tomatoes tip
toeing to life on the vine
thank Rusty. and vermont, Bernie
Sanders and all, thank Rusty with
a new spot on the great pesticide
death list. whose bright idea was it
to grow our food with ******
I think I missed that city council
meeting.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
**** poetry when I could be in a bed
with you no unfuck poetry
because how else could I enumerate
your tidal wave hair rising and crashing
under the light of my moonbeam fingers?
**** tv when I could be at tate street
coffee on saturday morning livid
with jazz hopped up on the best **** cup of coffee in greensboro sharing bass notes with a caricature of iggy pop and you.
no unfuck tv because that's the way we spend our tuesdays giggling
up in high definition with a freshly packed bowl and your head on
my belly tired as tires pushing 85 on 85 for 85000 miles but netflix leads to chill leads to naked leads
to my tongue to your belly's favorite cavity leads to ** ly **** hallelujah! if anything **** god and
the devil **** yin and closed fist yang **** bodhisatva **** dharma and the other things i dont know **** the big bang because the
universe we **** into creation is a rainbow balloon
bursting candy confetti compared to the one we leave when I, all hands and ribcage, am allowed to share your bed.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
and this morning, like most,
found you sprawled
out taking 3/4s of the
bed again. don’t get the wrong
idea, I am not complaining.
I’ll take a sliver at your side
over mountains of blankets,
pillows, alarm clocks and
emptiness. you can tell
my jealous mattress I prefer
to sleep on your floor
because 7 AM sunlight
will never look as good
as it does stretching over
your bare ******* shoulders,
belly. I lie with a thin
sheet between my knees
tucked between your
legs and a curtained window.
I think about kissing you
but I’ll wait until the
jade buried under your
eyelids come to
meet the morning on
it’s own terms. until
then…
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
before the bubonic plague, men would
choose their surname on their career path.
this is where we get our smiths, hunters,
etc. why'd this fall out of fashion? I'm
still waiting to meet a Jonathan Chronic-
Masturbater or a Bill Potfarmer. I guess
that last one would fall under Farmer,
but you get what I mean.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
after earning their first grammy, Eddie
Vedder stood with the other guys
in
Pearl Jam and said "I don't know what
this means or what I'm doing here."
how
do we put a grade on art? do we find
our
favorite poem and give it a smiley
face
sticker with an accolade like "good
goin!"?
do we single out a Mattisse sculpture,
give
it a round of applause and an Applebee's
gift card?
I don't have a grade for the
things
I love. that takes the fun out of loving
them.
I'll listen to your song. I'll play it
again.
I won't give it any stars but I'll give
it
all my attention.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC