Thank God I'm not the idiot I was in high school.
Thank God I'm not the idiot I was freshman year of college.
Thank God I'm not the idiot I was yesterday.
Tomorrow, I will
thank God I'm not the idiot that I am today.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
WE CONSIDER THEM VERMIN--
these visitors
to the rotting corpses of our loved ones.
But what if
they’re only there to say
hello?
And when’s the last time you paid them a visit,
anyway?
Well let me tell you something:
the maggots and
worms
know where we're going.
Billions of years, billions of ancestors,
busily moving
through their lives in
isolated
blips--
They’re just data now.
And did John the Amoeba, feeding on sunlight, ever think
that somewhere down the line
his great-something-grandson
would be a poet?
A doctor?
A teacher?
A football player?
Did he ever think that his great-something-grandson would
sit in his room
and listen to
the Mountain Goats?
To be honest, probably not.
Grandpa’s a stranger.
He got sick when you were young, but you
could never
remember
the name of the disease.
But it all came down to the fact that he never recognized his own grandchild—
he was an ancient basket case whom you loved
because
that’s what
you were told
to do.
You were 13 when he died,
and his passing gave you an excuse
to be sad,
which worked out pretty well because
sadness
was the most stylish emotion
at Marblehead Charter
in 2007.
Grandpa won’t be there on your wedding day.
He’ll be with the vermin,
saying hello.
But you won’t mind—
you still love him anyway.
Because one day
you'll be in his place
and your grandson will be getting married
and you won’t be there,
but he'll still love you anyway.
And somewhere down the line,
you’ll be someone’s—something’s—John the Amoeba.
And you know you would be proud.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
I drove to Judah's Funhouse Orchard
to pick my own apples
and build my own lavender dishes,
but I put my new friends in a -famous- basket.
Oh, how it overtook me with its windswept stories!
It told me of a fat, shiny snake,
but we were drunk,
and the only person at the party whom I cared about gave me a slinky smile
and told me to leave.
So I left with a hurricane in all of my pockets,
and I played darts with the basket's forgotten, fairy-dusted nephew.
Illuminated by a single lightbulb in a concrete cavern beneath my mother's kitchen,
I learned to give up my apples
and forget my lavender dishes,
because my crudely-woven drunken comrade
is now a shining sober picture
of my sordid, henpecked past.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
I imagine you to be a nightmare lizard poet
I imagine this constantly, and with all my brainpower
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
I have waltzed
with sunset ease
into your broken dressers.
I have juggled
like schoolyard doctrines
with guts forgotten.
For every shepherd, there is a butcher.
For every artist, there is a garbageman.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Deep-fried success!
Dinky potatoes
and little Schwarzenegger
on a hornswoggled bun,
oh yes--
How they soothe my lubes,
breathe my bubbles,
and skip *** straight to breakfast.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
I haven't the energy anymore.
The pangs of gentle zest tricked me out of my boxers,
and left my only brain,
grinding against tight denim.
Without a calling card,
the mulch fell down like French Rain.
We were buried in its
turbid gyrations.
The sky was bright, but we could not see it.
Like a lemon,
Like a waffle,
Like a sack of potatoes,
I unhinged my door and
challenged my reality with a rotting submarine.
Now my eardrums are all of a sudden flooded with the lingering noise of
every curse I've ever heard,
but I find myself only mildly offended.
Checkmate!
Touchdown!
Presto!
You sunk my battleship!
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Oh, ******* it, lust
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
With providence, I spin
the turbid gears of a certain Olivia Robson. I hear
the whispers of a secret automobile. I
wreck those around me.
I wreck them all, Paul.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
I ate a conquistador
I ate a holiday
I ate an afterthought
I ate a bagel
Gosh, what a breakfast it's been
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC