lets go to a club, pleaded dan. no thanks,
i resisted. not my thing. but please, it'll be a good time, he insisted
and anyway you're lonely, i know.
no im not, i told him, but i was, so,
while my pal talked up a pretty gal, i waited
for him to finish, sipping a bit at my drink
and soon enough, i'm loaded. my self esteem's eroded
within the first few minutes
and by the end, when their flirting's spent,
is entirely diminished. no luck? he came back
and asked, as though he ******* cared -
i felt the world folding in on itself
like an hunchback, or a lawnchair. i rose,
to punch him in the nose.
hey, what the ****? he said,
but he didn't even stumble.
then he bashed my head against
the wall and watched me crumble
to the floor, no more, no more, no more
"but what the **** man," he said, again
I'm lonely, i said, i'm lonely, dan
i'm lonely and in need.
he pulls me up by my shirt:
"no, you're just fat
and full of alcohol
and greed."

at first I was hurt
for a long time, for
many years, i disappeared
into myself because i knew
that he was right. and when i go
one day, swiftly into the light
i **** a ****** up in heaven
(as it turns out
there aren't 72
there are 77.)

i eat some dirt for nutrients
but some worms crawl into my mouth
their guts erupt like mount vesuvius
they're in my throat now, get them out!

but then i choke, and soon i'll croak,
the worms spread through my sinuses
and all because i was too broke
to buy some ******* vitamins.

When my brother forces me to eat his vegan snacks
i look beyond this mortal plane and through its
hidden cracks; i close my eyes and am a king
in some far off land, sycophants sing a symphony
for me, for me, for ME! "-and it's gluten-free,"
says my brother, and i am snapped out of my reverie.

i made a hole inside my head, a ceaseless pit for enemies
a place for me to put them mentally, because i can't
afford to dig a whole hole in my backyard, 500 meters deep;
i am a ******* poet, man, and ****, big pits ain't cheap.

You need, indeed, a man, or steed,
a stallion of the purest breed, of course -
You need a muscled, manly horse -
A thoroughbred will do so nicely.
So here’s what I suggest you do:
Give up. Horses are quite pricey,
and clearly men don’t like you.

-Wisdom William

empathy's a skill to ****
as quickly as
you can
watch folks' heads fall
off their necks in
the fissures of
the net.

if you want no tears, no fear,
you first must become numb
some folk will cry, 'insensitive!'
but some folk are ******* dumb.

(in order for your life to start
cut the cord from your heart
to the net and fall apart.)

last night, i met a *****.
a pretty one, in heels.
it is clear, furthermore,
that she has no regard
for the hearts she plunders,
or the lonesome souls she steals.
she fell asunder like a split tree
struck lucky by thunder
and unlucky by me.

that girl is so lovely,
though she doesn't show it;
that girl, she made love to me,
though she doesn't know it.

what the hell is this 'oof' ****?
i want to bond with my son,
but i still don't know what a 'boof' is.

my son is vindictive; is 'fort-night' addictive?
****'s sake, i feel like a ******!

you're yappy
as a drooling
sack of dogs
and as happy
as a vietnam
bombing.
you're ******
as downtown
new orleans
pretentious
as banksy
unlikeable
as amy schumer
worn and round
as a linkin
park CD
and yet
you're lovely as
a dumb *****
could be.

children fill their lonely nights with conjured monsters,
mothers fill their lonely nights with men;
me, i fill my lonely nights with winding words of whining,
finding solace in my fertile, pacing pen.

me and the old lady
in our cabin, chillin
livin off the grid
livin off solar panels
and psychedelic drugs
roastin meat and
makin sweet love.

knock knock knock.

i turn to her in disbelief;
we live in the woods
south of nowhere
in a **** cabin
who could that be?

she huffs, shrugs
the knocking
intensifies
so i go
naked
to open it
(we're nudists)

it's a grizzly
ahhhh!
i freeze

but he's wearing
a suit, cradling
a briefcase
in his paws
what
the ****

he asks me
if i'm interested
in being mauled
i ask him
how can you talk
you're a bear right
and then he mauls us

and then i wake up
and it's just me,
my bed,
and my beloved
*****.

you said on facebook you hate cops
so i put a pig's head in your bed.
the deputy said, before i killed him dead:
"i have a wife,
i have a wife!"
with a sigh,
i grinned, replied,
a glimmer in
impassive eyes:
"so will i,"
and then i took the *******'s life;
swung my axe until he died.

anyway,
you wanna get married?
nah?

fall has fled and taken you along.
it hasn't snowed in florida for
far longer than i've known you
but sleet coats your car windows,
slicks your winding streets
and sticks to your tongue
like i once did. all fall's fault, it is,
that we have fallen in and out,
that our worlds have frozen over.

god is not a man in robes,
god is not at beck and call;
god is not your telephone.

god is i, me, you, and all,
god is everyone you meet;
god is winter, summer, fall,

god is snowfall, blizzard, sleet,
god is love and war and famine,
god is scorching desert heat.

god is in your fish, your salmon,
god is the meat between your teeth;
god is in the sea he swam in.

i lay stargazing
silent as the absent sun
gravity grounds me
like the touch of my woman
like the very thought of her

fear of failure is my mistress, who lives
only to control me. she lives solely
in my thoughts, in the corners of my
dreams, and wears a mole under her
watchful, painted eye. i love her, but
she’s no good for me, and anyway, she
makes love to every lonely man she meets.

pushing eighty, planting daisies, life has
rung you like a towel. once before,
your heart would beat for men and the fear of
dying alone. now that you are doing
so, it’s not as bad as you’d supposed.

you marvel that you are alive, you think
sometimes that you have died, for you
are pale and peaceful as a corpse.
you pat the mulch and cut the weeds and give
back to life what it unduly takes.

a lil ol man in shorts; hell yeah. he rocks
back and forth, sittin in his rockin chair.
the moon’s unmoving, the man is grooving
to the tune of stars and shooting
aliens with his arms (which are guns);
pow, kablammo, ow, kablammo, pow pow.

frogs are jumping, buns are *******,
men are wanting, grunting, hunting.

dogs are yapping, cats are napping,
men are fapping, snacking, lacking.

snails are leaving trails behind
while men are killing off mankind.

"We can do anything we like as long as it is
UNIMPORTANT. But in all IMPORTANT matters the system
tends increasingly to regulate our behavior."

Here, simply, is our delusion:
progression of society
is no idealist illusion.
Surrendering our dignity,
we traded our autonomy
for the same ****** technology
that leads us to singularity.
We could **** the scientists,
and burn the bots before they breathe,
bomb the books; desist, resist!
We offer up no real solutions
So all we ever do is seethe
craving counter-revolution,
so I guess it's up to me
to end Hawking singlehandedly
in the great name of Kaczynski,
the only logical solution
as far as opened eyes can see.

steady the vicissitudes of existence
with whatever variety of vices!
distract from facts and deaths and doubts.
run to ****; away from crisis;
walk the path of least resistance,
until your feet are giving out!

“That good for nothing Gary
hurled Princess off the balcony -
I don't know why we married!
(It was because of money.)

Sure, she kept him up at night
but God, she was a dog!
All right, so what, she liked to bite?
She was a little dog.

But we agreed it's time to part
and ended on good terms.
Now, Mister Assassin,
let's make that milksop burn."

“Mrs. Darlene, I must decline.
I’m a lawyer; that's a crime.”

i want to be cremated
and remembered fondly
and though unmarried, buried
in a wedding gown.
and, please, a veil
to conceal the pale
tragedy of my sinking face.

i can be found
crawling around,

pitifully, painstakingly
picking **** from the carpet,

thinking
of you,

of quitting
my job,

of calling
you up,

of calling
in sick,

of beating
my ****,

but i never
do.

is to be a fleeting,
flea-ridden faithful servant,
content and ignorant of injustice.

it is to die like a blade of grass:
ignorantly
and without much regret.

you are not a fisherman
but if you can imagine it,
the sea will swim towards
you with open arms,
singing, shifting, spitting salt
into your opened eyes.

The best people
are just the least bad people.

You can touch my body,
but never me.

The reality is:
I spend all my time avoiding it.

the captain
of the S.S. box
steers her ship
into murky waters.
here comes a fish;
she eats it.

value people’s time
break people's clocks

ask for forgiveness
not for permission

recognize your emotions
******* again

fur crusting over with blood,
entrails pouring from a gap
in its gut, the cat laid supine
with an indiscernable
emotion frozen on its face.
georgia watched from behind us,
crossing-uncrossing her arms.
Is he dead yet, are you done?
i thought so, but prodded it
to be sure. some blood seeped out;
it lay still as the surrounding air.
Gentler with the knife, she said.
i responded, Why’s it matter,
it’s dead, you know? and stabbed it.
‘*** you’re gonna make me cry!
No use crying over it,
i said; she cried for a while.

"If i was killed in prison, that would be a blessing right now."
-Jeffery Dahmer

november twenty eighth, he prayed
to god, to mom, to sun and shade,
gave thanks to all the boys he ate;
november twenty eighth, he laid
and thought till his last ***** breath:
"well, this has been my life, i guess,"
as scarver beat him blissfully
into his deliquescing death.

he thought of all the things he did
while down came scarver's metal bar
(and not because he'd killed those kids,
but '*** his pranks had gone too far).
the guards went home that night and slept
while someone, somewhere, soundly wept.

burning baby
bodies; bathing
books. surfing
crackhouse couches;
catching *****,
getting guns
and gonorrhea.

we used to be "in love".
you yank accusations
out your *** like tampons.

i throw jack daniels:
bottles at your head,
and up on the ride home.

my lawyer flirts with me.
*******, *******, *******,
we're having an affair.

i asked my mom what's death
what's *** and **** and debt
she boiled me an egg,
said not to worry yet.

if your dad tells you 'get your grades up, son'
beat that nerd to death with his own copy
of moby ****;
what a square.

if your dog's breathing sounds like a vacuum
and strangers look at him with pained remorse,
give him more food,
go ahead,

but if you want to play the clarinet
to your hungry heart's content,
well dear, no one
WANTS TO HEAR IT

routine as morning rooster's call,
death stares us down unblinkingly,
with the faint sting of alcohol.

without much willingness to brawl,
virility, agility,
or much of anything at all,

how could we be bound by thrall?
how far goes durability?
where has it gone, our wherewithal?

forgetful trees lose leaves in fall -
our lovers leave consistently,
routine as morning rooster's call.

dear me, where to begin?
a chasm appeared in my backyard;
a cavernous crevasse, ******* in surrounding squirrels.
the grass around turned brown and marred
and our oaks fell to the underworld.
by force of fussy gravity, my heavy wife was hurled
into this ceaseless cavity, junk food for earth unfurled.
i gasped - alas! - my gal won't even get a hearse,
and curse that cursed concavity,
but perhaps i made it worse.
what should i do?

-desperate in detroit


dear desperate,

thank you for writing in.
that hole (inside your heart) must hurt.
heed my sage advice, good man:
fill that big guy up with dirt.

-wisdom william

good
morning
eggs
frying

milk
*****
babies
crying

drool
*****
m­ommy's
dying

silk & saffron cylinders basking in the still light
thoughtlessly as a blue jay bathes in his bird bath
as a brave baby bites for his mother's bare breast
as i watch you from a house across, you stretch awake
your rib cage glimpses the light for a moment and
dissolves, disappears.

i knew i was unseeable first when i was five
watching my mother undress for him and then him and then him
and then again when i was fourteen when my eyes
were white as snow against the unlit room
but still my sister didn't-couldn't see me staring.

i'm a ghost, woman,
and I need to **** something
to make me live again

you make me feel like a sidewalk worm;
a toenail clipping; a new york rat.
you make no sense at all;
you make bad lasagna;
you make bad decisions;
you maybe thought we had something great going
but sometimes great things end:
blockbuster, britpop, the TV show Friends.

happy birthday,
by the way.
call me back
when you get this.

I saw her picking out a cantaloupe
inspecting squeezing considering
thinking it'll go bad
before she can eat it
but still throwing it in her cart.
I followed her to the register and
watched her pick a pack of gum.

I wanted to ask her name
in my dream that night it was Elizabeth
we danced in a country-western bar
though I’ve never been to one before
so my dream-brain conjured it wrong,
empty and smelling inexplicably
of oven-baked cookies.

we were salsa dancing to techno,
and everyone but us were bears,
but the point of it wasn’t accuracy;
a dream is no documentary.
we’d stopped to catch our breath and she’d looked at me,
opened her mouth to say something,
reached her hand towards mine and
I’d barely,
briefly
felt the cool of her fingers on the back of my hand
before I woke up
in a much darker place.

pavlov kicks his snarling dogs,
stomps their greedy, hungry paws!

mendel needs his daily greens,
so he eats his ******* peas!

around around around we go;
we would prefer not to know.

we've been living off
stale corn chips
dust particles
and termites

the tower of pisa
stacked beside ma's bed
she won't put them in the sink
let alone wash them

i know she's up all night
'*** i'm up all night also
twisting and turning
and stephen colbert

inside: me,
standing on a stranger's pool table,
swaying to trap music like a ballad,
but humming an AC/DC song
to the cheers of
my fellow drunkards.

outside: men,
fighting in the pool
punching, splashing
smiling while grunting.
blood from a burly one’s lip
mixing with chlorine. I think
I spot a tooth floating around in there,
but it could be a trick of the light.

was a child when 9/11 happened
and i didn't care at all

was an idiot in school,
and a happy genius in the safety of solitude

was a ******* when i sold cigarettes to children,
so over-******-priced

was flipping off my teachers
and my father sometimes

i'm not like that anymore
i try to love people now

My dad's old friends came round to our apartment sometimes,
would come round for some beer
and a guilty look at my mother’s ***.

Today, as usual, she let them track mud through our little house, cackling like hyenas
and pretending to admire the art on our walls.
She let 'em do it but then we all went out on the porch and they started to tell me, as mama looked on with pursed, painted lips,
bout the time my daddy’d -
well i never ever did find out what my daddy'd done
*** that's when she slammed down the case of beer
on the patio table.

All three of them paused to look at her.
It was like she’d turned them all off, with a button that she kept hidden in her *****.
for a second they realized how sad she must've been,
they realized he probably shot himself right upstairs
and then they looked at me
like I was a dead little boy
wearing my daddy's eyes.

I missed their merry smiles and table slaps punctuating each joke
wiping the sweat off their foreheads with their wrists and
leaning back in their chairs, flicking their lighters against their cigarettes and
savoring mouthfuls of chewing gum and dip,
'*** now they were still.

“Now don’t go tellin’ tales to John,” she said, and doled out a few drip-cold beers to shut them up.

They washed the stories down with her drink and just forgot about it,
or more likely,
they'd started thinking about that button
burrowed between my mother’s *******.

silk & saffron cylinders basking in the still light
as thoughtlessly as a blue jay bathes in his bird bath
as a brave baby bites his mother's breast
as i watch you from a house across, you stretch silently awake
your rib cage glimpses the light for a moment, looking like
marks of fingerprints
but then they dissolve, disappear back into your brackish depths.

i knew i was unseeable first when i was five
watching my mother undress for him and then him and then him
and then again when i was fourteen when my eyes
were wide and white as snow against the unlit room
but still my sister couldn't see me staring.

who you wonder
is leaving love letters in the mail, envelope licked like its glue was being
tasted?
who, you wonder, is throwing rocks into your house of glass and
why?
why? i'm a ghost, woman,
and I need to **** something in you
to make me live again.

my head emptied
as though bathwater down a drain, and i became simpler:
than the children kicking and screaming and skinning their knees on mulch,
than the cars coming and going and crashing and catching dead bugs in their killer windshields.

suddenly, ripples were spreading gently through the sky
like it was a body of water, being stirred to life by the clouds
like they were the fluffy fingers of a kid poking at his fish bowl,
and i started wondering what a sky even was
and if it could be the ground
if i sought to somehow stand on it.

i sat in the grass, plucked out its longest blades
like i was a brush tearing hair from the scalp of the earth,
started weaving little green bracelets, like I'd done as a boy,
and i did it until the sun had started to go down,
unable to connect the sky’s slow setting
to a passing of time.

"i'm awful."
you say it like a plead,
like you're begging me
to disagree.
"i don't think
anyone's awful,
not even
lee harvey oswald,
dude was just
ill"
is not the answer
you wanted,
you're crying.
"you think i'm like
lee harvey oswald?"
what
no