You want to beat us
over our heads with your crosses
You want us living in garbage
You want us to give ourselves to gods
named consumerism
named money
and fame
and celebrity.

You want us to ignore
history and
buy
buy
buy
into your
debt ceiling, your tired excuses,
we are to sing your siren's song
and tie our own nooses.

today is ****** monday
there's one knocking on
my front door
he is scribbled and bleeding
from his forearms,
he carries a pigeon on a leash
and gets high on hotrod drivers' eyes.
i'll give him two pints of hillbilly sugar
and a book of voodoo pictures,
but he insists upon my daughter
and at least 3 lines of coke.
instead i hand him a corn on the cob
and the number of the girl scout troop up the road,
he asks me for one more moose head and although
i'm almost out, the sun is still yellow
so i pour him a double brandy
because
today is ****** monday
there's one
driving naked down
a one way street

*******.
why don't more people read and respond
to my poetry?
am i doing something wrong?
am i not good enough?
am i fake,
do i miss it more times than i hit?

this thing feels so real to me
and maybe
a select group of other peers--
but am i just greedy?
i read other poets on this site,
and let's be honest,
some of them are ****.

but i like
some others
and i try to engourage
these talented few

but when some fourteen year old has 257 fans
and she's not a REAL poet
that ****** me off

i know
'everyone has something to say'
but some of it's not relevant
or even coherent

and 'one man's trash is another man's treasure'
is a ******* gimmick if i've ever heard one

and i don't ******* understand that.

i know i shouldn't be looking
for anyone elses' approval,
i should just write
whatever the ****
comes into my head,
but maybe i'm a selfish *******
and the viewership of other poets
really means something to me

you all know
what this feels like,
i'm sure

i just signed in
and i have 168 'notifications'
AND NOT ONE OF THEM IS FOR MY OWN WORK.

am i needy?
am i feeling unworthy
of my own 34 fans?
do i feel misunderstood?

seriously?
sometimes i feel
like
joining this site
was a sick joke
on the part of my consciousness
sometimes i feel
like an amputee in
a three-legged race.





(you'd think that i could find solace
in real friends that are interested in poetry,
but those people don't exist for me)

a high school football game.
the field is ablaze with juicy roses
and doves.
the athletes suddenly drop thier pencils,
their coughing hands made of melting wax.
all the trombones are falling apart, and
the flute players are losing their *******
under the bleachers, throwing away secrets.
heartbeats cracking broomsticks, the nuns
were always hitchhikers with resounding
gag reflexes.
i sail forward, snatching the time bomb
from the quarterback, snuffing out
a pall mall on his right eyelid.
the dead angel is summoned to slay
the horrible hippopotamus. she is ancient.
she has a mouth full of cavities and peace
in her veins.
the truth is a piercing thing, whose bitter tongue will decay me.

i cast off pure light in the cellar
i steal kisses and pray
with my tongue sticking out
ask me for a paper favor
& i'll send you a geranium poem
molded in the shape of
a silver swan swooning
i am the sandman's pupil
fighting an epileptic fit
& growling at the governor
i gave my love a cherry
she tells me how it tasted
i gave my love a chicken
now let's start a revolution