they say you'll never forget
where you were on 9/11
i was nine
i sat in the kitchen
and watched the television
play out the violence hour after hour
my child-like mind conflated the Two Towers
in Tolkien's literary fantasy
with these acts of misanthropy  
and i was taught at the dinner table
that very evening
that all of life could be reduced
to capital letters defining a
cosmic struggle of Good vs. Evil

and yet
regardless of their affiliation
on this defunct
political spectrum of
left left
left right left
politicians canonize a legacy of
injustice and oppression and
in order to suppress
democratic expression
they propagate the notion
that dissent is treason

because the wars we wage are blessed
by the sagely insight of rich old men
who sit safely in mansions protected by
picket fences as white as their skin
while they play off our emotions and
turn us into thoughtless sheep
content to stomach the whims of
politicians propagating vengeance

i will speak this out even
when my voice shakes
because i have seen the hypocrisy
of this war on terror
that relies on terror
to cultivate more terrorists
in order to perpetuate the notion
that Orwell posited

war is peace
freedom is slavery
ignorance is bliss
isn't it

in my naïveté
i rejected the reality of
torture and murdered children for
i nursed a secret hope that
despite the pictures and videos
that served as empirical evidence
we were still somehow
the good guys and
they were the bad guys

but Americans rained white
phosphorous on Fallujah
dropped the world's first
and hopefully last
atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
we toppled democratically elected socialists
whose interests betrayed our self-serving agendas
cultivating a policy of extra-judicial assassination
regime change is the name of the game
just ask the CIA
they'd tell you
business is booming but
then they'd have to **** you

so i switched off my TV screen
and picked up books
i read Slaughterhouse-V
and treasured the way Vonnegut
looks at the lives of even
bees and butterflies as valuable
intoning "so it goes"
every time a living thing dies

i read O'Brien's
recollections
of Vietnam
a month later
he said that
like white lies
tall tales and
fishermen’s yarns
every war story
has a bit of truth

and i've seen the proof
in the photographs of
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay
in the aftermath of drone strikes
that left pieces of kids scattered
across the desert sands of foreign lands

i see the toxic side-effects of
systemic violence in the eyes
of homeless veterans suffering
on the streets with PTSD
a flicker of fear livens a
deadened gaze at the sound of
every backfiring engine
as if they're a thousand miles away
on some distant shore

betrayed by their own
government once again
a Purple Heart is
a death sentence
when there are 22
military suicides a day
thanks for your service
now die in silence

like bad religion the phrase
war crime is rather redundant
and i testify not because i
aim to disrespect the
men and women in uniform
on the contrary

when i say
**** war
it is because i
cherish every brother
and every sister
who has perished in the
churning gears of conflict

they shoved tall tales of hope
for a collegiate education
and far-flung travel
down our throats
just sign here
right along the dotted line

we want you
to march into hellfire
we want you
to send missiles into
tiny huts and villages
tracking cell phone signals
we want you
to sit down
shut up and
just do as you're told

to every fallen human who
has been sent off to fight on
behalf of this
or any other
corrupt nation
i sincerely apologize
for not taking to the streets to protest
a vitriolic ideology

i regret filing my taxes
when 54% or more of our budget goes to
military expenditures so they could
stick an M-16 in your hands
and ship you off to die for abstract
and so often arbitrary phrases like
freedom and justice for all

you were robbed of your liberty
by a capitalist system that seeks profit
like a false prophet for
bank accounts soar in times of war  
and in my apathy i hammered
nails into your coffin

and i pride myself on  
being an anti-militaristic
non-violent anarchist because
i don't hate soldiers
if i did i would remain
silent and apathetic
and let the government
abuse its youth

i celebrate humanity
regardless of ethnicity and creed
which is precisely why i despise
this system that sacrifices
generation after generation for
conquest and imperial notions

pray tell
will we turn from the
error of our ways
wake up from
this terrorist daze
before it's too late
and say

the State can try to
whitewash history but
i refuse to let them
brainwash me

Dad drove down
to the liquor store
that morning
the same routine

bought two bottles of
the cheapest red wine
money could buy
to drink from cheap
plastic solo cups

he never drank
from blue cups
just the red ones
not sure if that even
matters

when Dad drinks
he goes to one of
two extremes 


either he’s grinning ear-to-ear over
something utterly 
mundane
or else 
he’s
spewing equal measures of
spittle and venom

but no matter what
his breath always
smells like death

when i was a kid
i didn’t really get it
why a man would drink
and do such stupid ****

of course
that was before
the world taught me
what it meant to suffer

you never really realize what
tragedy looks like
until you get home from school
on a Wednesday afternoon

to find your old man
wasted
crying
begging
you to tell him it’s
gonna be okay
that he’s gonna make
it another day

like watching
god become human

so i promised him

i swore that it’d 
be
okay 

but i had no idea

if it would ever 
be
okay 
again

my Dad lost his Dad 

that was why 
he drank so much

at least 

as far as i can tell 

that was the reason


why

i’ve never really asked
and besides

i doubt he’d ever 
admit it

least of all
to me

but as i get older and 

reflect 

i’m not sure there 
was
ever really a reason 


why

he got sober 

did the 12 step program 

hallelujah

thank you 

Jesus 

something like 
that 

and he hasn’t had 
a single sip 

since he sobbed 
in my arms 

that Wednesday afternoon

at least

as far as i know

it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.

three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.

pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.

ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.

to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.

you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.

we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.

**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.

if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.

sometimes i listen to old voicemails you left me
just to hear your laugh bubble and froth—a tonic
made from nectar and ambrosia.

i do not bother fighting the smile that tugs
insistently at my cheeks every time
my name finds your taste buds—
almost as if it were candy. you savor
the sweetness, leave me lingering
on your tongue.

you say you miss me and i hear an anthem
lifting these lyrics in tandem with the drum
of my heartbeat, palpitating, galloping
like a steed freed on pastures of green,
sprawled out as far as the eye can see.

all the same, these drugs
still **** in the end. i am hooked
on my heroine. i found what i love
and i want it to **** me. let me die high.

they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.

Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.

beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.

we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.

i ruin everything i touch.

smother the flame
beneath an avalanche
of detritus.

i ruin everything i touch.

you are the neurons firing like mortars
in secret corners of my mind,
burning me alive.

i ruin everything i touch.

like a worn through t-shirt, blowing in the breeze
hang me out to dry, begging a god
i know doesn’t exist just to let me die.

i ruin everything i touch.

yesterday
she told me
two of her
favorite things
are coming
and poetry

i'll wrap them
up together
present them
at her altar
with a tongue
simultaneously
tasting limericks
in the air
and slick flesh
as we share

shuddering breaths
thundering in chests
choked with lewd scents
and a sense of urgency
surging back and forth
like waves flirting
with the coast
returning to embrace
no matter how many times
we drive each other
to new heights
of anxiety and ecstasy

a full moon
devising a riptide
******* me out to sea
will i seek peace
or slip beneath
and let the current
carry me

i've tried in vain to fight
the whispered suggestions
layered in alluring messages
but this lurid affection instigates
an aggression you welcome
with innuendos insinuating
intentions of transgression

denizen of the Internet's darkest corner
surfacing momentarily to spew vitriolic
misogyny before disappearing once more
returning to whatever hell you call home

warmer hearts than mine
might muster the compassion
to show you a kindness
**** like you neither
appreciate nor deserve

but not me
i will not tear you
limb-from-limb
regardless of the
sick fantasies i
treasure in my brain

no
i'll meet you in
this abyss and cut
you to pieces with
a tongue sharper
than any sword
until you fall upon
my words like the
shameful craven and
dishonorable coward
that you are

you fancy yourself
a misanthropist but
you didn't create
the darkness you
merely inherited
it from me

you're a putrescent infant
nursing your enmity and harboring
hatred for yourself above
all else and it's not
difficult to see why

chauvinist pig
slave to a hyper-masculine ego
the rhetoric you spit is
simultaneously solipsistic
self-contradictory and self-defeating
you've backed yourself into a corner
your throat is the open grave in which
i will bury you alive

i only wish there was a devil who might
give you an eternity of the attention
you crave but i'll suffice to be the one to
pull the noose tight and watch with
mirth as you kick and spin and gasp
and shudder and splutter for breath
your flesh goes blue and your eyes
roll back into your skull searching for a
brain turned to mush
riddled with maggots

and on the day that you
lie dormant and friendless
paralyzed on your deathbed
i will be the loneliness
reminding you that you got
just what you deserve

don't **** with my best friend

bludgeon our minds
addled by apathy.
cudgel us into comatose.
the sixth extinction
we couldn't be bothered
to prevent.
blind submission
to the tradition
of the truncheon.

throw our bodies
in the trenches,
the mass grave
we dug
with our own hands.
dirt still clinging
beneath the nails
of fingers raking
our psyches.
buried beneath ennui.

cover our corpses,
naked and exposed,
with ten tons of soot
and ash. strike
from the pages
of history
the utter depravity
of the world's
cruelest creature:
humanity.

i fantasize about stomping on the gas,
hitting the accelerator
as i approach the on-ramp
for the 408,
launching like a rocketship
headed straight for outer-space.

careen into the concrete
headlong—
scatter my brains
and body-parts across the wall
like a ******* splatter painting.

as lights blur together above me,
my head goes hazy,
dazed in this fugue state,
half-awake and thinking absently
of the city-lights
drifting listlessly overhead

like unidentifiable flying objects,
hovering over this interstate.
i wish they'd beam me up.
kidnapped by aliens,
taken to a galaxy far, far away
so i could forget
the contours of your face.

well before dawn
bats her eyelashes
at a yawning horizon
i claw my way free
emerging from six feet under

burgeoning with fingernails
still caked in dirt from ceaseless digging
unable to slumber with a tombstone as a pillow

a corpse interned
amidst the earth's embrace
deadening this landscape
souring the soil
infecting every body
within proximity

i've been pushing my luck
in place of daisies
locked within the confines
of a mass grave
sunken past the rifts
into tremor-torn trenches  
adrift with all the cadavers
lost and scattered across the deep

searching for some clarity
amidst misremembered memories
so i might finally rest in peace
not pieces

pull me up
by the roots
of blue veins splayed
across pale flesh

i'm a puppet
dancing
on strings
twirled around
your finger

if i ever muster
the courage to
sever the ties
i'll pour my
life's blood
down my arms
in scarlet
rivulets and
swallow the
razor blades that
led me to
eternal rest

i'll die
smiling
alleluia
free
at last

lines of malice are penned
within ancient tomes
black and blue ink bruising
the human psyche beyond recognition

stunting our collective imagination
with fantasies of castles
among the clouds and intergalactic
beings who sculpted us from dust

intermittent smears
of crimson declarations
lingering in blood-soaked texts
painting portraits of putrid prejudice

the image of an illusory deity
devised to explain a cosmos
that defies codification and categorization
we mythologized and told tall tales like Arachne

spinning webs of misinformed misfortune
we're severing the strings of our imaginary enemies  
silencing lives with rusty shears
utterly convinced by the edicts of idiots

how might we disentangle ourselves from mental
cobwebs and embrace reality's promising veracity
each of us an accidental miracle
captains of our own fortune's vessels

so weigh anchor and set course for distant shores
unfurl the sails of reason and hold fast
after weathering millennia of insipid beliefs
we'll sojourn ever onward with omnipotent minds

raze these sycophantic fantasies  
and raise hell so high it becomes heaven
we will build a new city in the shell of this cold
dead society predicated on misanthropic religion

if i should live
a hundred-hundred
lifetimes
i could die
ad infinitum
with no small
measure of joy
at a ripe old age
so long
as i never forget
your voice.

minor chords
in a haunting tone
purr from the car stereo—
late-night drive,
yellow glow
beneath interstate
street-lamps
interspersed
by passing headlights.

bound for a town
i hate, but carried
along by a firm, gentle
cadence. a vocal chord
melody coloring incessantly
outside the lines
of my psyche.

hydroplaning daydream
of kaleidoscopic color,
whispering insistently—
tempting me—to commune
with the gods and ****
the masters.
transport me
to your aurora
cosmic multicolor,
sonic wavelengths.

vultures feast on
carrion carcasses
gore crows gather in
black blotches overhead
clouds of soot
a conspiracy of ravens
happily gawking
flapping avidly
before diving down
to rip apart
putrid flesh
hanging sloppily
from bloodied beaks

the dead feed
on the dead

i am a wilted wallflower
just across the hall
deadened petals
plucked and fallen
scattered remnants
on cold stone
each discarded petiole
inscribed with simple limericks
like butterfly kisses

                              she loves me

**** the pollen
out from me
suffocating poison
trim my leaves
and shear my thorns
no longer dangerous
mold me into something
safe and harmless

                              she loves me not

rid me of beauty
bid me return
to that same dust
from whence i came
a lust overpowers
and devours all hope
so crush me between
the pages of your
favorite book
let me rest
in peace
not pieces

there is no imaginary adversary
prowling like a lion, shooting arrows.
my only enemy is me. there may be a war
but it’s raging in my psyche—
it’s chemical, not spiritual.
you’re terrified i’ll rot in hell,
why can’t you see
that we’re already here?

dreams of eternal bliss
might bring you peace,
but i won’t swallow
another ******* lie
just so i can sleep at night.
i see no proof for your deity.
where was your Christ
when my best friend died
before his time?  

“if there was a god,
i would spit in his face
for subjecting me to this.”
i have no hope and i am free
to make this life whatever
i want it to be. my integrity
is the only thing that i have left.
i will anxiously wander this wasteland
and not spend another moment
trapped within your fiction religion.

buttressed by bisected nebulae
our galaxies coalesce.
soft-spoken Andromeda hurtling
towards a somber Milky Way.
a slow dance plays
to the crooning toons
of Brand New. am i experiencing Deja Entendu
or are the Devil and God
merely raging inside us?

Christmas lights, distant as parsecs,
twinkle every which way we look.
multicolor displays flash
in dizzying arrays, winking in and out,
drizzling like dripping icicles. sad songs
spill continuously from the stereo as we drive
through one neighborhood after the next,
aimless in our contentment.

it's half-past-2:00
in the morning and i'm singing Panic!
at the Disco with (and for) you. i write of sins
and hope this doesn't end in tragedy
as Trade Wind shifts and entreats us
to drift listless as asteroids
rocked to sleep in the arms
of an ambivalent cosmos.

we may all be made of star stuff,
but we both agree:
there's no god who could love this world.
so as we lift crude gestures
to an apathetic sky, we realize
the task falls to us. we must love,
for beauty persists
in spite of all the sorrow.

i am happy to spin perpetually,
elastic and ecstatic in your orbit.
for every now and then your beams of light
filter through my prism and provide
another connection along
our wavelength.

the mid-morning fog
cloaks the traveler
in a thick mist
a musk of weather-beaten
leather cloaks soft skin
a fragrant vagrant
wandering in the warmth
of a dawning star

she stops and
stares now and
again
a lingering smile on
her face, her eyes
twinkling with equal parts
mischief and grace

an exuberant jubilee of
far-flung soliloquies
enhance her reddened hair
and her rosy cheeks
as she slips quietly
through the cobbled streets

until a flower
small but fair
pokes its way through a
crack
she stoops and ponders
for a moment
whether she might take it

then climbs once more
to hardened feet as
a smile tugs at her cheeks
she leaves the flower
in peace not
in pieces
who knows
who might need it

still she sojourns on
a wayward adventurer
with no destination
save the secret joy of
knowing and being known
by a world she adores

over six hundred thousand seconds
have passed since i heard from you
ten-thousand-some-odd minutes
have stretched between now and the moment  
your name last illuminated a digital screen
a hundred and sixty-eight hours
since we bid each other adieu
one bleak week weak-kneed
beneath the guillotine of agony

and though i'm still far from immune
i've started ******* poison from the wounds
siphoning the anguish you left in an absence
perforated with melancholy spells
and existential hells that leave me
writing poetry at 3:00 o'clock
in the ******* morning
mourning friends who became lovers
only to turn to strangers once again

am i expecting too much of you
does the blame fall squarely on yours truly
or do we share this guilty burden equally
if it takes two to tango then certainly
it must take two to kiss but
patriarchy has me questioning
everyone and everything
most of all me
wondering if i ruined our fragile unity

but if i know one thing
it's that your lips gushed when i brushed them
with my fingertips and i still hear the faint gasp
as you begged me to dip within
inviting me with your breathless panting catching
like sugared candy on the tip of your tongue
intermingling with the sticky-sweet scent
of sweat and ***
you whispered my name as you came
on a moonlit drive home and held my hand firm
like it belonged inside your contours

i'll set my phone back down on the pillow
where i wish your head laid beside me
and pray to a god i don't believe in
to break insomnia's grip so i might slip beneath
a comforter of dreamless sleep
only to wake and find your name
displayed prominently beneath
the time and date

every white wedding is exactly the same.
kitschy mason-jar centerpiece displays,
thirsty flowers in ornate vases,
lace-trimmed tablecloths and country-pop
songs blaring from the stereo.

welcome to cookie-cutter suburbia,
copy-and-pasted from half-a-hundred
Pinterest boards depicting
indistinguishable scenes
of smiles stretched paper-thin
on spray-tan painted faces.

my tongue is a skipping record,
regurgitating the same vapid
conversation ad nauseam,
stutter-stepping through
an indistinct refrain:
“how’s school going for you?”
“oh, really? an English degree?”
“and just what do you plan
to do with that, exactly?”

bourgeois blather follows flagrant patterns.
drunk uncles splutter racist rants
at this posh reception, but i’ve been told—
no matter what—don’t stir the ***.
avoid any and all discussion
of the current president’s
child concentration camps,
the war on immigrants,
or the escalating tensions
with Venezuela and Iran.

i am sick
to my stomach
of self-indulgence:
watered-down punch bowls, patriarchal
vows to god and government. “i do,”
an endless ******* feedback loop
droning tediously until my ears bleed.
sing the same hymns over acoustic guitars
while vocals peak in microphones.
reread 1 Corinthians 13:13, beg your deity
to bless the BBQ pork and beans.

dance along to the Cupid Shuffle
and be sure
to always follow the rules:
birth, youth,
college, marriage,
work, death.
consume.

i nurse a cup of lukewarm coffee
as i sit on my front porch step
and watch the storm-clouds
close like fingers tightening
‘round open throats, strangling
sunny spring without so much
as a moment’s warning.
Florida rains
can come instantaneously—
blundering suddenly, unbidden
and entirely unwelcome.
the thunder sounds
of dolorous doom
as gloom returns to smother
the afternoon in its shadow.
lightning bolts jolt
me back to earth,
ripping me unceremoniously
from languid daydreams
of you and i camping
in the wilderness,
traveling cross-country
in a beatdown Jeep
with nothing but joy
to keep us company.
i empty the mug
in overgrown grass,
swiftly turn my back
on black clouds coalescing.
today, i fear i cannot bear
to watch the world weep.

i love the way
my name sounds
every time i slip
like a song
off the tip
of your tongue.
there's the slightest
dip in your inflection,
like a whisper
you couldn't quite
bite back.
a reminder, quiet
as exhaled breath,
that i've been here
all along.

witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront

rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor

i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay

Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks  
nursing secret heresies of insurrection

colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or Read A ******* Book
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room

a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question

why?

the banner
cheerfully pirouettes  
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having

hell,
i maintain,
is watching those
you love languish
in agony, powerless
to alleviate their
tragedy.
i would suffer
forever
if i could just
absolve
your woe.

in Sunday school
Mr. McKinney taught me
god punished Pharaoh
for refusing when
Moses pleaded
let my people go but

Exodus 9:12 insists it
was god himself who
hardened Pharaoh's heart
like erosion turns stone to rock

which strikes me as
rather petulant behavior
displayed invariably within
vindictive vicissitudes

but what else
would you expect from a
megalomaniacal misogynist
prayed to by bigots and
rapists and racists

**** Yahweh