I told someone:
I believe people
should write
from their gut—
and maybe their
gut was an atom.

Then I laughed,
while my dog
was laying on my chest,
and went on
with more comments.

An hour or so later,
while watching a show
with my girl,
sharing my screen,
I decided to check on AP.

"That guy who was
a **** to you
on your awesome poem
gave you a 1-star
on your comment."

I read my comment again,
looked at the 1-star review,
and we laughed
even harder
than I did by myself
an hour before.

My dog spun around—
his *** turned to me
as he decided
enough was enough
and the world
had done him
no good deeds today,
and that warranted
sleep by my socks
much like guts
that are the size of atoms.

After that,
we continued to watch:
Six Feet Under.

It drips, it teases, it moans my name,
A wicked desire I cannot tame.
Its scent seduces, deep and bold,
Luring me closer, my senses unfold.

Each bite lingers, slow and sweet,
Juicy, tender, pure carnal treat.
My lips embrace, my hunger sighs,
A pleasure so deep, it melts, it glides.

No wipes saves me, let it spill,
The taste, the heat, the aching thrill.
Tongue tracing every sinful trace,
Savoring each indulgent embrace.

And as the final drops dissolve,
A fizzy burst, ecstasy evolves.
A feast so perfect, craving no more,
Surrender to passion, give in, explore.

Choose wisely. Choose Wendy’s.

I'm bored.
I want to hit up
people I don't
care about
and go have a beer
and loads of cigarettes
hold each other's shoulders
in a group in some bar
and laugh like
we are real friends
even though
I've quit
that life.

I'm just bored
and that's
what bored man do.
They go out
and pretend that life
is better than it actually is
and we intoxicate
our selves with drink
and smoke
and plenty of other things.

But instead
I lay in bed
reading a book
I'm half way through
it's good
but it's not enough.
My feet stink
I refuse to get up
and shower
I'll just change socks,
my teeth feel off
from the coke I drank
and I haven't brushed them
since yesterday,
and my poems
hit like heavy hitters
would back in the day
where boxing wasn't
rigged
or ran by punks
with YouTube channels.

*******.
What boredom
makes a man do
in times of need.
Maybe
I should take
a walk
but I'll sit here
marinate on my own
fight against addiction
lack of connection
and poor hygiene.

I'll invite my dog up to bed
and let him lay on me
while he stares at the wall
and I'll stay bored
and write a poem
that won't hit like the rest
but as least
will serve
a purpose
as my girl
waxes her legs
and waits for me
to say something.

My Stupid heart okay ...
I love you everyday ...
I wanna hug alright ...
I miss you everyday ...

Stupid heart , it screams ...
It need some ice cream ....
But sitting all alone ...
Just waiting for phone ....

Alright .... **** it ... I miss last line

If you're lonely,
Start greeting strangers on the street,
A funny thing starts to happen,
When you stop to say 'Hello!'

If you're looking for a real remedy,
So you can feel real happy,
Always remember to smile,
Wherever you find yourself.

I'd bet a five dollar bill,
Strictly on your life filling up,
After you begin to say hey,
Whether it's a passerby, or a new friend.