"goddamnit" poems
My seed, my seed, why do I despise thee?
Never, have I been respected for my
Generous gifts given in between thighs.
One mischievous night that I could not flee
And now I’m bound to you through my money.
I did not want you; now you’re always nigh
You somehow stimulate every sigh
Laud’num doesn’t dull your presence, my seed.
Sometimes, I think – but no – my mind’s tangled.
Red *** riddles reveal… nothing. I find
These psychotropic fantasies have slid
Beyond me and you, I could not wrangle.
Years will pass ‘til we meet, but the check’s signed
Because ********* my seed, you’re my kid.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
I stood over the sink
Scrubbing our negroni glasses
Wishing the ginger-scented soap
Would wash away the cancer
Because the chemo didn’t work
I was wearing eyeliner
When I first met you
We’d laugh about that later
Over a bottle of wine
And patatas bravas
We always had our weekends
Movie dates and inside jokes
We would guffaw at the
Fuckery of it all
My god your laugh
How it filled a room
I remember when you said
“I love you, Christopher…
because you just GET ME”
You expressed appreciation
For how I carved out time
For our friendship
I reminded you,
“I don’t carve out time for you,
I shove everything away while
screaming ‘I NEED MY HEIDI TIME!’”
*********
I need my Heidi time
For years you were
The most consistent thing in my life
Always there for one another
We were each other’s touchstones
I realize this now more than ever
During my weekends spent alone
Wine tastes different now
Something’s missing
Going to the movies feels strange
It’s like the hero has
Left the frame
Remember when I smoked cigarettes?
You’d *** a drag as we crept
Through early evening traffic
On our way to get gelato
Or if we were feeling sassy
Maybe an affogato
I switched to vaping
When you went into hospice
Then back to menthols
When your spirit left this world
I’m addicted to our memories
More than the nicotine
They bang around my head
Like a song or a scent
Nostalgic
And
Lingering
You tattooed
“CEDENDO VINCES”
On your wrists
“By yielding, you will win”
My finger traced those words
While I held your hand
Last breaths
But what are deaths?
Transitions
Energy
Shifting
A spark
Returning
/ / /
Those letters live
On my wrists now
A reminder of her
The sister I never had
And sometimes
I still hear her laugh
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 3:47 PM UTC
There is a mirror image
but does it still
look like you?
Do you stand before
the altar of your bathroom
sink and whisper,
"нет,
but not yet"
There isn't time
to pause
to think
to wonder.
Is there a ghost in this machine?
Is there a need
to put a notion
behind the gears
of our universal,
cosmic meme?
And were we to drown,
weighed down by
hanging lines and
albatroses,
the thousand stupid ways
that we try to prove
our opinion matters,
********* Hear me!
Look my way!
We fade to nothing,
ashes in pots
on mantle places,
dry bones in wet dirt.
We are all good people,
bound for modest graves.
Undone by ambition.
"Да,
that is always the way"
We are small men,
good in our minutes a day.
We are Tolstoy in passing,
In a Gethsemane way.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
you make my legs
fill with lust
and some sundance
chemical I cannot
explain. you make
me feel like your
pupils are the sun
and the sun has
little in respect
to you aside from
attribution to the
very existence of
the girl I love.
you make me feel
like free chai tea
lattes, even if this
analogy was used by
an ex of mine to
describe how she
felt about me I
feel it's still
valid in context.
you make me dance
like thunder in a
snowstorm and link
arms with my lack
of a bedside table
and ring as true as
my ears to the ashen
corner-lounge love-drug-all-this-please.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
holy sweet good *********
you sweet,
sweet soul,
not even
novels
could properly explain
how my universe swells into serotonin heartbeats
whenever
you're
wherever
with
me.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
ever had those moments
of artistic remorse
where you want to burn
your imagination?
I want to burn this poem
I want to burn my poems.
I'm no poet,
I'm a ******* narcissist,
I'm a ******* farce.
*********
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
this is the sound of the trees.
Its the same sound smoke makes, and the moon, and birds eggs and old clocks.
It is violins and percussion and arpeggios and singing like crying
it sounds like the Lion King, likes it the circle of Life.
But there are no baby cubs held up into the sunlight in this song.
There are no baboons who will tell you the secrets of life.
in this song, the zebras and the giraffes do not parade for the baby lion, they do not live peacefully with their killers.
in this song, all of them are dead, or have been trampled into the dust.
In this song, when your father dies, you are not allowed to run away from it with some happy strangers.
no, you have to bury him, and speak at his funeral, and plant flowers on top of his new home.
you do not get to become king over all the things he showed you as a child.
A cousin, in Scotland, gets that crown, because your father always hated you.
You get an old watch, and all the books on his bookshelf.
38 books on old comedians, and 1 on carpentry.
You read them at 2 in the morning, on the days you don't have to go to school because you punched the french exchange student, and you have been suspended.
None of them make you laugh, not even when you know it should be funny.
The next night, you build a bird house, with ripped up biology notes as the floor.
your mother complains about the noise, but when she looks at your eyes, she gives you back the hammer, and goes to bed with earplugs in.
birds really enjoy ******** on quizzes about recessive and dominant genes in farm animals
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
This will be the best poem
I will ever write.
Who's to say if it will be my last, but one thing it is not is a first attempt at finding the right words to convey to you.
And finding the right words
has never been a challenge for me,
but ********* if you aren't giving me a run for my money presently, insufferable me with bleeding
tongue resentfully.
I say that word with an intrepid disposition, because I do not resent the person, but the action: The act of unwarranted silence.
I'd like to think you have a limpid conscience of the beautiful woman you are, at peace with yourself, when at the present time you are consumed with future maybes and counting seconds. So maybe adding myself to your equation was selfish, and brought complications when thinking about anything linear, considering all of the variables.
There was only intention to
rhapsodize the zealot I met on a mutual wavelength, a double helix we all share that some of us forget about, yet here is the reversion, the Neanderthal, the ******* who grew a beard to expose himself, looking at this whole experience all wrong.
Instead, there is Royal Purple Prose to look as extravagant as you are stunning.
Now all that's left is cognitive dissonance to later become
addictive retribution.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
Used to smoke a pack a day,
now it’s just two cigarettes
in the evening time,
when the lady is in the shower
and after the ******
has been smoked.
I sit on the ledge of our patio,
legs stretched out
Exhaling long trails of smoke.
observing
the busy apartment complex.
Mainly blacks & Mexicans
with a dash of Apache Junction
white trash.
Two girls
in their early twenties
sit on a bench in the little courtyard
talking loudly.
gesturing wildly
about some ***** neither can stand.
Purple lightning flashes overhead,
illuminating
the courtyard.
Then it begins to sprinkle
And then it starts to rain.
A woman walks down the stairs from her apartment.
She’s barefoot and smiling,
head tilted up towards the sky,
taking in deep breaths
of the good rain smell.
I imagine she’s been waiting for this.
Waiting on the rain.
In her apartment.
It’s really started coming down.
She couldn’t light her cigarette,
the rain was dropping from everywhere.
Two children
run and skip down the sidewalk
with their mother running close behind.
Her arms, both of them,
full of mail, grocery bags, and a baby,
yellin at her kids,
“hurry, hurry, hurry up. C’mon, the mail is getting wet and I got Netflix
here, ********* move your *****
A man in a motorized wheelchair
Emerges from one of the halls
across the courtyard.
I watch his electric chair
buzz by on the sidewalk.
He was going for a full lap
of the place it seemed.
When he passed me, I saw
droplets of rain
breaking on his face and streaming down.
Grinning ear to ear
he winked one eye at me.
made me smile.
This is Arizona.
Rain in the summer is a gift.
Means a lot to us. All of us
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
there are earthquakes inside
the knuckles that held my hand,
and writhing rivers in the light
blue strands that dip into your
shoulder blades
i am not afraid to say that
i am afraid which may seem
like an oxymoron, but i
promise you it is not
i broke glass over your head
and cried into the shards,
only because i was trying to
make you see how beautiful
it is, how the glittering
light loves broken things
you always snipped the tags
off of tea bags and when i
asked why you said you
were saving for something
that you couldn't remember
but *********
it is important
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
********* there is
hot soup all over my legs
what is even life
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
My nervous stomach always makes it hard to **** during a vacation. This isn’t MY toilet. After two weeks of self-inflicted constipation in my friend’s cousin’s tiny pueblo, I couldn’t hold it anymore.
I took a huuuuuuuuuge dump. To my horror, it was so huge it wouldn’t flush. Oh God no.
I smuggled a grocery bag into the bathroom and put it over my hand as a glove to pinch the link into smaller sections. Flush ********* Even the pieces wouldn’t go down. I pulled them out with the bag and threw it in the trash can outside as fast as I could.
I kept waiting, horrified, for the trash truck to come please don’t discover my **** in there please don’t discover my **** in there until the day the trash can got full.
In these little pueblos, what I didn’t know is that there is no trash truck. They burn their trash. My **** was in there.
They burned my ****
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Love got drunk one day
And slipped away as quickly as it came.
Leaving impressions and marks and a ******* memory
Why did it have to do that?
He told me
Perhaps the brightest insight
To human history
Since Copernicus Said
Hey maybe
We’re not so important
That the world
(literally)
Revolves around us
But perhaps it is us
Who revolve around the world
(as it should be.)
What my Copernicus said was
Individualism
Is the single most sign
Of continual human progress.
That without it
We just become droids
Or peons
Or mindless beings
Without sentience
Without intelligence
Without the single most important vocabulary word
“Why?”
You can see why he intrigued me.
Ever-going quest to
Make love stay.
Slipping out of my suitcase
Man it was cramped in there
I looked up
And saw my name written in the sky.
*********
Always finding new ways
To tell the world
What we are
And what we could be
If I cashed in my chips
And went all-in
For just one hand.
Tears came
Hanging ten on the edge of eyes
Refusing to fall
Uncertain of their plight
So they do what people do
When they are scared
And they freeze.
It crushed me to know
I’ve cashed in my chips
One too many times
He thought I’m incredible
When really
I’m un-credible.
Love didn’t stay.
It took the next flight to Vegas
To gamble some other poor soul’s life
Leaving me
To look up a nameless sky.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
~For Pradip~
*who reminded me:
We are all God’s Trial & Errors*
tender is the tendency,
so finitely human,
infinitely foolish,
to overlook the
obvious,
let us not delve into our
particular peculiar idiosyncratic knots
in our hair and personalities,
all natural,
inherited or ill begotten
in voyages to far away,
like our childhood
***Thus,
we are all mistakes of a sort***
with natural fault lines,
accumulated dings, scapes, bruises,
furrowed crinkles that took us
years to perfect
We are flawed like diamonds,
valued by these natural flaws
by graders with loups who uncover
our flaunts, our clear air bubbles,
the more flaws the better,
because these attributes make us
most interesting!
you may be blonde,
you may be exotic
perhaps a lovely shade of
iridescence,
but lucky you whose scars speak
out and others wonder why,
they are so interesting
let us design a large animal,
seemingly ungainly, yet keystone to
their environment, so others may
profit thereby,
yet insanely quick on lumbering feet,
no hands, fingers, but a long snakey thinge
that multiple functions for
breathing, drinking, feeding grabbing, smelling and
trumpeting their presence
to foolish beings in their neighborhood
let’s us not debate
whose design is
an efficacy par excellence
so we be
ungainly, too tall, too
this or that,
even too flawless,
a specialized curse of sorts,
we are the product of
a sophisticated design laboratory
that makes many models,
each variegated, always different
so get down on your knees *********
and praise the design engineers
who created you to be
full of
& by elephantine trials and elephantine errors,
thereby making
us each,
a special pronoun,
an I
blessed
by definition:
though not in any dictionary:
unique,
flawless!
**
**^you are the most
flawless poem
you have ever written
and will ever ever
write***
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 3:59 PM UTC
The night sky is
staring back at you.
You're checked out.
It's all gone to hell.
Bought a one way ticket
halfway to Shambhala.
The Christmas lights in
the tapestry above flicker
and fade out of conscious
thought. The moon hangs,
slack-jawed and silent,
shaking your shoulders as
you kneel into the pavement.
"Won't you leave me be?"
But no, he's calling the sun
and he's begging for help
********* stop it!"
They're driving you crazy.
The pavement is beautiful
against your cheek.
But here comes everything
You're flying on clouds,
and there is lights from the sun
and the moon is there, crying,
"Stop it, stop it!"
All you want is the pavement.
And your mothers screaming
through the glass. And the lights;
white and bright and cruel.
You only hear the pavement,
you only see the night sky;
staring back at you.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Why did you have to pull me in like this?
Why couldn't you be like every other girl?
Benign? Impermanent?
You were untraditional, unorthodox,
You became air where there was none,
Water where there was only dust
And then you told me that you were sick,
And nothing brings two people in like illness,
All of a sudden everything changed
I've never felt like much of a father figure,
But ********* you made me care like one,
Probably why it's still so agonizing
And I'm still tasked with laughable ideas
Like "letting go" and "moving on"
And I know that there's no alternative
There is no room for me in your life,
You've set sail for new waters,
And I'm simply left to drown
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
I shouldn’t write about you, but tonight I went star gazing and I thought about everyone I’ve ever made love with.
Your name crossed my mind and it drowned me in a flood of memories.
The first time you came over, you took my shirt off like rapid fire. Your breath smelt of ****** cigarettes and Redbull.
You’ve been drinking.
Your hair was all over the place hitting me here and there. I tried to place my fingers in-between your locks. But eventually I took your shirt off.
Ten minutes passed by and we were naked. Your body below me and I was crouching lower and getting closer to your ****** I kissed your thighs, licked them gently like a lollipop, savoring the the taste of your skin.
No one would ever taste like you do against my teeth. My tongue. My mouth.
You were so wet. I was so *****
We switched sides, you’re on top now. Your mouth against my neck, your teeth making way into my skin like a thirsty vampire you bit me.
Your hands slowly skimming my chest and tracing my tattoos.
Everything was so perfect wasn’t it?
The way the moonlight hit your body, the temperature of the room wasn’t freezing but when our bodies were close we could feel them melting.
Funny thing, we didn’t have *** it took us three years for that to happen. I’m not sure if I wasn’t ready too or if I was afraid too.
But when we did, your body felt like an ocean, and I was drowning out at sea.
I had trouble breathing but you were like oxygen to my lungs and I was alive. More alive than I’ve ever been. Thinking I never loved you would be a lie, and I’ve been constantly telling myself I didn’t.
But ********* I did. I loved you so much, but you were the girl with crystal blue eyes that broke my heart. The girl that got away. The one who swam in the night sky and sunbathed perched on the crescent moon.
You often cross my mind and I won’t lie I miss you, our ****** friendship we had.
The reason being because you showed me how to love myself. I respect you for that, I respect you for the human you are. Even if your feet were cold with me, I learned and I lived, I was the hero in my own story.
You will always be an important piece of my life. Even if you’ve disappeared from
It, we were fire and gasoline.
We could’ve been beautiful.
We will never know now, and I’m okay with that.
You are greatly missed.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Her memory, the love of she,
In slumber,
That time when sadness sooths itself,
Pays to me a call.
And I, a lone warlock in the dark,
Feel the mattress demit as she sits,
And know her gentle touch on my face,
As I did when I was young.
I am trembled by her resonance,
********* I am trying to sleep!)
Then, I wake to understand what has transpired.
Then, am blessed to have felt her love once more.
Then, I bid her go to God.
But, I do thank her for her visit.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
I wasn’t vulnerable to you
I wasn’t hypnotized by your eyes
Your smile did not make me swoon
but I was oblivious to your lies
I had just recently thrown out a delicious cake –
only weeks later I am finding tiramisu,
not exactly in a pastry shop…
but nevertheless it was delectable
unbelievably creamy, with just the right amount of espresso to give it a kick.
Oh how I devoured its luscious flavor,
most people say to eat slowly,
take in every aspect and cherish every bite.
Don’t get me wrong – I usually do…
I try to anyway….
if there’s a fresh made dessert,
and if I’m hungry,
I am going to want it.
Only after having eaten this tiramisu
and licked the plate clean,
did I find out that it was made with spoiled crème…
I should have known.
I’m lactose and tolerant anyway.
It was so good –
unlike anything I had ever had before…
You came out of nowhere,
your charm and personality perfected
after hours of practice.
Well I am sorry to say that it worked.
You won.
********* I hate regrets,
but your game is done.
still, it’s gonna be awhile before I’m over this one.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 8:02 PM UTC
You've been walking
in the same space
at the same pace
for days it seems,
or is it years now?
It makes no difference–
too afraid to pinch
and perhaps wake up,
or even worse
realize there's nothing to
wake up from.
It does not feel like real life
so far from home, far
from the tangibles that
once played strict boundaries
on your existence.
Every step you take
the dream becomes the truth
and your old life
fades from reality toward
memory–
still hoping to wake
and be home again,
back in an old city,
an old time,
with old friends–
maybe a beach in Fiji
with Kristine Kochanski
laid out beside you.
Seems like thats
how things should be.
Seems like thats the
reality
you had in store,
not tucked away
under smokescreen skies,
alienated and alone.
New friends and
New places
that are beginning to lose
that New car smell.
Pinch me please.
Pinch me,
you are asking
harder, harder,
again, again–
"Once more,"
you're begging.
This can't be it
*********
it can't be all
there is,
you'll wake up
you have to
one of these days.
Or is it years
now?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
you know what i'm thinking about, now.
it was too hot outside to do much of anything,
and my car was on low fuel anyway.
[but i bet you didn't know that.]
and i hadn't slept the night before,
and i was ready to tell you that i...
i simply couldn't do this anymore.
but i knew how you felt about running away.
so i stayed, ********* i stayed.
and we ate ice cream with our fingertips,
and never spoke aloud what we felt as we did it.
has silence ever spoken so loud, bbluv?
and in fragments i remember our movie,
and the whole time i wanted to be closer.
so i sat on the floor, and you in your chair,
and wondered if you even noticed me there.
and then i remember hours and hours of night,
being irresponsible and [occasionally] flirty.
but we had to get up in the morning,
so we tried to stop our endless flow of words.
and i remember calling you after i wrecked my world,
and i paced around the house in my barefeet,
and whispered what happened, what i was afraid of.
i remember you mentioning my drunk texts, too.
and yes, i remember slurpees and wasting time inside.
not because it was hot ouside,
but because i just didn't want to leave.
i didn't get anything else done that day.
and i remember the feel of your bed, your pillow,
so different from the couch i had been sleeping on.
and i remember this look in your eyes, and i...
didn't know what it meant, at the time.
and, you know, i wish you weren't sorry.
for driving me away, i mean. that's okay.
but the way you did it tore me apart.
i'll be way too honest here and say it changed me.
i kept waiting for it to hit me,
day after day after ************* day.
you weren't coming back, not ever.
but still i waited, and still i wait.
and then, at the show, there was nothing.
i don't even know if you noticed me.
and that hurt me more than anything.
but i know i liked that your shirt was different.
and i also know i could understand.
because you said that last time,
and i got it, didn't i? i got it.
so don't tell me i won't. just don't.
tell me you miss our slurpees,
and you miss sweating by your pool,
just to delay my leaving a little bit.
even if it meant our legs got soaked.
and then you have to tell me this:
you don't want anything back, and
you don't want anymore late nights,
and you don't want anymore desperate phone calls.
and then i'll let it alone, and be okay.
and i can say this honestly.
because i know you, and i know...
it simply won't happen that way.
"but we both know this won't happen.
because i don't know goodbyes,
and i don't know severed ties."
i know you don't, so stop pretending you do.
you know, you're wrong about something.
you're excellent at leaving. you just **** at staying away.
but is that because, maybe,
you don't want to stay away from me?
so embrace october,
november, and december.
we'll exchange pumpkin pictures,
and costumes too.
we'll send pictures of thanksgiving,
and complain later we ate too much.
and we'll send anonymous presents,
and detail our new year's eve.
and then, what do you know?
we'll have come full circle.
and maybe, just maybe,
this will be yet another year of snow.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 7:21 AM UTC
i spend my days lying down, motionless
for hours, staring at this too familiar ceiling
i spend my days doing nothing, brought by
a crippling inability to speak what I mean
or do what I wish (on things that matter
most to myself)
i spend my days reacting to your slightest movement,
with a doll's passivity bordering on disgusting
i spend my days being a mere watcher, a witness
to the wonder of how beauty grows
you are a sight to behold
and it must be such joy to be held
but i'd rather spend my days lying down, motionless
trying **** hard to dream of you
(but only nightmares come through)
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
Her smile,
*********
It's taking up to much of a file,
She always flips a coin,
And smiles when telling you,
That she found it in Spain,
And calls it her laws of nature,
Then joking refers to a yoyo she named her *** life,
She cuts words like samurai getting ahold of a dinner knife,
But speaks awkwardly everytime,
Tending to tenderness,
Who knows?
But that smile,
*********
It's like a terrible heist movie,
With a plot line that has to do with monks,
And one actor is overpaid,
Knowing that at the end their still made,
What to do besides eat that popcorn and enjoy the show,
That smile though...
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
Woke up this morning
*********
Drank some whiskey
*********
Didn't eat breakfast
*********
This isn't even a poem
*********
It's a list of what I've done today
*********
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:22 AM UTC