I can’t quite make it out
but I can feel it giving way
to the pressure of my fingers
I can feel that joyful squish
bones, broken or not
I am bones when I see a friend
I am bones when I eat
I am bones when one of us survives
Chipping scabs, touching stars
dancing on floor made of
cracked and splintered bone
skin stretched thin
scarred pink and white
I can forsake you too
two devil’s on my shoulder
both on one side
one sat down, gently
with grandpa’s big smile
Careless with fire
there are bridges i’ve burned because I didn’t want to be followed and there are bridges I’ve burned because I was careless with fire.
Filmed poem – The heart slaps along
The heart slaps along
To the scavenger
write as a vulture;
Decent and good parents
And his lover
having had decent
and good parents
will reply,
Someone is listening
There is a man
crossing the street
talking to himself
or
Beautiful things
There are beautiful things
There are such beautiful things
I’ve literally written a poem
I’ve literally written
a poem
You’ve literally read
a poem
Coffee black
coffee
black
like letters perched
on invisible wire
Cajon and Vine
sit
under gray clouds
and burnt sky
under waving patriotism
tattered
Soul Asylum Radio
Hello fellow readers and writers, Recently, I had the unique experience of participating in a podcast episode of Soul Asylum, a podcast on Blog Talk Radio. I was asked to share one of my poems, […]
Made of stone
Find yourself a house
made of brick
or cement
cinder block, if you can find it
Farting Hillary Clinton’s
we giggled all the way to the arcade
I pushed in two quarters
and we
played Farting Hillary Clinton’s
Out of living bone
Make me a phone
out of living bone
Caulk it with marrow
wrap it in tissue
A text from Saul at 11:56 AM
I offered to send him toys and help me pick.
He said I want my papa for 100 days.
The ants are back
The ants are back looking for their food
and I don’t see them until they wind
This heart
And beauty slathers itself
on rusted sheds
cricket legs
a field of dust and weeds
Only marrow enough
And beauty slathers itself
on rusted sheds
cricket legs
a field of dust and weeds
Me and Jack Kerouac
god and all the other little people
Me and Jack Kerouac
The heart slaps along
The heart slaps along
sticking
to hot asphalt
with each rotation
In eulogy with the burst
And I see
not much more than
string
wet and woven
And of the toilet brush
And of the toilet brush
next to porcelain bulb
resting in its holster
all bristles even with the lip
Beautiful thing
and the more beautiful I see
the more ugly I do
and the more ugly I see
the more beauty I do
You know
you know you’re alone
but that little blue ball
Bukowski’s little blue bird
still hops
A lesson from the laundry
Two hours in the dryer
still wet
try again
At walls’ full of platitudes
I saw him, second
In meetings anonymous
Old and bruised
Bewildered and staring
They pile up
and you can’t stop
so you don’t start
and they pile up
and you lose sight
I don’t want to smoke
I don’t want to smoke
and I sneak away
to coffee shops
and think about smoking
Now I have the time
Now I have the time
to pay attention to the names
of musicians
both living and dead
I know a great writer
I know a great writer
but you don’t
her greatness is planted
in not knowing, not
lazy day with nothing to say
snow buried, re:
whites, grays, haze
Trieved to a
Saint slobbering Bernard
Oh, rolling tongue
Oh, rolling tongue
thick fatigue
lolling numb
“I’s” and “Me’s”
A sip of marrow
My eyes glaze, I lick my lips
and dream of your apocalypse
Inside my chest there lives a cat
I called it names to which it spat
‘til desperation made me scream
I know not, love, for what you dream
And Paul
we want to see beauty
and we’re the same
with different words
so I choose carefully
Until I get to later
I tried drinking
Like Hemingway
But the loneliness was unbearable
Light’s Fingers
Light’s fingers press in darkness stains
Colors froth through milky grains
Teddy bear
Teddy bear
picking seam
removing fluff
piling up
Teddy there
And I want to be the king of my castle
And I want to find words that aren’t in a book
And I feel too much pain will allow me to look
It was the times
And
I write them out
So plainly
Too quickly
Youthful Beauty
The pianist’s fingers bleed
for the raised voice
recognition
of barfly’s and
passersby
Pulling down words
Follows
Gravity
Mixed
Literal
I tried to bet the ponies
I tried drinking
Like Hemingway
But the loneliness was unbearable
Forced words
A train not even crashing
No explosion
Just quietly retiring
Off the tracks
If you’re lucky enough
And if you let yourself go
you’ll bloom in a shimmering galaxy
of golden hair
And it’s in my chest
And I keep pressing down
And I think of a pianist
And I want to make music
And I hate the things my fingers leave
And I make noise
