I hate your poem – that spittle you call verse The pustular oozing of emotional soothing broken, gnarled and terse I hate your poem – and it’s childish rhyme scheme Your dutiful pattern so beaten and battered Like an unspeakable crime scene I hate your poem – in all its...
Poetry
All my poetry from ancient to new
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A plotter, a planner, a doubting calculator. Keys stuck – pressed too hard in Ohio. Attics hold secrets and humidity. Futons creak with photos taken a year ago. Its now more act than action. more stage than show. “What do you want?” is the echoing poison, the black crystal I...
The graveyard is filled with lovers The bars are filled with bones We search for hearts in empty cages And always go home alone A Mausoleum lover Silent as a tomb I’ve been dead already Since the day you left the room We make love to corpses Our hands unclean...
We’d rather be distracted than informed. Entertained opposed to educated. We have a congress full of millionaires, yet we call them representative. What we consider news isn’t even obligated to be true ( It must only sell ad time.) The food we eat doesn’t even have to be labeled imitation....
I once walked with my Father every Sunday. When other children filled wooden pews listening to robed men and choral prayers, I held my Father’s hand and we listened to the world. He would let me choose a direction. I liked South the best, if felt like going home. On...
The last kiss. His lips were like the relationship. Cracked and dry. The wind was bitter and the car vents were sweet. Only because they were warm, like his lips. She said it was hard to leave him. But she did that in August on a blue scooter. It was...
The sacks of cells you call Self Realize, most of them aren’t yours. The slime of centuries has made home in your gut, your folds, your soul. They set up tenements and housing corps to handle trash, parking and plumbing. They find comfort in your crevices not even aware of...
Let us exchange the exhale between burgundy sheets of memory. The air is Toledo cold and your room has no carpet yet. That ache you feel is January when the Lasts will come. Panera conversations grow stale after Halloween lessons and unwatched Apatow. Fiction and dress up are all I...
The pine needles prickled All grateful green I reached for the next branch Ever higher Sap stuck to everything My shoes, my skin, my soul Yet, ever higher. The massive trunks slimmed to barely twigs. I could feel the sway of the wind. They don’t teach fear in 2nd grade....
Jogging on the water surrounded by Austin turtles. My life ahead of me like the infinity tattooed on my bottom lip. Just left a room of reverse engineers three decades my senior talking stock peaks and perks And I’m wondering, “Is that it?” To fill a garage with unloved toys...