Home / 2013 / March

James Brown Gives Me a Poetry Solo and I Try Not to Fuck It Up


Playing russian roulette with a turkey baster
full of ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’
with 5 stuffed animals in the basement
of my childhood home, and soon
none of us can believe what we’re NOT covered in


Like a salamander on a waterslide
I wanna coat my skin with astroglide
and watch the world smear around me
as I’m carried to my wet destiny
of freefall and misbehavior.
And won’t you love the slick lanes
I leave in your hallways and underwear,
don’t be afraid of the thunder
that’s just the youthful exuberance
leaving my body


And can I scream
about double indemnity clauses and the state of modern packaging materials
And can I scream
about the growing number of invalid ways to live
And can I scream
about the corporate graveyards where the endless mountains of dead businessman are shrouded in the most beautiful fog
And can I scream
for the hungry and alone and the ones without a home
And can I scream
for whatever it is inside of me that needs a scream to be set free
And can I scream
And can I scream


Baby, if I was a newspaperman I’d be inclined
to write a headline cover story about that time
you doubted me and I exceeded expectations,
but then I’d probably get fired from the newspaper
and be unable to pay child support
once you divorce me
(after we’re married of course)
because of my lingering drinking problem
which I’d always promise to kick
but eventually succomb to
like I did to you
things were nice once weren’t they?


Touching the tall thin pines and smelling
their air-freshener smell and getting
cant-touch-other-people sticky in the sap
let’s lie down on the ground
where there can never, no never, be leaves

My Heart is an Auntie Anne’s Pretzels in the Dallas Airport

Improvised poem Kiss Punch Poem on March 2nd, 2013.

Haunted by a grassy knoll
beyond the bridge, the goats, the troll,
there’s a  rocket in my pocket
and it’ll paint the cloudscape with my soul.

I’m asexual except for adrenaline sports.
Will you skin me if I  misbehave?
Don’t use reflections when I shave…

A riot in a crowded space
shrink-wrapped in anger,
so future generations can smell our musk.

Bravo, how should I live my life?
Will clever puns help me meet my wife?

Swallow all the miracles
Store them like a safe
Donate all your friends to God
Embrace the choke-chain’s chafe.

What does it mean to be an assistant manager at Lowe’s?

I hope I get assassinated
to prove that I was cool.

Let’s get it on in 1080p,
it might be sexy so lets get clean
in the river of honesty before we get dirty
in the subletted love nest of our dreams.

Let me say your name until
it doesn’t mean anything
so we always can only call each other
by touch and no one can make you pay taxes.

Yo dawg, let’s  get anachronistic
and have a pizza party in a big castle
with a moat around it.
And some vassals baby,
let’s get some vassals
so they can feed the pizza to us.

Tattoo Borges on my chest
so I too can have
lucid nightmares where me and
other famous writers are mummies
who terrorize the living
and exchange tips on metaphor.

*pretend to be an airplane* *run around in circles*

Whatever, most of my books were overdue anyway.
I’m sure the Queens Public Library will be happy
to have a reader as engaged as I am.

But really, is anyone going to talk about
the drunk dying moose in the room?
The murderers we could all become if the
slightest circumstance were changed.
Already feel like I’m losing control…


He’s got little brown spots on his paws
on his paws and that’s exactly where he licks them
and it’s like the spots got there from him licking them so much,
and I’m not sure if I can afford him
but hey, there’s more than one way to skin a sibling,
especially when there’s music involved,
and hey, did you hear about that divorce down the street?
Here’s a flyer.