Playlist, Mix Me Up After Math 1+2 = Nada

1. Hug of Thunder by Broken Social Scene
2. Ozma by Shannon and The Clams
3. Make Me Wanna Die by White Reaper
4. Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space by Spiritualized
5. Visions by Phantom Power
6. Horizon by Pigeons Playing Ping Pong
7. Pretty Pimpin by Kurt Vile
8. Brother Down by Sam Roberts
9. Row of Houses by Dan Mangan
10. Can't Win by PUP
11. Everything You've Done Wrong by Sloan
12. Plimsoll Punks by Alvvays
13. I Believe in You (You Believe in Me) by Johnnie Taylor

Sweet dreams, New Orleans.
See you again tomorrow.


never an object of sardonic description,
but work of contemporary art in my dumb little life.
disagree with me, but do it for real. 
do it in person.
I refuse to let love become invisible,
hiding away like a reluctant protagonist;
a woman in a man's words. 
the goal here is to be the first to see.
Happy Birthday, Kendra Jean.

A faultless romantic, I wish I were

My back breaks every morning
Over the burdens I carry still.
Watching the morning moon die,
I wish I were an Apple. 

This is not going to end well
Because most things end
In death or glory or the glory of death
And I am neither noble nor nice.

I cannot be better 
Because I have tried
Many many many times
And only succeeded one maybe twice

Tonight I will drive to Orlando
And save a friend
With drugs and hugs
But I will still be me.

don't blink or tomorrow will be gone

it all turns into yesterdays.
love and life.
time tears at us like a goddamn hatchet.

I want to have an apple tree.
in my backyard.
and chop it down.

turns out, I am a pretty petty thing.
and I am the first to admit that I am wild violent.
and purple.

stolen hearts, bad pop songs, sneezing.
that's my rap sheet.
headphones and all.

I Love a Good Fight

I want to do what Bill Hicks did.
which is box his battle privately.
hope is a hilarious thing.
because it comes in waves.
just like fists behind the bar.
this will blow over in time.
to other people.
but it was a war to me.

yes, it's true

I cough in my
in a car
 favorite parking space
but at least my kinky lungs breathe
 and I get to teach poetry.

Louder Than Death - The Future is Punk

we are all made out of shipwrecks.
so let's be barnacles.
we only have what we remember.
my pillow is quiet but hates my head.

in just a few more weeks.
I will be scattered.
so let's kill the throat with cake.
fools rusted by machines.

I want to live forever.
but forever is fucked for love.
sew me together.
and let the song end before you restart it again.

attack the time of tomorrow.
like a mosh pit make believe thing.
just make it real.
call it a horse on fire, but the fire is on the inside.

let's not talk about the weather.
whether we suck cute ironies or not.
let the hangover help the healing.
we all write punk rock songs about life but we just write them different.

Oh, My Sweet Hilda

her chest bones get my eyes and thoughts.
her dresses.
the way she walks around the parking lot.
perfect posture.

she has no idea.
that I watch her through the windows.
and love passing her in the hallway.

I hope her husband.
tells her she is beautiful every single day.
I found her on Facebook.
but I am afraid to send her a friend request.

she waved to me today.
down the hall.
it reminded me that we all have actions.

I wonder if she knows.
that a dumb drunk hipster.
has the hots for her.
and wrote this damn poem.

crocodile love

come see me.
where I am.
I'll be in New Orleans next week.
and Atlanta next year.
give me your crocodile love.
over Coronas.
no matter what.

The First Word to Come to Mind

while she was weeping
we went to see Inside Llewyn Davis.
I lost my bandana,
we got into an argument
and I ate a Coney dog,
got too drunk,
and ended up hopping a flight
to Florida.

That was a long time ago,
2013, five years ago,
right after Kendra Jean
decide I was too fucked up
to love.

When love is perfect,
it usually means everything is fucked up.

I kept moving
and now I can't watch that movie,
but I still dream of being a folk musician
in Greenwich Village,
which is appropriate to the poetry I make,
because of the honest stories I tell.

there are always two girls
in your world,
or two loves, because it is 2018,
and I want to be sensitive and politically correct
and liberal as fuck,
but there is nothing you can do about loving
two people at the same moment of your short life.


I am seeing a lot of death today.
I don't like it.
But it reminds me to live.
and love.

red deer scene

I venture into the music venue
and hear the words that I have heard before.
tokyo speaks of brooklyn and vide versa. 
it is a forest of familiar faces.
all wearing weird hats and tiny shoes. 
spelling their names wrong. 
it's a wednesday - which is spelled wrong. 

my elbow hits a human and I apologize.
she says it's okay and follows me moving. 
I could crush a thousand beers, but I remain sober.
for tonight, for a job interview tomorrow, for a later I want to remember. 
I glide between people across streets of dreams and conversations. 
there is nothing better than the overheards on a New York night. 
and I am just a hipster huddled in the middle. 
of life, of nowhere, of course.

while dancing to the band.
I lock eyes with the gal I accidentally elbowed before.
she smiles and nods.
has no idea I want to live in that moment forever.
pay attention to the map of my existence.
think about my middle name. 

at the bar, ordering a water.
she approaches me. 
her name is Holly.
I tell her to guess my middle name.
I probably only have one more good love up my sleeve. 
a chill touches the base of my neck. 
we exchange numbers.
and I get the fuck out of there before I ruin it. 
later, I listen to same band on Spotify.
and replay the red deer scene in my head.
then I hide my phone in old coats.

dead lovers celebrate and broken hearts tesselate tonight

oh, where does it all go?
time is a transformative motherfucker. 
do we become cats, moths or bitches?
I want to be resurrected as a John Coltrane record. 
preferably A Love Supreme

priorities change like a wire through a door. 
last week I threw a juicer I had just bought into the East River.
this week, I am worried about the harbingers of traffic and texmessages.
cold seems to burn colder. 
I hate growing older, because of the disappearance of my nerves of steel. 

get me started on eyes and living in them. 
a forever that is even more than the forever we think of. 
a truck stop, a broken arm palace, a company replaces a dead dude in less than a month.
I am more than a song, a season, a laugh, a memory. 
there is a good chance we won't make it to lunch. 

It's not often you get to drink a beer you conceptualized.

I just want to be a good man.

On my 36th birthday,
I am fragile.
Riding to work,
the anxiety makes me shake.
I try to listen to my breathing,
embrace the quakes,
let the music do the soothing.
I scream to let out anger,
like spilling the yeast of the beast.

Roethke once said: This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

I will probably be okay,
and die another day.
Hopefully as a better,
more fulfilled man.

Mix CD, 181027

1. In The Backseat by Arcade Fire
2. I'm Trying to Break Your Heart by Wilco
3. Lead Me On by Joe Henry
4. I See You, You See Me by The Magic Numbers
5. Kerfuffle by Ladyfuzz
6. You're Somebody Else by flora cash