so shall yours be

despite the two gals
who won't/don't call
(ghosted is the youthful term),
today is a grand day
for poetry and being misunderstood.

a year in the making,
since last year's party,
where we all died
a few extra lovely unlost days.

an idea becoming a reality,
and life is like a rejection letter
from a lover or an editor:
it either gets burned in a brushfire or turned a placemat;
regardless it is twisted into newness and air.

this is where we dance,
thus forgetting those who
hurt us in our hearts
and lift those who trusted us on our shoulders.

a glass of wine,
an Advil PM,
a book on Amazon,
a phone call and an email,
tonight I am smiling big and loud in dreams and real life.



Geometry Poem

worst case
let's fuck
one last time
and say goodbye.


Folk-Horror Genre

I am the most
consistent thing
you will ever have
in your life.

at the movies,
drunk and young,
the big bad years
can be gone,
just ask the last poems.

beyond the cave
of where I care,
and the past heart
that lays motionless there,
we dare the night
and have done so
for almost a decade.

Someone to tether
each other
to this Earth,
I'd rather
a shitty day with you
than a good day with someone else.


the eighteenth beware of this year

trust your instincts and your guts,
boys and girls, ghouls and fools,
because when you get the slightest hint
that love is out of bounds,
it is already on a bus out of town.

there is no rake or snake
to clean up the leaves or given venom
or debris left over from the storm
that swarms inside your heart,
because the windswept edge
of the river is empty aside from the litter
of letters written under
the influence of love's letdowns.

what do you want from me
usually means go fuck off,
but if you sneeze or cough
you may miss the point,
so try to stick to the knife
and just dance on ahead
alone and find a new home.


a billion years of peeing in parking lots

car.
carolina.
not sick.
divorced a dancer.

dean is texting me.
about a girl.
and I don't care about his pseudo troubles right now.
I have my own emergencies.
karaoke nights.

in my search for faith,
it's nothing much
to take a few shots
to the ribs.

I use drawers
to build tables,
and tables
to make stairs.

all to your heavenly lips
which laugh me up
to your eyes
all the time.


Runoilija Slam

for an ugly poet,
I sure played some good basketball tonight.

as the sun was setting,
I scored ten out of fifteen,
and had two steals, six boards.

not bad for a bullshit wordsmith
with a wayward heart
from Orlando
by way
of New York fucking City.

I wish people
knew this side of me.

certain not to unleash my all,
the soul stays dormant
for some things,
keeping them to myself.

sweating in a Fleet Foxes shirt.
no one on this court
is like me.


Go Far

I enjoy a spot
of tea every evening,
and I am only a poet,
because I never learned
to play the guitar.

At one point,
in my teens,
I told my older sister
that I may join the navy;
I'm glad she talked
me out of it.

The sun doesn't see me
like I see it
and hide
while the blood
drains from my feathers.

To be a man
in the middle,
with a past,
and hopefully a future,
is a terribly terrific thing to consider.

Karma doesn't exist,
because if it did,
my breakfast today
would have been bagels
and booze.

Think about the fact
that no one in the world
has our history,
our timeline, our verve,
love, life for life,
benches, bullshit, back and forth.

I enjoy a Fernet Branca
some evenings, not all,
and I want to watch a show with you,
and existentially wage some wasted time
if I only had wings.


Did You Feel It?

Supposedly, it happened
when I was at LAX
in my mind,
but I didn't feel anything.

Maybe, it's because
my heart beats faster
and my hands shake quicker,
so my body vibrates enough
to cancel out earthquakes.

is this the end of something bad
or the start of something beautiful,
I can't tell and questions marks
don't make sense anymore.

I hope the mountains
are making the most
of their time
with you.


I am not an idiot

I may be dumb,
and I am definitely not smart,
but I am not an idiot,
so I know when the excitement
of love fades.


get out of me/slink past the ocean

the touring camera
in the living place
of holding that which
gives us all good bae hits.

there is more honor
in disappearing,
in spit of all the controversy.

there is more jousting,
giving love a farm,
and having two lesbians
wounded where you went to
than where's they found you.

two layers deep in oath,
and may cone dodgers,
but dubious of the size.

I am done with the fun,
and this is one or two
of the last times
I will write your pine name,
even though it is written on me.


Poem

too many wine mixers
and blunts last night,
had to leave early,
get Taco Bell,
throw my phone in the river,
watch Dazed & Confused,
and give up.


my tea is boiling

if you can say
you don't love me,
I will leave,
but it will be forever,
I can promise you that.

if you can't,
then we have
a whole other
bag of hammers
in our laps.

something that tastes like forever. 

fuck the past and fuck everything else. 
just try.
just give me time. 

if you don't have a guitar,
I will loan you my car. 


stubbed my toe on purpose

it's a tricky Thursday midnight, ya'll,
and after the storytelling gig,
which went okay, 
and the afterparty,
where I danced with a beautiful
but silent blonde,
I can't talk or type anymore.

I need a break
from a lot of things,
even after the booze
and the broken heart.

I say this to friends of clouds,
out loud so it seems real and important,
but it is neither real nor important,
just a poet talking to himself
on a borrowed motorbike
with no place to go. 

Maybe I will follow Chris
up the PCH and go back to Portland
and that beautiful crazy girl with dreadlocks,
or maybe I will keep going up
to Seattle and see what Nila from Cady Wire
is up to and see if she has room
in her life for a me like me. 

I wanted to go back to New York City
and win back the heart of hearts,
really take back the city,
do things differently,
but that seems fruitless now,
especially after last night.

I could just stay in LA
and land a dumb job and a dumb actress
just to make life easy and unsurprising.

Which choice will make me happy?
Which place will last forever?
Which one won't break my heart?

You'll never know unless you try.
I guess.



I Am Determined to Bring a Backpack and Start Over

I went to the Beverly Center
and bought some light-colored Eric pants
to wear back to New York.

Back at Mark's boat,
I threw things overboard
because I didn't need them.

I am determined 
to bring a backpack
and start over.

We talk about time,
and address my feelings
about Los Angeles leaving me. 

Guess this is the tide,
and I am the beginning
of a train song. 

I have a storage shed in Chelsea,
and I will only keep books
and a skateboard.

May the streets 
be wiser than me
and my future feet. 

I also bought
a new t-shirt
just in case.


sangre de lobos

we are so far apart.
drifting through the water.
drifting through the sound.

I think the lawnmowing mexican man
caught me jerking off in the kitchen,
cuz the windows were open,
and I didn't see him until it was too late.

so many climaxes in life.
shining light.
a cup of coffee, a goodbye.
that's alright.

the wifi sux here.
I can't write 
to save my life.


untitled

I turned my back on Pantone color codes.
I turned my back on Manhattan.
The red and green adjustments. 
The menstrual women with inflated egos.
I turned my back on myself. 
This weekend, next weekend and the one after that. 
I could spin myself into happiness.
I could spin myself into more trouble. 
A dance that ends with what kind of man I was/am/will be.
I am designed to die. 


Culate Yorse Zorm

Now time I am in LA,
I will rent a car
and just get lost.

Maybe visit a pizzaslut
in Silver Lake,
do some day time coke.

Or I will just go from
Buynak landmarks to eating dirt,
the catch a comedy show at the Store.

Summer's start always sucks,
and I suddenly feel antsy again,
like I need to get up and go.

I soon spin,
packing up emotion,
and going gone west to nowhere.