Thought

it's so funny to have a crush
on someone as an adult.

you just obsess over them
and read texts a million times
and second guess yourself
like a teenager,
but then you're like...

oh shit, I forgot to pay a major bill.


Thunder Volcano Voice

drunk again,
a means to an end,
I hope my first impression
wasn't a sonofabitch.

I will always save
a sunset for her,
Benedict Cumberbatch,
the new baseball fan.

maybe is this just what I martyred
my life for:
someone with whom
to look forward to eating Arby's.



Tsundoku

there was dust and volumes.
making a barrier between me.
and my necklaces.

there were metro cards.
which were page markers.
and needed knives for other things.

they were piles and friends.
masters in reminders.
to be free and remember me.

some from Strand.
some from Powell's.
all promises of other worlds.

they still sit.
there.
somewhere.


before you

I felt tired and blurred out,
but now I am charged and horny.

the world is shadows
without/within worry,
whatever we want.

seeing selfish hope
is hope on the old telescope.

I was stupid 
but now I am smart, 
hopefully.


Hellacious

my thousand bodies
and my two minds
and my negative soul...


all add up to a worshipping warship
claiming waters beyond my back,
better than each shark attack
of anxiety which wins
in the cocktail of time.

goddamn it all.
goddamn it all to life.


I want to buy this little green house in Montreal.

Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass

small, small poems.
a fly buzzing around, but it's Autumn.
I was bad quality.
and I've been here before.
for a job and for a girl.
Jay Street blues, so tell me a joke. 


Love is Stupid

It was just a moment of me being horrified.
Perhaps the most tender.
I invented my own downfall.
Then we live. 


I Am Sorry For Being A Skeleton

you're mine
and I am yours,
nevermind.

you know I'll always try,
right?

and send you mail from Florida. 

I want to be a lying lion,
something to rely on.

no bodies come to my shows.

Hank Williams has me
in the back seat of an SUV. 

I want to die, twice. 

Hopefully. 


it's dawn and i'm insane

when are you jews gonna realize
I have tattoos and gold teeth,
and this desert is not a desert at all?
it's Florida.

and this is what she said:
live. live? live!

call me if you can't win.
because this is what sin tastes like.
and last night I let down two ladies.
maybe three.

all I have to give is hugs
and poetry,
because I am a basic bitch,
apparently.

won't you ruin me,
like the ruins of
machu picchu,
and dancing without faith.



Hornet Corpse

after a surprisingly good yesterland,
I trace my steps in sewer sand
and sing along to thunder,
which follows me over the horizon
to a town turning new leafs,
green as can be.

the lightning alarm sounds
and the children run away,
but I stay and play,
daring Hashem to have me
or leave me be.

one might think that taunting death
is a chaotic afterthought of psychotic behavior,
but it's nothing more than existential summation,
where the end result is still breathing,
a heart still beating,
and me smiling because life is here and good.

a trophy in the distance
is still a trophy,
and now it is time for breakfast,
because the bacon is not gonna fry itself,
so let's rejoice in tastebuds
and forget what ails us.


how to stay content while complaining

please don't love me because
please don't love me because
please don't love me because
you're not through hating you.

goddamn autumn on instagram
has me like nonsense in never nouns
while walking around and cursing
at strangers for no reason but existing.

the knife in my heart didn't hurt at the start
but now it is rusted and stuck to my lungs
leaving me gasping for more
letting the song end. 


horses are just horses until their manes are on fire

regret is just a witch that time can't dissolve.
and there is never a shortage of dancing fools in each word I drool.
then we wait. wait for death. wait for the next rumbler.
as our phones load, we implode.
because each pasture, each plateau is a waiting savior.
with promise that turns into lies by the time we cry.
the wind carting us off somewhere greener.
and sometimes it is better, but sometimes it's worse.
my body is an inked anchor, never asking to be free.
just wanting and waiting to be happy and healed.
on the edge of the beach where I explode into a thousand feathers.
without the want to be more, more to explore, ardor and inches.
the sun forest of song, the need to belong, it all escapes this place.
bury me with my riches which are just books and biscuits.


Gooseneck in Front

Yes, rain.
Bring good things to my day.
Bacon and bicycles.
Love and Laughter.

I have no counter offer.
Just a shipping container.
Filled with memories.
Trials and digressions.

After a beautiful slop.
I command each droplet.
To be an album of veins.
Stretch my imagination.

Yes, rain.
I love you.
And I love you.
Not backwards.



attraversiamo

I met someone,
but we haven’t met yet.
We are both dealing with death,
and just texting flirtatious messages.

Olfactory smell,
thanks for that bright, real smile.
Touché.

I hear rain outside,
and that shirt has been on the back
of that shirt on the back of that chair
for ten days now,
but I finally have the chutzpah to move it,
and take it to the cleaners,
because you never know
when life will get good.

who knows where looks
will come from
in this day
and age.


Vagina Fortitude

Dan is sending me bday gifts.
Some Joanna Newsom song is on in the foreground.

A copper girl is texting me
about coming over tonight.

Mondays are my favorite day
to go shopping.

I have a show tonight
that I am not ready for.

My sister is being passive aggressive
about me not visiting her.

The Yankees are winning.
Yom Kippur is losing.

The copper girl sends me a suggestive video.
I'll be there after the show.


coventry of simple, stupid animals

I am kicking my shoes off,
and thinking about the future,
as if tomorrow cares about me.

Where do we go
with our stomachs
and our questions?

My currency is time,
compared to the sea I see
in the middle of it all
and us.

Pick a fight
with dreams.


Vraem

online, a harvest,
a quick take and a telephone call,
while taking out the garbage,
throwing away stupidity and regret,
while terrible television commercials
talk about psoriasis and boners
in the background.

I am clear
with sexy elbows,
and knowingly good taste in music,
so good luck with your new Andrew or Asian,
your new Matt or whatever,
because you want to pursue
the beside of me
and my love for you forever.

there is no place for you to land,
because you are leaving town too fast,
even faster than me,
quicker than peace with the voice in my head,
viscously bleeding and leaving.