Pterodactyl

poets survive on the edge of existence.
And I am a just a loser with a sense of humor.
And I bet you can solve all the mysteries of the universe.
in someone's closed clenched fist.



Poem

autumn is always a time of fear and forgiveness.
we hoard for the winter or feel bad for the holidays.
let's watch a cartoon and tell the people we love that we love them.
and then let's eat some cookies and fuck off.


listening to music and drinking good mezcal

I don't know what to do,
so I shrug. 
I'm stuck in St. Louis. 
my birthday is coming up. 
so is hers. 


man on a suitcase

I have pimple.
first one in years.
don't care.

the convenience of age is real confidence.

we don't understand the brain of a worm,
let alone the New York Times.

This is another example of why artists
are often the best people to walk us through life.

when we walk out of our own history,
is it dark or light?
the city is nothing but an aquarium. 
the weather is nothing but bullshit 

music might mean it all. 



The Temple of Emily

I'd do it again.
Love and all.
Laughter and tears.
St. Mark’s Church.

or Montreal.

songs that perfectly describe the time.
address failures.
and dance.

now a classic story of a loose handful of misfits.
just kids.
dumb and young and full of fear.

I am able to look back and laugh.
more than I ever I wish I could talk to those dumb youngsters.

I still love you.

.uoy evol lliw doolb etoyoc

BROOKLYN’S TABLES OF CONTENTS

When I walked into Egg in Williamsburg 
alone for a reading series on a Wednesday night 
last fall, I didn’t know what to expect. 

The Brooklyn restaurant was outfitted normally—in the back, 
where we were gathering, tables that seat two 
to four people lined the sides of the room, 
and a large communal table ran down the middle. 
I surveyed the scene before choosing a seat 
on the side and had only been sitting for about a minute 
when a woman I didn’t know beckoned me to the communal table.

At the table, she asked me about myself 
and my experience with reading poetry live. 
I humbly said I had some, and she said this was her second time. 
Soon after, another woman joined us, and she was a friend of the chef. 
None of us had read any of the books by the night’s readers—Angelica Baker, 
Will Chancellor, and James Hannaham—but by the end of the evening, 
the two women, who had just met, decided to start a poetry club to discuss the authors’ books. 

This is the spirit of what I love and the possibilities of this city,
even if I hate Brooklyn; it beckons.
I hope I don't let these women down.  


Gin & Tacos

I hate gin.
I love tacos.
but due to the keto,
I have been avoiding the tortillas.

all's well,
that can't be heard.
I think I have swimmer's ear.
can't hear out of the right.

hope I am not dying.
turning 36 in two weeks.
and it is freaking me out.
don't know what to do.

watching shows.
going to sleep early.
loving life.
missing love.

The poet and warrior, Pauli Murray.

draw shadows and gods

when a Wednesday weighs heavy,
what do you do?
keep living should be the first answer.
the second should be quit your job,
yell at your spouse, start over.
something. nothing. everything. 
my lips quiver. 
decisions are deadly these days. 



On This Day in History: I Woke Up Again

I woke,
all in white,
tortured,
teetering on the edge of forgiveness,
just as my eyes beg to bleed.

worry close to my skin,
the drugs, the women,
you better know,
down to New Orleans,
which will make me worse,
because that town even ate Samantha alive.

the love that takes everything
and the gratitude it takes
to keep saying words into this computer.

which way is me?


Poem


just when I didn't believe in Hashem,
"I Want You" by Bob Dylan comes on
and makes me believe,
giving me smile strength. 


bold new sonic colors, flavors and adventures

I wear a suit without a shirt.
save my name for a different day.
keep bothering love.
and bitch up a storm. 

back at the Kettle of Fish.
I sing MacDougal Street.
before England and Florida. 
for fuck's sake. 

On the night of May 2nd.
after encountering wind.
I opened for two bands.
a scene-style jam session.

at last...the beginning.
of this poem. this life. 
we learn that emptiness is full human. 
so dancing art is a must. 

to peel away the days.
get the good going. 
cover the insects eating us. 
and feel anything worth writing. 

it's weird that I still miss you

Song Switzerland.

I also know you read this.
Gimme a sign.
Let me know I am not crazy.

I would give up the world for you.

Just give me anything.

I don't want to live in a Joanna Newsom song.
I have heart burn.
Because I am a real human man.
I want to remind you that.

It is a funny thing to be part of your past,
but I want to be part of your future.

I scratch my bicep.

what will tonight bring?
I hope you crawl into my bed.
I would give anything.
devils.


YOU TELL ME!

what am I supposed to do now?
Saturday Night.
for real.
Kendra Jean.
I miss you a lot tonight.
you are the love of my life.

here's a stupid poem.
about things I forgot to say.

I still text you like a dipship.

putting all my power into a dynamite rose.
the love we made on coilers wasn't love.
because our love came from anger.
underneath.

stoke tomorrow.
heavy agents, magnets.
stars are about to fall.
cities and the scenes.
things we've seen.

there and then it's gone.


do ya ever really look at your fingers?

I look at my hands as I write
and I know I am getting old.

goddamnit.

holy devils.

I wish I were 23 and me again.
but I am not and never will be.
which it even sadder.

I also had to Google
the word "sadder".

double dare you to look at your fingers.
those 30-something fingers are probably gross.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I also can't even believe it's almost December.

Fuck me.


Friday Night

flipping through pages of poems,
trying not to get too drunk,
but already here,
at the avenue of three whiskeys
and comedy.

I smile like crazy when it thunders,
and keep going with unlocked doors.

You were right and I was wrong,
times eleven and a hurt shoulder.

her Tokyo hands woke me in the couch
when I was dreaming in cartoons,
and there was nothing I could do about love,
but float above,
like a goddamn full shadow.

so keep me keen and close,
keep me the most,
but don't admit it to friends,
because it will end.