Coyote Blood

2012-01-29T13:03:00.000-08:00

it's not a 22.

knitting nothing

2012-01-29T11:22:00.000-08:00

sorry, Mr. Percy.

I say on a Sunday.

got stuck invisible as life.

on 29th street.

invisible as my hand.

which I see everyday.

ignore.

continue.

I come alight on 33rd and Park.

walk.

in the biggest rooms we die.

adios, Mr. Percy.

the loud librarian is now as good as dead.

lost in his automobile.

probably just another fender on 57th street.

coughing into life.

the search starts.

and should never end.

What is it you seek- God? you ask with a smile.

no.

Poem

2012-01-26T00:11:00.000-08:00

my shoulders miss you.

they are sorry for making you sad.

I've been walking difficult for weeks.

the jewelry store next to my job got robbed.

I'm a bastard.

and darling, you're amazing.

2012-01-24T09:33:00.001-08:00

Old Copper, Shoplifter

2012-01-23T23:48:00.000-08:00

motionless stories to hide

in old mountains from me.

while we get silly,

with white eagles

on weekdays.

why would you take

yourself away from me?

I think you are gorgeous,

please keep your mouth shut.

happier,

why would you get silly

away from me

to ruin things?

facing the name that doesn't matter at all.

late show.

sparks.

I put a letter in the mail for ya.

Sand dollars.

you stole my shoes and my heart

and sold them to the moon

for a front-row seat.

beers and tears

2012-01-23T23:08:00.000-08:00

I am home and sad as shirts.

T's and V's,

depending on the Brooklyn where's.

I am me and you are you.

every year I clap my hands

and you drift down to the main street

river horse of my goddamn doldrum dreams

of summer, but it is winter,

dressed in hats that old ladies

wear to markets.

don't worry about me.

I'm starving.

the tom is shimmy shake.

fact or fiction.

2012-01-23T23:05:00.001-08:00

you are welcome

2012-01-23T22:32:00.000-08:00

the noose drips off my nose.

trimmed as misery.

my haircut is not a haircut.

and my face won't speak.

hug your bones.

captain oh captain

I have no one to weekend.

I want to shoot off my big ol' mouth.

but I have no one to talk to.

trimmed in cranberry pants.

crackling wood gone white.

garage rock doldrums.

miserable beatnik dreams and sloth severance.

I'm well and writing.

clean the blood off my face.

2012-01-23T22:23:00.000-08:00

42 days ago

2012-01-23T22:10:00.000-08:00

I can't wait to fly

into Ft. Lauderdale.

I write, I eat.

I equal a man

with very bad posture.

back to the cellar prep:

Cod holiday, get drunk,

tune in time immemorial.

I was not yet sleeping.

In the meisner end,

I washed up on shore,

battered and benevolent and alone,

an ace in midnight Wellington.

the touch of Heaven grass

is rough in locavore eat...

since platters and guitars.

I hear voices.

Candles make defference

and

axe-handle restlessness,

details we have left,

with the fallen days

we have reminded ourselves,

there is no sympathy,

we focus on the fumes

and we remember what we chose:

fire or force,

both barely used.

big balls

2012-01-23T21:52:00.000-08:00

don't just give me free-passes,

gimme a sing.

I don't know where it's all going.

but I can show you where it comes from.

it comes from behind the Wendy's.

on University Blvd.

now what do I do?

you gave me a marshmallow and a bow and arrow with which I killed myself.

what time is it in Germany

now?

2012-01-23T21:47:00.000-08:00

ready, level, fire!

2012-01-23T21:16:00.000-08:00

the very sheets in which we sleep

are on fire

from peach pasts and pills that stole my soul.

criminals and brides.

perfect pictures.

send and die.

I won't share the tribe.

I won't share the Bowery Ballroom.

the guns are killing hearts of hearts.

this is our revolution.

finished with buck knives.

brandished at the email end.

was the roach still alive?

my feet are hot.

matchbooks.

my eyes are swollen.

my hands are shaking.

my heart has stopped.

I watch the flashes through your bedroom window.

In the morning, I want eggs with a side of eggs.

to whom are you writing?

that's at which I am firing?

pistol and bruises.

ready, level, fire!

you'll hit the heart.

I smile at the time traveling shacks.

we are invincible.

the meadows have ships and sheep.

and the ships have meadows.

2012-01-17T12:11:00.001-08:00

Strollin' in Savannah

2012-01-17T10:43:00.000-08:00

save yourself

in photographs

for me...

for I love you in the middle of the day.

it's in sun.

your southern-shaped weapons are sure to cut me right up.

the gardens are on the right,

through their statues and my wooden sunglasses.

you are left.

the bones of my hands

are wrapped around the bones of your hands.

romantic as birth as fire never letting go.

you tucked in the tag of my shirt.

you looked at me with those Stonewall Jackson eyes.

the foreground found something amazing.

sea pack wolves on cobblestone streets.

carports instead of garages.

I am still here.

every movement of the future sheets.

the chagrin long gone from New York City.

different coffee, same toast...

holy north american.

a mouse ran up my back.

tell me you need me.

days are like waves

2012-01-12T23:00:00.001-08:00

it's high tide.

drafted from fixed past.

curtains and throats.

headaches are guesses.

heartaches are certain.

my room is gambled black.

I fall asleep unproud.

you are my favorite everything.

are you still many?

modern at times.

I look at hands.

brave as telegrams.

of rivers.

of trains.

a man.

of a voice.

we almost died.

double drowned.

I have heard this song before.

so quick to grain.

nights are like large forgotten rivers.

that feed the ocean its waves.

if you want blood.

I will give it right.

from my back.

pour it onto blankets from our old whiskey bottles.

sometimes I keep my window open.

so you can swim in.

2012-01-12T00:18:00.001-08:00

it's yours

2012-01-09T12:54:00.000-08:00

the grim reaper

doesn't know you

and you dont know him

as a lion

in a photgraph

robbing

a liquor store

in broad daylight

and shooting my friend Danny

in the face

whether you meant to

or not

the music is the same

and vengeance is the game

and I will see your neck

with hands

and your neck will taste my hands

with a voice over

so scared

as I

as the devil is scared

my polo shirt doesn't know it

but if you get behind me and a door

you will never live to know it.

2012-01-09T12:50:00.001-08:00

Atelier

2012-01-02T15:11:00.000-08:00

I am playing backgammon.

in symphonies.

New Year's eve.

Montreal night.

we laugh.

in workshops.

and under fireworks.

I don't know anyone's name here.

walking be game.

lost in another movie.

cold wind whipping through naked my tattoos.

I am a man who never...

Monday's train.

will be the same.

I am in the middle of truth.

war silver.

I have come from the kitchen.

of the sun.

And, oh, how I write.

through the sky.

I take a bath.

It's snowing in this plastic place.

and we are dancing in free dreams.

for a small price.

2011-12-31T02:47:00.001-08:00

We Are Good On Couches

2011-12-27T11:35:00.000-08:00

piano me.

haunt this place.

kid me.

don't stab yourself with a pencil.

autoharp me again.

with bracelet photos.

left hands.

no time, no medicine.

no seatbelts on this ride.

and it's hard to remember.

the end of December.

2011-12-27T10:06:00.001-08:00

I told them all about you

2011-12-27T01:14:00.000-08:00

get drunk

by 5am.

get lost by six.

keep the pulse.

I guess living

is singing.

I've been to Montreal

a few times this year.

I listened to The Low Anthem there.

I climb the stairs.

Turn around and see gold horizons.

Like eyes.

Never able to forget.

I held the stars in my arms.

As the day took them from the sky.

Tomorrow is here.

It always was.

increase my music.

2011-12-27T01:04:00.000-08:00

2011-12-27T00:58:00.000-08:00

Poem

2011-12-24T01:58:00.000-08:00

Dan works too much to write.

Holliday gets drunk every night.

But we keep fighting the good fight.

It's true.

2011-12-22T13:29:00.000-08:00

with Shy Shy.

Desmond Sidewalk

2011-12-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

Meeker Street.

regret.

last summer.

last line.

gold fun.

the roof.

I descend the stairs to soundtracks.

songs.

given to someone else.

bloody hands.

mine.

be better.

recreate us.

we can do no harm.

this will be a better year.

I promise.

but, sick quip,

we only have four hands.

take care

2011-12-21T10:07:00.001-08:00

sticks and stones,

and apologies.

how can I feel you Thursday near?

everyone seems wrong.

the ocean.

something I haven't felt for years.

the cherish gone fine into

blue unexpected night,

her shoulders burned with fears.

campsite

2011-12-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

laughing,

with eyes shut.

It's always like outer space.

last night

I had a dream

that I was in the back of the bar

watching a happy version

of myself walk in the door.

ten past one,

somewhere.

take a cab there.

or a space shuttle.

or a time machine.

lets listen

with our ears

to the sound of the wind

with our fears.

jazz torsos hurt still

but they are getting better

by the days' afternoons.

can we camp here?

the fire is already going.

2011-12-16T10:08:00.001-08:00

cute shield

2011-12-14T11:24:00.000-08:00

come on, gold eyes.

draw your sword.

hey hero.

hurry into this life.

I saw your point-of-view

yesterday.

tear down the sky.

I'll never tell you to stop.

gobble up big deals in

the dance hall.

tell your friends.

Ooh la la.

use your human hands

to hold me up.

when I wake,

I wake by the broom.

I'll sweep you

off your feet.

things are serious in Milwaukee

2011-12-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

someone else.

she said you got a lot of lines

that will be crossed

before long.

arrows.

this is the 28th most populace city in the US.

I've been here before.

hate guts

2011-12-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

the whispering of Friday friends.

we all move through this darkness.

sometimes pubs and drugs help.

sometimes nothing helps.

I still wonder why

it becomes mine.

faithless.

wheels.

turning.

into faith.

mud doubt and almost whispering love.

the stage is set.

practice fast.

kinda say the werd:

forever.

kinda say the werd:

gone.

weekends,

and everything,

just need us.

it won't be long.

short story

2011-12-14T02:02:00.000-08:00

In a laundry mat, across the street from Vinnie’s Pizza, two lovers sit eating pizza and watching washing machines.

2011-12-14T01:44:00.001-08:00

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Intro - 12/8/11

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

Video Archive

2011-12-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

moneytrash

2011-12-12T13:50:00.000-08:00

flipped over moneytrash,

how much can you ask

for a good heart attack

in a plastic bag?

what towne?

I'm sending you mail, ghoul.

Western Union shit.

OMG!

I now dance with Seagram's 7.

Twenty-Fifth St.

has something I want to see.

Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

Soon. Soon. Soon.

Soon.

has.

is.

soundsystem.

and me.

pick scabs.

fall downstairs.

fall in love.

forget the past.

fuck moneytrash!

mix years.

mix whiskey and beer.

I'm trying to be cool but I suck at it.

2011-12-12T12:15:00.000-08:00

werd up to my homie, Kenny Reed!

mass milk most and liquid toast, next stop Shangri La

2011-12-12T11:46:00.000-08:00

pictures and apologies,

dinner and hallways...

I am eighteen again,

within a lonesome youngster's

decisions.

they be death,

by a drawn-and-quartered past.

the reader knows this,

I do not.

Yet.

let's dance in black-and-white pictures

and see what happens.

the future looks brighter than it did a week ago.

(If I could save the world,

I would die

for your golden eyes.)

next stop shangri la.

2011-12-10T02:01:00.001-08:00

Clean My Curses

2011-12-08T23:10:00.000-08:00

clean my curses, please have mercy.

I know a man from Kentucky.

let's take the subway home,

put Brooklyn behind us.

some sort of beatnik session,

I don't need to remember.

once again, your eyes

look good enough to eat.

the verses, the goat, the DJ,

the hole in the closet door, etc.

what the Devil wanted.

I wish I wouldn't have said a thing.

a jazz morning of movies,

the pretty weekend.

hopeless streetlights,

we ended up under them.

heart for hire

2011-12-08T22:49:00.000-08:00

a punk band,

some folky shit, too,

downloading the lights

that paint the sky.

time ticks away...

at the unhealthy angle

of walking pianos

and incredulous best shots.

I threw away

eleven cents,

because of the nickles

and the stars that shine on which.

a bench?

on a dark rainy night

in December in White Harlem,

I went looking for written survival,

finally found some.

in a sense,

it don't come easy.

in a sense,

it never will...

until you are killed.

Lexington to forgive.

my way is lighted

by the twinkling

flames of burning hearts.

the color of your eyes:

good enough to eat.

why can't we still play?

these are the worries of children.

2011-12-08T22:45:00.001-08:00

looking down.

2011-12-08T22:25:00.000-08:00

concordia salus.

Poem, Mix CD 127.2

2011-12-08T21:35:00.000-08:00

1. Silent Signs by DeYarmond Edison

2. 1957 by Milo Greene

3. Left and Leaving by The Weakerthans

4. Slayer by Giant Drag

5. To Be With You by The Honey Trees

the wrong jacket for mr. heartbreak

2011-12-07T09:51:00.000-08:00

they will destroy you.

time will alter you.

I will tear you to pieces

with glass teeth and a shakey albatross.

they will discredit you.

they will strangle you

with a noose of Hope

around your stupid neck.

they will dance on you.

they will laugh at you.

they will block your number

and pretend you never existed.

they will eat your chorus.

they will kiss your house phone.

they will haunt you.

they will be back, mark my werds.

don't wear your jacket like that tonight.

2011-12-07T09:39:00.000-08:00

chirpped out like a lucky chump

2011-12-01T23:08:00.000-08:00

meet me in Downtown Montreal.

just show up announced.

sit on my couch.

draw with red and blue crayons

on my rented white walls.

while I break my cellphone.

I don't have a computer

and

I don't have a daughter.

but I feel like a hitchhiker.

and I talk alot.

laughing with a mouth of blood.

I am the next of kin.

for swimming pools are bullshit.

and I was wrong and wrongly ironic.

the car is double parked.

I kept you there, so long ago,

my bones were wrapped around your skin,

smile large, dear, and I disappeared.

Be careful what you wish for

when you're young.

Oh, I like that button.

I am in the middle of the cliff and the sea.

I am still ugly.

we are in the belly of December first.

we are the worst of the worst.

Marty lives in LA.

Marty likes some of my poems,

others he says he does not understand.

I have no response for that

or life.

I have an answer for coloring books and love.

something like laughing with blood in mouth.

Romantic. Hopeless.

I see secrets

safe in the

palm of your hand.

Get Sunday out of your

mind and give up.

Let's keep a zoo and pride,

and say goodbye.

Let's rob a liquor store

and fall in love.

I want to stop writing and go for a walk.

along Rue Sherbrooke,

and smoke a cat

and forfeit.

2011-12-01T10:34:00.000-08:00

igualmente

2011-11-30T23:06:00.000-08:00

we all have boogers

and only some of us are

good at spelling.

I not good at math.

and

I really don't know how the stock market works.

dumb smart kids,

but...

gosh darn it all.

I kicked a guy out my bar

a month ago

because he kept talking shit about the Orlando Magic.

inre: we all have limits/pride.

the digger is nicked and forelorn for casualties over pop culture lunch for two for fifty dollars and a wallet full of wine.

over and out.

I love forever it.

now I figure I'd go north or west or on a date.

2011-11-30T23:05:00.001-08:00

La Danceuse

2011-11-28T23:12:00.000-08:00

sometimes owls,

seasonal forests,

the Wilshire fit.

I am not me.

I am not you.

My hair is parted differently.

we could start tonight:

slide the deadbolts open:

faithless plastic gasoline HEARTLESS humanbeings.

if you want to live.

well, go on living.

just keep dancing within your vacant chair.

this essay has to end somehow.

I called ya five times.

this weekend was built upon hope.

I have absinthe in my window.

lights on.

then feet.

there is no blood.

when the words are gone.

I have been singing since you're you.

simple machines.

relying on relief.

a long-awaited answer

to an old dream

of railroads;

this helps to betray memories.

this is how we are sustained.

this is perfectly based upon the leaves.

you do not worry.

you do not try.

the wind and winter have froze your eyes.

you can't go to vocal bulks.

I wish not to defend.

But I can't help it.

sometimes owls,

seasonal forests.

I think you know better,

so why even bother?

distraction and letting you go.

2011-11-28T23:07:00.000-08:00

Senator Grey Jeans

2011-11-28T15:31:00.002-08:00

he is the mayor

of the upper eastern.

he knows the Alans

and White.

he is uncharacteristically cool.

he is written after

as me,

time from underwater futures.

he has a library card

and

he walks with a falcon.

he is a pistolier of poetics,

wrong in every verb.

righteous in every song.

funny when I need to be.

2011-11-28T15:31:00.001-08:00

Buildings Are Outside, Too

2011-11-23T23:55:00.000-08:00

it is raining right now.

pop punk jukebox.

despite it all,

cold,

riding a bike along the East river.

Go to Biddy's to forget.

Forget Biddy's then go back.

Give me a beer and a shot of whiskey

Life’s not fair.

And I'm just scared.

I could stand with you

with your winter boots on,

and I hope

you find what you're looking for.

2011-11-23T23:53:00.000-08:00

as never before

2011-11-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

back on the

block,

we can shutter

and stop.

ignorance is bliss,

I guess.

at the goose colony

it's high season

in a city that keeps

eating itself,

and every time

a phone rings

the earth shakes.

righteous

and sick,

sing

and rejoice,

be forgotten.

Poem, Mix CD 1121

2011-11-22T01:12:00.000-08:00

14. Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

15. Luna by Malajube

16. We Are Both Writers by Kind of Like Spitting

17. Evening Kitchen by Band of Horses

16. My Dearest Friend by Devendra Banhart

This Black Guy We Know Named Randy

2011-11-21T13:39:00.000-08:00

Cook The Rapper and I were chillin’ the other day

on the couch, smoking weed.

I was sippin’ on a forty, while Cook

was eating on candy, Nerds Rope.

D came throughwith 287 and 420

and we all talked hip-hop and dumpster divin’ in Manhattan.

Then D says to us he saw Randy yesterday riding a BMX bike.

“Black Randy?” Cook asks.

“Yes mutha fucka,” D snaps.

“Randy was wearing a suit

and had pierced his nose himself the day before

and he was riding a BMX bike!”

“He’s on an aderol-xanax mix,” I says.

“He’s in a K hole,” Cook says.

“Don’t forget he introduced me to you two,” D declared.

Then we all laugh and go quiet and think about Randy.

Stagger D met Randy in oh six,

while they were gamblin’.

Wrong ‘em boyo.

It is. It was. Tops, Cook Book.

And then there was me.

Randy was a lifeguard then.

He now looks mad ghetto but he still listens to metal and punk rock.

Randy knows Beach Fork, believe it or not.

Does Randy even work anymore? None of us think so.

Thugs and hipsters.

Beach Fork says Randy is crazy.

Randy is growing dreads.

I think he was born in South Africa.

He has a bachelor’s in Political Science from Rutgers.

We always shrugged Randy off as harmless.

Everyone, especially the old ladies on his block,

says he has the nicest smile.

Randy just wants to plays his guitar for folks who come over his studio apt.

Until he slaughtered a man.

Randy used to wear Haile Selassie I shirts

and he still loves East Harlem, yet

now he keeps saying the werd misunderstood.

Randy sold yayo for a week

just to rap about it.

He got a rusty snub-nosed pistol that week.

Randy takes Xanax behind the hardware store

and then tags Coyote Blood in black spray paint.

Down by the accident,

that is where Randy fell in love.

He still howls,

though

we don’t see him as much.

He has become a catch phrase,

of sorts.

I just pulled a ‘Black Randy’.

2011-11-18T09:33:00.001-08:00

2011-11-18T09:30:00.000-08:00

this is a bunch of bullshit

2011-11-16T22:54:00.000-08:00

who shot Frank?

I don't know,

my head's on fire.

And Gwen's at the blackjack table

doubling down on two sevens.

she has the pistol in her purse.

she was a witch for Halloween,

passing out passport photos.

I wish I weren't here.

2011-11-15T23:49:00.000-08:00

Consider Us the Rulers of the Universe

2011-11-09T11:38:00.000-08:00

scotch blue afternoons with buildings,

I found a nickle heads-up.

his only and.

spread these days.

better nights are beside me...

this isn't the first time

I've been a complete asshole,

nor will it be the last.

blood in the street, blood in the yard.

belly up to a barstool.

that's how we live.

we wake up with conduct.

forget me not,

always whispering fun,

or surprise in winter,

your cornerstone still hits the spot.

we talk on internet eyes

and shake.

try for the dead.

she crosses her broken heart...

forgive me in a hurry.

in every book I ever read

there is a line that sticks out to me.

lock my keys inside my

home tonight,

better wolves be asking

for heart and driftwood

and horizon.

2011-11-07T12:48:00.001-08:00

2011-11-04T11:41:00.001-07:00

noon to one

2011-11-04T10:37:00.002-07:00

hood up, head down

toothpick dangling from mouth.

I carry a bit of pride this time

from Iowa.

I kick leaves,

wear, for the first time

in twenty years,

shoes without socks.

where I have faith

in southern dive bars,

she has faith in the moon.

Every night.

overheard a street story

between Peacocks

over flapjacks…

I don’t want to go downtown today.

simple boxer player in garden,

dancin’ and tryin’ to sing,

flattened and forgetting the words

when life is right.

you don't have to

buy me pants,

I can make 'em myself.

explain love to me, though.

2011-11-04T10:37:00.001-07:00

2011-11-04T10:03:00.001-07:00

Awesome Brawl

2011-11-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

A rattle of large-link chains

turns out the lights.

How’s your cursive?

I blame Hollywood.

Four fists.

Making me believe in happy endings.

Come back to the viola.

Seek my chest and shoulders.

A brain of Underground blues.

Some sort of Murderous malevolence.

My future firstchild’s middle name.

Is the title of a song.

2011-11-04T00:08:00.000-07:00

once upon a time there was a pineapple and a tomahawk...

2011-11-02T22:25:00.000-07:00

I am a bad person in love with bad people.

Blockbuster Video bullshit, a sea of whiskey.

I fight problems with problems.

but I wear a watch.

There is something

I have been meaning to tell you.

But I will wait.

This is not the venue for such discussions.

the radio is playing our songs.

I am eating beer and drinking cheese.

Los Angeles is calling.

and I miss Montreal.

this isn't who I am.

from confidence to self-doubt.

one hundred and sixty two seconds.

I am trying to wear hats.

I'm not larger than life.

black sky basement tapes

2011-11-02T11:26:00.000-07:00

like a renegade

with hearts

where her

eyes should be,

beating with blinks,

eyes distressed in open chest.

fists like feathers.

fists like parenthetical lions.

fists like goodbyes.

fists in in-between doors.

fists like etc.

2011-11-02T11:25:00.000-07:00

gunshot blues

2011-11-01T11:30:00.000-07:00

in the 1760s.

the drought was killer.

we was making moonshine.

and corn was key.

the newspaper was ours.

the American front was not even.

old not yet.

the British were still around.

I got shot by buck.

an accidental dead farmer.

General Washington himself came.

hospitals weren't hospitals.

I still sleep in Appalachia.

2011-11-01T00:23:00.000-07:00

2011-10-30T22:15:00.001-07:00

Prattle

2011-10-30T22:04:00.000-07:00

a quarter, tails up.

hats and an ashtray.

red plums, photographs, a hammer.

books and rum.

empty for a while.

me, not the rum.

the rum has been replaced.

by words and whiskey.

movie stubs, another hammer.

who needs two hammers?

I forget why I needed the first one?

a metro card and my watch.

a lighter, an empty pack of menthol cigarettes.

a necklace with a key on it.

a necklace with a seahorse on it.

receipts, long loose hairs.

lots and lots and lots of notes.

an empty picture frame.

hoping for hunger to take me away.

but on this october night in october.

rain has turned to snow.

the keyboard has left.

the guitar flew to town.

I look like a desk.

and I feel like an airport.

2011-10-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

lazy and late

2011-10-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

you want to bet on me and honesty?

man o man! I miss Montreal.

I don't know what to say in a letter.

or an email.

congrats on the job, bummer the drunk.

silver the evening sky.

live your life.

I'm too lazy for those cheap thrills.

and it's too late.

Electric box of slippery hands

shocks me like nightmare children

and lethargy is in line since

one subtle bench night

based on one perminance.

perfect songs.

are midnights every night?

our light seems forever.

for only ten minutes.

sometimes we are made to break.

some stops grow green to go.

some lies tell the truth.

some poems keep me in the pulses.

one day I'll get wise and be on time.

2011-10-30T21:38:00.000-07:00

low

2011-10-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

[lets take shots of rain.

and sleep with a rightwing girl.

lets eat grapes.

and talk to death.

lets go shopping.

and buy a sense of shame.

lets break the pool table.

and play by the rules.

lets give up.

and live.]

Muddy Frank keeps saying he has polio.

We brush him off and push him into thorn bushes.

Listen to the gathered river.

Secrets of boredom whisper.

I yawn twice.

We vandalize our lives.

I can't let you go.

Poem, Mix CD 1026

2011-10-26T11:32:00.000-07:00

4. Lost Coastlines by Okkervil River

5. Hot Burrito #2 by Big Star

6. Little Bird by Angus & Julia Stone

7. You Still Hurt Me by William Fitzsimmons

8. Tag by Throw Me The Statue

hecksiraveryphame

2011-10-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

morning boogers.

morning blood dripping from my beard.

How could I say no?

to the last library.

welcome to tomorrow.

you are famous.

visit me back in NYC soon.

you are smart to stay away from the abusive lover.

Los Angeles Police Department.

the clouds look like whispers.

but bogged down by life.

bad music.

we never talk.

only write on the sidewalks with chalk.

sunsets.

people die, fun.

2011-10-21T11:46:00.001-07:00

Silly Whiskey Fish

2011-10-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

( for Ian and Hiten )

There’s no limit to what we can do…

We are given the rain.

We are nostalgia tonight.

We do it up.

We land perfect.

We run the world away,

live in lighthouses,

gallop up spiral staircases,

always orange.

We are ugly.

We are romans a' clef.

We frustrate mysteries.

We laugh and drown.

2011-10-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

15 days left

2011-10-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem

in a paper bag.

I sing it to you

because it's all I have.

2011-10-19T10:54:00.000-07:00

Indian Helm

2011-10-18T09:40:00.002-07:00

in scrutiny, unsecurity.

morning sex, bravery.

I hate the Brooklyn Bridge,

because it leads to nowhere.

sustained in weaknesses.

pretty and perfectly immeasurably unperfecting love.

based upon the baroque leaves of Elm...

nothing, nevermind. go settle for stairs.

half of all our lives

are spent on burgundy curtain rides.

Go.

know future.

2011-10-18T09:40:00.001-07:00

Bop

2011-10-17T20:31:00.000-07:00

I don't want to be the only one.

I don't know how the war was won.

Fool in love, you must be drawn and quartered.

As she sings along

to the stagecoach song

behind you.

Drums in clouds.

Metaphors in memories.

Jellyfish in the background.

The day unravels,

I want to taste her velvet pride.

Hold fast, pineapple eyes.

The wind in the golden square mile

will blow us away.

and the rain, you win today.

Sweat drips down your legs.

Under skinny denims.

Apparitions.

Effigy Bop the gun room.

Cross the Saint Lawrence River.

Break the night.

Carry a knife.

Bad as a rose.

We are nothing but toes.

Dancer wins again!

I am just an average joke.

An axe with hope on a noose around my neck.

2011-10-12T19:37:00.000-07:00

Johnson!

2011-10-10T21:23:00.001-07:00

Johnson is pink.

A happy little prick.

Every teller at the bank hates him.

Every drunkard at the bar loves him.

Johnson is a good singer.

An awful lawyer.

An Alabama wonder.

Prankster archetype.

The terror of Owen's Family Funeral Home.

He burned it down last year.

Saying he was cremating the building.

He spent only three weeks in county.

At barely thirty-one.

He is a smooth talker.

A terrible dresser.

A big fan of the band Thin Lizzy.

Johnson doesn't whistle when he walks with his wife.

Johnson's wife, Julie, is jolly.

She broke her hip during childbirth.

Their son is named Willmill Once.

Johnson has a few bullet wounds.

No one knows where Johnson and his wife are from.

They ain't from here.

This small town.

Johnson whistles when he walks.

And while he drinks whiskey.

And he does both of those things when he writes.

Goddamn poetry.

2011-10-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

GOOSE TIME

2011-10-10T20:32:00.000-07:00

Feddy once. Capricorn nigga.

knock on your teeth.

lets go to Yonkers and gamble.

a bunch of choppers, werewolves in the fifth inning.

new Kennedy. fried chicken. sore throat.

young for now.

Owen's funeral home

and Johnson is the next poem.

blued-eyed spark plug missing your denial.

cigarette cellophane stuffed into cans of bud light in neighborhoods I want to hold your hand.

bombs from Brooklyn.

I stand still.

and the days write songs.

we blow up.

my blood is what you search.

yet, anger is inside doors to bedrooms.

broken with fists.

mine.

sorry. again. about that.

you already know what you already know like cigarette packs in snow without the cellophane.

is this part two?

an acre into a sinkhole, a horse into the sun.

what do you want to listen to?

a house in love with a goodbye garden,

I've given up on understanding why we are blessed.

2011-10-10T20:31:00.000-07:00