Wednesday, February 12, 2014


I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out
whether or not
you should know my mind.

Maybe it’s just not the time,
but maybe it’s not my decision to decide.

I know that small details that probably pass
right by you have lasting effects on me.
Like kicking the head off of a mannequin or
singing the Ronettes on Christmas Eve.

Sometimes it feels as if you are a ghost
growing in me.
A thing that I can’t get rid of, no matter
how many exorcisms take place.

What the Fuck is Even Going On?

Hey! This is a love poem right here.
You better recognize and understand this shit.

How many times have you been in love?

How many times have you been able
to prove or disprove this emotional theory?

How many people have already done that for you?

When will this drunken carrousel stop?

You and I are both holding the reigns.
Do we take control

or just see what happens?

If we crash, will you land on top of me?

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Round Up

So it seems that you’ve

kicked me in the balls
(bringing me to my knees),
punched me in the gut
(knocking the wind out of me),
karate chopped my throat
(grasping for air nightly).

So it seems that you’ve

brought a horse into the picture,
crushing my head with a gallop.

I don’t really see the point.

My brain is already gunmetal.
The protons and the electrons
and the neutrons have come to
all but a standstill.

So it seems…

In Waders (Cleaning Out Clogged Drainage Pipes)

Is this what it’s all comes down to?

Torn cardboard and broken wood
flooding concrete dreams when
it’s 70 degrees and sunny and all
is quiet, but your laugh is there.

Swirling around and around until
I have to dive straight into

your mouth.

The inside of your cheeks are like
pancakes and the trip down your
Slip-and-Slide trachea makes me
come alive.

However, it is the end that hurts.
Floating in acidic bliss, just hoping

for it all to end.