Mistletoe

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?

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.

Superheroes in Snow Globes

For Eryn Mulloy

Keep me up at night.

Keep me up until the restaurants close.

Let’s decorate plastic x-mas trees

while turtles move at their own pace.

Curtsey in a striped skirt covering

polka dot tights, guitar at your knees.

Keep me up at night.

Keep me up until the drunks are home.

Turn up the stereo from the floor with

your feet as candles burn from your toes.

Chocolate, wine and laughter have become

the drugs of choice in this place.

Keep me up at night.

Keep me up until you send me home.

Similar to superheroes suspended

in snow globes, everyone is stuck,

just watching, yet learning the fact that

one-eyed dogs are better than unicorns.

The Poet

In the poet’s own mind, we should

feel lucky that we are able to witness

the poet’s brilliance.

Who are you to question this?

Think about it for a year or two…

The Stranger Who Saved Christmas Once

There was no communication after

her dog was saved or after

they had sex.

It was a weird scene.

Someone said that a movie

should be made about it.

Everyone just went their own way,

pretty much the same as before.