Friday, January 31, 2014

As the Meat Turns

Been writing a lot of poems lately. Poetry comes from a feeling part of our meat, rather than an analytic part, generally speaking. I've been doing more feeling than analyzing lately, so that's what I've been putting on my blog. I hope you haven't minded too much.

I have been out of work for approaching two months now. Quit my job at the shelter after burning out, kind of jumping off the cliff with the intent of building my wings on the way down--to paraphrase Ray Bradbury--and it seems I have succeeded. I have a new job lined up to start in late February, so I will have almost another whole month before jumping back into the workforce.

Leaving my job was the right thing to do. Like I said I was burned out, and needed some time to get back in touch with myself. There was anxiety at first, kind of an 'oh shit, what's gonna happen now' type feeling, but once I lined up this other job it subsided. Now I am spending that much needed time with myself, reading (lots of Celine and William Burroughs), writing, and hanging out with my family. It's a shame that more people are not afforded a few month break every few years. It's a good opportunity to recharge, but is afforded--unfortunately--only to the super rich and the lucky. I am not super rich, but in this case, I guess I am lucky.

I decided to write this short piece as a sort of re-entry to regular blogging. I was going to jump right in with a political blog explaining why I think people on the left should support Matt Bevin in his bid to unseat Mitch McConnell as the republican candidate in Kentucky--Bevin is not an entrenched crony politician, and actually has some principled positions, however wrong--but still feel kind of apolitical. Kind of introspective.

This blog has been functioning regularly since 2008. I hope to keep it going. Going to try to switch gears from poetry to prose again, because it is not healthy to leave your meat in a state of pure emoting. Let yourself feel it while it is there, and then let it go. Like clouds passing in the sky.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Birds and Bees

In the beginning
I was just a boy.
Sure of everything,
Every scraped knee
Got written
In the annals
Of history.

Now I am a man.
I can't handle spicy food
And I know
So goddamned little.

Holding tight
To my precious abortions
I see you,
Once a girl, now a woman
Full of guts
Wayward thoughts
And combustible airs,
Just like me.

Can we repair ourselves?
Can we ever be sure again?
The answer comes back no,
And we evaporate
Like ice on hot flesh.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014


The world turns
And I sleep.
Wars rage, addicts die,
Homeless freeze,
I sleep.
God dies
And I sleep.
Women age, men get fat,
Dogs get kicked
And I roll over, sigh,
And close my eyes again,
Hoping to return 
To the same dream,
Where love is legal
My words are currency,
And the pain is gone.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014


Push out the demons
Squeeze the insides out of their skin bags
Vomit up the lying words
Shit and piss out the poison
Sweat blood in the garden
Pluck out your angry eyes
Sandpaper down your fangs
Skin yourself alive:

The nakeder you get
The hollower you out
The closer you become
To our invisible god.

Monday, January 27, 2014


It's a labor of love,
Sucking a god through a straw;
Swallowing undigested prayers
And shitting pure damnation.

You are a kind of god,
Regal in your disappointment;
Your regret is dyed purple
And you will be buried
With your cats.

When you look at me
I can speak Hebrew.
When you talk to me
Seas part.
When you yell for your whiskey and water,
Frogs rain from the sky.

It is a labor of love,
Staying alive in this world.
We are all small gods
With small salvations
To offer to our own shadows.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

But a Walking Shadow

I bite my nails with purpose;
Like there is something
Resembling the truth
Down in the pulp and bloody dust.

Anxiety counts my steps;
Why was I born
With the ability to reason
When a dog's life would have suited me fine?

I could have had a purpose;
Eat, sleep, fuck--
But instead I am cursed
With the ability to ask 'why'
And the wherefore
To do nothing
About it.

When man first dreamed up god
We must have felt
Everything was sorted--
This is a foundation upon which we build.

But our god is just as bored as us
And just as hollow.

There are not enough belts
Not enough necks
Not enough pills or bullets
Ledges or sidewalks
To settle man's accounts.

We are he and he is it--
We must hold this cold fire
Until it burns our fingers
Until the last idiot song
Ceases to play.

Love In the Time of Everything

In spite of
The cancer
The murder
The rape
The lies
The decay
The misgivings
The false starts
The dead ends
The vanity
The pride
The poverty
The malnutrition
The diabetes
The war
The molestation
The trivialities
The boredom
The theft
The graft
The national pride
The tartar
The splinters
The fleas
The mosquitoes
The bed bugs
The acne
The acrid smell
The sewage
The dump heap
The diahrrea
The abortions
The miscarriages
The still births
The junk mail
The political parties
The religious impulse
The horror
The vacuity
The misery
The loneliness
The emptiness
Of everything
And everyone,
You manage
To make me

Friday, January 24, 2014


In between the tense rubber band
And the quaking, bang-banging drum,
Awakening really does come.
In a lull though, everything's dumb.
When the windows are rat-rattling
And the meals refuse to digest,
That is when I am at my best.
In a lull though, life is a mess.

Thursday, January 23, 2014


Is your heart sick?
Do the little chores
Of daily rote
Make your skin blanch,
Make you bite
Your fingertips?

There is love
In this sad world.
You know it
By the way it leaves ,
By the tumult
It causes in the curtains.

Nausea plagues you
At the constant fits.
The way things pile up
Gives you the shits.

You will never be done
In your whole life,
And the love
That is constantly leaving
Will make jet streams
In your dull grey

Wednesday, January 22, 2014


hatred for you makes me quiver;
I stand on my little legs
Shake my negligible fists
And curse you in a mouse voice.

Mankind, you are small darkness.
Specks of pepper floating on oil.
It makes me chuckle to think
There is a greater darkness.

Big dark out there is hungry.
It is gaping, moving, obscene
It will devour us all.
I will not blink my tiny eyes.

My eyes have adjusted
To the dark.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Prime Cut

I am meat. Obeying meat
Is easier to do than
Finding God or Muhammed.
Easier than getting sleep.

I am meat. My meat is sad.
It wants a soul or something.
Something to drive it places.
But I am just meat. Ground chuck.

I am my meat. You are yours.
Let's press our meat together
And just feel something for once.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Chalk Outlines and Checklists

In a perfect world the dishes are done
The laundry is folded and put away
3 dinners are planned and stocked for
Your socks match
Your underwear is clean
And the grave in the woods
Was less hastily dug.

Thursday, January 16, 2014


What can I say to you
In your time of suffering?
The world is indelicate
With our small frames
And the truth is not
A thing to be seen so much
As a revealer of things.
Your eyes, wet
Your love, far from you,
There is nothing amidst
All this blubber
That could rekindle the fire
Of your wet heart.

Monday, January 13, 2014


Grow our beards
Convince ourselves
We are men.

Is a man?
So afraid, maybe.

Men if you ask me
Most afraid of all,

From snakes
Our dark beards
Smell like oils and smoke.

Our beards blind us
What we have
Given up.

Pornographic Stretches of Civilization

It's getting real, God.
Real stupid.
Men have built cities
And armies to protect them
And armies to expand them.

I'm here with my little
Paper heart. It's wet,
God, why didn't you
Make my meat
Of stronger stuff?

Men build houses in their cities,
Put fences around their houses,
Buy little dogs to
Amuse their children,
And they drink copious alcohol.

When they go to church
Are you happy god,
Do you like to see them
Go up and down,
Praying for their stuff?

I am confused by all the noise
My little paper heart is wet
Someone wrote something on it
In ink,

And it blossoms
Like an oil spill,
But to what end?

Monday, January 6, 2014

They Tell Me

They tell me I think about death too much.
What, do they never enjoy her company
Laugh at her jokes, let her breathe on their necks?

They tell me I read into things too much.
Not everything is about something else,
They say. They might be right about that one.

They tell me I am impulsive. I am bipolar.
I have ulcerative colitis. I am an alcoholic.
I have a racing mind. I am hot and cold water.
I am funny. I am somber. I am Jeeeesus Christ!

They tell me you like a good story.
As long as it doesn't have a sting in its tail.
Brother, this is life; what is a tale
But a holster for a sting?

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Most Definitely

Of how the end
Is just in sight;

Blue and pink
Forms a barrier.

Fingers smudged
By the doing?

Undraw a line;
Wash hands.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Signs & Wonders

The miracle already happened
And you missed it;
You were just a baby.
You only had candy on the brain.

The miracle already happened
And you missed it;
You were on the shitter,
Reading the classifieds.

The miracle already happened
And you missed it;
You were trying to get laid,
Talking about your 401k.

The miracle already happened,
And the sea did part
And a great dragon emerged,
And woe be the people.

You stand there inspecting
A cuticle,
Wondering where the signs are,
Regretting the curry you had for lunch,
Reaching for the nearest classifieds,
Knowing this will be a close one.