Estranged

At night our cries leave dew on the grass
The little pearls from hearts’ shattered glass
Which traveled in blood through red sticky veins
And straight to our heads to trouble our brains.

The sharp shards open memories two at a time
That like semen swim both upset and sublime
All thoughts of the future which turn to expel
Through the eyes the salty crystalline gel.

These beads on leaves with earth’s morning mixture
Diamond gleam from rays of a rising light fixture
And now inside the tiny molecules excite
By clear sky sun under wind-filled kite.

Our sorrow sizzles on the end of a leaf
And then brought up by a warm weathered thief
To clouds in white of ache and bliss
As with the spit of our very last kiss.

Mess

tractor-trailer interstate
open road and empty plate
and if he die before the cross
then nature mourns this single loss

a flash of light, a flow of blood
the father sees his son in mud
and on my way, a life of sin
while farmer chews his venison

Nine Lives

I appreciate the cat;
the way he lies in the sun
king that cannot talk.
He curls up like a kitten,
though his meow is aged,
and he plays with me
gnaws on my arm.
Both of us hate the dog;
we stalk him together.

I appreciate the cat;
his cleanliness is unmatched,
and he claims to be
far less needy than the dog.
If hungry, he waits for me,
giving my leg kisses with
a little too much teeth.
Even the cat likes company
when he eats his food.

I appreciate the cat,
who guards my room
when I am gone.
He listens and understands.
He watches what I do.
I appreciate the cat
with his better eyes,
who can see
even in the dark.

The Beatles and My Mind

someone promised you love wasn't a dream in your sleep
that somehow you belong to what you keep
though lacking the will to neither kneel nor nod
i play the silent seed in fields of strawberry sod

little else seems of much import
but hold the tea in st. john's court
and i'll be you and you'll be me
every song a prayer, every one a eulogy

red badge of courage

it's a chemical burn
i fell down some stairs solely on my kneck
my friends drug me on some carpet by my legs
they tried to hang me
i got whipped
i was cooking
someone indian rug burned me
i got punched
i slept on the wrong side
i had a crazy itch
dry skin
bug bite
bad day
tarantula


hickey.

always look on the B-SIDE of life

your best music has always been playing
recorded in the corners of your eyes
the lines your smiles have worn

a woman says your name, a chorus
her voice, the needle playing out the track
as if the earth were a big LP player

best of's are like photo albums
perfect poses in front of pretty places
salt from a tear and spit from a kiss

people never wear their names on t-shirts
play acoustic and save your ears
drink green tea instead of coffee

if you wrap your arms around me like an album cover, i promise the music will keep on playing, i promise that someday CD's will have two sides, i promise we're the only record left

eP(H)ONYmous

bathroom wall and sidewalk scrawl
pirated pulp fiction with a southern drawl
copy your poetry on a classroom desk
stray word graffiti painted picturesque

haiku 3 (harajuku)

spell harajuku
with an i and then a you
happy samurai

john lennon vs.

imagine if you woke up one night
crippled inside by piano chords
jealous guy with a warm gun

it's so hard that the sun still shines
i don't want to be a soldier's death
gimme some truth in whats left

oh, my love is safe in song
how do you sleep when you died awake
how? you are still hear your voice

oh yoko keep the apple safe

cause you gotta have

forget all the happy things they've said
untie me from this high and lonely bed
catch you and your friendly free-fall
killing dreams like a thousand paper crane doll

you is what i want
options fewer up front
understand they've got you
realize they control you

frigid in the boston cold
repetition is getting old
i'll eat your insecurities
eating with the birds and bees
never to see those faces again
doing what you like is not a sin
still here, not speaking or doubting

haiku 2

salt sea air with smoke
a drink best bought on the rocks
exhale from on high

do i really even remember the 80's?

piano music and black and white checker tiles
porno theater times square and radio dials
glamour hair rock and teeny bopper tube sock
sesame street and peewee herman's talking clock

your parents drank wine coolers
they bought music casettes
you laughed at your reflection
in their shiny sun glasses

XXX marks the spot

winthrop has the smallest beds
weld defines the yard
L.A. off the meds
reinassance hotel card

san luis obispo not missouri
hot spring in summer
sigma chi beer goggles blurry
renaissance again and bummer


shower shower lov(h)er

haiku 1

dance dance dance
shoes off glass slippers put on
what beds are made for

2:34am snack

i was reading over my posts so far while eating a Reese's, and it was kinda upsetting because i realized that even if i posted something half decent, it could never be as good as the peanut butter and chocolate deliciousness i held in my hand

hi my name is...

these are the people i would like to meet/hang out with if i could choose:


band: Interpol
actor: Bill Murray
rapper: T.I.
president: Nixon
historical figure: Sir Francis Drake
cartoon character: Rocko
writer: Hunter S. Thompson

the hipsters burned me with their cigarettes

"and if you wince you can't be one of us"
"and skip the subway and take the bus"
"and hate the yankees and love the mets"
"and now you'll only roll your cigarettes"
so i watched the tiny burnt rings
thinking of only the happiest things
but before i could counter with a joke
they all were gone like cigar smoke
their stellas all crashed to the dirty ground
and an ownerless polaroid made not a sound

a song ended screamed paul maccartney's blisters
like vampire sunshine made vanish the hipsters

"the president of weslyan is in there don't sound too drunk"
"my mouth will be shut, but i sometimes talk out of my ass"

two nineteen a.m.

i cant quite fall asleep
hillary haunting my dreams
chasing me with a cleaver
like ET on battery acid
i try the radio
the music go
the volume high
the static die

the first time

i hope no one ever finds this
it makes me feel dirty
like the keyboard spread its legs wide
and i crouch to fit my words inside

cunt is a harsh word
blog is a lazy word
the first time is supposed to hurt
but now i have a bag to fill with dirt