Author Archive


April 3, 2012

My dreams climb up the walls
like roaches,
you ask:
where is the soap
to wash the future down?

I tell you it’s already eaten,
the bird on my shoulder
squawking bubbles
across the room–

and nobody’s dancing.


57 – because i just had to…

December 16, 2010

Heinz used to make ketchup here
and employ a great number
of hard-working and industrious

Now they just let all the leeches,
who profited off their labor
and sacrifice, sleep in their lofts
sipping cocktails of blood.

56 – Last Curtain Call

December 16, 2010

Puccini left the room
with tears dangling on his collar,
with bleeding eyes,
with prayerful submission.

Love was in the room
tearing paper from the walls
throwing lamp stands,
throwing chairs at him.

We all remember before
the curtains fell,
the phantom dies
in the opera.

55 – childish games

December 10, 2010

Once upon a time, there lived an old, fat psychic who sat on her tuffet with curds and whey. A lanky old spider sat right down beside her and ask for a reading that day. The psychic was weary for everything dreary had come to her parlor to dance. She wasn’t quite ready to give out a vision, but she agreed to take her chance.

And then the room shook because the spider asked for a reading and everyone knows you can’t give a reading to spiders. So he died. And the psychic laughed. Stupid spider. Die! Die! Die!

The End.

54 – paper boxes – (east end)

December 10, 2010

collated paper fills my boxes
on my floors and on my desk
I’ve got too many paper boxes
and not quite enough  desk.

please come take my paper boxes
pull them out from off my floor;
take away these paper boxes —
I don’t want them no more :(

53 – Gertrude Stein gets the pussy

December 2, 2010

Post-confessionalism? Or post-post-confessionalism? Gertrude Stein left Pittsburgh for a reason now everyone wants to drag her fat ass out of its grave in Paris and bring it over here. She would just die — like Andy Warhol.  But, I have to confess, Sylvia Plath, I would have loved to fuck your brains out if you were a hermaphrodite. Let me say something more absurd about myself… Babies are absolutely delicious. I had an absolutely fabulous goat fetus stew for lunch with my shrink whom I think is perhaps too old (I don’t like “therapy” sessions with a wrinkly old bag and “healing” cannot begin without chemistry). Let’s continue these static departures in our prose-poem poetic prosody. It’s irony that tragedy is comedy and Victoria doesn’t have a lot of secrets left.

52 – Eating Out Tonight

November 28, 2010

Chicken tonight
with a side of cream sauce.
Creamed chicken.
Restaurant evening
is busy tonight
takeout sounds about right,
service with a smile.

I left the tip on the dresser
back home. Pay with a card?
We only take cash. But I can
wash the dishes as you watch,
the room gets all steamy
from the hot
water. I hope I can still

be a customer
and squeeze, eat and drink
the merchandise.

51 – Scenes from a Saturday Coffee

November 28, 2010

Watch them swirl
like pink carnation petals
falling in a frothy glass of milk.

Two lost lovers
are found swimming in a latte
of anyone’s life,

you stare out the coffee shop window
watching the world go by
and get up to join it

but here I stay.

Missed opportunities
and missed connections
fill the boards,

but I never paid much attention
to the box of lost-and-found —
my loss exceeds

the trouble anyone spends
on putting it together.
I can’t add. You were gone,

but here I stay.

are a hard commodity to swallow
amid the foamy wish-I-would,

but I never did,
I never could
attempt the daring compromise

of latte art and chocolate dance
swimming in my drink.
I had the chance,

but here I stay.

Gone with a hat shake
and a double gulp
picking up your wall

you leave behind a laptop,
alien ship of modernity,
and don’t see anything real

since real is scary.
I can understand
you are always pulled away,

but here I stay.

50 – The Stranger

November 28, 2010

Her face

is a big, purple Cheshire cat
making rings around her smile,

looks like a big, white Trojan horse
filled with an army of lustful stares,

on my eyelids.

49 – Alien Nation

November 27, 2010

Stacks of magazines
and things
make towers of Babel
by the fireplace.

We often sit
in silence
reading our lives
to ourselves.

The phantom interactions
of caged hearts
in space carve
a desperate cry for help on the walls.