Monday, October 24, 2016

Everyone's Lord Byron for Halloween

Spring Water is like
the Number 1 App on the App Store –
it’s your only nourishment
and you need 60 ounces a day.

Your eyes are like
a record player –
spinning dizzying concentric
circles of color: I can’t stop staring.

My heart is the CPU
of my other heart
and it’s bogged down by one
unnecessary program that I can’t uninstall.

Coffee is like coffee.

Relationships are likes iPhones –
          awesome for a month
          inseparable and automatic for a year
          cracked and obsolete by year two.

The Blameless Vestal's Lot (Eternal Sunshine ekphrastic)

On a cold night in Montauk
the house is crumbling into
the sand where tall grass
sleeps every summer.

Oceanic waves flood into
the foyer
chilling your ankles
filling your shoes with wet sand.

It’s almost like there’s
a spotlight on your face
when you call out to her
at the top of the stairs.

Do you feel in love
or codependent
when you fall into winter?

When the last memory you have
starts to disintegrate
and die around you?

You said “so go,”
with such disdain, you know?

Stuck between I love you 
and meet me in Montauk.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Brightness Brightens

What a world in which we live
where your skin inspires paintings
that inspire my ekphrastics

like loose bearings on a dust jacket
but like no dust
on your jacketed embrace.

What a world we live in –
I saw you 5 years ago
and wanted to know you more than dreams

but I never spoke to you then
in my scotchy speech because I never spoke
without scotchy speech.

What a world we live
breathing in fall like orgasms
when the sun still makes you cold

while red sheets swallow
and swim you closer to me
but I need more days.

What a world
where I can get a yellow onion
or a carrot for only 69 cents.

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Chasing Liquid

Suppose you were a little cat
residing in a person’s flat
not yielding to the yellow jackets
floating in the bowl of effervescent
grapefruit water.

The jackets don’t flinch
          when you pierce through their veil
with your barbed tongue
          and let the bubbles cascade down
          your throat.

Suppose your masters were dining out
          at a closed down Italian restaurant;
you knew about the fire there in ‘85
          that killed them
and six others.

The bread on the table softening over years,
          yellow jackets making homes
in her bare knees;
they have all the utensils now
           with which to eat their silver soup.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Fate September

When the wind leaves
to blow the cold
off of the leaves

maybe black branches
may hold enough blood
to survive you to spring.

Don’t cry northward
but keep going;
don’t cry at all

but keep singing
until the orange sky
goes midnight blue –

when the clouds breathe
to blow your cold
frame closer to me.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Pollock Orders Cod

I wanted a chalk outline on the ground when I
woke up to rain falling like a surgeon out on the
veranda. There was no outline but the surgeon
left the chalk for me to draw my own. I broke
the chalk but eventually outlined a new veranda
one that the rain could melt into a milky pool of
dirt and wind. I went back inside covered in rain
and chalk and drank more water. I didn’t talk to
the sun on Fire Island like O’hara did in 1958; the sun simply wasn’t out but neither were the stars.Why is art so depressing? I remember you asking the night I slept in my car beneath the neon tanning salon sign. I didn’t answer you because I was drunk and fell asleep for three years, but I’ll call you soon.
It’s 5:45 a.m.

Monday, September 5, 2016

A Poe Soul in the Storm

I thought scallops
had no eyes

and I was wrong
60 times.

We brought them back
frozen from the store
to our trailer.

I was free of childhood here
but the sewage smell
creeping in through
the floor vents once a week

while we slept
made me depressed.

The cat that bore
six kittens
(one of which she intentionally smothered)
on the carpet –
and forced us to rent
the carpet cleaner –

hated me.

So all the days
while you were at work
I lied in bed
like a person unemployed

because I was

and drank Rolling Rock
until I passed out

sleeping you closer to me.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Ribular Vertilizing Points

In August 2013
I spent a lot of money
but more time was spent

blowing my brains out
with my finger in the shape
of a loaded gun

the blood in copious volumes
on the carpet just outside
your bedroom nowhere

You didn’t hear any gunshots
just the sound of dropped
live microphones on shadows

I dreamt I clawed through a redlight
in slow motion
and the word meterer I kept

tripping over the ers
and thinking of the stick people
the people with stick limbs

and sad faces nowhere
now here.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Pascal's Wager

Cloud digesting moon;
          the film was “Flim”

          god is
          or God is not;

          you must wager.
          It is not optional.

One by one by one by no one

as Mars became visible
through a slit between
the passenger window
and aforementioned God-is-not

and sank through
the ceiling vents in heaven

the floor vents in Hell;

          seven cents to purgatory

with only six cents to sell.

Friday, July 29, 2016

Lieutenant Dan's Magic Legs

          another state
          of consciousness;

          not altered,
          just another.

i.e.     A sneeze heard
          across the hallway
          but the perp already in
          the room with you

          sound asleeply sound.

a.            If my body dissolved
like sugar granules
into sweat
right here in this bed
with her

she’d eulogize:
          his life was a series
          of stiff drinks and cigarettes
          that ended at the tips
          of recessed filters
          and the bottoms of condensating
          scotch glasses.

I’d say:
          I used to love olive oil
          and hate olives
          but now I love olives

          and hate heroin.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

The Haunting

When it storms,
it’s foolish to trust
that the ghosts
in the backseat

will lead you
to safety.

I mean

I’ve made a few deals;

woken up with my nose

let Hafner’s wife suck me off
in the foyer
while he, that miserable prick,
was upstairs fucking Sherry –

my dreadful neighbor
with the two screaming kids.

In the middle of this blowjob
is when I open my eyes
to my reflection
fist-pumping in front
of the bathroom mirror at work –

Flynn looks over his shoulder
piss still streaming like icing onto
a pink urinal cake.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

The Tenderness of a Sociopath

Tonight at midnight
I want to kiss someone

who makes me feel
I can take
the tape

off of their lips.

Someone who watches bugs
panic and shriek at the sun

and thinks of friends
in their own lives.

Some one who watches
fireflies send off their struggle
in rain

collapsing under the weight
of fluttering summers.

Some fun:

don’t be scared,

you’re just a human

without skin.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Grave Opener

With one hand
          on a black garbage bag
                   full of dead rats

I used my other hand
          to brush my fingers
                   through your shadow’s hair.

We exchanged
nightmarish pleasantries
in that hollow

June horror;

I knew I needed
you then

the you
in the dreams –

the you
that left

the small shards of glass
in my lungs 

last night
when we slept together

and awoke

apart in black sand.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

To Aria & the Universe

          Our car fell off
the cliff

the last time
          into the lake…

The water has a hole in it:

I’m cutting windows out
of the passenger seat.

I’m cutting glass
out of your throat

where the clicking
eccentric pulse
is swiveling like a rogue planet.

Gargling blood
and treading water,

I hear your garbled voice
but I need advice

in hypothermic mint.

I kissed you

your dying lips
during the erratic dusk

as your eyes
fluttering and parasitic
glazed over the mountains

into reverie.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016


Kant said
          said “can’t”

when you can’t
move that lead moon
on running maple

singing to scale
floating redwoods
lost in October

beneath drinking elms
at chilling dusk,

the cul-de-sac

her voice:
          thicker oak
          splintering orange sky;

when I couldn’t
remember it

it was all

I could hear.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016


That drop of silk
that silken rain

just enough
or below
the scream of sound.

The drop of sound
the sounding sky

far enough
or absent
that crash of awake.

Name the song
and I’ll just

scream it.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

Dehumanizing Static

I smoke them until
I breach the filter

until I burn my fingers

until the smoke
comes dancing in
between open windows

swaying back and forth
between you and night

freeing sweet, lonely you,
sweeter still than

I don’t know what hours
have said to me in morning

why in the span of miles
there is a dehumanizing static
that I throw out
in buckets.

And I smoke you until
I break the thin song
under your porch light

until you burn my feared whispers

away in brittle branches.