Unity is Not on My Wish List of Abstract Ideals to Strive for
Unity at what cost?
The indignity of going along to get along?
Freedom is on the top of my wish list.
But different elements come to mind.
Freedom from what? Freedom to do what?
Night Out, 2025
Is it Friday? A day hazing over fast into the good long while of night. Both are so happy to have had themselves. To have been connected.
This was an age after the rooftop days were over. Removed and exposed from the vantage of twenty-or-more stories.
I Love You and I Want You to Suck My Dick
I hate all your ugly, stupid, too fat, too thin, too short, too tall,
too rich, too poor, too humorless, too pathetic, too unintellectual,
too pedestrian, too suburban, too mainstream, too short-sighted,
too ignorant, too conniving, too dishonest, too two-faced,
TOO UGLY girlfriends.
What's Your Poison?
All revolutions squashed or co-opted.
Capitalism's rejects find solace
in the community of 12-Step programs,
addiction as group identity.
Nightmare Carpet
Love in the Time of Pandemic
I want to inhale you, smell your hair, rub my cheek against yours, hold you close and dance in the moonlight
I want to talk to you, tell you everything: the important stuff, the trivial stuff, the mind-blowing stuff, the boring stuff
I want to hold your hand, sit in silence, sip from the same glass, eat from the same plate, sleep in the same bed
The World is a Fucking Torture Chamber
The world is a fucking torture chamber,
endless videos of shlock horror porn,
or, actually, it's more subtle than that,
endless cubicles of particleboard,
computer screens, perfunctory greetings.
I see people and I want to sodomize, rape them,
kill them in their sleep, or wake them up,
just to see the surprise and terror on their stupid faces
and to puncture their flesh to see the contortions of pain.
Perfectionism
Smelling of Sex, of Summer, of Love
Meet Me By The Sky | Poems
FUCK/MARRY/KILL-
For a total amount you talk
Unless violence swings on complete
Cock, we had better measure
Kiss with an element which exceeds
Morons deer games …
The Loudest Voices Don’t Speak for Me
What Are You Working On?
Valedictorians of the Anti- A Love Letter from Gen Y to Gen Z
Nineteen hundred and ninety-eight. The year, not the cash.
Ok. Weren’t we just two years from the world ending anyhow?
It gave me a secret thrill to hear of our empty coffers. The artist in me already knew besides that failure was the only way out. Proudly Generation “Why?”
I Built You, And You Served Me Well
I was looking for you—exactly you.
Dark wood, plenty of drawers, old-timey, affordable.
My smile nearly broke my face when I found you on display in that Las Vegas Office Depot.
Three hundred bucks was the top of my budget.
You were well worth it.
The Sadness and the Quietness
the sadness
that is people
the sadness of wanting to die
but being compelled to live
Go Away White-Marked Tussock Moth Caterpillar
I love being outside. Love sitting in the grass and feeling the blades tickle my ankles. Ah, that’s a pretty active tickle. That’s not grass, something’s crawling on me. Yikes! What is that thing!? Yellow, fuzzy thing with a red head and… is that a stinger? What are those white balls on its back? Are those eggs? Is this thing poisonous? Get off me scary caterpillar! Go away you white-marked tussock moth caterpillar!
My Ascent to Greatness Will Not Be Compromised by the Likes of You
When I was twenty, I went to work for a captain of industry. A titan really.
I met him through the fraternity I had just pledged.
He said, he saw something in me — I had ambition, I had smarts, I had just what he was looking for.
I had reminded him of himself when he was my age.
That was a long time ago. More than twice my life thus far.
On Going Through Family Papers During the Pandemic
Everyone seems so very fragile,
as fragile as the books falling apart
from glue that has dried to cracking,
tears in the dust jackets,
the extra thin World War II era paper
PARDON MY FRONTAL LOBOTOMY
Excuse me, do you know where the restroom is?
I must confess to you, I smell like a petri dish.
The Tao of Utopia - An Urban Exploration Poem
Stopping far from a level concourse behind a mahogany door
to a room where a girl poses for a portrait on the floor
between a large book and a crooked television.
Her gossamer night dress hasn't been changed from in nights and days.
September 10, henceforth, shall be known as the Day of Broken Promises. It’ll be recognized as the day we all make promises none of us will keep. Because what is divorce if not a reneging on promises made to the person you once loved more than anyone else in front of all the runner ups?