untitled, 092920121223

it’s not enough to be
clever; each little sound byte
performance padded; deeper philosophies
cold, carrying scaly sustenance; what is
a poem
if not a poem; a hard
tea-thin blade dimpling the pink
precious flesh of yr mother’s throat

oh to bring her back; oh
to save her;

a poem —

improv for wristwatch, 09262012

maybe there’s too many advertisements in my mailbox
for “food slicer” — who’s buttering what now? Continue reading

untitled 9212012 [draft]

helpless to understand
her dripping wet hair
cast again
salmon short shorts dipping
sweets into coffee
arhythmic now
one cheek lips the seat of her chair
like a slick, shimmering thing fighting
back toward the sea
her feet form and terror in flats, arc gently lifting
the spirit reaches out across formica, bulk tile, thoughtless
typography, salon perfect designer moms
so beauty is baited, youth a barbed hook
tested on her psalms.


untitled dreambook entry, 09122012xx

[i keep a blank moleskine next to my bed. i’ll wake up in starts and jot words, ideas. recently i rolled out of bed and found this entry. i’m not sure who wrote it. very weird. very minor editing.]

Continue reading

a partial loss of grace [draft]


everything but her perfect breasts obscured by the city skyline
man’s promise
venial, finger-licking
ultraviolent, genial

super villain, no. 1 [draft]

Firstly, I’m begging
— please stop —
Let’s settle this:

I’ve done nothing 
With my life &
Deserve no thickly pat
Across a hunched back

Ten fingers, ten toes
Love music, hate snow
Middle class, average nose

So, quit it with the praise.
Here’s my escape plan 
— no matter how bad it seems
for me, hold the ambulances:


“Proof that cinema is 50 years behind all other arts,” [draft]

The brain function!
each line flirting dangerously close to each above
suburban new jersey tan
sandy sandals skin cement

The patterns repeating!
another handsome man
illuminates his jaw
foreground becomes background
the first assistant cameraman earns his sleep
and Fellini’s big toe is bleeding again

On the third re-write:

          the cruel bees have sucked
          all the life from these poor flowers.

The camera pans, eye follows
think cribward, lens exposing film
light through the apartment’s curtain
sounds at city dawn, as an also-ran theatre
absolute silence; safer here between
her blinking lash against yr ear.

“Ricordati che è un film comico”