Friday, September 18, 2009

Tired, Mad, Sobering

Television, oh God, stop!
Really, it's obnoxious.

Who was on the phone? Uh, just, later.
Where's the time gone? I had so much to do,
and then I had a few drinks.

Lazy fuck, or distracted- GOD!
I can't take the noise.

Toronto, fuck you.
Cement, queers, ugly
go to hell.
This angry spill is...

Or should I be more articulate?

Something like,

if lips could touch the soul,
I'd kiss my sad rage into your heart,
breathe sorry for me into your mouth
and take

if lips could touch the soul,
I'd paint chapstick all over and
kiss/fix your cracked and swollen spirit
only to doubt you

And still, after all that,
the television is being an asshole.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Twisted Gut

"At my desk again, sick to my stomach with the self loathing of realizing I'm not achieving my full potential.

My peers don't inspire me, I react to their success with waves of nihilistic self-doubt; despair.
I need to share with someone wise the neuroses that hold me back.
I need a mentor who won't attempt to console me pathetically, who won't patronize me.

I need someone to tell me what to do."

Monday, September 14, 2009


You give me gifts
planets within
I have never been more grateful
to a woman, to a friend

for stars and planets collide after
millions of years of their dancing

and the space remembers everything

Irving jumpier

Irving Jumpier
strange man but always a friend
he left only his dark dark desk behind
and a broken pen
inkpot empty, miles deep
human mice were friends to keep

Irving Jumpier was a liar on paper but he spoke well

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Perspective In Wheat Fields

Our home stands delicate and loved
weathered boards, splintered faces
a skeleton
coal grey skin, trembling fingers
the horses here only shiver now

our home breathes dusty air
the smell of hay and cool soil

on the road is Dog
my friend
he's getting on in years

the fence that runs our meadow hunches low now
sore backed, ragged
the wind and rain have beaten it down

so long now

and all this swims in the snowglobe in my mind while I think
only seventy generations we've come
seventy lives of seventy years

the trembling farmhouse doesn't seem so old anymore

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Sleep Talk

Leave a man at the door leave hands in pockets
leave wishes and rose petal voodoo
leave smoke
leave more

Leave seven pm alone leave the ice cream cone torch bearer
golden lock, cherub cheek, ice-cream-cone-torch-bearer gift from god himself
leave the book and the thorn

Leave your heart of scorn
and leave your questions

Where I've been is nobody's mind
So leave mine

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


I have
Sore thumbs,
No money,
A bit of a buzz,
A little love,
Tired friends,
Restless hands,
Tired eyes,
An empty glass,
Crossed legs,
Quiet vinyl,
1:30 on the clock,
Tired friends,
Not much time,
An urgent need to urinate,
Rum munchies,
A little love,
A heavy stomach,

I've got
So much
To learn

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


I know what I want but I hate how I'm getting there.