Category: Poetry

Not Going Anywhere

  I’ll gladly leave If only you teach me how to play jazz. How to spray-tan This bluesy vibe With melodramatic magnificence and other methods I don’t understand. Teach me the staccato kick Of the jagged edge The ticker and patter of which Imports a flutter into this torpor Too terrific to strip. How can I loom like you do— Blooming and bulging over … Read More Not Going Anywhere

I Realize

  My finger jiggles as I press the door bell, my arms full of time-goblins like homemade apple pie and more cookies than ever necessary. They answer the door drinking red wine, eating celery wearing no hint of velvet— unlike me— and I realize quite quickly that people don’t ring the doorbell at these kinds of things. Nor, do they seem, to eat cookies. … Read More I Realize

Happy Birthday Douglas Adams

There is, for some reason, Something especially grim About the nature of plastic cutlery, Pocket books of poetry, Portugal on a Tuesday, And the wind chimes on the porch When you’ve distinctly called For their resignation. It’s out of sorts to believe You can solve these problems With only a broiled potato. The truth of it is Lots of people are mean, Including those … Read More Happy Birthday Douglas Adams

To Speak of the Day

I. Wind You ask me to come You summon me here You tell me to wait You tell me to care. But I am the youth Don’t ask me to stay No substance to tie down No mass to be pegged. Instead watch me dance Bliss in the greeting Swept off your feet For only the evening. For it is the nature That sways … Read More To Speak of the Day

To Kerouac

Give me the downbeat And snuggle me til empty. Your cache is nothing more Than empty shavings Of Christmas presents at the hands Of my six-year-old cousin. Don’t frizz that way Don’t you know we live On the cliff face And don’t you know They’ve outlawed towels? Show me the soul So aloof and empathetic It renders the calm Even more abridged. Take all … Read More To Kerouac


I wonder what it might be to tell myself, “Why don’t you recline upon this red couch here?” to assure myself, “Don’t worry about scuffing the leather it was a hand-me-down anyways. I don’t make very much off these lessons of ours.” I wonder what I might respond to the questions I wonder what I want to ask myself. Will I be a compliant … Read More Self-Therapist

Give Me Your Selfish

I’m sick of people being selfish without a purpose; Who present me with needs and wishes that are as needless and witless As the Suburbans and Hummers which cart around their single child, Circling around the cardboard boxes they inhabit; Angry because their box is the same as the next; Angry because the next box is better, And aren’t I as good as them? … Read More Give Me Your Selfish


To the Hefty Inadequate

I love podcasts. And audiobooks. And reading. And learning from mentors who do not realize I have labeled them as such. But. There comes a point when I step back and breathe and realize: I’m hefty inadequate, here. I can’t accomplish half the things that Tim Ferriss can do in an hour. I can’t fathom being Tom Bilyeu for an interview. I can’t imagine … Read More To the Hefty Inadequate

Practicing My Allegories

It’s a peculiar phenomenon, This confiding to me the problems of the troubled. I cannot say what it is that entices loose lips and quivering nostrils In my less-than qualified presence. I say peculiar, mark you, Because it is an amusing situation to find oneself in, And more times than not– Indeed, it would be safe to quote always– I take this occasion to … Read More Practicing My Allegories


Surrealist Discoveries

You know what I stumbled upon today? Surrealism Poetry.    Can you imagine my excitement? My suddenly, whole-body oscillations? Surrealism plus poetry? That’s what you get when you just start googling nouns in which you’ve got an interest. Surrealism itself sparks from André Breton’s first Le Manifeste du Surréalisme in 1924; he presents a two-fold definition of surrealism: SURREALISM, noun, masc., Pure psychic automatism by which … Read More Surrealist Discoveries

Thoughts from the Underground

Sometimes it is that nothing I own works as if the tight throat lodging in the path of my breathing has conspired against me to unleash suffering over all my endeavors. In these sorts of times my breathing can’t reach and my arms become frail and I feel like I’m swallowing but silently and without use. Sometimes this feeling of unrelenting pointlessness and deeply … Read More Thoughts from the Underground

Let’s Be Soldiers

Perhaps Sunday will be a day of poetry. It certainly is a fine day to curl up in the aesthetic recesses of one’s own mind, jittery from intake of coffee and cozy from an outfit made of sweaters.   Who might I be, If we were playing soldiers? Well, let me tell you; I’d be the one with rosy cheeks, An affinity for bubblegum … Read More Let’s Be Soldiers