Monday, February 27, 2017

LIO (your Life insurance officer is working hard for you)

Each joke strike a flat note budget references only get you so far
pop-culture references a little more so help the hours drone by

'I won't give you the satisfaction, fiend!'

sitting arms locked, face scowled

'I will not be complicit in your PowerPoint game!'

the only truth is a beneficial silence insured
I won't raise my hand I won't die in 10 20 30 40 years

my mute existence

you'll never win

I won't be taken alive.


curiously you say,
you say craning your neck,
     'what're you reading?'
you become silent when I answer,

you turn your head away toward the window,

I have maybe said something wrong? Too much?

What had you been hoping to hear?

          image had you
painted of me
          that I've dispelled

How have a failed you?
         I'm sorry.


At a distance
      I am          that
bloated deathless soul
      look here          at me
no living thing will touch me
look here          hey

--I eliminate them first
scratched them off the board
slotted them in categorical purgatory
this is the corner
where I'm left
                       where you leave me
where I'm alone

if I am like you i am
                           like          nothing
                                           like me
we have that mush to say
no words
a void of word

we have gone on in different directions
                                               from the start
                                         in neither another' s

it's better this way



in these distended
           lifeless letters
focused up on the slides
I banged against my forehead
           my useless fist
for this is how my life,
           for this,
for this,
this is how my life
           my life,
for this,
is lost
and nothing is gained
           in percentages & numbers
each year you'll progress
to middle age
and how bout death?
           would you like to spend 40 years
           exchange 40 years
for the chance to leave six numerical figures
and a wasted life behind?

Friday, February 17, 2017

She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses

She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
listen to this shit
I have no ego but the one god gave me
placed by the solely by the finger of his right hand
directly to the touch of my porcelain brow
she knows I hate valentines day
but there were flowers on the table anyway
there is no one more laid back than me
but I can't stand when I am not listened to
and obeyed
She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
there they were anyway
casting red shadows in the afternoon sun
this kind of thing would offend anyone
not just me
I am only reacting logically
she should have expected this outcome
I told you she knew
she didn't care
She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
she left them for me
I threw them away

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Writing a walking poem

feverish long poems in the night left tattered on front door steps
making an arrow of the map unable to escape the grid like sprawl

follow the stanzas out to the river edge
remember each word must go with you
stick them like candy between your teeth
wash them out under the sewer of your home

these relatively meaningless directions on specific on wire-taps
contain massive spoilers for the coming week
poems cascade like arc waves drowning offhanded remarks
each new episode resets the continuity mark
ADHD victims are integral to this body trade

the street signs are no help it is the cracks on the floor show the way
fill them with your spit and sweat
eat from tattered remains from the hole punch
recognize the language unrolled from collective heads
leave the DNA to be gathered by the next intelligence sweep
throw your hands up at the unhinged finish line
ejaculate on the cuffs

Cater to the master

to get down on your knees
bend slowly
take care not to stress your back
lean over
slightly arching your hips
place equal pressure
on the balls of your feet
breathe out
while engaging your core
make sure
your thighs are parallel
then perpendicular to the floor
place  palms facedown
before you
make sure to keep your eyes
on the ground

Tuesday, February 14, 2017


they tried to console me

about your death

told me that you stole food

that you weren't supposed to be

but that doesn't change the fact
I left you in the cold night
trailing halfhearted prayers

that I rode you down

that you died alone
upon the black earth

without even the headlights
to guide you home.