Mar 15
Motor Oil Through the Lemonade There is motor oil through the lemonade, razor invasion piranhas enter my field of vision, the floodlight metropolis and payola queens atop the charts – Francis Bacon spectres streaking down a treacherous canvas, that red-eyed seagull flock of swarm. Two rings of twine for a tail-eaten snake. There are craters …
Mar 14
Crackhead with Saxophone There’s a crackhead saxophonist at the hotel for indigents now we’ve never had a jazz musician on or off crack on the block I hear him at 3 a.m. playing Ornette Coleman then he mimics an ambulance that passes and goes into Taps Up and down the street he carries his golden, …
Mar 14
Devoured You ate everything I lay before you, Plucked my eyes, licked your fingers, and waited for me to give you more. As I smelled your musky scent, you played games and stole my nose, refusing to give it back, choosing instead to nibble on it while I slept dreaming of you. Next you devoured …
Mar 13
Raindrop The wolf has tamed its hunger and the hour unfolds its tapestry. Winter is devolving, the forest muted, the same raindrop falling again and again, making the sound of seven whispers, a six-fingered rain among velleities, rummaging through the vagaries, in the thrall and throes of gravity, swirling among uncertainties . . . See …
Mar 13
Goodbye, John Your funeral was tender…An Irish Sing-song of tears, beer and wishes of being in heaven a half hour before the devil knew you were dead. But we haven’t talked in three years, a steep decline in our friendship was evident to the mourners when asked if I have visited you recently. Dreams, like …
Mar 12
No Peace Prize for Bullshit Artists Treat them as they are Remember the man behind the resolute desk who will be referred to in this poem as Sweet Potato Sundown is still a tenth-rate slumlord A man who bankrupted four casinos A man who failed at selling steak, water, and vodka A man who is …
Mar 11
Scream For Me, Long Beach!! The carnie had three teeth in his head. They peeked out from behind his thin lips like shit-dipped Tic-Tacs every time he talked around the unfiltered Camel smoldering in the corner of his mouth. “It’s a dollar a dart, kid. Dollar a dart. Bust any balloon, you pick a poster.” …
Mar 10
Coloring My parents bought a used ’65 Dodge Dart, white inside and out, dad’s pride and joy, and I, just a boy left unbuckled, untethered, saw the back of the front seat as a blank canvas, which I covered in patternless Crayola-tones, an abstract masterpiece, faded to black and white in memory. Consequences swift but …
Mar 10
Where To Look For Deceased Parents Search the sky first, because that’s where ghosts go. Floating around, watching us falling apart. The moon’s a liar. Check it. Another body aging—no secret codes. A chunk of cheese reflecting someone else’s light. We cannot drink them away. If we reach for alcohol, the faulty wires, fraying our …
Mar 09
Mother Tongue When our mothers were young and working first jobs at drive-ins after school and on weekends, slinging burgers and cola on trays to the windows of sports cars of affluent American man-brats killing their time in our country, lecherous men who would reach out and smack their asses, or try to, cartoon ego-smiles …
