Fucked

Fucked dozens of women
in dozens of places
dozens of times
in my mind

with a secret currency
in seedy hotels
in upscale hollywood homes
brutalized with pleasure
for me

as my therapist and friends
say its natural
my heart and wife
speak a different language
a language of betrayal
abuse, perversion
and rape

its an ugly world
and i've inherited
an ugly heart

she's/i'm waiting
trusting
that a loving God
will clean up the mess
that i've made

Preserved

to be remembered
as we manipulate and
shift the mundane
into the spectacular
preservation at all costs

as we transmit lies
over the airwaves
lies of our own making that
sheds this red american blood
that never dies
preservation at all costs

as we drive past
the manicured lawns
lined with forgotten graves
we look away
Preservation at all costs

Someone Once Said (Don't Sweat the Afterlife)

it's not that death is not near
or that there is no pain
it's really that when
there is pain
(because -- holy shit, there is a
fuckload of pain in this world)
there is also a way out

it may be a slow
and seemingly merciless way out
but there is an out
it only happens when you die

the thing is
all the memories
and seasons in between
is a bitter reminder
of the end

an end
we will have forgotten
as soon as it happens

In This Way (I Am Loved)

this good news
unflinchingly aware
of what is
and what is not

and as we have damaged
what is
with our inherent sickness
passed down from the very first
breath, and the very first shit
this good news intervenes

but not in that Billy-Graham-Revival
sort of way
but rather,
in that Raymond-Carver-Backwoods-Suburban-Drunk
sort of way

now i cling to it/Him
like an orphan
drunk and restless
on these city streets
i make way for
the God/Man
to mercifully
tear my life apart
and burn the clay
and build a new man
with fire
and spit

in this way,
i am loved

A Sleepy Death

there is no moment
more uncertain
than that brief minute
when you first wake

your eyes open
the world that was
is not anymore
you're twitching
wandering somewhere between
the real and the unreal

you shape shift
from your supine existence
to something a little more upright
you remove the covers
stand up
and stumble into the bathroom

from now until the next
time you fall asleep
nothing will make sense
or go as you planned
you will be surprised, content
disappointed or devastated

this cycle will repeat
until at last,
you wont wake up
it's this moment
that is the most certain
moment you will ever experience
or not

Apathetic Asshole (You Are)

"i wish you cared more"

this is what someone says to me
in a bi-yearly sit down
after they've gotten to know me
they realize the pessimism isn't a ploy
to appear ironically/iconically cool

thing is, i do care
but the things i would die for
are not present
or if they are,
they are not
a cause
a record
a painting
an idea
a project
an injustice

it is this intangible
unchanging
infinitely loving
Christ

...and that's it.

Bukowski

i found Bukowski on the hot streets of Salt Lake City
when my world was on the cusp of dismantling itself

reading that kind of poetry
was like reading about my life
before/as it was unfolding
the real tangible evidence
of my own abandonment
made clear
in each messily constructed
sentence

i stole his books from the library
stacks and stacks of poetry
i read "Post Office" six times
as my father was passed out on the couch
of my one bedroom apartment

then the landlord would knock on the front door
and i wouldn't make a sound
until eventually, i hopped a greyhound bus
to california

When It Starts to Pour (It Just Reigns)

i'm sitting in my two bedroom apartment
and wondering if it's normal to feel this much fear
not because some grandiose fear is overtaking me
but the details of the "everyday" is starting catch up

a friend used to tell me that everyone is in over their heads
and i mostly believed him, but not everyone collapses under the weight
of life's mundane responses to this almost hereditary weakness

but i also believe the He's with me
as i brave yet another storm
of my own making...

Bad Days

i've written this before
and i know that you just
long to love and be loved

i'm not saying that you can't
or, that no one will
but, you don't
and no one does

Dying Slowly in Iambic Pentameter (or not)

of all the bullshit i write
and think about, mercilessly
it seems the truest thoughts
are the most fleeting

this is especially true
when i think about my dad
and my brother
and my uncles and relatives
slowly drinking themselves
to death

there's this thought that creeps in
right as i go to sleep
that their fate
is the same as mine
only, i am sober

but as sure as i'm
wasting my time writing this
fucking poem
some day i will sit
in a recliner chair
and with a tumbler full
of whiskey
i will close my eyes
and breathe in
one last time

When the Wolves Came...

and it was a dark and hallowed
and bloody widows walk
from the river
to the car
it was the most
vicious moon
i had ever seen

no one came
to my rescue
not Jesus
not my mother
not even you

now, tomorrow
before the sun rises
i will put you
deep in the ground
and without even thinking twice
i will put a gun in my mouth

it will be the best day of my life

Uncreative Conversations

it was like a forest fire
with the manila envelope
and the fear in her eyes
and cold, glazed over look
in yours

a 22 year battle
to keep it together
is now over
she conceded defeat

all the while
the forest was burning
you were burning
the love letters

all the interesting stories
that were true
or, they weren't
or, they were
we never knew

but she stayed by you
even when the fists were thrown
and your oldest sun hid
in fear, and hatred

to be honest
it's tiring
writing about this thing
that you claim
is made up history

but it's real
i have the bruises
the real life scars
on my back, face
and heart

but now i'm just tired
and i don't want to
talk about this shit,
or you
anymore

(Un)Conditional

don't talk about it
don't even utter the word
you have your conditions
just like everyone else

it's green
and it's where
your tangible "joy"
comes from

don't talk about
the meaninglessness
of our capitalist
past

don't utter the
nouns and verbs
that elude to
your "Un" conditions
and how you love
the kids
unconditionally

you never will
and neither will i

but let's,
instead,
say the real words

we have conditions
we don't want our
shit messed with
and when it is
we declare war
and we kill
with words
and misdeeds
and by lighting on fire
all of the bridges
we have built on the
faulty engineering
of words

there is no such thing
as a passivist
but only moments in time
when the gun stays
in the holster

because
when it comes down to it
it's either "kill"
or "be killed"
even if only
with words
and smiles
and handshakes
and "nice"
and balanced,
logical,
well-adjusted
analyses
of people
we don't even
know

i'm not saying
you're a liar
i'm just merely asking
that we admit that
the guns are there
and that we are always
ready and willing
to use them

Castration is the New Black

take a side
any side
so we know
who you are
and where you stand
and how you stand
and what you fight for
and how we can
fight you

are you a drunk?
well, if so,
do you like fine liquers?
are you a liberal?
If not, then
do you defend
a woman's
right to choose?
are you a feminist?
If not, can we agree
that gender roles
are meaningless?

Ah, now I get it
and, no I don't
believe in labels either
but I think you could use one
"pseudo-hipster-liberal-christian-fundamentalist"
how does that fit?
it works for me

well, that's an interesting thought
usually I like to disagree
but masculinity is so
60 years ago
castration is the new black
man, get with it

because it's the masculine man
that ruined our world
and not the sin that
entered the world with Adam
yeah, I'm a christian
but, also a "post-christian."

Grace to feminists
Grace to liberals
Grace to neo-anarchists

but,
justice to conservative think tanks
justice to evangelical pastors
justice to stay-at-home moms
justice to the dads who
work all day, and make their
feminist wives labor all day
at home

Grace for me
Justice for all my enemies

Forgiveness?

smile
it's half-full
i'll take an egg,
sunny-side up,
with extra pepper
oh, yeah
i'll take a side
of hash browns
go easy on the salt
will ya?

yeah,
it's true
it's just
me and the kids
these days
he, the father
did a lot of things,
and they were all wrong

he never paid for anything
he never gave anything
he took
and he took
until there was nothing left

we sat in a shitty apartment
with no power for a year
but i look on the bright side
i wake up with a smile
because a smile,
well that's all
i have
oh, and my two boys
who are the most
beautiful animals
i have ever seen.

when i wake in the morning
charlie says, "i love you, mommy."
i say, "i love you, too sugar."

the deadbeat
the dad
the donor
the taker
calls twice a year
to congratulate the boys
on getting older
he gives them
$20 every year
and we all cry
every time we get the call
and we get the money
because it's worthless
and meaningful
and evil

he tells me he's sorry
every six months or so
i tell him that i've forgiven him
but i never have
and i never will
he usually calls me from a bar
after i hang up the phone
i get on my knees
and pray that he drives
home drunk
drives into a tree
and that the impact
lunges his entire body
into the air
and that he's impaled
by a wandering
tree branch

and that nobody calls
to tell us what happened
but that we just stop getting
the calls
and we stop getting
the money
and that i never have to
lie and say, "i forgive you"
ever again

Our Friendless Days, and Desperate Nights

i didn't expect the misery
i thought it was my pragmatic
approach to living
but then the lies spewed
out of my mouth
now i'm stuck in this house
without a soul to talk to
or about
with you

old friends
long forgotten
tell me about
how when i write
it's an outcry
of my heart
to be loved

truthfully,
old and forgotten friend,
now turned foe,
most of the time i write,
yes because my heart is outpouring
this endless un-joy,
but also because
i never want to say it
the way i really need to
say it,
to your
beautiful face

and at the same time
that you're talking to me
like i'm the only one
with our friendless days,
and desperate nights
twirling in my brain,
you feel it too,
deep in your gut

you see,
i'm just in my bedroom
feeling the reality of
this unavoidable loneliness,
but you--
you are sitting in a bar
laughing with friends
knowing that once your
secret is out
they wont love you
like you think they do

it all ends
it all goes away

all the joy
all the smiles
all the drinks
in crowded bars
at one point or another
fade

it becomes sad
the jokes are stale
the drinks start to taste bad
and bars empty

we all
wake up one day
in an armchair
in the suburbs
or in some town
we never thought
we'd end up in

and
in a desperate
attempt to cling
to our old days
we tell jokes
we talk about the things we'd do
if only we had a few extra years
to live in that joyous time
that never existed in the first place

yes, you're right
i need therapy
and so do you
so fuck off

a note on the kitchen table

on the ride home
we talked
like we always did

this time we talked
about this big thing
about the chivalry
the opening of car doors
and of hanging my coat
and of calling me by
your "pet names."

don't get me wrong
i love you
but you forget
where we came from

the seedy hotels
the heroin
the fucking in backseats
the shacking up with random
girls
in the city

and you,
you
are just
a poor white boy
from the country
that i crushed on
and fucked
ferociously
and it slipped
past that
proverbial goaly

now i give up
my post modern dreams
to sit on the back porch
with you
and the little one

goddamn, this is hard
because i love you both
so dearly
fuck
i just can't do this
wife and mom bullshit
i can't make a fucking dinner
for you, and be attached
to this pitiful
suburban life

i've given up so much
just to be with you
i'm sorry
it's bad,
i know it
that i took
our only car
that you paid for
with your shitty job
but i couldn't
really afford the train
up north

just never tell
the little one about me
let him peacefully forget
you should do the same yourself
i will miss you, terribly
but please don't miss me

you'll never see me again
hopefully...

When I Got the Call

when i got the call
at 3:23 am
my heart sunk
it had sunk deep before,
like when she broke up with me
the first, second and third times
we got hitched after the third time

this time my heart sank
into the depth
of a place that no longer exists
it pummeled through my spine
and, for at least a moment,
i could feel the wetness
of my blood and guts
on the black and white
marble tile in our
new kitchen

we had a fight
a big one
with "F" bombs
and "I hate yous"
and some "I hate you toos"
and a few, "I hope you never come backs"

she ran out the front door
with a middle finger in the air
she said, "i'm gonna fuck everything"
and i said "go ahead, fuck yourself while you're at it"

she had been gone for three days
when i got the call
i chalked up to her
shacking up with an old boyfriend
instead, the stranger on the other line
said, that she had taken her own life
after a long night at a bar
she was middle-aged by now
and no one wanted her
so she went back to
her studio apartment
and plunged a knife
deep into her chest

no note
no threat
just a bloody knife
and my dead bride
on her bed
alone
and without me

i dropped the phone
and cried for
12 hours straight
i fell asleep
i woke up dehydrated
and angry

the next few months
were pretty inconsequential
i drove around the country in my car
until all of our savings had run out

i ended up in The Dalles, Oregon
next to a river
with no more gas
no more food
no more irish malt whisky
just a broken down car
nothing left
and a free flowing river

i didn't jump in
but i wanted to
instead,
i walked up the highway
to a chicken farm
asked the owner if he needed
some labor help
he said, "yeah
it pays shit."
i said,
"i'll take it."

i worked there for
the next 25 years
until finally
my liver couldn't
hold the whisky anymore
i knew it was coming

i paid a homeless man
$300 to throw my
sorry ass into
the Deschutes river

i wanted to die
and he needed the cash
it all worked out in the end

Pretty Girls

with pasty skin
and brown patches
under their arms
and on the smalls
of their backs

and scars from riding bikes
as children
and rings under their eyes
from sleep deprivation
from raising children
that they
did not
want

bruises
on their left thighs
and on their sholders
and cheeks
from marrying the
wrong dude

and brown skin
like chocolate
and all that generic shit
to describe
the beauty
of a brown woman
it's all true
and real
and sick to death
with sincerity

and brown hair
and blond hair
and red hair
especially red hair
cut poorly
but charmingly

and blue eyes
and brown eyes
and black eyes
and blue eyes

and their
incessant
will to
survive

Brooklynn(ed)

it started with a lustful glance
then my refusal of your touch
until we wed
i told all my friends
that you were a miracle
God's saving grace
in the form of a bride

you wrapped your identity
up in who i was
and we got wrapped up
in anger, selfishness
and regret

yeah,
all these years later
there is still love
but now we don't
understand each other
at all

i'm half-way there

i sit here disturbed that i can read
your thoughts
on a daily basis
it doesn't help to know that
i may become you one day
alone
bitter
scared
needy
co-dependent
upon
nothing

Long Nights Sitting Beside the Vox Organ in Disbelief

i was a boy
with a crack
in his heart
but no longer
now i just wait
in the dark
with a whiskey
in one hand
and a book
in the other
as the years
pass by
without even
a flinch
or, an
"i'm sorry"

now
i
just
wait
for
it
to
end

so
which
will it be?

a book?

or

a life?

Portland(ed)

you're not here now
and you'll never be here
for the kids
fucking four years
into this shit
i'm waiting
and waiting
and waiting
for you to change
but endlessly
without remorse
you are endlessly
the same

Blood Brothers

small towns are full of digression
i grew up in one
there, i was told to keep quiet
to not step on toes
the way that i did

but
i fucked anything that moved
in an effort to collapse the gap
between my heart
and what came out of my mouth
over and over again

but there was this one thing
that moved to the left,
and then a little to the right
and i fucked its brains out
without knowing that "it"
was married to my best friend

he called me up
told me he'd cut my throat
that our brotherhood
that was bonded by blood
in the early seventies
was permanently severed

"it" would call now and again
and i'd meet it in discreet places
what the fuck did i care?
it's husband, my former best friend
wanted me dead

so one day i called him up
and i said, "brother,
i'm going to meet your wife
at a dirty hotel, and then
i'm going to fuck her senseless,
and she's going to love it,
and she'll still hate you."
i hung up the phone

i arrived at the hotel a little early
at about 1pm just after lunch
"it" didn't arrive until about 3:00
i fucked "it" three times before brother showed
as i knew he would

the last time we did it
he watched through the window
then he barged in after we finished
sat down on the bed and cried
we both stared in unbelief
"it" started to laugh
he then choked "it" to death
as i watched

then
we both walked out of the hotel
and we went to a bar
he had a bloody mary
and i had a scotch rocks
like i always did
then like nothing happened
we met again every week
drinking scotch and bloody mary's
until we couldn't see straight

A Prayer of Thankfulness

when I woke this morning
it felt like i won the lottery
i bought a new car
a bunch of high-tech toys
and brand new bikes for my kids

we all smiled around the dinner table
and we thanked You for You're infinite mercy
and then i got into my new car
i sped down the rode
surrounded by Your grace and wisdom

then he didn't turn down his brights
i, in my finite foolishness,
merged into his lane on
our rural two-lane highway

we hit the on-coming truck
i awoke and a pool of my own blood
and i was surrounded by shattered glass
but still, i forgot about the boy
he was in the passenger seat
but now he's gone

as i bathed in Your grace
i told him not to put on his seatbelt
but instead he was thrown from the car
100 yards ahead of me
in a pool of his own blood

then as the ambulance rolled
his dead body away
i walked the three miles back home
in the dark
at around 3am pacific standard time

i crawled in bed with my lovely wife
i broke her the news
she cried, wailed and told me to "fuck myself"
and that she would never speak to me again
and she never did

A Brief Treatise on the Wasting Away of Everything You've Ever Loved

the happiness comes
down the pipeline
as you guzzle gallons of beer
and vodka, whatever gets you there
to that place, where you don't
even have to think
you just speak
even if it makes you sound
unintelligent
merciless
incoherent

but hey you've got christ-like wisdom
i thought i did, too
until i finally met the Christ
and all my truisms
and jargon rapidly disappeared
with any sense of "self"
or accomplishment
or as Solomon put it,
"a chasing after the wind"

don't mistake my annoyance
with contempt
i don't hate you
but when you open your mouth
and talk about how you crave rock n roll
it makes my skin crawl
because i remember the old days
when i would beg, borrow and steal
from everyone and their "everythings"
for just one more
punk rock fix

it was all meaningless then
and it remains meaningless now
i just pray that you figure it out
sooner or later
but it will probably come to you
one way, or the other
and when it comes to you that way
all you feel is pain
and sadness
and regret

best of luck.

Cities Do Not Last

thrown into the trash heap and left to die again
only this time I tossed myself in
along with the used diapers
and condoms, and bad produce
and shit stained lingerie

i was here
but now i am gone

i toil with
and rest in the fact
that this city is not my home
but that i long for the city
that is to come
this city will not last
it too, just like me
will be thrown into
the trash heap
left to die

As We Crumble (Into The Sea)

constantly betrayed by those
who I call my friends
it starts out as a lie
but then it just never ends

but now i fall asleep in my bed
waiting for the world
to collapse, burn and singe

as i run
to yet another city
i eagerly await
for my previous residence
to crumble
into the sea

just like me

Marriage(d)

sometimes it's just the brutality of language
that we just don't understand
no matter how hard we try

we speak, and scream and spit
these bloody words
but the life that communication brings
just wont come out

no matter how hard we try
at the end of the day
we are relentlessly
alive

our routine phone conversation every sunday, birthday, fathers day, easter and christmas

it's always the other guy
you're not the fool
you've been handed a bad deck
or you're missing a few cards
any idiotic and cliche truism
to help you pass the buck

it used to be so fucking sad
to sit here and watch you writhe
from the side lines

and then once in a long while
there are these precious moments
where you're called out
then without thinking twice
you call on the powers of God
to damn your closest friends to hell
even though you don't even really believe it exists

hell is hard, and you want it easy
you always have
as soon as you could
you would always reach for the door
especially when shit got really fucked
and there was no escape

like that time you fell in love
with a woman that was not your wife
she was 16 and you were pushing 40
everyone else had it wrong
all those other guys are pervs
you're so much deeper than the rest
of this dead and/or dying world

nowadays when you call
i have nothing to say
so i just ask you shallow and basic questions
"how's the job?" or "how's the weather?"
"have you heard from anyone?"
you answer, "good" or "yes" or "no
or "i have no idea"

in the end it worked out
most of the friends and family
that you have mercilessly abandoned
have moved on, and have in their own way,
forgotten all about you
for some reason
i just can't

"God bless"

"Keep on keepin' on"

"i'll see you next christmas"

"i love you, too"

"goodbye"

Celebration(ed)

today you're a king
of the world you've wrecked
the party will go off without a hinge
we'll celebrate your delusions of adequacy
and your tales of abandonment
in search of your own comfort and happiness

i'm not sure what song we'll sing in your honor
oh great king, of the hidden country side
tell the tale of the battles you've fought and lost
we'll clap, sigh, laugh and hide our faces
in submission to your will

blow out the candles kindled by our fear
of breaking your heart
we really are sorry our busy lives have excluded you
we're sorry nobody really wants you
and that you're completely alone

we ask the begging question
along with you
"What did I do to deserve all of this?"
we all know the answer
do you?

My Greatest Fear

there are only a few things i know
one of them is that the grass is never greener
the other thing is that one day, i'll die

i believe in Jesus
so paradoxically,
when i go
i'm supposed to believe
that the grass will be evergreen
for eternity

part of me believes
that when i shut my eyes
for the last time
i will go to some place
like Portland, or San Francisco

in all honesty, though
i hope it looks like Valencia St. did
in the late 90's
i hope i can eat Vietnamese food,
drink good wine, and kiss my wife

oh wait, according to the good book
i wont kiss my wife
all of our years together
fighting through blood and sweat
and literally gallons of tears
will be completely meaningless
we will be friends

our love will be forgotten
but maybe we'll embrace
for a few short moments
and remember the drive
from the east to west coast
getting lost in Omaha

making love for the first time
fighting endlessly
making up
and kissing you in the morning
dreaming of houses and sunshine
and gourmet french food

the battles we will have fought,
will by the end
not mean anything at all

now that's just something
i cannot believe

Covered in Blood

it's an odd transaction
your blood for my life
one that gives me a reason
a reason, i don't understand
i don't understand a lot of things
mainly the weight, that i'm supposed
to feel in your presence

then i wonder if the light will go out
is it fleeting, just like everything else
the coffee, good weather
the love, that amazing feeling
when the cum leaves my body

but it's still a wreck
You promise redemption
freedom, reconciliation
from my ugly past
to yourself

most of the time it's un-fucking-believable
but i sleep under your weight
that fastens my head to the pillow at night
i used to think i couldn't breathe
i used to lay awake at night
sleeping only occasionally
now the rest comes
even if in the morning,
i feel like i'm scared shitless

my friends want me to thank myself
for the good "job" that i've done
making this "life" for myself
but when i talk to You
i'm reminded of all i have destroyed
in your name, for my fame

in our conversations i'm reminded of your mercy
that this bloody exchange --
your life to save my own --
means i am loved
secure
covered in blood

paradoxically
i will lie awake at night
mourning the blood on my hands
rejoicing that You
wash my hands
over and over
again

The Stillness of Brutal Truth

this heart-wrenching scene
that I can't shake from my mind
on the way back to the hotel
from the Asian Art Museum
we argued about money
like we always do

you cried
I mean you really
fucking cried
in the pouring rain
you fell apart
and I was just so angry
that in that moment
you hated me
more than anything

Rock n Roll Capitalism

competing for time and space
you and i
we just can't enjoy it
anymore

There's No Such Thing As Love

cut my throat to make you feel like shit
i would look up at you as your dart like hell
from the kitchen, to try and save me
but you are far too late, and my poor dying heart
wouldn't give a shit

it's a scene i replay in mind
every christmas
and valentines
day

Hotel North Beach

she sits and waits on the edge of my plans
we laugh it off and wait for some mountain town
but we both know what it is
it's sadness that we don't understand
i've never had it together
but i've fooled everyone

but eventually it gives way
to what i have been
which is actually nothing
yet she hangs on
waiting for a miracle
waiting for Jesus
to motivate me
and change what I once was

but that's just crazy

Death With Integrity

tonight i'm feeling a little crazy
atop the mountain of failed plans
or, schemes, i think that's what they were
i didn't write them down
i just let reality act them out
while these ideas moved forward
while the rest of my life
was, in it's own way --
falling far behind

and i waited for the light to shift
as i lied to myself
and to those around me
when i said
that i was a big deal

i read Ecclesiastes
in the moonlight
at least once a year
and i heard that it was all meaningless
the concrete beneath my feet
is a frivolous waste
my sleepless nights
a waste
"Fear the Lord," Solomon says

another grey moment
in the good book
fear God, but exist
two very opposing ideas
that sync up lovely
with the rest of humanity
the failing triviality
of all the dead souls
inhabiting the spaces
that exist between walls

or, i just fear the inevitable
--what everyone avoids
with vitamins, and exercise--
is the one thing
that is unavoidably
honest

Cavalli's

stopped by for a minute
for a therapeutic stanza or two, or three, or four
because i read something
about helping the little kindergartners
with their smiles
it was something about
growing gardens
and composting snacks

yeah, i get it
this poem is too literal
maybe post-bukowskian, even
i wish i gave a shit
because poetry is one
art form that is the most
full of shit

so yeah,
kindergarteners and smiles
and all that hippy bullshit
i'm not really criticizing it
it makes sense
let them experience joy

some kindergarteners
have to deal with
some fucked up shit
like drunk dads
and perverted brothers
and shitty moms

their smile is not there
and much like my own,
their smiles will not appear
not even after a million composted snacks
and appropriately platonic student-teacher embraces

i'm not trying to shit on your parade, stranger
i'm just saying, that it's
not always as possible
as you might think
but then again,
this coffee is terrible
it's raining in San Fran
and I'm just fucking pissed off

Waiting For My Turn

as the headlines repeat
the same things
another icon has gone
and then another loved one
and i wipe the sweat from my brow
because i've dodged
yet another bullet

then a week goes by
then a month
then a year
then five
then another 10

i've had a few close calls
a few urgent "slams" on the break pedal
a few brushes with a piece of meat
jammed into my windpipe
yet i haven't choked
i haven't rolled the car

yes in many ways
i have been spared from tragedy
and yes, i know i'm in my late 20s
but i sit in this chair
waiting for the end
waiting for my turn
to go

Whiskey Rocks

finally
another worthless fucking poem
about throwing in the towel
locked in a world infinitely bound by
"He's" and "She's"
they both say that it's my
defeatist attitude
that makes me lose my brain
every full moon or so
they say, "look on the bright side"
i say, "fuck you, faggot."

it doesn't make sense
every verbally obese
rhetorical right hook
that i throw
at my closest friends
makes my heart
sink so deep into
my chest, it feels
like it has stopped beating

what bright side?
is it the rape and murder?
is it the world perpetually marked
by fear and pain?
is it the hopelessness
of doing anything?

fuck your bright side
and your constant
evasion of reality

i'll take another whiskey-rocks

Abusive Reactions to Everyday Questions

this old bruise
looks more like
a faded tattoo
in the dark

but you
look like a fresh bruise
when you laugh off
the after life

and God says
"Don't sweat it."

Untitled in a Bar

the regrettable life
i know you all too well
just like the old friend
who i have disowned

yet you keep coming back
with your charm
and your old jokes
that we used to kick around

but it is always
worst case scenario
with me, and the wife
and the trees

i am waiting for them to burst
for 2012 or something like it
to empty out my heart
when everyone is gone

it started in a small town
migrated to medium sized
cities, and their cousin
gigantic metropolises

but, it never changed
not even the pastures
as they became greener
and my heart became blacker

in the old days
i told everyone to fuck off
and i meant it
i don't regret it

but now, surrounded by
the jovial laughter of
drunk friends, telling their
in authentic jokes

i long for an inkling
of inauthenticity

Drinking Beer Brewed in a Small Town

"why I'm tired of the city
in four syllables or less"
as if it were actually possible
to become fully realized

drugs, booze
naked pictures
shitting on the south
but loving it
with the ironic delusion
that what you put out
you get back
10 fold

nothing works like that
not even karma

Chant Evil

we can never know
what the future holds
when we abandon
everything we love
we cleave to it
and we have called it
unconditional
but there are always
conditions
we will never
live up to

but you
in the outer-city
put chemicals
into your brain
every friday night
to make sure
you don't feel
the real shit
that has been
forced down the throats
of the rest of your friends

whimsically
in love with the world
that barely exists
beyond your own fingertips

what you don't want to believe
is actually true
you are lonely
the world is cold
and there is no such thing
as inherent goodness

chant "evil"
8 times in the morning
and 9 times at night
let it become real
because it is
just like the rest of us
you have contemplated murder
and rape, and unjustifiable rage
you have sought to make your enemies pay
you have trampled on the innocent

yes there are drugs
and yes, they are fun but
you have forgotten what you
are proclaiming
from the pulpit
surrounded by ironic t-shirts
and leather clad
sexual beings--
this gospel of intelligent beings--
and it exists until the let down
until your conditions
are not meant
to be met
once again
we all fail
each other
and we are happy to
perform the service

Fuck you but,
God help me.

Communion(ed)

perpetually
the heart with the crack in it
sleeps in my chest
always turns away
always seeks evil
always wants death
never wants life

today
i still know nothing
i still deserve nothing
i still offer nothing
i still receive grace

tomorrow
i will still run
but i will be chased
and caught
by this invisible ghost
who relentlessly
calls me to Himself
and murders me
with the realities
of His life and death
and resurrection

but I walk around this city
just like everyone else
like it doesn't matter
but I'm completely full of shit

A Nothing.

the early summers
that have long passed
when the heat leaves the pavement
and the wind carries the night
through the trees
This scene has passed
through my eyes
and through my mind
at least a million times

this is the point where I resign
the life behind me
fades with each passing day
the life before me
resounds like
a nothing

that I can never take back.

New Wars

the old songs about the new wars
but these are the wars of words
the real thing of blood and guts
and missing limbs and rotting flesh
the casualties of audible disgust
this is the only war
that I've ever fought

Little Saigon

just when the cold of the day creeps in
i'm all alone, and for the most part
that is ok

then there's the turning in my stomach
and i want to be pissed
but i can't, because it's a worthless anger
and i have to shrug my shoulders and say
"oh well..."

because the drugged out punks
who tossed aside their angst
for ecstasy and mushrooms
forgot all about the struggle
and were right
and they were wrong

yes, none of this matters
but neither does the escape
the music, the drugs or the fucking

it's always a death
where a rebirth is required
but yet there is the living
in between everything
and beyond the silent steps
of our minds
we creep along gladly
into our studio apartments
to die alone
one last time

Portrait of an American Dad

whenever you're close
i scare you away
infinitely

and my kids watch from a distance
as i deteriorate
into a passing joke

it's not like i'm not sorry
i just can't help
but hope
for something
better than
this mess
i am in

I Awoke (In a Spider's Grave)

the untouchable lust
of a thing
that is radiantly disappearing
is so clean to me now
and arrested
free of lies
and the understatement
that is the
inhale and the
obligatory exhale
outward into a world
that barely exists
only in frames of time
and passageways onward

but i cannot
be on your side now
as you separate us
from each other
like it's just another
gust of wind
blowing through an open window
the curtains dance
we kiss and it's gone

not the wanting kiss
the kind that signals a fuck
but the kiss that platonic
strangers give, when
engaging in business matters
in the 1950s over dinner
with the threat of nuclear
holocaust looming in the
foreground, as rock n roll
ruined the world forever

no, yesterday i awoke
in a spiders grave
after the tossing and turning
now the flesh will rot
and all i have left
is a memory
of how it was
before i left while
the remorse fades
and i disappear

Tossing To and Fro

when she died the other night
i received three phone calls

my mother told me she may
not make it through the night
i sighed in disbelief
not a fleeting disbelief
but tangible disbelief
i thought she was lying
not in a malicious way
but to say that this is
what to expect
after living off and on
for 90 years
in a nursing home
in a condo
and on a sweaty hospital bed

then, my sister called
in a fit of discolored suffering
she told me my grandmother died
the one constant, the thing that did not change
was my grandmothers beating heart
her soft, toothless narratives
of Seattle in the 60's
and her blind eyes
that could always
recognize a familiar tone

then a stranger called
who had attached herself to my brother
someone who assumes i'm supposed to care
but i listened anyway
i consoled the stranger
told her that it was sweet of her to call
when it was actually an inconvenience

then i lay in bed
i wonder where my grandmother went
what am i supposed to tell the kids
when they're born and grow legs
and ask, "where is YOUR grandma?"
will i tell them, that she is in a happy place
surrounded by all of her beloved
or would i simply say, i don't know?

Husbandry

all the rustling
and the condescending tones
that say "you only think of yourself"
it's true, i probably do
and there are no "buts"
or opposing conjunctions
to steer this into a new direction
justifying my position as a good husband
or man, i know what you really think
you're staying with me
because of a necessity to build a home
but you don't want to build it with me
just a shadow of the man that i've sold you
and you bought it all those years ago
over the phone, when you were lonely
hell, i was too
i love you anyway
even if my life is a lie
and you never truly know
who i really am

Invisible Ghost

there's almost nothing i miss about that old world
nothing at all

it's like a tooth ache from which i'm far removed
the pain used to be bitter and deep
but now these bones remain unaffected
by the wailing and grief that came with living
i am unequivocally blessed by the distance

but sometimes i wake up in a frenzy
tossing and turning at the thought
of who i have become
and who i can no longer be
these two men crash into one another
and this great collision has remade me

in a word, and in a reckless deed
i make and remake myself
over and over again
until the one gives way to the other
and becomes eternally free

from the bondage of a fiction
that i sometimes cannot ignore
as it is supposed to seem real
even in the suffering
but it never does

especially when i am on my knees
and i speak passive and strong words
to this invisible ghost
who is supposed to be Lord

but i just don't understand
what he's trying to do
or if he can do anything

now, i just wake up
day in and day out
and accept this painstaking fate
that this invisible ghost
has laid before me

and with no choice of my own
i lay to rest myself
and my life and my ideas
for some ghost i've never met

or known--no i have not really known
him, but visible men who who will
speak on his behalf will tell me all about him
and that a book is inherently true

but i just can't swallow these
unjust words
because i grieve for the fear
that my gut has been right all along
and that i cannot know
one way or the other
if this invisible ghost
will ever be made visible
to me, after i stop breathing

Drunken Poetry and Old Ugly Bones in a Capsized Dawn

like a baby in the vagina of the sun
i have given up much to be still
you old rag, you have washed me
the blood from my finger tips
and the old ghost in my heart
that creeps slowly through the dark
into my nostrils, to keep my breathing
with lungs of darkness, inhaling the despair
and calling it love