Thursday, April 23, 2009

Shred It All

Shred everything. I mean it. Don't leave anything behind that could be used against you. And I'm not talking about a court of law or the court of public opinion. I am talking about the judge on the other side of the desk. Don't give them an "out", an opportunity to ask why you wrote a three page diatribe extolling the virtues of pissing with your balls out. See, they might not get it. Don't wait for them to ask about the medication you are on or why you fantasize about setting all of the motivational wall art aflame. Don't show them the smirk you have growing inside of you day after day. Don't let them infer how you must feel about their leadership. Never mind the fact they are hardly mentioned in the first place. Odds are they wouldn't recognize themselves as the "twat" mentioned half way down page seven. Try your best not to give up names, aliases, passport photos, or doctor's addresses. Insist on keeping the tales of your last bad trip close to the vest. Protect your identity. Become the wall. Dream of hallways of nothingness painted plaid. And by all means, pick up this notebook, rip out these pages, and drop them in the shred-bin by the freight elevator. Don't be a fucking idiot. Take precautions. Hell, they already paid for it.

Monday, April 20, 2009


Train rumbles past
Neglected signs
Neglected masses
Glowing iNTerPaRk
In the rain
No amount of
Ink-stained tears
Falling from newsprint hats
Brings a boat instead
Only more trips
Around the loop
Another brown
Another green
My ears bounce
As old Bob Johnson
Pours prayers to his
Sweet home
Past my feet
Through steel
Cracked oil and
Watch it
Watch it search out
The closest sewer
Only to be denied
I smile at the
Permanence and
Sheer inertia involved
All things finding
Their path
All things being
Their path
My hand laid flat
Over this page
Changes nothing
Fulfills only distraction
A glance at the
Ink on my pants
A moment to stack
My spine back up
These too, simply
Vinegar laughing face up
In a funnel
I blow Godspeed
Kissed into perfect


I am starting to feel like all of these people around me not only went to different schools than I did, but also took classes I was never told exist. Call it paranoia. Call it class stratification anxiety (is CSA taken?). Of course, I'm too close to the event to know with any illusion or perspective. It doesn't help that these pills work differently than advertised. Does this fall under warranty? Perhaps I should have listened to Tom Cruise after all. I just couldn't afford the dues, and I'm too distracted to earn them. But seem on the path, so...well done, pallie. Are they going to take out those pants so you can fit a pair of stilts under there? An army of assistants and worshipers perhaps? Better get a new belt.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Vacated, 31st Floor

Dead man's plant
Branches, twigs cobbled
Together in the corner
And reaching for their
Own dry death
Westward lit on a
Windowsill, forgotten
For only a month

I can't move
Without feeling watched
Prodded back to the doorway
Again and again
As everything else I'm told
To box and label
Turns translucent
In the 3:00 sun

Books, files, folders
Pressed binding briefs
Rule and law
All bent and insulted
By a missing
Green leather chair
The plastic mat remaining
Is cracked, yellow

I take a moment to pour
A styrofoam cup of water
Into the lager plant to the right
Its limbs slumped against the wall
I won't approach the other
I may step through desperate acts
But I bow my head
Before the ridiculous

thanks but no

before you even knock
or open your mouth
a second time
take a breath
step back
and consider trying next door
I'm not here to lead
or dream of gold leaf
porta-quote flip books
curving the spine of some
truck driver
thanks but no

see that guy
washing his dog
in the street
he's missing a hand
and smoking at the
same time
there's a prophet
give him a spin
doesn't even care
he's occupying the local
immigrant auto-repair
look at the grin on that mutt
he knows
he knows man

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


This world
This country
Needs a hand
Upon its brow
More Kelly Clarkson banners
Adorning upward bound
Long turned off
In an attempt disorient
As we lurch forward
Into the $7.99
We need more used CDs
And free newspapers
Something to sleep under
And protect us from the sun
Perhaps the occasional
Left tread on
Mid cross walk
I am simply looking for
A reason
To pull my teeth
From this pen cap
Perhaps tomorrow
Perhaps next week
Either way
Perhaps tonight
We should all
Sit at home
In darkness
Sipping a tall glass of water

My Apologies

I mean you no harm
Other than the space next to you
The touch of your breath
I mean you no grief
Other than your concern
Your occasional loneliness
I mean you no loss
Not of yourself
Or the person you wish to be
I give you nothing
More than my hand

Thursday, April 9, 2009

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It’s lunch again
more desperate than before
more drawn out than after
with eyes looking around me
eyes looking behind
what if I revealed myself
right now
right here
what if I stepped into the light
the storm
the skin of reflected water
that covers us all
I sometimes imagine
cracking my own chest
letting my heart breath
encircled by ribs reaching
out and up
like thin grey fingers
perhaps I’d hand each child
a stick
to play a song
upon them

Wednesday, April 8, 2009


There is an unusual
Though much needed
Sunshine pouring out
Over the city
Michigan Ave. is mine
For a block or two at least
And for a moment, I feel
A part of it all
As if I were crawling
Up Miss America's skirt
Surprised not to be
Brushed away
By a gloved hand
And a southern squeal
It only takes a moment
To see why
To see the bruises
On her knees
These days, they've substituted
Roll after roll
Of brown kraft paper
For bandages
These days, everyone appears
To be searching for air
Trapped outside and pressed
Behind glass
It doesn’t take long to see
She'd take anyone
For a lover
Even me
And I'm not looking
To begin with

Tuesday, April 7, 2009


Later on, I learned
It wasn't even a full moon after all.
Two days late and hopped up
On prescription drugs,
I had almost sprained my neck
Lifting my face to kiss
Its blurred cheek.
Looks like there are goggles for the
Heavens as well.
Time for some new glasses
And a farmer's almanac.


The opposite of actor
is accountant
The opposite of painter
office manager
The opposite of presence
Is a shoebox burning in the sink
And the opposite of this hole in my chest
Was your hand on my cheek
Two days past