Archive | April, 2015

Inside the folds of Your old pillow case

18 Apr

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Inside the folds of Your old pillow case

inside the folds of your old pillow case one thousand mornings wake up empty without you

(from my book Beautiful Graveyards, Farfala Press)

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Last Penny Lane Open Reading Poem

16 Apr

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Last Penny Lane Open Reading Poem

 

while watching The Notebook, The Machinist, The Chronicles Of Ridick  and The Day After Tomorrow

 

chapter 1

 

another shit day for Trevor:

the scratches burned like fresh meteor strikes

the rented refrigerator inhospitably bleeding

and the wound which had replaced what was

no longer left of his insides, it threw darts

 

like an empty dinner table, circumstance plotting

against him on a full stomach smoking cigars

in an expensively gutted study

wet bones remember details

                                     love has a real bitch for a mother

and on Sundays she looks just like Joan Allen

naturally the screenplay was flawed, but fuck it

damage will star in the sequel

corny dialog already promised it’s own dressing room

for Trevor, it was obvious

the moon fucks like a pitchfork

this corpse just wasn’t going to heal

 

chapter 2

 

that’s why god left us running water

the fact that she never slept with him yet snickered

and yellow post-it notes

and ridiculous bathing suits

and long nights that live on unpaid utility bills

and warm photographs of cheeseburgers,

                           so often the pickles be damned

 

the batters box is a myth, the moon whispered

across which slide these all-star daydreams

that he kept regarding the powerful difficulties

involved with reaching her home plate

 

heartbreak is solar powered and when the sun goes down

runs on the myth of blue shutters and late night movies,

Jennifer Jason Leigh cinema nipples and a complete

preponderance of other meaningless shit

 

you’ve got a lovely manacle

she sings to him when he’s sleeping

the tune, it seams familiar, like misplacing

your library card at a strip club, the kind of thing

you don�t realize until months later because that’s

about how long it takes things

                                  ain’t it?

to get that one damn Motley Crue song

out of your head

 

chapter 3

 

my brain feels like half empty bags of junk food

and un-relayed phone messages

the price of being miserable travels by dogsled

when you’re trying to get thru something

 

the trying creates cracks and the cracks chunk off

into icebergs and the icebergs melt into incalculable bar tabs

and the bar tabs merge with failed crock pots

and hungry time machines which transport our stomachs wearily

 

back to the days when grandma tried to save us

w/ pepperoni pizzas & giant hamburgers

i built a raft out of the empty ketchup bottles

 

the death of ginsberg provided an ocean

made a sail out of old books and my trusty vcr

and beneath the cover of broody movie trailers

with the past screaming things that don’t rhyme w/ bon voyage

     i got away 

 

chapter 4

 

if you look close you’ll see the scars

forged by the plastic cups in which

the pharaohs once made us to piss in

today the ghosts of these misplaced drug tests

 

lease red convertibles and haunt the deleted chapters

of what things like this used to feel like

the day she almost killed herself playing King Arthur

with a disgruntled milk truck, the way the paint

 

refuses to dry upon this canvas

of (fuck you/the world needs sappy)

kissing her goodnight

 

chapter 5

 

your lungs are like radio

& i must’ve swallowed the dial

because now the only station i get

is the sound of you sleeping

 

and as for the commercials:

you’re totally missing the part

where Vin Diesel gets schooled

by Tootie’s granddaughter

 

the facts of life ain’t diggin his sci fi

but the furian is smarter than all that

in this life shackles are just the price of doing bid-ness

it’s the angle of approach you’ve got to worry about

 

it’s those landings you walk away from

the good morning sunshines that feed the toasters

the breakfasts involving midnight pancakes

smothered with i’m fucking you now but i’ve got

a fiancee waiting for me in a tie somewhere syrup

that’s got these mercs working overtime

 

there’s been a bounty placed on love’s head

you’re totally wanted throughout the galaxy

i know

 

these pillows have served time in seven parsecs

but don’t worry

i’ll watch your ass

 

 

 

(written for the last open mic poetry reading at the Penny Lane coffee shop, Boulder CO)

Burning Cattle

16 Apr

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Burning Cattle

 

out of the hotwired many

I am just one

            one dashboard

            bashed against its own teeth

by your pretty car crash

and the uniquely enamel’d habit

you have of misplacing your car keys

 

the cup cake goes: frosting

 

formerly trusting bone torn away

from the sexy flesh of your

reverse engineered scarecrow philosophy

 

my silo pronounced ‘solo’

your barn door pronounced

            “I’m in love with someone else”

 

the nose goes: snort

 

bonfires of charred flesh

splash around in your wake

like 34th century bread crumbs

 

leading the way back to

your late night TV commercials

for Restless Crotch Syndrome

which eerily predate the 118th unnecessary remake

of Red Dawn

 

put that in your sarcophagus and smoke it

you never appreciated Boris Karloff

like I appreciated Boris Karloff

 

The cow goes: moo

I Love Vladimir Mayakovsky

15 Apr

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I Love Vladimir Mayakovsky

“I love Vladimir Mayakovsky”

The way she says this
goes over with me like
fresh flowers allowed
to grow in the park

she’s just read “Great Big Hell of a City”
says she can relate to the moon now

Night loved itself out
the only line that ever
had to be written

(from my book Beautiful Graveyards, Farfalla Press)

White Wine

7 Apr

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White Wine

When you want

a giraffe

to piss in your

mouth

but don’t have the time

or energy to find a giraffe

and you’re just

like,

fuck it

and there’s a liquor store

right down the street

from your house