Tag Archives: fuck

My Foot Fell Asleep And It’s Having Those Dreams

11 Jan


My Foot Fell Asleep And It’s Having Those Dreams


my foot fell asleep

and it’s having those dreams again, where


we alphabetized all our typos

and did sex stuff in front of them


until the correct spellings came out


First Night Without Jack

2 Jul


First Night Without Jack


Drought, with running water

Everything right

About this world was

Tethered inside you

How am I supposed to not be morbid now?


It looks like I picked the wrong day to stop missing things

So long, my generous-guru friend


Adios, Bird King


Death is a real dick, at all times

It gets hung up on its own girth and doesn’t

Connect its acts with what it’s doing

Kick it in the nuts for me, brother, sing us one more tune


for Jack Collom

My Donald In Your Putin

15 Sep



My Donald In Your Putin


Mayakovsky poem as-if mistranslated from the Russian

by a love-struck Donald Trump


What can I say

You’re a strong man

And when a strong man says

Nice things to me

It’s only reasonable to say

Nice things to the strong man

Back, I mean just look at you!


I can tell you

After one glance at you

If bears wore shirts

They would stop wearing shirts

And start walking around topless

Like I suppose they already do

With their great bear nipples exposed


And maybe if somebody had a camera

They’d get their pictures taken while riding a horse

Or something like that

Because as far as my management style goes:


Bear. Can. Ride. Horse


Believe me,

Those shirtless bears

Would vote shirtless

Because they love it


And also

So they could pretend

To be like you


Because I will say this, sir

You: are spectacular

And I’m not just quoting my own mirror again

I’m being honest here


I find you so impressive

I would have my current wife deported

For 5 minutes alone with you

In my pool room


(Historic note: the pool room contained neither

Swimming pool nor pool table, only a pool shaped sink

That had been placed where sinks are generally placed

In the bathroom and utilized for the purpose of mutual

Shoulder scratching and other pre-insertion endured rituals

In the tower of President Trump),




Are those your real arms or did

My tax returns grow fingers

And insist on touching you

Until this audit is over?


I mean: Wow!


For another 10 minutes with you

After the 5 minutes that we’ll have already


Those 5 minutes during which I’d do stuff to you

I’d have my second wife castrated

Inter-regardless of the fact that when I was doing her

You can believe me because I’m waiving my finger

While typing this down for you,

When I was doing her……………..

When I was doing her,

She didn’t have nuts


But, for you

I would have actual balls surgically attached to

Her general area and then I’d have them

Dramatically removed as if she’d owned those

Things for her entire life

And was so sad to see them go


So sad


It’s horrible, what these Democrats do to people

Such things shouldn’t happen

Am I right here? What a shame


My point being I would do this for you,

Even though she’s a very nice person, my middle wife, and

This thing, the castration,

I find the whole thing unsettling

It would emotionally effect me

For a few nights, no

Let’s be honestly here

I only want to be honest with you

So let’s call it damn near half the week

And still


I’d do that for you

Despite the fact that you never asked me too

And after it’s done

I might not feel exactly like myself for

Almost a week


But that’s ok, I mean

A week’s not all that bad

For a man of my age and enormous

Hand size so you’d be smart to pour us

Another shot of vodka

Because we’re both incredibly popular

And I’ve still got another ex-wife

To sacrifice to the Big And Tall Glove Store

Of our late fall Olivia Newton John Travolta

Macramé’d love


I, [insert my name here along with your penis]

Pledge allegiance to the fact that

For the honor of placing my Trump

In your Putin

For the up to/yet not exceeding the duration it takes

For our enemies to watch

An entire episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm

I would have my first wife murdered


Flat out

Stop talking about it

She’s gone


My Donald in your Putin

Are we doin’ this or ain’t we?

Check the yes box for yes

And let’s not dwell on the rest


My Trump in your Putin


After which we listen to Another Day In Paradise

Instead of smoking cigarettes


And we read the paper

Mostly the brightly colored advertisements

And pretty quick I become outraged because


What is this malnourished cardboard expecting here?!


They’re gonna give me an extra 15% off if I buy

the goddamn thing in the store? Fuck that, etc.


I don’t go to Bed Bath and Beyond!

Bed Bath and Beyond comes to me!

Love is Like Watching Games 3 through 6 of the NBA Finals When You’re Rooting for Cleveland

21 Jun


Love is Like Watching Games 3 through 6 of the NBA Finals

When You’re Rooting for Cleveland


I didn’t care

about the NBA Finals

this year

or any year


but Jonny and Shayna did

so they came over to my place last week

and we watched basketball


Cleveland had LeBron James back

after he’d left them

(which sounded insane to me!

because they never come back!)

and he was trying his hardest to make it up

to Cleveland for leaving

by winning them the title of

Best Basketball Team In The NBA


and I thought, SHIT!



This wasn’t just a game!

This was James waging

a war against


Leaving! and Heartbreak!

and all the other forces

that exist for the sole purpose

of pissing on Love!


and because of this

I found myself

immediately invested


This thing had become important!

This thing represented goddamn



It was a war of the Heartbroken

fighting their way back

to falling in Love


and Game 3 was like

that first date


I was terrified until I was nervous

and then the next thing I knew

I was drunk and I couldn’t stop smelling her hair

or cease smiling

and we liked all the same things

and had both read Don Quixote


it was perfect and it was beautiful and

the night loomed until

it ran out of looming


and when it was over

Cleveland had pulled it off!

The armies of Leaving were on the run!


and when I woke up the next morning

I had sex beard and the Morning had sex hair

and my dick felt like it’d been lifting weights all night

and the world was no longer

made out of doom


During those days between games

3 and 4 I felt bulletproof

and mighty

instead of heart whipped

and broken


Our army was winning!

And winning was fun!


but then Game 4 came around

and Cleveland lost this time


and then Game 5 came around

and Cleveland lost even harder


and by the time Game 6 swooped in

our little rebellion was already

gut-shot and outgunned


and the war was lost

only 3 games after it had started


and I thought to myself: fuck


love is Game 3

followed by heartbreak

followed by horror

followed by grief

Dear Thesaurus,

7 Sep


dear thesaurus,

I couldn’t help but notice you–the other day–sitting on another man’s bookshelf–with your inveigling eyes feigning refutement and your soft cover recently un-tube topped and naturally bound and shit like that.

It was awkward, and uncomfortable, and also more than slightly unpleasant. Maybe unpleasant’s not the right word that I’m looking for, more like verging on gross. I could tell by the way this new dipshit talked that he’d most recently been into you. The way he’d say ‘ostentation’ instead of vulgar and ‘slightly inebriated’ instead of half way drunk.

I damn near slapped him. He had a nervous way about him and kept sneaking quick spasmodic looks at his crotch, which literally reeked of dried ink and that post browsed glow of brand new vocabulary options.

That’s ok though. Fuck it. In no way did I ever think that I owned you (even though I bet I still have it, I know I still have it, I still have the receipt). You’re free to copulate with, bang, bed boff, conjugate, couple dork, fornicate, have coition, make out with, screw, or share a fruit snack with anyone you want to, as you see fit to do and stuff. But seriously, why him?

Or anyone else for that matter? Damn it. I thought we were serious. Seriously. I thought you were the one, with your provocatively indexed pages and perfectly nippled font and the way we met–the way we met at that little bookstore that didn’t feel like a little bookstore at all, with you by my side it felt more like the hazel eyed offspring of one wild night shared twenty some years ago by a no longer stuffy library and the playboy mansion.

You could’ve left that place with anyone in the entire world but you didn’t, you went home with me–and when we were together that little blue pill of your attentions added three inches to my thick alphabet and then some. But that was a long time ago now, wasn’t it. Maybe I shouldn’t bring up such things right now, I mean I can see that you’re–whatever the hell it is you want to call it–otherwise involved.

That’s fine. I’m seeing somebody new myself actually. Or I was seeing somebody anyway. The prettiest Japanese/English dictionary this world has ever published. But that didn’t work out so well. She got pissed off because I kept pronouncing her bad moods incorrectly. Shit. And also I was still hung up on, I mean she says that I’m still hung up on, so who knows maybe I am still hung up on, that thing that I’m still hung up on.

What’s the word I’m looking for again? I can’t think of it.

Wait. It’s that easy. I see you again and then I remember.

I’m hung up on you.