Tag Archives: poetry

My Balls Are Longer Than They Used To Be

21 Aug

 

My Balls Are Longer Than They Used To Be

 

Not that I’ve ever measured my balls

with a ruler

or a step ladder

or a metrically precise piece of tape

 

Who’d think to do that?

 

It’s just, my birthday was last month

and on my birthday

at some point in which my pants weren’t on

I happened to look down

and noticed

my balls are longer than they used to be

 

I can’t back this up with science

or a pertinent song by Rob Thomas

I just know that they are

like I knew Trump would try to nuke North Korea

to divert attention away from all his domestic time bombs

or how I knew she was leaving

a whole lot of months before

she was actually gone

 

I looked down, on my birthday

and they were longer

longer than I remembered them being

There it is

 

Possible reasons for the elongation:

 

–after the 2nd divorce I stopped wearing underpants

for 5 or 6 years maybe until this year

where I started wearing them again

(even though I’m not wearing any right now)

(I was just wearing a pair earlier

yesterday

so there)

 

Could this extended lack of under stuff support

have something to do with it?

 

–Perhaps it’s just that vindictive combination

of gravity and the mortal extension of time

 

That’ll do it

 

— I watched Alien Covenant 3 times in 5 days at the theater

Also I stopped eating cereal a really long time ago and

I live alone with a cat named after an island that doesn’t exist

 

Is this why I wake up every morning now

and my balls are this long?

Not that they’re ridiculously long or something like that

They’re not

They’re just longer

Than I thought they would be

 

I mean, what was I trying to say here?

I don’t know. Maybe the point is:

And that’s why I don’t play softball anymore

 

you think so?

maybe?

don’t be fraught

Care Bears Are Dropping Like Pre-Emotionally Assigned Flies

19 Aug

Care Bears Are Dropping Like Pre-Emotionally Assigned Flies

 

One:

Time keeps stretching past the morgue of anniversaries

The distance between things gelded between Shark Week

and our abandoned Love Sac

Ending just keep on going, shaking piss fits

 

Two:

like flawed parachutes

and a mansion of Care Bears

screaming waffle scented anathemas

on their way to a lonely splat

 

against the ground

 

 

August 16, 2017

                                                sitting on a futon

                                                Lafayette, CO

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

Get out of the car, Donald: Covfefe

30 Jun

 

Get out of the car, Donald: Covfefe

 

The old man spit almonds at the liquor store clerk for coming

around to the other side of the counter in order to feed

the thin Doberman a health food store treat

(Sprouts was right next door)

 

“He shouldn’t have that!” the old man said, spit “I don’t mean to yell, but last night

he had hideous diarrhea. (Hideous) (I was standing behind him. Great word choice.

I was impressed)

 

I’ve scrubbed so much shit out of my living room carpet

that the pain in my wrists is the only thing I’ve got left,

as far as proof that I’m alive.”

 

The old man thought about death a lot and looked hollow

The dog’s asshole was sensitive and he looked dehydrated and sad

The liquor store clerk said she was sorry, she should’ve first asked

 

Covfefe stepped around me like a John Wick fight scene

his eyes grinning like the wrong kind of condiments

“Hey mister,” Covfefe said, “I’ll give you 47 hundred dollars for the dog.

 

But only if this place sells beef jerky. Do you sell beef jerky?”

The lady who worked there said that they did.

 

“Sold. The dog, and all the beef jerky. I pay you for the dog

and her for the beef jerky. 47 hundred. Do we have a deal?”

 

The old man quivered, fully aware that he was only 3 or 4 more dog shits

away from ending his own life. He didn’t want to die that way.

On top a shit stained carpet. Dog. Shit. Stained.

 

Fuck that, the old man said in his head.

They had a deal.

 

On the ride home I asked Covfefe why he’d bought the dog

“Why do you think?!” Donald said, because he was sitting in the back seat

like he’s always sitting in the back seat. That’s what he does now.

He lives in the back seat. He pays people large bucks to provide him with

an unlimited amount of shit he orders from the Info Wars website and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

He won’t get out of the car.

 

He runs everything from back there

He’s the real thing #prick

so why would he?

 

“He bought the dog because they had beef jerky and the dog has diarrhea and we’re taking it

back to your place. Covfefe! Keep the dog away from my chicken! Can you comprehend what

I’m doing to you right now? I’d fucking think so.

aka Win/Win/Win.”

 

I tried to ignore Donald but it’s impossible.

He’s a big dickish mess.

And I told him that

 

“The only thing I regret,” Donald said “is that I never played golf

with Evel Knievel.”

 

and for the first time, I believed him

and I drove home

embalmed with that and all these memories

we’ll never see again

 

All these times that are now dead for us

Shit

The times that are dead

Covfefe

29 Jun

Covfefe

 

As the ashtrays pop like a steady invasion of phone-cams

and cream cheese

We all scream into the same bucket of water

We can all feel our own tanks slowly chipping away, under fire

Until the only thing left are the treds………….

 

Are you watching Fury again?. Covfefe asked the question like a statement

because I was always watching Fury again these days

I was always praising Brad Pitt’s performance

as a broken souled tank driver or sketching Hitler mustaches

just below the crotches of shitty modern day billionaires

or reading about Winston Churchill out loud

 

Since the election of this new goddamn reality show president

I’d become significantly obsessed with masturbation and not sleeping well

and learning lots of things about World War 2

 

Leave me alone, Covfefe. I said

Which made Covfefe laugh

Which was horrible, because a Covfefe laugh

sounds like the cross between Tom Cruise farting during a meter reading

and Ricardo Montalban waking from death screaming

because he’s spent the past chunk of years

dreaming about how he accidentally killed Tattoo  

 

Leader gets two scoops of ice cream

when everyone else in the room gets only one

Covfefe gloated

One scoop because America is so gullible

and one scoop because it’s arrogant about its ignorance

and  still pretty fucking racist

so: shit

 

That makes 2.

 

One + One……..I mean, I don’t know

where you learned math but where I learned math

we always said the pledge of allegiance before pooping

and didn’t eat our bologna sandwiches like afraid-of-mayonnaise pussies

I can tell you, with complete straight bullshit honesty,

that where I come from one + one: makes two

 

Covfefe! I found myself screaming voluntarily, Knock it off

Your shitty math hole

can’t tell algebra and a shark’s asshole

apart, how the fuck do you expect…….

 

Covfefe’s response was immediate

and misdirected

 

Love is for people.

I think my sister really likes you

Knock it off

Caring Tan

13 Jun

Caring Tan

 

The sun clung to her skin

like a marching band in soft slippers

 

and when she walked by

the whole world turned into headphones

because she was playing my favorite song

 

it was a marching band version

so it had that tone, and too many trumpets

staring into their cell phones as

the trombones utterly butchered the verses

 

Shit! It’s still a great song though,

no matter how you play it

I counted all the big drums

 

until she was gone

Sink

9 Jun

Sink

aka Where were they supposed to go after this?

 

Their love

was like a sink

  1. another color named by robots
  2. something assholes threw unfinished plates of spaghetti in

or crusted bowls of overtly-andante sadness

burnt toast

and jacked up forks

 

Their love was a graffiti torn sink

built to hold history and spoons,

a partially consumed sponge

 

and to once in a while, occasionally, piss in

when it’s late and the world’s too heavy to walk on

and the bathroom is all the way up the stairs

 

don’t judge me!

 

there is a beach in my pocket

where time drinks alone

and the bladder gets circled by sharks

 

so I sink

 

because up the stairs is a long way to travel

when you’re this alone

and the moon insists on poking

 

and you’ve really gotta pee