Tag Archives: time

Casablanca 2: Trump-World Boogaloo

2 Oct


Casablanca 2: Trump-World Boogaloo



The moon’s going out tonight

and can’t decide between a bulletproof vest

or a straight jacket and tights


(She had the attention span of a corn chip

and my heart is guacamole)



All I’ve got left is a green Batman t-shirt

and a busted piano that only plays one song

While you’re over there with your new fella


Decked out in your sexy bomb shelter

Almost-nakedly debating between oblivion, Phil Collins

singing about mushroom clouds and The Cure


Romance is at war with all the things that happen in the real world

Rewound into the 1940’s

Love’s plane keeps getting shot down by brand new Nazis

Kurt Vonnegut said everything: “So it goes”



Casablanc-all this confusion that comes from all our lives

lived inside the in-between

(When you drove away I crumbled

against the door

like a slain cookie smashed by the very plate

that had sworn it its love)


Casablanc-all that gets lost between the non-existing

And the injustice that thrives in its binding


Casablanc-the penultimate dick joke,

that had nothing to do with cookies

but shit, you’ll have to trust me

It’s a dick joke, so it’s funny


Casablanc-us all


I Don’t Have To Look Behind Me, All I Have To Do Is Squat

4 Nov



I Don’t Have To Look Behind Me, All I Have To Do Is Squat


“I don’t have to look behind me

all I have to do is squat.” she said

because that’s how she ordered a ham sandwich in public

because almost everything she’d ever said would sound sexual


I don’t know why

I tried to ask her if she wanted my pickle

but it came out sounding like I was miss-quoting

George Clooney in the most unsexy way and


I can’t remember any of the specific details

of the last time that we had lunch together



but I know what it’s like: being hungry

I’ve been eating Netflix movies and frozen vegetables for days now

Wait: what were we talking about?   are we talking?   what’s the fuck’s up with


Mother Fucker

23 Feb


mother fucker

I have decided, sweet lady, that time is a mother fucker
and having decided this, brave toasted angel, I’ve made
preparations to take the bastard out
things might get messy
so if you are inclined w/ a weak stomach

I beg of you to wait here for me this will only take a minute
and if I am successful it will not even take that for once
I have appropriately carcassed this beast there will be no
such things as minutes, or hours, or even springtime
afternoons–ok maybe

there will still be springtime afternoons, as well there
should be (forgive me, I get carried away) but you will
no longer have to measure yr enjoyment in such things

against the paper yardstick of this mouthy fuck-like
mortality in which we’ve so elegant-lessly been sleeved so
weep not lover (oh how yr beauty feeds me like a sandwich)

we will all be saved by 3 o’clock, I mean soon




(from my book I Was Going To Use That, Farfalla Press)