Archive for the ‘ verse ’ Category


Did you see the news?
Yeah, read the headlines.
(Who has time for the whole article?)

We’ve got
zero fucks to give
here in memeland
got our own problems
what can we do
about the blood in your streets
(and yeah, what can we do)

we live in the epilogue
history’s done
this is all just
a bad sequel
retreading the same
tired plotline

the world’s nothing
wrath and semtex
and the Guf
is empty


We don’t know the things they say
about us
in cold, windy whispers
Councils on Olympus
Conspirators in the barren skies
Plotting our doom
Scribbling out fates in the stars
like preteen girls with unlined diary pages
and flimsy tin locks



[from an exercise I did along with my Creative Writing students]

It’s a tickle. Tickle, tickle of something missing.
Like phantom limb syndrome for fins and fishtails and gills and things–
for things we’ll never have.

I saw a report about a man whose hands and feet
have turned to tree bark
as if nature forgot all her boundaries
and was no respecter of persons.

It must be like that
being something
you’re not meant to be

Here’s a little ditty…

So here’s a poem called “Thermodynamics” that Arsenic Lobster (which is just about the coolest journal name ever) put up.


New Poem

Check out “Unseen” in the Corner Club Press’s summer issue.

A Statistical Analysis of Your Profligate Charms (a.k.a. A Peculiar Ode)

hello, dear

thinking of your qualities
unstrained mercy and all of that
I find myself wondering:

what if you were the norm

if the world was–not you, but somewhat statistically–like you
what would the world be

(I know, for instance, a world of merely me’s would be a dreadful place of egos run amok)

but if all our fellow human beings fell within
one standard deviation from you
in fairness
all that good stuff

Well, then, I guess we’d have a nice little world

But from perusing the news
I see it’s not to be

Oh well
and lucky me


Screen Shot 2015-06-13 at 7.27.02 PM

we’ve been burned out

the city you knew
a bruise in history
broken capillaries
speaking to discreet and private calamities
ripe for forgetting

it’s horrifying, creation

atoms in the asphalt buzz
and we shutter up the windows
board the doors
keep the disharmonies out
pray quietly
for another hour