February 23, 2011

It's Over, Finally

I broke my right arm
when I fell off a flying
saucer.  The doctor took
off my cast and dumped
me in a pool of warm, soft
lotion.  I later learned we
call it water.  I took
navigation classes until I
turned five, then I joined a
team of swimmers who
navigated quicker than fast
forward up and down in the
pool divided into aisles.  I later
learned swimmers called them
lanes.  I kicked and pulled up
and down those lanes I bet
enough length to go to
California, and yes, I took a
flight to race in California,
So as I see it, I visited there twice.
Nothing obeyed me like water,
I cupped it in my hand, pushed it
under my body and flipped my
hand out of the water at my hip
thirteen times a lap.  Nothing
ever felt as predictable as that.
Last time I swam, the water numbed
my lower body due to its mountain
source, and my asthma prevented me
from actually swimming. Walking my
fat ass from the lake to my towel on
the beach convinced me to never
swim again.  Remind
me to throw away my medals and

(Cognitive) OCD

You’re cheating on me.
No Paige, I’m not.
But, that text message,
she wants to meet you.
Paige, my buddy gave
her my number as a joke.
I have no interest in her.
Okay Sean, text that to her.
If it will make you feel better.
Text: I already have a girlfriend.
You’re cheating on me still.
No Paige, I’m not.
But your text message,
It could be just for show.
It’s not Paige.
How do I know?
Can you call the girl now?
Paige, why? I just texted her.
To prove to me that
you’re not cheating Sean.
Fine, Paige. That’s it though.
Phone call: Hey, it’s Sean,
Yes, I just texted you, no
I haven’t changed my mind,
Please, just don’t text me
again, I have a girlfriend.
Yes, I know, thanks, bye.
Okay Paige, are you satisfied?
You still could be cheating on me.
What the fuck Paige, No I’m not!
How do I know you talked to the
girl who texted you on the phone?
Who the hell else would it be Paige?
Your buddy, who set you up in the
first place.
I called her Paige.
Well, let me call her and ask Sean.
I draw the line at certified, Paige.
What do you mean Sean?
So you are cheating on me asshole!

February 14, 2011

Date Night

Come lady divine lay
with me in the slums of
Detroit, to dine on dead
rat and desert on dumpster
cheesecake.  As your golden
tresses drag behind us, instead
of TV, let’s go to a shooting
gallery and watch dope fiends
juggle dice by shooting up
junk in their arms.  Next, our
date continues on the top
floor of a parking garage.
The lights of Detroit look like
pinpoints, the slums reach
out far into the distance. 
We begin to slow dance,
our pulse slows, our limbs
grow cold.  We prefer
this.  The dance slows,
we kiss, your tresses look
black from the streets now.
A car’s head light’s shine
upon us as we fall to the
concrete.  The driver mistakes
us for speed bumps, only in
the slums of Detroit.  

February 11, 2011


I’m nuts, framed by cuckoo a
bird.  They put a cuckoo clock
inside my forehead, so every
hour a bird pops out of my worry
lines, scares the shit out of my cat,
and reminds me of my amended
mental status.  It’s terrible to have
been sane, no pane, when everyone
sees that you’re not sick, but swell. Now
with this clock inside my forehead and
a beak courtesy of beak surgeons, I
look disturbed. Crazy, I feel more human
then ever before, besides are not the
bastards who changed my appearance
not the sick ones?  Shouldn’t someone
shrink their twisted noggins? I learned
to live with my idiosyncrasies.  But I scare
the shit out of the “people” who made me
this way.  Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

February 9, 2011

Back Walking

I saw his back, walking away.  Hobbling down the icy stairs, kicking the salt about as his feet slid, barely scraping the pavement.  A brown knit cap covered his head, pulled down so low about his ears covering the lobes.  His jowels, jutting out are all I could make of his chin.  He wore a tattered and old black leather coat, now more gray than black, and drooping faded blue jeans.  His sneakers had to be 15 years young, if not more... wrinkled and worn, laces loose. They scraped the sidewalk crunching the salt and spraying it and the melting ice about.  His breath almost froze as he hobbled along, keys in his left hand, paper rolled into his right.  Damn he looks cold.  Damn I'm cold.  This is what cold looks like walking away...  a demon, shuffling along, quiet, reserved, blending into the world.... frigid.

February 4, 2011


I can't look away
My soul is locked
onto your eyes

Pools of crystal
and green
Soothe my pain
and cool my heart

Your essence
has pierced
my beign
and enriched me

Your eyes
have pierced
my soul.

This one is recent.  9/9/2010

Visit me at Discrete Beauty

February 3, 2011


I’m driving on aloe roads
twisting and turning,
windows agar, cool sweet
green density the sun emits
as I hang my left leg out
the driver’s seat window.
A screaming stream below
a groaning cliff, sends shivers
down my plastic spine.
The fearful car pines for
paved roads, but instead
a chocolate hail storm
begins.  I withdraw my
foot from the window
to sit straight up inside
the car.  I close the windows,
and turn on the razors I use
in place of windshield wipers.
Shaved chocolate looks
so pathetic right now.  Night
comes from somewhere ahead,
so I beam, and continue my
trip to party at a giant cupcake
mansion with a pink icing roof.

February 2, 2011


I think I am
on a shined glass horse.
Downwards, to break/
the silence
of a candy rainbow bliss.
Tears drip from my ducts as
the glass hits the floored
lollipop suckers-
Chaos bits of red, orange
yellow, green, blue and
purple glass rain down-
A veritable Utopia.