online literature since 2007

Thursday, November 29, 2007


something covers me
like a blanket to the eyes,
but it's not sunglasses
and it's not a vis
maybe i'm just thinking
too much again,
when i should just vent this
abstraction with a pen.

venting all this steam
would take an engine,
and it would take a lifetime,
so i would want a pension.
but money is worthless,
it's just paper and metal.
i'd like a log cabin
to live and settle

i'd sit, read, write, smoke,
and drink homemade beer.
i'd live with some animals
and without fear.

right now i live
constantly afraid
that all around me is an illusion
and we haven't come far from caves.

the newspaper is something
to get interested in,
or bowling balls
and knocking down the pins.

the end:

old people flirt
in the library.
i'm writing this down
in my diary.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

i am an empty field
i am harvest-less,
i bear nothing.
i think it would be possible
to once again fertilize
should you return
should you return whole
should you return whole and warm
and enter my womb
and enter my soul
and enter my bone marrow.

i am afraid of forgetting
i am afraid of you forgetting me forgetting you
i am afraid of slipping past you
like a silk lizard on a temple floor:
part of the beauty
but estranged from the prayers whispered softly into the night.
i am afraid of floating,
floating past you;
i am afraid of floating alone.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

at the airport

at the airport
i saw the two most beautiful french girls:
i made one smile just by looking at her
and then turning away.

the snow outside the plane was the universe's massive lithograph in negative
wind needles drawing lines in the sky--
everything was perfectly, impossibly

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Single me out,
Extend your welcome name
And give me what I want
Summer sex cryin shame

Teetotal saint
And the cherry tree wind
Someone’s going down
Lie cheat steal win

Hide in me, let me
Single out your disease
Ramble your hair
Fall crinckle apple ease

Midnight craving
Couch yellow tinkle
It can never be
ginger surpass tickle

understand her confidence
nothing was ever her fault
summon your saint
Columbian drama salt

Thursday, November 15, 2007

its like i am floating:
six swans carry strings in their beaks
strings tied around my fingers and toes
belly up.
the sky is getting a lot closer.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

a small dose of self loathing

sighs in the morning throwing myself out of bed
another day i don't want to put myself through
this dull aching feeling tapping throbbing in my head
not a pain but a sensation i'm quite used to
by now this should all have been accepted
i would be smiling happy walking like them
but instead have i only resented
all of the fulfilled people i condemn

importance of smiling and frowning

it is good to smile
so as to admit that
a pencil size joint
of cannabis and tobacco
or the female body
when it is at its greatest
is still just something that get me off

because i evolved from an ape

and not from a clam

and somewhere shallow or deep beneath the smile
is buried the brain
and an inevitable and infinite casket
and then i frown
and i am overcome by many things:
the urge to throw a dagger
at myself
in the mirror,
and breathe slowly,
and out:
my own anger,
lack of courage,

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


after awhile cigarettes remind you of kissing anyone
and living in this place feels like we're
whispering in each others' ears
so we live like we are --
and suddenly everything and nothing is big news.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

5 quick shits

the safety administration building
has kept me so safe
that I almost want to die.

we should burn all our money
and burn all our clothes.
(I will keep a view coins
that survive the arson
and a thong for the beach.)

if drugs were legal
I'd probably be dead
but who's to say
I wouldn't have died
from road rage
against a rolls Royce.

with machine guns
kill the population.
we will all be tortured
after life as in the Middle Ages.

all the children
on the public
computers are staring
at me as I sit
at a corner library table.

@ making tea

the steps are simple
boil pour stirr

blow sip burn
too hot to wait

let it steep
the flavors brew

blow sip swallow
she hates the taste

-naqeeb stevens

a message from god himself

bathroom linoleum beige white tiles
contemplating our life in the kala yuga
i won't kill myself

looking down bare feet gray tarnished grime
"what is happening," bellows the homeless man
on broadway lifting cup of loose change to the sky

i lived once among the whines of the altruistic
doling goodwill sweaters drab faded benediction
to all who would accept them the lost generation

soot stained fingernails scratch at layers of loose skin
bathing in holy feculence thwarting damnation
peeling chapped lips

nothing left but cold damp collapse
fucking and pissing and breathing realizing
everyone's shit stinks

Wednesday, November 7, 2007



She had no ink
ling that she w
as made of i
So nestled herself between the
d and b.

(Was comfy there.)

She did not stand for
nothing, he wrote.
Y: she did not stand.


She says: "I think I am torn between my two parents. Idealistically."
He says: "I think I am torn between my two butt cheeks. Idealistically."
She says: "Asshole."


everything was fixed conveniently,
with just a bag of medicine to hold.
the smallest dose
for the things i host

lift me
one more mile.

watch the basement flood with dirty water,
the wood warps and whines and the paint peels.
no change of mood
in my solitude

i will waste away
to a smile...

the dimness will creep back into a corner,
day will glaze the floor with tobacco crumbs and dust.
i'll be asleep and be spared
lying in the armchair.

just avoid moving.
and after a while,

you've arrived
just in time,
with all the right supplies
to make you

the importance of optimism

when you look outside the window
and all you see is a wasteland
an earth tinged with speckles of superfluous life

then you could be sitting in the wrong room

but i'm not that positive

two o'clock

i am drinking a beer
my first beer of the night
at two A.M.
it's Pabst.
that means that i will hate the way my mouth tastes
in right about now.
oh, now.
it's so easy to think about the past/future
and so hard to deal with the
right now
right now.

there was this little white,
hard crumb
stuck on/in the carpet
you were lying on
i could see it
between strands of my own hair
and i wondered what it was made of,
if it would crumble under applied pressure
if it would break between thumb and forefinger,
its parts scattering like the ducks you screamed away.

or would it stay whole,
like a
half-full glass of milk
on the stainless-steel counter in your kitchen
that you forgot to drink
after your poured it?

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

six o'clock fuck

i am interested in the way
you are obsessed with my smell
the way i reek
when i don't shower,
the way i wreak
when i don't do it your way.
what is my way?
my way is the way of the condor
it is the high life
the fly life
the life where i can be alone when i'm next to you;
the life where i can seethe and boil
only to simmer into a mindless puddle a few hours later,
only to be let down again
by my own routine.
when the high is over,
when i am tired,
when my clothes don't match my nails or shoes,
i think about what it would be like
to not have your clothes to pick up off my floor
what it would be like
to not have someone to remind
to do this
or not do that.

i've never smelled this bad before.
i think i will put on some deodorant
or shower
before you get here,
just to deprive you
of some stinky happiness.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Instantaneous Message

I will come with flowers.
overflowing arms of them
and I will drop them to hug you

I want to say to you that I did it,
and that there is peace everywhere. And we can go
outside and there will be the people, so happy.

People will be pouring their
money into the garbage cans too,
and friendly people will give the
homeless their extra clothes
and their extra rooms

I wish I could see this

I want to wait by the river for a boat
to come and bring me to you
i object to its presence
not its existence.

i don't object to existence in general,
but just this one time,
"i think maybe just this once," he says,
"we can make an exception

i object to your prescience.
i want to know what you know.

he says, looking everyone in the room in the eye,
"i want to know,""...""...what you know."

Sunday, November 4, 2007

just like you

overlooking the flat tops of buildings
watching the lights of people's apartments
turn on and off
accepting fully that there is nothing to be done

in this place
the gray streets go on
and on without ever ending
people walk down them in no direction

just like you
for them the skies are clear
everything is alright
content in their make-believe...


Saturday, November 3, 2007

Crying Drunk

I would like to think everyone who writes for The World Looks Better in Pink for letting me write poems on this blog.

Crying Drunk

Last night at work
after the rush was over
I stood next to Luna
I said, “The good boss
is here
we can get drunk”

She replied, “I only drank once,
with The BF in a hotel
Captain and Rum
The Fresh Prince was on
I started to cry
he settled me down

then we had sex
and I began crying again
I couldn't stop
I laid in the bed
and couldn't stop.”

“Oh. Maybe we
shouldn't drink.”

Friday, November 2, 2007

i am a vegetarian and believe in killing as a first resort and a first resort only

only i can understand

how i poop
how i pee
all the civilizations i nuke to oblivion in my mind

only you can see me
how i hide
from the muddling of voices
into some sinister prank

and everyone that sees me is a star
and everyone who cares
gives me some strange brand of power
gives me the right to take life

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Nobody Cares
I Care
I Think I Care
Maybe I Don't Really Care
Do You Want A Free Macy's Gift Card?
Oh Dear