hitchhiking

we hitched a ride in the back of a pickup truck
inside it was an old television set
and a stereo system
i had to be careful when getting in
so as not to smash it to pieces

we decided to walk for a while
stopped and ate some deep fried crickets
that we slathered with beer
we posed with them for the camera
so we could make great facebook photos

down dimly-lit lanes and back roads
howling back at the barking dogs
hurling back their insults
cursing at the top of our lungs
before climbing onto our ways home

back into the prison camp we rode
but one of us was denied entry
because the guards didn't
like the features of his body
they were too familiar and close to home

we sat at the edge of an empty pool
at the end of the evening
quietly, for the most part
thinking about how on that night
we saw our histories change

through a window the
ambulance wail reaches me
smiling and alone.

caesar dressing
and white american
cheese on my salad.
i am happy.

a bald figure of authority leads
underground evangelical therapy:
what should i think?
i am sad.

uberoptimism
and a glass of cheap rum
will cure this socioeconomicopolitical downturn.
i am brave.

the mud of the soundscape
made into something
less concrete.
i am a fraid.

the noon sun grills
the snow on the rooftop.
the roads are being salted.
i am a wake.

this woman has three heads
and i am in three
different rooms.
i am a sleep.

i could search forever for a right virtue
but i could never find a right emotion.

or maybe it's the other way around.

a pantoum for the city

Our city, a tiny tireless ant,
There is no end to the exorbitant
Our little pains make them so jubilant.
Our labor a part of it - relevant

There is no end to the exorbitant.
Is the apple of your eye appearing?
Our labor a part of it - relevant
The doges take their gold gondoliering.

Is the apple of your eye appearing?
Only if done with joviality.
The doges take their gold gondoliering.
Dull brown shit is the world’s reality.

Only if done with joviality.
Even the simplest people love a thrill.
Dull brown shit is the world’s reality.
Yet its hard to swallow this simple pill.

Even the simplest people love a thrill.
We build ourselves up in an endless rant.
Yet its hard to swallow this simple pill:
Our city - a tiny tireless ant.

post punk allusions

I want to write like
the man in suicide sings:
scary and sad but people are like,
"that's so cool."

I need joy division. I need it.

I would love
new order
to come to my sleepy little town.

Sometimes,
there is the talking heads on the radio.
My parents used to love them.
They must still.
I am not sure how to feel about this.

I am not sure how to feel about this.

i am jumping in my seat

what do i feel?

my heart is
malleable like skin
but can crack like an eggshell
and inside wings are being born

fluttering and springing
they try to break free
their feathery imprints
visible on the skin

of a blood pumping muscle

that’s what I feel

in the hallway

my brother was killing people on TV
when he said "eat it, you bastards"

"you bastards!!" he said again,
I was in the hallway.

I heard him killing people
but from where I was standing
I couldn't see them dying.

Later I saw my brother in the hallway
and we passed each other without talking.

english class poetry series - the villanelle

"That kind of thing is just obscene;"
Mankind is prone to labeling.
"Let's string up this new libertine!"

The state is here to intervene
Even for mere littering!
"That kind of thing is just obscene."

We just got this new guillotine.
Justice must be unpitying.
"Let's string up this new libertine!"

We caught this man selling codeine;
He's not even worth imprisoning!
"That kind of thing is just obscene."

This dates back to Saint Augustine;
Man's cruelty is hampering.
"Let's string up this new libertine!"

Even if you are seventeen
You will face much moralizing.
"That kind of thing is just obscene."
"Let's string up this new libertine!"

our shortcomings

wet whitewashed walls
a spatter of pockmarked red
iridescent shining against the bland
brown bricks of the city

screaming obscenities
a young Philip Glass
lifting light upon the bland
pacified people of the city

the ticking of a wristwatch
a useless generation
glaring bright faulty activism in the bland
streets of the city

New Shoes

I got new shoes
they cost $13.84

they are small
black
and leather

I worked the
last two days
wearing them

and my feet
don't hurt

sometimes
life is good