ALL THE GLORY THAT I BEAR

diminishing rerun
of torn-open scroll
reads: go again

charm absorbed
from friends
at arm's length

lends an air
of heavy oxygen
motes clogging
the clothesline

what's it matter to me
the ethic
of my apology

SLAP SOME BLUE PAINT ON THAT PARKING SPACE AND PACK IT UP

Trouble in the lot:

refuse overflow,

denial descending

arpeggio, crows

picking their way

through flesh-flecks

of commerce. 

Enter our amigo,

at the crux of this 

fussy influx of

carnage, uniform

strapped on slowly

like armor, making

off-the-cuff remarks 

of mourning for a filthy 

premonition. Ghastly

shades rumble in the

dumpster. No matter

how new, still the same

cracks in the foundation.

Though spacious

inside, outside surrounds

with no body, no body,

and rather than feel sorry,

it's best to delay worry

for next dumb stumble, 

some oncoming name-wreck

cycling through gasping

brain, fighting
stupid, working

overtime to fatten

a far-off paycheck.

A SERIES OF SHOCKS TO AN OL-TIMEY SYSTEM

let's play loner-meet-lion-cave

or at least read the histories

forgo another depraved evening

in search of sustainable merit

forget what felt better you know

some sensations depart never to return

who bought out the roller disco

and dicked over the ticket counter

check out this consumerist trick

cannibalism gets a lil more digestible

in the ear drum roils a tongue

battered in the taste of a birthday

SHITHEAD SAYS THANKS FOR THE LOAN

says, watch me revenge

says, check this hedge fund

says, who's your caddy

says, what's cookin

asks, anybody lookin

asks, do your daddy like me

says, could write this shit twice

says, better do it once

says, forgot how to dance

been happy since

MY PROCLIVITY TOWARD POORLY DRAWN MAPS

Not all those who wander are lost
but I sure as fuck am

arriving at the foot
of these mountains again
not sure how to feel
except mountainous

listlessness mounting
worrying thought-tambourine
clanging thought-tambourine
pressing on incentive unseen

a bus passes, passes, passes
my angel wears glasses
and squints as I squander
another afternoon, dispirited
wandering cross another
dirt road

lo, yo love is gone

still hopin
for a way to hold
my bones

IN WHICH FANTASIES ARE FATAL

and the waffle maiden
takes a few cushioned blows
from the butter knight

and the kid can't take a hint
when the snakes hiss-hush
his uninterrupted meddling

and the gorilla seemingly lost
in the chilly northern forests
hurtling away from help

and the protagonist pulled
apart like braised pork raises
an objection to window shades

and this performance portends
a little levity shining an irrational
light far up into the rafters

A TIME MACHINE REEKS OF DOG BREATH

all night held each other in skeletal grip

morning wasted retracing steps

leaving burns in the upholstery

taste smoke— drool— forget

STEAMING PILE OF BIRDSONG

gleaming plate of eggs
mocks my status
cracked peppered
ligaments

never mind all that yolk

was just the liminal
broth of an emergence

my chef'ining sharpens
against the horns
of my cape-less
shoulder

quivering pile
of puny would-
be baby
quickens
my appetite

piercing tongues
with their pointillist
opus

THIS WILL BUM US OUT EVENTUALLY

second-fiddle
streams
of unconscionable
envy

vermillion
cheeks and
horizons
in vitro

reflexive
organs
drag note
warp throat
pull teeth
fill shell

will lung
be willing
to accomodate
such a constant
drag?

growing up

what compels cat
to knock over cup?
rudest awakening,
being drenched by coke,
a fructose waterfall,
though my sticky apathy
put me back to sleep.

what compels man
to refill his cup?
despite being stuffed,
inundated with flavor,
sticky still and still
calibrating his luck,
every electrical charge
gets squeezed 'till
the last drop.

what compels a man
thirsting for the cup?
through desert days, oasis
in plastic stasis waits
beneath the bus sign,
and after quenching his
thirst, he thrusts the cup
to the ground, it's spilling,
it spills, not my problem
not my problem,
but can't stop the thought:
this is not my life.