Youth, or the fleeting thereof

10/28/2015 § Leave a comment

She takes one long drag of the cigarette

then wears the smoke over her face like a veil.

THERE IS NO EVIL, claims her neck tattoo

ablaze & glazed with neon sweat.

She won’t stay out long; already in her eyes

there is unrest, a hunger & a yearning

for the pull & heat of bodies other than her own,

for the rattling of bones in skin-packed darkness,

for the loud thumping music of synchopated hearts.

Is this how the young endure their youth,

bounded together by bodily graces,

each affirming the other by touch, kiss, fuck


(But O, bright one—will you not look up and see

You will always be young?)


Je t’aime plus que les framboises

09/23/2015 § Leave a comment

I like you more than raspberries
and all the moon’s faces put together.

I like you more than the tigers in the zoo
(even though they are very very fierce and majestic)
and I like you more than hot chocolate
on a rainy Saturday night. (everyone knows that is the
best time for hot chocolate.)

I like you more than all your previous lovers
because I’m not one of them,
(I’m no pioneer, just a shipwreck)
which is to say I like you more than the sum of you.

Your Jew-nose, Polish chin, dented skull and crooked spine,
your freckles, rambles, tits legs and ass, I like all of it
and more. More and more and more,

I like you more than raspberries
and all the moon’s faces put together.


All is quiet

05/05/2015 § Leave a comment

All is quiet tonight

in the small, inverted space

of my soul.


Once, I listened to invisible frogs

on a spring night near a bog

and wept for a joy I could not explain.

I thought—felt—heard—

they were crying

in exultation of themselves.


With such wondrous confusion

my soul then was filled,

with wildness and trepidation

and endless fumbling

of senses. Life seemed to be

a poem, always unraveling,

arcane in its beauty,

every word like a match struck darkling

in a room full of metals

and glittering things.


I strove

to look upon the world

with love, sought to find beauty

in all things and people.

And, failing both, turned my gaze

inward at last.


A mistake:

there, revealed

in a catastrophe of desire and volition,

the pettiness of my soul

appalled me.

The Pedagogy of Love

04/16/2015 § 1 Comment


Admit hurt. It doesn’t have to be difficult. Say to your loved ones “This is where I’m hurt,” “Right here is where I’m sort of broken,” or “Can you hold me? I think I might be falling to pieces.”


Do not resent your loved ones for trying to fix you. Thank them no matter how spectacular, valiant, and disastrous their failure. Remind them politely to love you in spite your brokenness.


And stop trying to fix yourself. You are, for better or worse, who you are. You can’t go back in time and kiss that girl or boy you loved or stop your parents from falling out of love. Give a proper burial to your past if need be, but leave the self-help books for the self-absorbed. Move on.


Make art. Do it with courage and honesty, do it any way you can. Use everything you have—even pain. Scrub out the lies you’ve carved into yourself all these years. Make yourself be known to yourself in the process.


But don’t think for a moment that suffering is a necessity. This is a lie. Do not, under any circumstances, invent suffering where there is none.


Share what you have made with the ones you love, with love. Share it loudly, proudly, and without apology.


Repeat. Do it better. Do it in your own way.

Love came to me as a snake in tall grass

04/11/2015 § Leave a comment

Love came to me

as a snake in tall grass.

I gave it my heel

for fear of nothing better.


Now my blood swells

like a river under wet sky

and a disquiet follows my soul

wherever I go.


Life confounds,

is confounded.

I shall find no reprieve

in sleep nor slumber.


Are there others here

who wander as I do,

trekking this lonely path

between the heart and the loin?


Love came to me

as a snake in tall grass.

I gave it my heel

and would give it again, again, again.


So, friends, tell me true:

whoever loved

that never did burn?


(04.11.2015 – for use in fiction)

All the pretty

02/21/2014 § 1 Comment

I am dying

Of all the pretty girls

all the pretty boys

all the pretty lips

and all the pretty hips

all the fit jeans

all the lit screens

all the lean meats

and all the thin eats

all the neat ads

all the chic fads

all the rad scenes

and all the mad memes

all the dim lights

all the grim sights

all the tight porn

and all the right corn

all that is wrong

all that is wrong

all that is sold & bought

for fuck’s sake

all that recklessness

all that heartlessness

all that disingenuous   

speaking of tongues

I love them all

I love them all

all the pretty things

all the pretty things

Dear Mr. Weatherman

02/19/2014 § Leave a comment

We’re getting poorer


and fatter all of the time.

I think Heaven is a mouth that does not speak

and this city has no ears, no eyes.

Dear Mr. Weatherman, please;

Tell us what the sky holds

and for whom the rain falls—

Falling forth,



we hear its music

and do not understand.

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