Wednesday, February 24, 2016


Two dozen rejections in a row?  Possibly.  I've actually lost count.  So it goes.  Here's an older piece in the meantime, from Poor Mojo:


an empty house on the
morning of the abortion

an empty hand in the
age of money

this is what becomes the past

these are the words that can
only ever be

pale memories of the actions

the weight of too many moments
spent waiting for the
moment to end

of too many rooms filled
with cold silence and ashes

your girlfriend's sister
getting dressed and telling you
it was a mistake

your best friend's wife
on her hands and knees

her tongue cut out or
a knife in your throat or the sound
of someone's daughter puking
in the street

your tires slashed
by a man you've never met

his wife banging on your door

at two in the morning
says all she wants to do is talk

Thursday, February 18, 2016



this dream of days

the plan of course
was to kill
and the indian holding the
american flag above his head
was a perfect target

and we'll call this page one

or what about the idea of
presidents fucking slaves?

what about the klan?

what they all have in common
is an ironclad faith in god

what the witches do is hang

the past
at any given moment
has already become your

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

: :

and wherever you are,
men hired by the government shooting
into crowds and,
wherever you are,
the sound of laughter

the futile effort of being
somewhat human

Thursday, February 11, 2016

a better dog

let the weight of faith be
what finally pulls you under

close your eyes as you
touch bottom then open
your mouth to sing

poem for picasso

it’s nothing to
admit you’re afraid

it’s cold sunlight
in an empty room