Asking for a Friend

What is one to do when

Their insides, their kosmos,

Their chakra, boils over, leaking

Essential nutrients onto the hot

Coiled salamander of the post

Modern world, what is one to

Do when science and spirituality,

Who were about to kiss

And create alchemy, turn face

Last minute and leave the room

Empty, what is one to do

When every snare, line, and

Plan only bears old boots

And heavy clouds, what is one to

Do when the tide becomes too

Clingy and the moon decides to go

Find itself another planet?



Status Update

Captains log, star date 5/31/17… Hello Diane, it’s agent Cooper… extra extra, read all about… ladies and gentlemen of the court… in the red corner… hold onto your butts… LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE. I don’t post to social media much anymore, here’s some of my thoughts to explain why.

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May Day

Grab your maypole and let’s protest,

Crown a spring queen and drench her

In chains, the masters treasure chest

Is full of gold and spider whispers.


Grab your maypole and lets dig

Butcher a spring fowl and drench it

In butter, the people deserve to jig

While blind men sing holy writ.


Grab your maypole and let’s stay,

Plant a picket fence and drink liqueur

Each morning. We need to decay

As proper mademoiselle and monsieur.


Grab your maypole and let’s protest,

Take the nepotist’s boat to the seaway

And swim in tropical waters, all soaked Sunday’s best

And sunken stolen pay.


Round and round,

We must be faster,

Hands in the ground

Digging graves for the master.



Entry #13

Howdy folks, one of your friendly narrators here. Hope you are enjoying our little tale so far. I’ve always enjoyed a good “previously on…” segment, so let’s get caught up real quick, shall we?


Deercliff, a Northwest mountain town, has been hit by tragedy. Maggie Nice, a high school senior, was assaulted following a Halloween party, her unconscious body dumped outside a quaint diner. Found the next morning by the diner’s owner and a fellow high school student (the three-fingered, extra tall Todd Sizemore) Maggie was rushed to the nearby city for medical treatment. The last group to see Maggie was her core group of friends, a set of popular boys and girls, lead by Jimmy “Big Mac” Halvert whose open house had been the base for a costume party. At the party, Maggie had been seen kissing Ethan Largo, who was really just trying to get Big Mac’s on-again off-again girlfriend Ann Marie to look at him as a potential romantic entanglement. Ethan is now the primary suspect of the investigation into Maggie’s assault, due to a beer run which coincides with the suspected time of the attack. While the group of friends set out to find out what happen to Maggie and prove Ethan’s innocence, multiple other wheels have begun to spin in Deercliff. Sheriff Essie Boyer is chasing a lead from a distraught young teacher, who claims to have seen Maggie the night of the assault in some sort of BDSM room at an elite party. Todd Sizemore, having found and kept Maggie’s phone, is trying to find his cousin Delia, who has been sending numerous texts to Maggie’s number. Maggie’s brother Trevor is speeding across the flat, snow-covered stretches of North Dakota and Eastern Montana to see his sister and family, a strange hitchhiker in tow. The Largo’s have taken their son to the city, and they all sit awkwardly in the cramped law office of Chas German, a slew of square-jawed football trophies looking down on them from the walls. In the same city, at a little hipster coffee shop, a gaggle of young girls are painting signs and trying to figure out how to split the gas bill to get up to Deercliff, desperate to not let this girl become another faceless victim.

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Three Year Anniversary Poetry Dump

This blog has existed for three years now, and to celebrate, here are three previously unpublished works from my most recent collection of poetry. The title of this collection is The Digging Hymns, and much like my first collection (Slump) it is unpublished, unfinished, and really just a snapshot of my writing from the age of 22 forward. If either my bodies of unloved work had to have themes, Slump is all about melodrama, angst, and being a fucking wanker. The Digging Hymns is, if anything, just more pretentious. Enjoy, and thanks for spending time with us.

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Dog Head Impressions

(put on track as background noise, grab a microbrew, and read slow, please)


Blocked by a stand up bass,

A sickly, blue, purple and red impressionist dog head painting

Received no benefits from the skylights

and my fifth beer that midday.


A sickly, blue, purple and red impressionist dog head painting

Staring out over the conversations in Spanish,

And my fifth beer that midday

had the bubbled, copper scent of the river out back.


Staring out over the conversations in Spanish,

A mousy barmaid whose smile

Had the bubbled, copper scent of the river out back.

I caught a glimpse of the trumpet in her eyes.


A mousy barmaid whose smile

Received no benefits from the skylights,

I caught a glimpse of the trumpet in her eyes

And my fifth beer that midday.


Entry 11

(Author’s note – Sorry for the delay.)




Reggie was playing PS4 when Jackson opened the garage door. He looked ridiculous in his full black sweat suit and face paint, and Reggie couldn’t avoid making a jab at him.

“Did you pull off the heist, hamburglar?”


“Uh-huh. We got a plan now man, we are going to help Ethan and find out what happened to Maggie. Ms. Halverson might know something, and giant Todd too.”


“Pretty sure my mom’s new boyfriend and his pig friends will do that, but I suppose you guys have an equal chance of solving the case. That dumb motherfucker wants to vote for Trump. At least, I think. He seems like a republican, right?”


“Yea, yea, how was dinner man? That had to be awkward.”

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Countless grey entities enjoy dragging liquid flesh across my chest at random intervals in my life – I decided to be like Samson and never again cut my hair – Christmas Past and Present keep trying to tear me apart while Christmas Future offers me mangos and sex on the beach – I will look like a lion if I’m not careful – of my ghostly tormentors, the worst are the foxes – The beard is always the first to run the crucible, the awkward stages drawing in the razor’s edge – The biggest challenge was getting all those Philistines into my bathroom to watch the act – The bottle of wine helped guide Delilah’s hand along my ass of a mandible – The ghosts offer me honey and aftershave for this most excellent feat.