Tea for you and coffee for me
before we slouched up the street and
discovered boots and parasol
by the Greek Orthodox Church
on Sixth Street. Continue reading
Poetry
Applebees (The Fifth Street House Group Poem #2)
For the second group poem, we had the same rules as the first time but we passed the piece of paper around twice instead of just once. At the end, we recorded Nate reading it. I’d recommend listening to it as you read it. 🙂 Continue reading
Chickenszz (The Fifth Street House Group Poems #1)
I had a poetry reading at my house last night and someone suggested that we play a game where we would write a group poem. We folded up some paper and passed it around the circle. Each person was able to see the line that was written before them and then they wrote their own line. Once each person had written a line, I read the result. Check it out: Continue reading
Garbage Person
I am a series of circles
concentric and uncertain
or certain
that that impending sense of doom
will be the death of me; Continue reading
Get Had (The Blacked Out Poems #6)
I love how when
people fall underwater
they resurface at the same time. Continue reading
Manhattan
Evan Williams said:
“Start dancing, ho. Continue reading
The Last Poem I Ever Wrote
I’m slurping down my ghouls with whiskey shots
Suppress and deny
Suppress and deny.
I finally found out what is wrong with me
My face isn’t symmetrical,
My face isn’t symmetrical
So how dare you expect me to contribute
To society.
The left eye is lazy,
The crows feet are different heights,
There are already crows feet,
One eye is sadder than the other,
The hair doesn’t line up,
There are already crows feet,
One eyebrow is intense
And it ain’t the right one,
Or the right one,
The left eye is lazy,
My face isn’t symmetrical.
How can you expect me to contribute
To society?
All the friends keep saying,
“It’ll be good.”
But I never was a friend with smart folk.
This will have to be the last poem I ever wrote
Until I drink whiskey again.
Even then,
My face isn’t symmetrical
And these ghouls keep sharpening my teeth
On their way down.
Two Bottle Ballad (Poetry)
Two Bottle Ballad
Like Christ my blood is wine,
Each sip a fuzzy caterpillar crawl
To the fruit end of the tree,
Barely flowered, tart,
I let it consume each new possibility
Before its time.
The only other route being
let them grow fat and drag my branches
Across the ground,
Creating a whole new generation,
A grove of mistakes,
Thorns and vines
Stealing away light that should be
Mine.
It Gets Dark Early (Poetry)
It Gets Dark Early
Round this way it gets dark early,
So all the people follow suit,
Antler crowns and flowers in their hair
Amulets designed to catch the solstice sun
And faux Orion belts round their waists.
Never enough light around this way,
So our eyes adjust and pupils get big,
Chakras aligning with the shadows cast
By all the bigger figures of imperial history
And them chains they got tangled in.
Round this way celebration requires fire,
So the hands are always sap stained and cracked,
The axes have constant existential crises
They are the only ones singing and swinging
And that just doesn’t seem fair.
Never enough good around these days,
So we just wear cloaks plucked from ravens,
Better to blend into those smoky bar walls
While sticky hands pass ciders and meads
And all the voices mumble apologies.
Round this way superstition reigns,
So all the sovereigns lean on the entrails
Cast about by lazy shamans with red hands
Despite them never picking up afterward
And claim truth is theirs alone to create.
Never enough round this way,
Yes, round this way there is never enough.
I Guess
I find myself wanting to die
on the good nights rather than the bad.
I will be the embers for your fire,
the ashes to your stog,
the burn to your Tullamore Dew. Continue reading
