New Poems

OCCUPY EVERYTHING

In all capitals, all the time

OCCUPY EVERYTHING
OCCUPY EVERYTHING
OCCUPY EVERYTHING

but I don’t even feel like
being in my own body. 

Some Answers To Inexhaustible Anxieties

Only so many people get to do so many things.

And certain things only happen certain places.
And one thing leads to another.

And you have to be there to be there to be there.

Contingent beings
contingent on being,
being contingent beings
contingent on being.

And, it’s a recession.

Books Of Love

We should spend the week together
so I can read all of your books.

Because we have the same taste
and you have your father’s money.


Waughnot

Just to be me,
one week ago.

Colleen could tell me
about Brideshead Revisited.

I could read it
for the first time.

The eternal now:
great, great bosh.

Really Charles,
let’s paint.


Pilsen Girls

Pilsen girls,
mom jean shorts
armpit spectacles
back pocket bike lock
indigo red-light bobby sox.

“A bleach blonde babe with half of her head shaved.”

Or Lee Krasner haircut.                                    
Sweetbread, Negra Modelo
basement-rooftop-hallway;
the SAICS of Indian summer.
Endless outbursts, endless number:

“Co-op kombucha.”

“Bourriaud.”

“Vintage vinyl vegetable.”

Look at them at Jumping Bean:

“Ranciere.”

“Residencies.”

Turn to pillar-salt-cement. And,
ha, they’re the ones
that should be
forever statuary;
Firenze, Roma…

And I am Pompeii,
slipping out of 18th to 25,
a fraction over being;
just looking across the gulf
of imponderabilities,
wishing for not seeing…

                             I fall off the Pink Line,
                            I die a thousand intaglio/hair dyes.
                           I laughed, I cried. I cried, I sighed.

And just imagine it,

four years ago they listened to Fallout Boy.



Feelin’ Great

Amyl nitrite

feelin' great

feel the center of the earth

non-cognizant-of-hate

"decadent

 depraved

 diseased"

laid.


RJ To Merrill

Be back

late on

night 13th.

We'll have

real hard.

Drank Columbo

cider soon.


I Guess This Is Growing Up

When I die,

what will they write?

No known Internet presence,

loner, of small height.


Rattails, Sure

Make my hair
back to when you were punk
we had rattails, sure
things were fun,
half of it was shaved
we never really bathed
our nails were half-black

“I swear I graduated college,”
I just have this tendency to look back.


A Bedtime Prayer

I want to click
on a link
that will take me
to a place
I don’t
hate.

Staring at Sara’s Bookcase

God.
I’m so irresponsible with my reading,
Foster Wallace before Paley,
O’Hara before Whitman,
C.F. before McCay,
And just anything
before the bible.

If T.S. Eliot,
I stick to cats.

It’s the short,
thin, and slim;
collected
neglected,
annotated

belated,
meanwhile,
the allusions
all missed.

Uhm.

But one
guarantee:

I will
not be
in the dark
about your
zine.

Your mini-comic,
your shuffled off blog post,
your shitty literary journal,
your innermost.

POEM ON THE BACK OF THE PACKAGE

You hope
it makes a difference.

You write it
so someone
knows that you did.

You write it
hoping to make
someone
feel touch
giddy-little-kid.

You write it
wondering if they
will keep it

and,

when they bequeath
their personal effects
to the alma mater’s
archives,

if someone
will sort it all out
and know
our lives.

THE SKY IS THE HORIZON

THE SKY IS THE HORIZON
THE HORIZON IS FALLING,
FALLING ON TOP OF US.
IT FEELS PRETTY GREAT.


What a punk band is:

A punk band is a band that starts songs in one of two ways:

“I want/wanna”

and

“I don’t want/wanna”

That is what a punk band is.


Salobrena

I smoke cigars, drink coffee, take lemons, make lemonade, eat cactus fruit, read Looking Backward, smoke marijuana, take oranges, eat oranges, drink coffee, drink Alhambra, make an omelette, play darts, look at goats, climb over rocks, order wine, have tapas, drink coffee, eat candy, look at graffiti, smoke cigarettes, see dogs, see cats, see a castle, listen to Aissam’s music, look at Brenda’s life, look at British tourists, read The Wall, sit on a pier, journal, shoot stick, watch old men walk (hands behind their back), and drink coffee.

At night I go out to look at the Mediterranean. I want to cry and write.