May 23, 2011

Ferris Wheel

A ballet of colors spins and glides in perfect circle.
Eyebrows lift and the spine tingles.
I reach my little gondola, the blue one
and sit next to a girl I don’t know.

Our weight causes the gondola to wriggle and writhe
and all of a sudden, everything shudders.
Goosebumps traipse across my arms
as I reach for something to hold onto.
We are airborne.

The ground pulls away from us as quick as
the candy-maker stretches and pulls his taffy.
It’s almost too much until we approach the top;
we are suspended.

The rush of fighting gravity
has brought us together
and we can smile as we realize
neither of us is holding our breath anymore.

All along the wheel I see who each of us are.
Our ride wouldn’t be the same
without hearing each other’s laughs,
without calling out to one another,
without waving at each other.

We are all spinning, until we aren’t.
Sunshine and cut grass spill into view
as we quickly reach ground again.

Parents approach the gate
snapping photos and asking how the ride was.
It’s inexplicable though because
the world you saw from the top
is your own, and no one else will see it.

May 19, 2011

Why In Everyone's Eyes?

germans wear a badge
allowing you to Judge; we don’t wear a
badge allowing others to Judge.
Is that because
we switched the name from Indian
to native american?


Lay down, just so. This is half up to you.
Experienced hands mark up my virtue
with “‘s rioghal mo dhream”
a beautiful tribute to my family team.

Good thing they’ll never know
or else my parents would be my foe.
And not even that, they’ve told me,
I would be someone they don’t know.

This feels like a blood curdling scream ripping the night;
This sounds like a million jackhammers picking a fight.
A needle, a pulsating needle, shreds my skin,
and my legs, like jumping beans, twitch from the sin.

Something pushes my brain into my chest;
thoughts morph into palpitations of sweat.
Put your fingers on my neck just to test
that my pulse won’t end up in cardiac debt.

Please hurry up and inject the ink,
Before I go and puke in the sink.

Not Much of a Sacrifice

I really like your sexy scruff
but now I’ve had enough.
It’s really not very tough
to just shave off the nasty stuff.
You thought our love would never fade,
but love, you said,
walks on a razor blade?
My dear, my sweet,
try shaving from head to feet.

Snail Sex is Kind of Like My Ex

It's a wonder that snails reproduce
when their being is likened to sloth-sin.
Friction behold: they crawl on mucus
searching for another to create their kin.
Light pulses guide, nothing like heartbeat.
Hard whorls on soft bodies reach out sticking
and clinging like flour to raw meat.
The courtship of two to twelve hours is ticking.
Soon slimy, stiff flesh will be struck
by a violent calceous love dart
that has cupid's acute ability to fuck
one up in the side; an unfair contact shot.
Only then, once the sluggish jab is done,
will the exchange occur; what fun!

On that Boy with the Pout and Green Eyes

You said you love brown eyes staring
and dreaming about the night
I said I love sleeping and listening
to your voice, speaking of what’s right.

As romantic as that sounds
cigarettes and sweet whispers aren’t enough.
That other boy’s eye caught mine as I looked around.
I’d never cheat, but damn is he buff.

Guilt slid its harness over my chest
and strapped itself in so hard I couldn’t breathe
Now I’m never sure what’s best
and I’m afraid it may be time to leave.

I choke because I want us to last.
Remember photos from summer days past?

Morgenstund' hat Gold im Mund

When the universe opens its eye
time reveals golden tongues
that salivate over opportunity
swallow your dream-orbs
digest burp breathe
kiss time on the mouth
and he will love you more than anyone else

Christmas Poem

I saw your post on Facebook
about needing a Christmas tree.
I wondered why none,
not one,
of those friends of yours
(those friends of mine, actually)
hadn’t offered to take you.

I thought of how your mother
had given me an Easter basket, a birthday present,
and a Thanksgiving dinner
all four of those years.

I thought of how your mother cried
when she found her daughter robotripping,
when she found her husband to be a thief,
when she found her other son to be a loser,
when she found out I’d broken up with you.

So I posted
“No problem. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
I couldn’t just let your mom be tree-less.

I got to your house.
You were immediately ready,
as if you finally realized I’d been serious
when I said I hate waiting for you.

We got in the car.
You played Gorillaz, and Cake, and Brad Sucks,
as if you finally realized I’d been serious
when I said I don’t like that other music.

When we pulled into the driveway
of the house selling Christmas trees,
it was dark and soberly quiet and
you had string in hand all ready
to tie up that little conifer,
a ruffled toupee for my mom’s minivan;
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t had to remind you.

As we stood there
on opposite sides of the car
tossing string back and forth,
pulling it tight,
arranging the tree,
I wondered why we hadn’t worked out.

We looked around for someone to pay.
The door was locked tight;
You couldn’t even fit a twenty through the crack.

“Just come on!” I called.

You ran back to the car with
light snowdust swirling around your figure.
You said:
“I never would have guessed that you would be
ok with stealing a Christmas tree!”

Which is when I reversed,
and backed out,
and realized that that’s why I had been right
to call everything off.

Pre-Yuppie Has Shit to Say

Sup nerd.
I fuckin’ raged the other night.
I fuckin’ got in a fight—
can you pass me another beer?
– with these fuckin’ sheeple.
I don’t know if you, like, heard
or whatever, but my lip was split,
‘cause these guys were talking bull shit.
Yea shit got said right in my ear
about Kyle, you know, the guy who just turned 21?
We all fuckin’ raged together,
but he and I peaced – I don’t even know why.
But his vision was fuckin’ blurred,
and he wanted to punch the brain chunks outta this asshole.
So of course I tried to get them both to shut it
‘cause I didn’t want that dumbass getting me hit,
or us both killed.
No, there were no fucking tears.
I can’t feel pain from those lame-ass people
who walk around in their little herd
like lemmings, just following.
They’re all just fucking wallowing
with big-ass eyes, empty like a fucking deer’s.
You get where I’m coming from?
Yea, you know what’s up with sheeple.
No I can’t rip right now, you turd.
My lip is shredded – fuckin’ joints for me.
Anyway, can’t you see?
All these fuckin’ nerds in here,
they don’t have any Godly steeple.
They don’t need that shit cause they’ve heard
the fuckin'...just the fuckin' words of Aristotle:
“All virtue is summed up in dealing justly.”
Did someone just bring in PBR?
Ya, I think I’ll have another one.
What’s my major?
Just Fuckin’ Business and Philosophy.

Your Web was Created Out of Your Ass

your voice is like a mass of spiders:
crawling from every corner,
a swarm of life,
perhaps a wolf spider

your thoughts are like spider legs:
a max of eight (like your IQ),
they’re all about you,
easily broken,
a daddy longleg

a wolf spider could eat a daddy longleg,
but I wouldn’t give it the chance because:
I’m not like my grandma,
who used big yellow sponge
to gently push you out the door.
all I have here is my boot.

It's Hard to Concentrate

I felt bad taking from her,
she might’ve never known otherwise.
We were in her basement
when I offered to go upstairs
and get us each a drink.
I came back and we painted
and wrote and painted and wrote.
I was on a roll, but she said I was stubborn,
acting strange. I stayed up writing for ten hours straight
and showed her my work.
She didn’t understand; she thought I had a creative bout.

I felt like shit for the whole show.
I think I should just let her know.
I feel dead.
Maybe I’m an addict and I’m sorry
that she loves and cares about me.
Because she didn’t text back,
I assumed she was angry.
But this is prevalent; I can’t change that.
It is my everything, my dependency.
I have a paper due tomorrow
and I don’t know how to get it done.

So seriously…there is a pill container
by her fridge in her kitchen cabinet.
They make me feel more productive, faster
and it’s worth it, as long as it isn’t habit.

Main Squeeze

Dear M-
You, my lover,
have forgotten me.
Instead of kissing my ear,
your lips now pucker for
the slow burn of dirt-booze.
You stalked off in your nude stilettos
with your ass sashaying
like the twitch of a cat’s tail.
Like hell I’d even know it was you
if you’d turned around to sneer at me again:
Eyes painted, lips painted, cheeks painted.
But doll, you’re no fuckin’ artist.
Stop playing with paint.
Stop sucking in your stomach
while you suck up to those bitches.
Stop looking in the mirror and ignoring me.
It’s 2:57 in the morning
and I’m lonely.
When you’re bored with cheap heart break
come lie in my arms
and I’ll talk real dirty to you
until you’re real real again.
I’m the only girl who’ll love you like that.

Party Party Party

Sluggish headaches are a reminder
of the sacrifice.
Evidence from the view finder
shows me the sacrifice.
Evening turned to night which turned today
into goals wasted away.
A sham
of lines reach my mind, only borrowed --
a realization made at the exam