Thursday, December 31, 2009

december 31st, 2009

here's a cut-up I wrote with Erin Dillon a couple nights ago...

in the yoke

The harvester of hearts is fresh out of fear.  All we have left now is the natural decay of flesh fruit that sags like frozen molasses.  Vultures circle the nearby ruins with vicious claws and mysterious bruises.  Unrecognizable logic severs heads in front of faces optimistic and vague.  The glowing tears that eclipse my pupils are merely illusions of happiness.  I’d love to sit and watch you take the money and run, but Mahjong millionaires throw the weak into the dark.  We’re all fighting for a lost cause because hope is a dead language.  While the sun promises that might of tomorrow my heart beats in the clouds.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

december 27th, 2009

beware the friendly stranger

wine glasses litter the floor
records lay outside their sleeves
on top of each other
legal pads supporting thick
black ink
lay exposed, sullied
a bare-chested couple 
rapidly dreaming the night away
is this rooms Mona Lisa

the days run away
like wild horses
leaving us to swat away the dust
as it creeps into our lungs

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

december 23rd, 2009

Instead of scrapping this poem I removed a few sentence in the middle and now it doesn't bore me.  This is quattro mani reprise which I wrote back in July.

Friday, December 18, 2009

december 18th, 2009

this is our lot

We wiggle and kick like bobbing bait, anxiously awaiting a gratifying and genuine conversation with a human being. It was so easy back then and none of us knew it. This is our lot, our time to shine… but I don’t see that urgency in their eyes. I hear unruffled words exit trembling lips. I see wandering eyes glued to worried faces. You must remember that this is our lot. This is our time to shine, to give those bastards a run for their money, to show them what a heart pumping refusal is capable of. We must incite fear in their minds and prove that success is a tangible, beating entity resting in our palms. We must do all of this because they think we are weak. We do not intimidate them because we aren’t willing to make the effort, because we are too busy watching tv and concerning ourselves with everyone else’s issues instead of our own. No one said it would be easy so stop acting like you’re fucking surprised. Running for the hills in the eyes of the beast is cowardly, so join me on the front line. You aren’t alone, all of us are terrified.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Thursday, December 10, 2009

free book

If you would like a free copy of Matzo Ball Soup post your address and I will send you one. I have plenty of extra copies and they are doing me no good gathering dust in a cardboard box. Until I run out, all you have to do is ask.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

december 1st, 2009

poets are so full of shit

poets are so full of shit.
they break their poems in
                               artsy ways because
poetry isn't about being straight-
forward, it's about 
   confusing the reader 
or distracting them
                     from your bullshit,
then convincing them they don't understand
or they just don't think outside the 
        B        O
   X enough.

or the fuckers break every
poem into neat little stanzas
because that's the way a real
poem is supposed to look

regardless of how much sense
each break makes, and trust
me, it usually doesn't make
any goddamn sense.

And occasionally the brainwashed assholes
Capitalize the start of each line, distracting
Me into insanity.  When will they shut the
Fuck up and stop polluting creative minds?

I don't want to be a poet, I just want to write.