from a porch, i’m a lot of things

i can be an asshole

power playing, guilt laying, asshole

underneath intentions i grasp for attention, working the math

this might shock most of you

you’re probably right

yet, i know my thoughts, the ones where i stand upright casting line after line into shallow waters working to pull you to shore

i didn’t say i was an asshole

i said, i can be

i can be a lot of things

i can be self-loathing, nothing stacking up to the cups everyone else seems to know how to fill

i can be charming, the right words colliding into endearment

i can be genuine, listening with truth, wrestling with vulnerability

i can be manic, organized pieces finding their home simultaneously, multi-task

i can be sad, tears

i can be shy, hiding

there’s more, dimensions, corners to peek in, both you and i

acknowledgement, a decision to embrace our totality

i can be an asshole

depends on how hard you look

from bed, bleeding eyes

waiting, compromised time frames

caught between preconceived scenarios of what the night should pursue, and where we want to go

they’ll play for us

whether we stand or sit

the stage is lit, previously independent

thoughts troubled, now projected

seeking an understanding

what’s first? will you open up for me?

develop another sense of how to relate to emotions displaced under false shadows cast by fluorescent lights flooding our ability to capture reality

we’re all finding a way

ripple affect today

is ripple affect tomorrow

is constant borrowing of joy to drowned sorrow in friendship glances assuring me i’m ok

we’ll wait together

waiting for them to start

our paths from there

will disappoint us

if we fail to listen

forgetting we belong

from bed, battling breaths

sensing the silence

we weren’t certain which way to go

uncomfortable triggers

he remembered my name, it had been a week

since we first met

a delightful stretch of the imagination as i nodded


i knew you when?

these first three months will be curious

then, i’ll forget phone calls and judge

after that?

expiration dates tattooed on my eyes

glazed over

you’ll learn to interrupt me

leave without warning

find a friend of a friend and move on

why she’s still here, i’ll never know

mystery, stoke the desire

i change my own voice, during daydream conversations in rooms with screens, trains of thought wrecking

rejuvenated with strangers wide eyes, those will close, taken for granted, grab a chair, remember i once loved someone who looked like you

they just nodded, even when they didn’t know the way

my questions annoyed you

then why bother?

why’d you get up?

point found


the hush of a scuttling librarians skirt

from bed, i see, and hate, him

distraction static pouring from mouths

too drunk, too tired, too far from the south

tread light, dinner is served

it’s saturday night, come hear the good word

paper exchange in light of day

leads to paper exchange under the grey…clouds moving and stretching thin across the sky, accidentally allowing us to see heaven; the sun

on earth, above

we’ve certainly done a number below, gas fuels flow, pushing our smoke stacks out of sight, money made on pretending you’re right

thankfully, ocean depths live alone

drones, internally combust

but, it’s saturday night

‘who needs that stuff, i have had enough’

say the pock-faced-aged-ignorant assholes who own this street, in closets with tie racks, kids need to know what to buy on dangerous holidays, right?

excuse his persona shift, blowing steam?, safe jumping from fuck-up faith cliffs, he’ll find their bed

not before letting the streets know he came, it’s his window to lean in, she sleeps on blue pills, the children’s eyes dizzy themselves to coma with rectangles and orange dust fingers

he guzzles, wanders, ‘i don’t weave, you move outta my way’, ripped yellow-shirt slobs, like him, say before his inflated eyes drive down her blouse

cleaned up in the day, presentable

kitchen table confidence

sleeping only after a drink of numb juice and arguments with his favorite facebook profile pic

it’s where he likes to stick, people with mirror faces, beach sand embraces, making all the power he has pounding sidewalks more noticeable

disgusting disgrace of a well dressed dickhead thinking he can dance because he heard these 90s tunes come from his gay brothers bedroom, the one he never calls

he’ll make it home

sleeping in his underwear, she’ll pick up his clothes in the morning

the kids think it’s his coffee needs

it’s bandages, covering where he bleeds

eyes wrapped in goose-step bandanas

a self-created world vision, leading to distracted-distorted static pouring from his mouth, into nothing

that’s being threatened

and he has resources

he’ll use

not before

another round

from bed, come out, come out, wherever you are

she hid

most of the time

shrouded by deception, trapped and entwined

i let her lure me once

hook set deep

drifted away by desires

hollow hallways, bulging eyes, dropped jaw

love cleverly disguised

tap the chamber door

three times

find the floor

nursery rhymes overheard while resting on flat pillows down the hall

pigs, princesses, that fucking weasel

i was never anyone’s sunshine

jesus didn’t want me either

she read them to you

i was snuggled in lead blankets, alone, tears streaming slowly to the creases on my face, salty, resting on my heavy heart, trapped in my heavy head, feeling my heavy everything, connections unfed

i thought i could follow her voice

echoes led me to you

you seemed content, and not quite what i was hoping for

olly olly oxen free

from bed, despite all the rage…

tender age

wrapped in a cage

i’m sitting in a king sized bed trapped by rage

oh, poor me

images, laying complicit, forcing myself to absorb every still-photo cycled, recycled, history’s nest incubated reminders, we need to thrash the dark parts of humanity, rip them to shreds, when babies cry “papa” in silver marathon beds

disassemble the fragments

destroy this age

no need to seek

it’s barreling down


emotion-beat faces of those who consistently play straight, yah, the ones he calls fake, can’t help tear-drop reality, as they struggle to speak what was spoke by breaking-voices rushing in their numb right ears

“excuse me? what’s that? are you kidding me? i have to share what?”

“we’re live”

i know


we lost this hand, gave it away

tears stream into artificial color blends, now presentable, a tell


hurry up, deal the cards

you know what?

fuck it

have the chips, cash them in, stick it in your neighbors wife, we’re done

my poetics are failing me

anger controlling me

stacking up reasons there’s nothing i can do, we talk about the jew, after…

weak minded bosses who use diseased shit for brains thought process to take over society, ahhh, you fucks!

how many “h’s” do you use to demonstrate screaming through clenched teeth?

bowels released in my bed from pressure dread inculcating my heart, core, and head

being polite needs to end


fuck you who are still calm and reasonable

cooler heads get frost bitten, left unable to make their mouths malleable enough to whisper


drop and roll

they’re a fire, inhaling timber down mountainsides once hailing purple majesty

that’s their color now


red and blue fused, knot tied ideology, hues overtaken, mistaken, conjoined

copywriting the slogan on the back of our coin

of no value, inflated hearts pop, moral markets crash

trade in your blank stares and candy bar cares


“this could be awhile”

from bed, another death certificate

(why was?) a 20 year old rapper i never knew at the top of my feed

confounded as i chewed my way through the day’s events unaware that my plate, overflowing, was perfectly crafted, a tweezers had delicately placed flower petals into place outside nature’s realm on freeze dried oysters dutifully beautified with ingenuity’s nod and foam spray

i’ve been probed, answering inquiries with questions

pictures can’t capture moon glow, words can’t capture thought flow, thoughtless blows, cloud covered skies, explanations needed, birthing distance, separation, crafted lenses make mountains a shrunken backdrop to something we’ve grown used to


i didn’t know his name

my thumb swiped to the sky

blocking the sun

he was just another guy

they’re a distant family

he’s a mythic creature

she’s crying in corners beyond my closed doors

we’re living in bouncing bubbles

you don’t walk my streets

i can’t relate

open another app

from a couch, cynicism’s promise

cynicism is no excuse nor accident

it slowly seeped into our daily strolls down public sidewalks when we habitually asked ourselves “who belongs?”

atheists skipping over cracks, struggling to explain what’s and why’s to children not embarrassed that they’ll die with these questions, without the veil of ghost voices standing over them saying ‘because i said so’ fear flavored with fake sugar promises of gates we can’t all pass through

it’s just a phase

“they’ll” find god

gay lovers holding hands at ages younger than “they” think can understand what it means to be attracted to something you own, our procreation practice promise is superior

it’s just a phase

“they’re” just trying to shock us

black men clad in cumbersome pants hustling through frantic streets side-stepping their glance, a missed chance, averted eyes dig trenches, the ‘others’ ocular lens looking for a restaurant, that’s “worth the trip”

it’s just a phase

“we’ll” stay safe

mexican children running through fence lines, making good neighbors, how’d they get here? don’t you dare take what’s ‘ours’, scared and alone disheveled streets, scarred fields chemical laden waiting to be consumed, doing what no one wants

it’s just a phase

“we” need the help

continually asking, is this the ‘see something’ they said we should ‘say something’ about?

fear: separating migrant children from families

fear: separating mom and dad with alcohol and opioids to soften the blow of fear

fear: separating you to false god forgiveness for fear acted upon with a sneer

fear: separating you from me during sun-glow walks under orange and purple skies, seventy degrees, with a slight breeze, we could be gathering and discussing the tease ignorant assholes in alley way corners are trying to trick us with, and laugh them into the shadows with optimism’s promise, that we’re all in this


without fear

from a porch, let’s swim

howling back

walking cold, sweatshirt stretched as hands pull pockets past a waist strapped

just in case

in case my instincts and common sense, kindness and corner stance, can’t ward off an error by undereducated, underfunded, drug riddled corners with resting peace officers taking a hit

skim off the top

i’m drawn to the chalk outline, urine soaked sidewalks with prancing foreign faces finding clever-phrased posters drawing them in for food, or other shit we don’t need

the ocean is waiting for me

let’s swim

from a booth, upstairs at city lights

amongst you

i hear the shuffling of papers, folders opening and closing wondering if we’d gone too far from nights dancing with words, shooting stars glazed over, realizing dylan was a person

the best of my generation

they read words in corners and debate your mind

it’s theirs

clothes hang in a breeze only this town can laugh at

they grin and won’t finish the book

we thought we should discover, why this upstairs reading room is full of fears

cameras snapping, you ran out the back door after drifting through monsters in the basement odors where stairs creaked giving you away to the only celebrity status you could have imagined a poet to have

snapping fingers and gay men touching genitalia to press our comfort level to heights ignored by the dragons next door, they’re selling culture

walking through back streets

is any of it here, have we maintained a museum losing intention of what a place like this creates

i’m scared, scared that as i write this poem in your echo it’s an ode to something shit on by our generations dabbling quick pulse obsession with taking a picture outside and proving our worth, i’m done

your paper is now being crumbled, chair wheels spin, i hear you pacing around the room

are you waiting for me


dropped articles, a tape dispenser

my heart races

are you going to open up, wait, lighter laughter

women’s voices, talking about their mother

what she used to say

songs she’d play

‘it cracked me up’

‘that’s so great’ it sounded fake, maybe your voices did too, i immortalized fakers

i’m done; in the poetry room

kids are impatiently waiting in streets honking

time to pay my money, as tribute, to standing, sitting and waiting

where you once dwelled

thank you