Poems- January-July 08

You Glow

Longing for
you touching
the knots in my back,
swallowing my aches,

Sucking on my fingers.

Hating that
you glow
like a pink vale
waving over a street lamp,
or
a firefly at night,
Lost,
at the beach.




Drinking, Dropping, Dreaming

Chug some love potion and get into the game.
Bud Lime and the same old shit.
Summer is wasted. So am I.
Burnt, like baking a microwave dinner.
Late night, stumbling, sprinkling my distorted body onto the bed like red pepper to the cheese slice.

But I woke up the same as ever.

Staring at you,
Caught,
In my dream-catcher.
Tossing your arms and legs around,
unable to escape.
I pick you up by your digits
and shake you free.

Whoa
Is
Me.



ZOO

There was a big tiger.
And
A shit load of human garbage.




Bed Sex

Drinks piled on my eyelids like heavy texts.
Shit
Faced.
Falling asleep in my own hands.
Fucking my sheets and not even realizing it,
Until,
The boxers are crusted with
What looks to be
Crazy glue
But
Really they’re children I will never have,
Smashed into the hair above my dick,
And my legs that do all the walking.


Nightlife?

It’s night,
I’m getting all hot and bothered
Over some strong rosy cheeks,
And short shorts.

Wasting away on some Smithtown street.
She’s dipping her pinky finger in a bag of Molly,
2 times over.
She sucks the powder off,
Like she’s got a wicked paper cut there.
She eyes me while she does it.

In about a half-hour
She’ll be Oh So Horny,
And I will be asleep,
In a Big Red Bed
Because I’ve got to polish up the old warehouse
First thing in the morning.


X’s

One of my ex’s is always drunk when I run into her,
Another one of my ex’s has a stubborn New York City cop for a father,
Another one of my ex’s is fucking my complete opposite.
Another one of my ex’s is a lesbian who lives in the magic kingdom,

Another one of my ex’s is so beautiful that a stomach virus could only force her to shit jasmine pedals uncontrollably.

I think about these ex’s, these scratches in my throat,
And touch myself,
Eyes closed
Squeezing out the part of me that loves them,
Then staring at the stain on the sheet,
Which is the part of me
That hates them.


Life Ulcer

Breath remains lost
Rubbing face on face
Stomach on stomach
Guts on guts
Dead ends & ruts
Morals and sluts

It burns when you don’t care.
It burns when you do.

This month I’ve had
2
panic attacks.
where
Everything is
Wrong
And I can’t help
It.

Holes blown through my sails
By mental cannons.

Being a slob has a down side
After all.




Brochures of Islands

The homeless
With their crowns
Are so far away.

The fast food drive-thru is so much closer.
I’ve come to hate this island.
No photograph of a beach compares to this.

A brochure with a beautiful girl
Stretched under
A hot pink umbrella
Big hat for the sun
And a palm tree.
Is not what this island has in mind.

Instead,
There is a
Brand New KOHL’S,
Or a bank,
Or a Wendy’s.

Long Islands brochure could have a fat girl
licking an ice cream cone
with it dripping all over her gut and
she could be smiling in front a Home Depot.
Or a Best Buy.

-There’s more nature here then in that smoggy city,
NAH.
More or less human nature
Flooding out of the gates.











Graffiti

Inhaled a strawberry dutch
Then the basement
Swallowed my body
Its saliva seeped into my clothes
Making them reek of cigarette smoke.

So I made my way toward the beach.
The streetlamps glowed orange
And turned the trees into suspended explosions.
Street-smart fireworks.

I pulled out a tool
To jot my alias on a stop sign
In paint.
But instead
Watched the waves
Beat time out of the sand.




Family Hour (Moms side)

My mother asks why I don’t call grandma.
It’s simple really,
She doesn’t want to hear about how high I got,
Or that new album,
Or how I’ve become lactose intolerant,
Or how I cant fuck anyone.

My mother
Pulls weeds
In the front yard.
She sweats disappointment from her pores
Because I want nothing to do with her sweat or her weeds.

You don’t want to live in a nice house!?

Its your nice and my nice sitting on a see-saw,
My nice is way up in the air and can’t come down,
Why?
Because your nice is to full of bullshit. And fat.

My mother wants me to be
William Well-being,
Always doing the right thing,
Taking responsibilities sky high,
Handy with a screwdriver,
No points on the license,
A steady girlfriend, (this house isn’t a love shack)
Straight A-hole.

Well I’m
James Jealousy Jr,
Desperate,
Angry,
And rotting.

I love my family,
They are in my heart.
I think it’s the struggle to be tickled pink
That makes me cringe towards my mother,
Who should be herself
And be happy
I’m doing the same.



Me, Banshee

Exhale into
a toilet paper roll
with two
fabric softener sheets
stuffed inside.

The smoke
oozes out
it creeps
toward me
like a Banshee
down a long
spiral
staircase
that has
rotten wood
and is
dark
Black.

I cough
very afraid
of this ghost
But
strangely
he resembles
Me.



Give me Grease

My good friend
Is a serving of
Rockin’ French Fries
Golden
Drenched
In cheddar
Mozzarella
Bacon
And I add some ketchup.

I spend about $5
Every few hours
On some greasy
As fuck
Food.

Also, I smoke
Processed
Flavored
Paper.
2 at a time.

I cuddle with a deli sandwhich
And a square of Carrot Cake
Topped with creamy frosting.

And that Diner
Is so cute,
She blushes deep red
like shiny glass ketchup bottles.

Gotta get her number…

Don’t you like fruits?
Fuck You.
Give me grease.




Life Exhaustion

I swim in a sea of burning ink.
It feels like stretching muscles.
Just gliding,
Diving,
Into things.
To be alive and well is like
The strongest scales of an alligator.
You can not break them with a jackhammer.
This is life exhaustion.

Right here

This is where you turn and
Fold into your greatest fears.

I battled my vomit and delirious daze,
Spit slipping from my lips in lines of relaxing glaze.
Although the knot remains (It always does)
I’m hatching not dying.
Youth is on my side.