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The science of gluttony
Oh, who is a better poet than the glutton?
Who is a better poet?
The sweat streams down his aching fat face,
And the glory of his beef is the glory of the Mississippi glinting in the picnic sun.
The glory of the glutton!
His pleasure sugar rainbows above our mundane shanties.
Oh, his fat the heavy warriors muscle of All pleasure, of all ( Read more... ) -
sick
Sick. Melancholy ( Read more... ) -
The maiden to the troglodyte
"Hello lonely, why you sad ( Read more... ) -
Real...ness
I lay down and stare at my wall in my room, not breathing, attempting in this moment to understand: what is reality? I stand amid my friends, not breathing, I want to know reality. Eating chips, looking out restaurant window, eating ice I stare and try to know reality, hardly even breathing. I walk along dark streets, sighing that I don't know ( Read more... ) -
friends
Drinking rum and...Molson Canadian light beer. I'm with my fun loving cousins to the south, Rachael and Stephanie. They are showering ( Read more... ) -
Muse
where did you go, my sweet muse? I felt you deep inside of me, my lover ( Read more... ) -
to my brother
I imagine you in a great fur coat trudging through the snowy springfield night, drunk ( Read more... ) -
doldrums
doldrums No money and the car was towed last Friday. Sara's liscence was expired and suspended, and our tail-light was broken, our windshield cracked, and we were driving a suspiciously cheap looking car I suppose, so a cop pulled us over, wrote us three tickets and towed our car. We had no money to retrieve the car so it is ( Read more... ) -
desolation
A world where the wisest are the fools that call the wise fools ( Read more... ) -
finger poem
Her short fingers
fleshy, human,
ripe for picking pears and
other soft things,
twirl a cigarette.
Her eyes full of laughter,
twenty seven and the night is young.