Alright.
Dust off your crayons,
it's time to start ruining things again.

Hey, you fucking asshole,
enjoy your Northern vacation.
Some of us
can accept our short-comings.
I told you i told you i told you and you would never listen,
but I guess that's the same with everyone.

happy .holiday. as we
sit around wishing our old lovers fatter,
severing our fingers with key lime and bitter invectives,
missing the great hawaiian migration all over again.

I
had
a poem here
about fucking and karate.
garter belts and black belts.
bowing
and bending over.
you would have loved it.

Today, a stranger ( Read more... )

Isn't it sad
when we fuck up our killing machines
and they veer wildly,
confused roadside dogs,
into the homes
of their innocent benefactors?

at five-thirty a.m ( Read more... )

the poems below this one
are much better
than the one above them:
fresh, sour stems pushing up
beneath a summer-wilted snapdragon
whose dulled, purple bell
gazes myopically on the violent specter
of perfect, terrifying youth.

i am writing this ( Read more... )

Once
I was an impromptu speaker,
and I railed against
your heretical injustice.
Now I am twenty-seven,
and I finally understand,
and I am sorry.