click on one


Maine 1

big breath when you see the blueberries:
staring death in the face
driving over gravel at high speeds
the bugs whir and
the baseball fields
are empty
Freedom just drives the car
toothpaste was forgotten

Maine 2

Rusted fence crowning hilltop
Leaning way over toward the road.
We are rushing towards a lunch
Over a loose gravel road.
Beth has a home for sale (call her)
And my stomach feels empty
Not in a way that makes me hungry…
Just a normal curiosity.
The way the mind jumps
From this thing to that
Without touching the ground in between.
Never giving a man one damn bit
Of solid footing.

Maine 3

bend in the road
bend in the road
the blueberries turn red
the season’s grown old


Style of a man
Style of his wife
Limitless circles
Run for your life!
Set for the hilltops
Remember your clothes
Your shit is on backwards
Everybody knows

Freedom's VW Golf

dip little car dip
you suck up the road you
put the air in my

The Weekday

It’s a good day for air conditioning
A good day to work in an office
Smell of carpet and
Concrete floor underneath carpet and
Big steal beams underneath concrete
Smell of elevator - the wood panels
The greasy shaft
Leather shoes clicking on marble floor and
phones click click click.
I’ll stay in my garden,
wilt with the flowers.

Rough Night

You sleep side-by-side, you know this feeling
An entire ocean separates you and
you can see land but you will drown
before you make it across.
Your hands don’t work with her skin,
it gets stuck in your fingers.
your friends are having great sex
with famous people.


“Ribbit,” said the child. The child was hanging on me. I could smell his hair. It smelled of scalp and campfire.
“Why are you ribitting, boy?”
“I am a frog today.”
“What kind of frog?”
“A big fat BULLFROG! I’m going to EAT you!”

Why Did I Listen?

Real estate is great,
said my father the salesman.
When it doesn’t go your way,
I’ll be here to relate.
The years have passed,
Fortunes I’ve amassed,
Why did I listen?

No Longer Listening

All this talk
Makes me balk
Silence thy tongue
You, chatty one

Club Behavior

We were driving to get a coffee,
and out the window of the car,
I saw a little white dog on the corner.
There was a long line of people
who had all spent some time dressing
and making themselves up.
They were waiting to get into a club.
A woman stepped out of the line
and made for the little white dog.
I mean she really just WENT for this small animal,
stuck her hand in its face.
The little white dog deftly recoiled,
The line-skipper’s efforts were foiled
She withdrew, returned to the line,
everybody out of their fucking minds


1. I sleep by night
2. I sleep by day
3. In my bed
4. Nobody gets in the way


killing mosquitos in my room
has taught me
that you often only get one chance
to make the kill.
(and you really have to seize it,
go for it,
do not hesitate)
I think we all know
that this is true of many situations
in life.
But boy,
mosquitos are the best teachers,
if you’re trying to sleep.

My Place in the Universe

A harmonica player
gets on the train
and plays Happy Birthday
This is unwelcome
but how much is really up to me,

Modern Pitfalls

It might be a crime to assign
gender to clothes these days.
I think of the ways
we categorize our lives,
put things here or there
to make sense of the mess, and still
we fall victim
to the second, third guess.

Penis Interlude

If penis is not a tool
Then what is penis?
Maybe there is only penis
And the rest is tool
For it

Hot Dogs

the problem with hot dogs, according to john:

one is not enough,
two is too many.

The Hand

Why don’t I understand the hand?
How many hands have I seen
so long as I’ve been alive?
I still can’t draw it because
I don’t know what it looks like.
No hand position happens twice.
A Roman statue whose hand says
"come here"
“this big.”
The hand that beckons,
The hand with blackened finger tips,
I can draw neither
I don’t know what they look like.

The Tops of Buildings

there are toasters
everybody do it different.

The Decorator

An old man with one milky eye
is hanging Halloween decorations
on the side of the building.
I walk out the glass door,
ask him,
“Do you know the W—?”
He says something I can’t understand,
holds up a drugstore ghoul

Bum Truths

Guilty feelings are useless,
attachments are harmful
and every sunset is beautiful.
That makes them all
a little less valuable.


To renew, or not to renew?
These are the questions the renters ask.
To sell? To have more kids?
These are the questions the owners ask.
To eat half of, or an entire donut?
This is what I ask myself now.


Does this guy have a nosejob?
It is so perfect
and shiny,
like a ski slope
glistening on a bright day.


A woman was giving us a tour of her apartment.
The kind of place where you are afraid to touch
The chairs not meant for sitting,
books not meant for reading,
long brass bar in the kitchen - to be admired,
but, impossible to imagine food ever
entering that kitchen.
The woman was middle-aged
blonde and fit,
wearing ornate black clothing and
various gold adornments.
The bottom half of her face
did not move when she spoke
and her eyes were wide,
blinded by the whiteness of her
newly-renovated loft.
So nice,
cooed the realestaties following her
room to room.
Who is the architect?
In one of the four impressively-marbled bathrooms,
the woman pulled open a brass drawer
beneath the sink,
produced a roll of toilet paper.
“We never added holders,” she said,
“because we wanted to keep the ‘look’ clean.
You could add them, or
just continue to keep the paper here, in this
I was reminded, quite unexpectedly,
of how we use toilet paper
in my home -
my two roommates and I,
in our rented apartment,
(a very nice place in fact,
and perfectly enviable -
the $10,000,000 loft
didn’t leave me wanting).
We use toilet paper fast
and lazily;
often the rolls end up on the floor,
and while shitting we just draw the
toilet paper from the roll as it
rotates and chatters about the floor.
But this blonde woman
could possibly get the paper,
the paper she used
for the wiping of her ass,
by means of our out-of-control method,
and suddenly I realized
she must be holding her shits in.

Material Longing

It’s times like these -
No sleep, sides hurting,
ganglia of black wires
bursting from chopped stalk where
passenger-side mirror
of Johnny’s Avalon
once was -
when I miss the Aston Martin.

The Big B's

Mmm is a sound we make
to express approval
I make it when my head is lying
on my girl’s soft big breasts
and her fingers are scratching
my neck
Big Bob makes it
next to me now
at the counter
biting into his donut

Envisioning Marriage

Fatrock on your finger
Baby what's for dinner
Hold my hand let's
roll around in the linen