i’m in the middle
of some terrible room of a
poem and you come
waltzing in

reeking of your own perfume
throwing your scarf back
heels clicking wooden floors
you hang your hat
on the hat rack

pinning up paintings
rearranging the furniture
making yourself comfortable
on my comfy couch

you’re opening the blinds
when i want them closed

for the love of humanity
can you please stop gnawing
at my table legs
you stomp around like temper tantrums
you turn the t.v. up
so god damn loud
in this terrible room
of a poem

of all the things
the worst of it is
when you kitten-eyed ask me
if i want to come to bed

my bed

the place i go to dream
of a room of a poem
where i pollack plaster the ceiling
with walls as tall as clyfford still
rothko windows with kooning awnings

and you come in
all militant alarm clock
black leather and lace
and curl up beside me
god dammit

i’m leaving my own apartment now
it’s thirty degrees and i am leaving
seeking couch, seeking strange angels
to replace your familiar monster
sweet and sincere and soft lips

you kissed like you were jumping off a bridge
into the atlantic of my ocean

god dammit!

you’re living in the couches –
all of the strange couches!

i sit

at a bar

in the breath of denver

and the coffee tastes like your comfort
the music
is full of your blood pressure
the way everyone is yelling kind banter
is the opposite of our silent guernica
it is the opposite of our deaf separation

where i find myself

painting pictures of you
to pin to the paper thin walls
of this terrible room
of a poem



i am searching for something
and i don’t know that i yet know
what that something is
but still i search
in the gardens of the city
in the concrete streets of nature
i lift up the grass like a rug
or a skirt
and i tuck my head under
in search for something

so gallantly i draw my long dagger
and i rush into battle
the knight of swords
the king of recklessness
i wear my thorn crown
around my neck
like a noose

and i wear the stars
like eyelids

the sun like an hourglass
the moon like a pill
stuck under my tongue
and swallowed

one thousand arduous years
in the den with the lions
a fifth of my life
weighing the weight
of a pound of gold
against my jellyfish soul

against the current
the frequency
i paddle my canoe
through the backyards
of suburbia

that’s right motherfuckers

and i’m not pulling this thing over
until i get to the something
that i search for

and yeah
and hallelujah
ring the gong

we are all
so tiny small
inside of this overpriced
a marble
in the pocket
of some shithead kid
who doesn’t realize
how damn busy we’ve come
to be

so sweet dreams
my dear lost nation
we’ve traveled the world
east to west
but we left our damn hearts
on ice in a cooler
on a train
somewhere in india

and we’re searching for something
i’m searching for something
and i have a strong feeling
it’s somewhere in india
it just might be
and if not
oh well i guess?



and where is it that the door moves you to?

to swing wide open like a gust of wind
announcing itself to the party guests
like a blonde bombshell like the atom bomb
it yells for its authority
desperate for you to realize that it exists
and on the other side of it, there is something
a door, a question mark on the very tip
of an unsuspecting sentence?

and where is it that the door moves you to?

to madness? to acres of green anxiety
lying across the grass back breaking
in the ultraviolet sunlight?
to decay? to some strange triumph?
a queen moved gracefully into a
bishop’s territory?
a murder of ugly, unappreciative
ideals? is it just a factory of clay
ideologies thrown into
the fire? is it worth it? where are we
in time?

i came here to tell you to be careful of doors.

i know i sound like i don’t know
what i’m talking about
but that is just because maybe
you have never crossed through a door.
the respectable type who pays taxes
and doesn’t cross fences.

burst forth from
what you’ve been taught
like cubism.

take every ounce
of knowledge you’ve acquired
and throw it
out the window
like a schizophrenic cat.

this is defenestration.
the act of throwing something
out the window.

to defenestrate.

this is revolution.
not some temper tantrum
on the nightly news.
not some child
yelling at the television set.
but to actively seek

to see
that the eyes
are not at fault
but the mind
for misinterpreting them.

and where is it that the door moves you to?

where does east start
and west end?
if you say california
i will scream.

the door moves you
to the other side of the railroad track.

could be a love note
or a notice of eviction.

but the point isn’t the room:
the point
is the door.



see the homeless posted at every major crossroad
standing at the ready like soldiers but really they’re just vets.
see their cardboard signs in shivering hand standing in the neon light of another sign.
see the signs. so many signs. all the signs trying so hard to sing you to shipwreck.
see the american assembly line of incarceration. the rows of concrete buildings.
stacked side-by-side. industrial and sturdy on the outside but cancer within.
see the conjugal visit of capitalism and democracy.
see the mcwhopper junior baconator cheeseburger combo.
see the mccigarettes in their red little cradle.
see the forty-eight ounces. ice cold. ninety-nine cents.
delivered from the window in a brown paper bag in exchange for your cash.
see the legal drug deal in the lobby of the restaurant.
see the illegal drug deal in the parking lot.
see the rows and rows of second mortgage cars
transnational representations of delusional personalities.
see the signs. great american tarot cards. see what they say about you.
see what you need. see why you’re unhappy. see until it hurts to see.
see all of the things that you never knew that you wanted so badly.
see the black market big box store. see that sugar is cheaper than dirt.
see the impossible cost of a roof. see the white picket fence. see the shutters.
see the green grass front yard. see the sprinkler system.
see the community-approved paint and primer color glowing from the house.
see the blue front door. the great gold knocker. see the red wheelbarrow.
see the inside of the house. it’s empty.
see the beautiful communities with world-class schools, parks, autumns.
see the people who live in their graveyards. see the garbage mountains.
see the garbage hail storms. the garbage rain clouds raining down garbage.
see the hurricane waters rise an inch each day. sinking the titanic.
sinking first the third class. sinking second the second class.
see the first class polish the brass.
see the giant ball of yarn. see the giant rocking chair in the field.
see the giant orange bottle of horse pills. see the bill.
see the cost of the medication. but hey. it’s cheaper than therapy.
see the beautiful people. the manufactured celebrity. the scripted reality.
see the radiating crimson head of the news vociferously squawking.
see the bright light show. the warm blanket of electronica.
the giant chloroform rag. the sweet victory of football.
see peyton manning sell you insurance. see the rage of fandom.
see the super bowl if you get a chance. for the commercials.
see the black plague of poor management wash over us all.
see the rose that grows from the concrete. see the incredible way
that somewhere lost in a fossil fuel fog, an outdated identity,
a father figure who refuses to listen to his beautiful daughters.
somewhere in the hallways of the church inside the bank,
there is still a green light that glows.

there is still a radiant child born in the bomb shelter of brooklyn
who will die hanging his crown on the nail of the wild wall.



sports authority invesco
high budget investor money bags mcgee

mcdonalds corporation sponsorship daddy warbucks starbucks
super million dollar america killing
big downtown office buildings

brick and mortar investment opportunity
401k package super bowL
fantasy football new vegas quid pro quo
commercial vip section suites with champagne and
big medicine long fast side effect disclosure
eating grapes

on cloud
stroking yer beard
big breasted girls  fan
patrick bateman zeus
with giant leaves
mini trump
bail out baby
ownership is power

sports authority field at mile high stadium



the song i skip to on the mix tape
the day i sleep in with the sun
the word stuck in my head like gum
the kind eyes across the diner
the dollar in the pocket of the hoodie
the hoodie that i wait for winter to wear

the movie when it comes on t.v.
never planned but whenever you do
my pupils dilate like puddles in rain
and i storm lost in your story

the stray cat i take into my apartment
the guitar i find in the gutter
the candy tucked away in the back of the cabinet
the middle school note left on my desk
the applause that follows the silence

that coma sleep
that really good coma sleep
where you lose sight of your reality
your rapidly moving eyes dizzy and lost
in the kind of good dream that tattoos your skin
at least for a day or two

that is the supreme drug my dear
and to wake up sober from it
to wander the halls of this asylum apartment
to come home to cook yourself food for one
to realize how empty your hand is
it’s a terrible terrible world to turn
but sometimes you sneak outside
and the rays of daylight swim into your pores
you catch that you still have a shadow
and it’s not so bad
it’s not so bad



and like that she was gone
floated away through some wall
like a ghost
from any kind of collective consciousness
not a single note
no memory
no empty casket funeral
she was just gone
years and years of etching
on this giant lie detector test board
and they sucked her up into the skies
for her to never return
whatever the opposite of a haunting premonition
an unsuspected absence
a great hollow breath
she is no more
and we still go on
polished shoes clacking on blue tiles
to immaculate desks
a seventeen year collection of dust
entire histories thrown into paper shredders
or lost to the awkward halls of the internet
she was gone
her name i remember less each moment
each passing bus i do not board
and someday i too
every petroglyph unetched
every stuttered heartbeat stilled
like that i too will be gone
there is the moment
and there is the great death of the moment
which the next moment does not mourn
we just look forward
like a finger tapping the delete button endlessly
moving backward and forward through a history
distorted and dishonest
a pendulum absorbed in its own rust
like that she was gone
i can feel myself forgetting her name
and my name
and the name of the word i typed before
the word i typed before the word i typed
before the word i typed before



bleeding vein sancho’s broken arrow snapped over knee
motel graveyard down and out adjacent residential battle zone
chased by the owner kicked to the curb
burning basilica piercing sky giant catholic shiv bookstore ashed cigarette seven eleven
zero to fifteen
homeless home / blanket : carpet / narrow skyline : roof top / thin wind : ceiling fan
longest wickedest livingest deadest zombie crawling claws in concrete
city park drug deal
city park tree wooden hand yearn city cash register
tattooed cowboy gutted bookstore jerry’s skipped record
fifty mile fifty thousand mile mile high freedom fighter revolution rebellion
jolt of neon motel dotted lines dodge traffic frogger cross road
fine line between tuberculosis sex fest and white plague apartment improper burial
stripclub strip mall run from wrist to shoulder blade
drunk driver closed door open coffin quilted with rose lady
hellhorse and buggy junkie trash coin machine push copper pennies into silver razorblade
manic depressive red bull and chloroform crack head shop eight ball corner pocket
death metal speed trap endless mass cheeky monk
twentieth century beer binge twenty first century hangover stuck forever in electric diner
shotgun wedding black tie blood-splattered bride in white
separate but equal sides of the aisle
enigmatic peg leg prostitute poets row sweet sugar dance
bardish squire shitty suicidal comedian poet guitar playing satire lounging
giant face mural man smile steamed white hair dead behind eyes
man woman child all hoodlum green eyed denizen tourist nobody live here
capitolist hill pig on leash mcgangbang wrapper in gutter punk guerrilla crochet music
cemetery in a cemetery adjacent immaculate conception
divine destruction rock opera
italian kiss of death cherry sex bomb dropped in porcelain toilet graffiti markered stall
jack’s market grab big bunny by neck shake like two liter bottle rocket
shoot like argonaut into gentrifical corruption rise and fall like joyce and joy
bukowski bluebird in heart want out but too tough
pour whiskey whores and bartenders
american brick river
beat degenerate jack daniels in the lion’s lair
a dream of four kingdoms replaced by a fifth of vodka
emilio’s pete’s charlie’s tom’s dick’s and hairy’s
mine mine mine
drowning fox in lost lake twist and shout writhe and die you could buy me a drink
cat call midnight writer’s block party poets row
voodoo donut tire screech scratch itch scar run in pantyhose barcade starbar
one up the arm doses in the noses back alley bonfire burn
broken beer bottle fender bender
bubble gum bleu cheese bruce banner amnesia wreck green grass
highway man chasing tangerine sunrise down abandoned highway robbery
pioneer get drunk break down in middle of america build home build business business boom
paint golden aurora across rectangle page snap canvas in half stitch together
pour kerosene on canvas light match let burn color red
wicked witch green smoke rise from ashes western phoenix vulture
rebuild rinse and repeat
great place to visit but nobody lives there
they just go there to die
in the cradled arms
of a widow street that aches with arthritis
but still carries its babies
safely into their bruised bassinets



and then at breakfast
at the hangover to the party
the dregs sat at the kitchen table together
eating pancakes
drinking coffee

“do you even remember
what you two
were doing
last night?!”

and i thought to myself,

we got drunk
and we messed around
you’d sit up
across the living room
on the floor
and we’d pretend to be asleep
we’d stand stiller
than freeze tag
you’d lay back down
rinse and repeat

but i didn’t say that
and neither did she
no one said anything

we just went on
eating pancakes
drinking coffee

if no one wants to admit it
it’s pretty easy for it to never have