Hypnic Jerk

as i lay me down to sleep
let be the won wars and lost causes of the day
to leap into strange worlds

worlds where emotions glow like second suns
worlds where eyes see behind them
worlds where truth dives off tongues
like alphabetic letters into the deep end of endless pools
onto swingsets that sway up to the moon
floating above writers clacking at desks in eerie woods
swimming birds and flying fish

and in some true ways
something more sensical than this real real world

i find balance in dreams
the cosmic butter for my charred toast
i find serenity in the letgo
the fallout of power
the disappearance of clocks that tick
sixty seconds in a minute

in dreams
i can be an old man at last
sitting on a rocking chair on the rings of saturn
reading hemingway and drinking irish coffee
and in dreams i can do this forever
and not be late for tea

in dreams
i can find love without politics
my skin absorbed into the wallpaper
and i so unmistakably part of the foundation of the house
babbling on less about oneness and more about allness

it’s all too much in dreams
and that’s why sometimes we keep it there
like a hidden drawer of a music box

it’s all too much in dreams
where the news channel flickers and spins
and it’s november 21st, 1963 forever

in dreams
where gunshots exist like capguns
and cops and robbers ends for almuerzo
a feast of childhood friends

in dreams
where i can finally be a child again
where it takes so much less business to be a child
where i close my eyes and i’m a child
no more business to keep us busy
in dreams where we all can be a child

in allness
in solidarity
in surreal shopless malls
in purity
in strangeness
in death but never ultimate
in always ultimate and fleeting
in unexplored chambers of the dark night of the soul
in love unthought of
in manifesto! in epiphany! in orderless government!
in one billion goofy goddesses and gods
in chains
in freedom
in memory

in deep deep memory
in resonance from all directions of time and space
in dreams

in daring

as i lay me down to sleep
i find myself jolted by a hypnic jerk
a kind of shock
an electric bolt
feels like falling
in that moment just before
you enter the womb of dreams
over and over
a jolt
a shock
a pain
a pain that comes in dark electric waves
over and over
each time i try to enter these dreams

and i tell everyone i meet about this hypnic jerk
about this something
keeping me from dreams
keeping me from half of myself
and everyone says it’s okay
that it’s okay
that it’s okay

and it’s not okay

because in dreams
i am my best spirit
and how now am i to pull that form
that form which i cannot reach
into the poetry of this ticking life?
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Mailman + Dog

Rowdy the dog
just stared
as the mailman
walked into
the liquor store.

“hey bud,”
said the mailman.

Rowdy just stared
and watched him
as he delivered letters
to the liquor man
behind the counter.

there wasn’t a single ounce
of liquor in the bottles
that swayed even a bit
while these two polarized forces
of the universe
meandered a shared space.

but the mailman left
and Rowdy was put at ease.

it was okay.

they both knew
what they were taught to know
about one another
by history
stories passed down through time
but they didn’t have to be those stories.

we inhabit strange spaces
with strange company
and if we can let our guard down
we don’t have to tell the stories
that they expect us to.

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Kansas City

somewhere in kansas city someone might be saying these words

my friend sarah is locked up in alberta
the bars are birch trees
they surround her
and day after day she draws them
these spines that spring from the earth
she draws them
as if maybe she can work her way through them

she draws her lover beside her
and she draws us again in denver
or together in the birch trees
she draws them as if she can conjur something
or someone
to another place

lost in conifer
i walked through an endless field of evergreens
and miles deep into my head
playing a long tricky game of object impermanence
i stumbled onto this great field of birches

and unbroken
i stepped into them
and i was not there
i was with sarah and her ivan in alberta

sarah asks me
do you believe in time travel?

somewhere in kansas city someone might be saying these words
and there is a currency too valuable
to knowing that my breath has traveled as far east as it is west
into the mouth
of a stranger
that i met in another life

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so i just disappeared
i took off to vegas in a yellow pair of aviators
i changed my name to rodolfo
i grew out my mustache
and i disappeared into a cloud of cigarette smoke
and bottom shelf tequila

sitting fat
at some slot machine
i chugged at the handle
like a trucker on the horn
and i watched my play money disappear

king of the strip they’d call me
in the gutter
asking for change

with a pregnant girlfriend in reno

flipping a chip in his knuckles

and meanwhile in denver
they missed me

my friends
my family

they slapped my face on the sides of milk cartons
until the milk went bad
and then they held a vigil for me at cheesman park
just a hundred or so candles

he just disappeared
they said
swallowed up by some sort of sinkhole

and they talked about my poems for a minute or two
said how i changed them
how i influenced their lives
but they were still alive
and they cared
but there were bills to be paid
weekends to be planned
life just keeps on without you

meanwhile rodolfo was in deep with some cardsharks
a few bad bets
and now he’s being thrown around some back room in old vegas

my mustache swallowing my entire upper lip

you can reinvent yourself
i prayed into the rearview mirror
down highway i-15
into the mouth of vegas

you can be whoever you want

and then i, rodolfo,
probably said some more stupid things
and they hit me over the head with a hammer
they buried me in the desert
and no one came looking because i never existed

i don’t know where i’m going
but i like my name
it’s got a nice sound to it i think

and the vigil might have been small
but a hundred candles or so
beats being nameless in a desert
pouring your heart out
into a big gulp with a hole in the side

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Date Night

halfway through dinner they took off their rubber masks

the cannibal & the vegan

he chewed on the blood desperate for her flesh

she snapped carrots in her teeth like an anxious neck

forks clanking against plates while hip bones went unbruised

when the check came, it didn’t move

they both wanted to eat, but neither person wanted to pay


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when i die
i want to be made into a bust on a plinth
thrown through traffic
and then put in some arthouse
on display
my bald head
and my grizzly beard for all to see
all this so in turn the top third
of this bag of flesh may be eternal

we shadowbox through time
but turbulence is a bitch
faces get marred
black road rash
deer blood on flailing canvas
teeth leaving a mouth in slow motion

you already know how this will end

you already know
the triumphs turn to rubble
the defeat
floats up into the sky
on fire
like chinese wishing paper

in a museum of heads and faces
everyone is watching everyone
everyone is scratching at the surface
trying to break through
brick walls behind thin paper
thin paper behind stale air
stale air behind a dead gaze

seventy sets of eyes

forgetting to breathe

trying to remember what it’s like
to be a human being

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We Pretend to Be

nearing perfect form
do i pretend to be
something of gentleman

top hat
lovely pocket square
long tailed coat
newly shined shoes
i do look the part so well

and beneath
classic human skeleton
blue veins
red muscle
tendons fibers skin
hair nails eyeballs
i do pretend to be

and watch me walk around
the party

watch me
as i
looking across the ballroom
(wood floors, glass windows
chandeliers, fire, wax, wick, etc.)
spot a female
flowing long dead hair
large breasts
red dress the amalgamation
of ten thousand machine-placed

watch as i approach
muscles pulling leg
tendons working in conjunction
the cardiovascular system
in tandem with the human heart
it all moves footstep by footstep
in newly shined shoes
across the wood floors of the ballroom

and now we
meeting eyeballs
pupils expand
let in chandelier light
a legion of cheek muscles active
and we talk and smile
we pretend to be

and we dance
to mathematical sound
recognized by ears as pleasant
two human beings
in sequence through time and space
until the song
the mathematical gathered sound
and then more

and more and more and more

and we pretend it all

watch us as we pretend

and then no matter the trajectory
of following hours
eye balls rest
beneath eye lids
automatic breathing
automatic bloodwork
and we believe we somehow changed

we believe we somehow not what we were

and maybe we believe wrong
but we believe
what we pretend to believe
and that’s nice


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To a Crooked Old Man

the past
dies slowly

it clings on

its nails
buried deeply
in skin

to find a strangle

through wind
and weather
it lives on

but in slow due time

it will die

starved for attention
it shrivels up
and sinks
into the waiting mud

there is no funeral
for the death of thoughts
that never should have lived


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Patreon Site Launch

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Recently, I decided to try this writer thing full time and I’m looking for support to make that a reality.

There are a couple opportunities through Patreon to receive a signed poem from me or a signed drawing depending on your contribution level.

Even if you can’t donate, I want to say thank you to those of you out there who read my poems week after week. There’s nothing more a writer could ask for than readers.

Please take a minute to check out my Patreon site HERE.