No One Leaves The Light On

The ghosts will be waiting for me
when I open the door,
remove my work boots
and grab a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

They will be snickering as I fill a bowl
with the midnight dish of ice cream,
and scroll through NETFLIX
scary movies.
Searching for killers to take my mind from
the moments I murder.
Monsters that help me forget the nightmare I am
living.

The dead amused by the death I feed
with endless Internet searches.
Scrolling through facebook posts to find a reason that's
not there.

I step outside to smoke a cigarette.
Ashes to ashes,
and the ghosts still waiting when I step back in to the
quiet
dark
rooms
where I can never lay to rest.

Without The Witch

I cannot be cast
under any moon,
upon any soul.

If not for
her,
I don't exist.

I am the recipe, she is the cook.
I am the effect, she is the cause.

I am the spell, and I
need her
so.

A World Ruled By Art

i dream of a world ruled by art
where
the letters that come in the mail
are written in fingerpaints
and tornado sirens sound off to the tune of Chopin
where
sculptors stand in the place of soldiers
painters in the place of police officers
actors in the place of business men
where
the stage and the canvas are of more importance
than a profit
where
the bottom line is drawn with a pencil
only to begin a sketch
where
instead of senators there are poets and
instead of presidents there are piano players
tickling away the anthem of the world
in jazz keys

Mercury

immortality is a syrup for which
i have longed to sip
allowing it to course through my veins and
guide me into the forever

unfortunately
death has it's lips pursed
waiting for my kiss and the cold
caress of my decaying flesh

one day there will be nothing left of me
but a pile of bones and
perhaps
a pile of poems

Old Comet

back when Constant Reader was right next door

you could grab a used book

then go and drink SporTea

for hours on end

it's where i really got to know Bukowski

and Fante

where i read Of Mice And Men

and went to the bathroom after closing the last page

and cried

where i would watch the hipsters

in between reading

and realize that

though i had tattoos in the same places

and shared some of their taste in music

i wasn't one of them

but

i wanted to be

Ben

i hope
my dear friend
that we are going to meet on the other end of this fight

stronger and sharper than we were
even before we tumbled together into the storm
that left us drenched in remorse

i am sorry that when i last tried to dry off
i cut ties with you

i thought it was the right thing to do
but not speaking to you didn't rid my thirst

even leaving Milwaukee was
not enough
to circumvent the craving

but when i got the word that you were going into treatment
i decided to take another swing at this sobriety thing

you
inspired me to try again and
i hope
it sticks for both of us

that somewhere down the road we can find each other as sober
but wiser
than we were when we were younger

back when we could get high from banging our heads to a Pantera song
and shaking our fists to an Angry Samoans record

i hope
my dear friend
that we can find a path that leads neither of us back to a bar stool
or a liquor isle

i hope
that the future is not a grim series of hangovers
shakes
and nauseous withdrawal

i hope
and
in spite of my cynicism
i pray

The Prisoner

slippery bars make it hard to hold you
captive
against your will

always lathered in the sweat of escape
you elude any sentence
that is legislated upon you

bound not by verdict
and even less by
virtue

you never seem to learn that
you
should never be let out

Deicide

we conspire with the heretic to embark upon a war with god

we summon hellish legions to arm us
with the fire of anger
and the pestilence of despair

with swords cast in spite
angels will be clipped of their wings
to fall from the grace we've never felt

the almighty will cringe as we slaughter the lamb

let there be no peace in heaven
as there is no peace in us

Wordplay Artist For Hire

in a bar
in a discussion
with a collegiate

graduate student
just
so
ya know

studied tons of poetry

i recited a few of my shorter ones
that i had memorized

he said

"i like it
i do
but
you are
not
so much a poet
as you are
a clever wordplay artist"

"oh man"
i said
"that's cool

it almost
sounds
like
a real job"

There Is No Accounting for Taste

it is not often that i think
of peace
or of the soldier

there is part of me
that believes
war is inevitable

but
the whole of me
finds it in poor taste

Cedarburg, WI

A long
lone
bicycle ride there.

I have to stay off the booze.

I have to stay off Facebook.

Stay off her.

Stay in movement and keep pedaling.

Rest a moment on a bench Downtown,
try no to think about how much fun the two of us could have had here together.

A long
lone
bicycle ride back.

Once Upon A Lime

a clear coast

and 3oz. of caramel colored ocean riddled with icebergs

green citrus drips into the waters

and

like retarded seahorses

the pulp swims to the bottom

Two Shades of Darkness

You have found me
smothered
in a shadow.
You have stumbled up a child;
one whom carries storm clouds around
in a tattered napsack.
A merchant with sadness for sale.
You have discovered that loneliness,
like a man,
has two arms, and two legs.
It breathes in and out,
but still cannot avoid shortness of breath.
You have seen with your own eyes
the ways that armies reap.
You have heard with your own ears
the bawling of babes.
You have touched with your own hands,
the course devil's skin.
On this earth; delighted only in our empathy.
But
indeed, as you walk into the shadow,
I discover that two shades of darkness
sometimes shed like light.

-for Brent

Rosary

dying of cancer
saying her prayers
they came to bathe her

she asked if would hold her Rosary beads

"of course"
i said

cupped my hands together and held them out

she dropped the beads
and i exclaimed
"IT BURNS!"

it was the last time i made her laugh

The Dog

droopy dark circles around the eyes

brown eyes

sad eyes

sometimes he pees on the floor

they rub his nose in it

sometimes he is wiry

and playful

when they are tired and cranky

from their pitiful attempts at success 

and their over-abundance of failures 

they lock him in the kennel

with a bowl of tap water

and dry

bland dog food

he mopes to be let out 

but they cannot hear him

over the television

not over the phone ringing

with telemarketer's on the other end

and not over their constant nostalgia

for better days

he licks at his paw to pass the time

night after night

he licks the same spot

when he's thrown into the kennel

and the lights are turned out

first he licked away the fur

and then began to go the flesh

little tiny bits at a time

time after time

night after night

locked in the kennel

locked in darkness

licking at his paw

hoping that one day he might take a shit

and find a way to rub their noses in it

There Is Nothing That The Monsters Won't Take

when they have shaved the flesh
until it drapes from the bones
a mind begins to entertain the delusion of an end

and
an end will be had
but in no way less than gruesome

these beastly thieves did not crawl from the shadows beneath your bed
to bring you peace

these greediest of abominations
came for the big score

your last breath

Obituary

he left behind a loving wife

three kids
many close friends
and the best damn dog this side of the world

sadly
they never even knew he was alive

he never once introduced himself
to the people that would have loved him

he never spoke to those that would be missing him

he sat next to his loving wife one day
riding the city bus
on his way to the bookstore

she was sitting right next to him
smelling like apricot scented body wash
and reading Faulkner

he did not mention to her that he's always meant to
but has yet to
read Faulkner
and so she did not ask him why

they did not discuss what books they had read
or were their favorites

they did not arrange for coffee/tea the following Friday afternoon

they did not meet at the cafe
make each other laugh
or go out a few nights later to see a movie

they did not kiss after the movie
and he did not ask her if she would see him again

she did not say "yes"
they did not fall in love
and they never married

all because he didn't bother telling her that he had yet to read Faulkner

his children were jerked off into torn socks
or tissues that were flushed
into the sewer system
below the city

the close friends all worked at the organic foods grocery store
he never applied at
always afraid
he wasn't cool enough to work there

no one would like him
so he didn't even try

they never had the chance to tell him
that he was an interesting person
that fascinated them with his poetry
and even his music

they never invited him to go to an open mic
read a few verses
and they never praised him for it


his dog died alone in the pound

Necrophiliac

i almost did not make it to this page

i was stuck
in the glory of old verses
cadavers un-buried
and admired like trophies

but
the poem you wrote yesterday
is a corpse with your dick in it

if you really want to live forever
you better start living

Every Fear

has a relationship to the ultimate
truth

that we are going to die

and
when the knife is at your heels
it is easy to convince yourself
that you are already dead

but
if you keep running
and fighting like hell to stay alive

then
fear is a lie

Write A Poem

just
for fuck's sake
don't write it about her

i know she loved this song
but you loved it before her
and before you loved her

this is your song
and this is your poem

not hers

Don't Follow Me, Because I Don't Know Where I'm Going

the broken heart has been my signpost
since first i took to travel

a road map of poor choices
that have lead me down skid rows
and into one dive bar after another

to one bad woman before the next

lost on a familiar path
regret is my only compass

if ever i should find my way
surely i will have no way
of knowing where the hell i am

Virtue of the Moth

trust me
i am a moth
and there is light ahead

i would not lead you into absolute darkness
i would not take you into perpetual shadow

this is simply an eclipse
and when we make it through
the lights will be blindingly bright

Check Yo'self Before You Tech Yo'self

these are the finest mics in the game
beautiful instruments
the best recording software available

but before you start getting too excited
you should notice
there is no "talent" button

The Prime

the best shelf in town

bartenders
driving
the drunks
home

stars
made
of
tequila

the blood
of
my god

and
my blood
is the christ tonight

Bruce Springsteen

the only
boss
i care to listen to
on Labor Day

or any day
for that matter

it's not as hard to punch the clock
as it once was
but it's still hard

Getting Dressed For Work

this shirt
screams
"i'm not still fucked up from last night!"

Honesty Is The Best Policy

walking down Rundberg
a gentleman of the homeless junkie persuasion
approaches me from ahead

"hey mayne
ima be hones wischu
I NEESUM CRACK!
can you hel'me out?"

i stopped dead in my tracks
looked him dead in the eye
and realized
this was the first time in my life that i have encountered
absolute truth

i grabbed my wallet from my ass
pulled a five
and as i handed it to him i said
"i'm hungover every day because i drink every night"

"thank you"
he said
but
he didn't mean it

A White Christmas In South Texas

we fly down the highway
looking for the next bar open on Christmas Eve

we each do a line and head on in
flirt with lonely girls
and take bumps in the bathroom

more blow than I've done in a long time

we repeat this process until last call
and each of us go home alone

I manage a few hours of sleep and wake up in Texas
to the grimmest Chrsitmas Day I can remember

all I can think is
Santa must have known how naughty I've been

ME vs. MOTLEY CRUE

every song

smoking
drinking
partying
with
girls
girls
girls

my songs too
but in minor keys

Stones

they erect words of gods into
temples
churches
houses of worship

they weigh down witches in Salem

they are thrown first by those who think they have not sinned

Tyrannosaurus Text

this dinosaur has shared so much of my
pain
worry
and confusion

the idleness of evolution
does not diminish
the attention
i show to it

like a paleontologist
i am determined to hold onto these
bones

and
wake the beast from
its own
extinction

Stale Doughnuts

early this morning
fresh
was the only way we could
imagine ourselves

soft to the teeth
and
sweet

but the day wore on

we were passed over
and over
for
more frosting

shaped
more closely
to perfect

the air was all that touched us
and we were made hard

losing flavor
as we waited
finally
to be picked in desperation
or
thrown away

The Night Sky And Treetops Are Having Me For Dinner

i walk

like an appetizer

onto the moonlight tongue

the wine is in

my blood

it is

my blood

it is going to open up

nicely

if

you let it breathe

Blue Oyster Cult

a $5 footlong at Subway
before a meeting
on Thursday

Burnin' For You came on the speakers

i wanted to call you

say
i am sorry
while i still could

but i didn't

assuming you didn't want to hear it
and i would have understood
if you didn't

a resentment is a tough habit to give up

like a scar
you get used to it
and cannot imagine yourself
without it

but if you were right about there being a God

if you were right about there being an afterlife

i hope you have heard me
playing Don't Fear The Reaper
all day

The Artist (in 3 Parts)

i.

constantly trying to
get

somewhere
he
will never
be


ii.

constantly trying to
get

somewhere
he
has always
been


iii.

trying
not very hard
to
get

somewhere

anywhere

where are we?

is this nowhere?

Devil Music

he speaks to me through early Alice Cooper records

only with darkness
does light
shine
and
never upon a knee
but
always
in prayer

radio
is church

heaven
is a song about a broken heart

let congregation begin

I Miss You Most

when
i am sick
and need someone to make me some soup
pour me a glass of 7up
and say
ohhh
poor baby

when
i dial a 515 area code

or when
i scroll through my contacts
because i'm lonely
excited
or bored
and realize
you're the only one i ever liked talking to

when
i flip through the stations
and come across an episode
of The Golden Girls

when the holidays are near
when your birthday is near
when my birthday is near

when
i miss you most
is
everytime
i realize you're gone

A Clean House Is A Hard Place To Get Dirty

stayed sober most of the day
to get caught up on laundry
clean my room
and help rearrange the living room
to a more
inviting
floor plan

now i sit here
drinking vodka in a freshly cleaned bedroom
feeling like something is still a mess

Sexual Attitudes / Scary Movies with Gramma

watching horror films on vhs
with gramma
saturday nights
during the school year
more often
during the summer

FRIDAY THE 13th movies

a crazed women slashes through teenagers
her undead mutant son returns to do the same

teens being stabbed
arrowed
decapitated
and
gramma
would look over at me
and
say
"Ohhh, scary!"

HALLOWEEN movies

Michael Myers slashes through teenagers
with no remorse
to get to his sister

(the haunting theme song plays)

he appears from the shadows and murders the young victims
and
gramma
would look over at me
and
say
"Ohhh, scary!"

zombies, killer dolls, killer dogs, killer clowns, killer robots
slashing
mauling
bloodily
through fields of young women

and
gramma
would look over at me
and
say
"Ohhh, scary!"

but whenever
one of the young women
bared breasts

which
often
they did

gramma
would look over at me
and
say
"Cover your eyes!"

The Fart

it destroys the essence of the poet

stricken with the stink of human
no art
can cover the foul odor

generic mac&cheese flatulated
to remind

beautiful music
slightly witty verses
deep pensive moments
are just distractions
from what you really are

Dancer

she dances the last
pregnant
with music

no partner
but
the
rhythm

eyelashes like crescendos
eyes like disco balls

lips
like
the violin

a dance floor bruised by stilettos
there
is
music
all around

High School Rules!

when the acne clears
the shoulders broaden
and the body moves
far
far
away

the heart still remains
shoved
into a locker

poked in the chest and called faggot

an adult lives in fear
brought about by
teenagers

self doubt is
a hard habit to break

Chocolate Chip Cookies

A batch with nuts
a batch without

"Baby Dan doesn't like nuts"
Gramma would shout

as well I despised cottage cheese
and stopped eating meat

But Gramma sure to please
always had something for me to eat

Two Parts Hydrogen, One Part Oxygen

to the deepest thirst
a drop of water looks like a rainstorm
over a rushing river

lips moisten with hope
and the heart drowns with sheer relief
that hope still exists

the body
that was dehydrated yesterday
will swim oceans today

Poker Night

pale faced grim dealer
shuffles
the deck

but every card
is
the card of death

all in
say the suicides
dressed
to die
tonight

Multiple Choice

A man will lose _______

(a) his job
(b) his home
(c) his girl
(d) his mind
(e) his life
or
(fuck!) all of the above

Semantics

now
when I say

"forever"

I don't mean
too
forever

When Tomorrow Doesn't Matter

i have 24 hours to live
and every vice and lust at my disposal

i was trying to stay sober
work a good program and be a better person
but
doesn't seem much point
now

so i order more pizza than i know i can finish
because my waistline is no longer an issue
as of tomorrow

i call Cheyenne
tell her to bring some blow
two handles of tequila
and plenty of fuck

i've got a surplus of Viagra
and no reason to save any

put on my favorite tie
favorite cologne
and a Nina Simone record

and
maybe
call Cheyenne back
and tell her to grab a gallon of mint chocolate chip

N. Lamar

it was a particularly long day
walking around in the Austin heat
with too much on my mind

i'd avoided the drink
though it seemed to call for me from every watering hole i passed

the sun finally set
and the air became cool
as i headed north along Pease Park

the moonlight helped to quiet my nerves
and i started to get to a place that was peaceful
in my mind

just then a car went by and stopped at the red light ahead

a girl in a sun dress hung out the back window
waving a peace sign and saying
"i love you"

i sort of smiled
reciprocated the peace sign and said
"ditto"

she called out again
"hey
i love you
give me the peace sign back"

i said
"i am
can't you see?"

she ignorantly persisted
"hey
i love you
give me the peace sign back"

to which i exclaimed
" goddammit
calm down you fuckin' hippy!"

then the car drove away
and i had to start all over

America

what I love about this country
is the jazz
and
the blues
and
The Ramones
and
hip hop

it all started here

not without struggle
but it makes me believe
to truly struggle is to truly be alive

though
I am quite comfortable tonight
in America

drinking a bottle of wine
as the radio plays classical music
composed in Europe and Russia

and it's good
enough
and it's passionate
enough

but
I'm gonna put on a Nina Simone record when I finish writing this

The Telephone Solicitor Blues

she breathes through the phone.

i know now
that
she hates me,
and
sadly
it will not end here.

my every utterance echoes like blasphemy to her pious ears.

dare i,
and how dare i,
to speak.

she wants to be alone in her home.
she tells me- i have invaded here home.
vehemence breaks from her.

i hear her skin rattling.

she begins to scream.


my eyes stare off into the grey fuzz that are the walls of my cubicle.
i do not want to be there,
i do not want to be in her home.
i want to have never heard her voice,
and
never
her
mine.

"are you still there?" she hollers,
and
before
i can respond,
"DID YOU FUCKING HANG UP ON ME?"

"no Mam," i barely speak through tear filled eyes, "I am still here."

I Won't Be Missing You This Christmas

i've been so busy
with the job
women
and self

the new me doesn't have time

he is a very busy man
pre-occupied with hope

distracted by tomorrow
and trying to pretend that the past was
something else

grandma did not get ran over by a reindeer
but by the ego of a grandson that can
no longer
waste time regretting what he forgot to say

"you were my best friend"

"you were the greatest influence in my life"

"when you are gone
i will miss you always"

He Cries

tears glisten like distant stars
unreachable galaxies
alone
in the quiet of space

dead planets remind him of his grandmother and
ex-girlfriends

he cries for them
and for a dachshund that used to pee on the floor
excited to see him

days pass as if they were murder trials
long
meticulous
and emotionally draining

the verdict is always guilty
and nights play out a prison sentence
hard time behind bars

he cries for a dream
elusive
if not
impossible

for a woman whose hand he held once
for just a moment

for an island they never escaped to
for the ship he would've needed to sail them there

left only with an anchor
cast not in iron
but in regret

time burdens with memories
both good and bad

his heart begins to stink
like a hamper full of dirty socks

his guts boil
with anger and self-loathing

he cries for the love he once felt
and for the disgust that has taken its place

for horoscopes
and fortune cookies
that never came to be

the future is a monster under a bed
and a killer around a corner

suffocating with fright
he writes a poem as if it was his last breath

the pen becomes oxygen
becomes everything
becomes escape

arranging pieces of the English language
in order to tell a story
convey an image

through a poem he breaks through prison walls
dead planets return to life
and impossible dreams come to fruition

through a poem his tears become a pair of wings
and in sadness
he takes flight

Meatballs

there is a dark place
on Milwaukee's
east side

a place where it rains
when it shouldn't

i met there
a man
that talks with a smile
about poetry

another
that is
garrulous
about Classic Rock
and guitars

otherwise
there are only dogs
at this
dark
rainy
place
on Milwaukee's east side

hounds that snarl if you come too close
if you try to pet them

territorial beasts
pissing
everywhere

i feed them meatballs
to keep them from tearing my throat out

when that doesn't work
i try to be the wolf

i howl to warn them away
but they don't go anywhere
and at the end of each night
i feel like the cat

outnumbered
and in a corner

Poem for a Rabbit

masterful conductor
at the symphony of subterfuge

cleverly
you would escape
any trap and every hunter

the animal
wisest
in a forest
painted

and such merriment brought
to witness those sly tricks you pulled

Brutality Weeps

for wars not fought
and
battles not waged

axes that fell
from the hands of warriors

never wielded
to conquer lands that
should have been
theirs

the drum that never beat
as they marched into combat

brutality weeps for blood not shed
and victory not claimed

the enemy that lives

eating
when they should be rotting
drinking
when they should be rotting
breathing
when they should be rotting

their beating hearts
should've long ago been torn
from their chests

brutality weeps for coffins left empty
and unburied

for a flag never planted
over the bones of the dead

The Axeman of New Orleans

he came
out of the New Orleans
shadows

first went the grocer
and
the grocer's wife

her head
nearly severed
from her body

a mad man
mad for blood
and
mad for jazz

"Carry a trumpet as you walk the streets at night"

the first maniac of New Orleans
only tamed
by the music
the city played
so
well

back into the shadows he went
but
the jazz
kept playing

just in case
he
ever
came back

Hands of the Clock

time is on my side
but
what time
is it?

is it Killing Time?

standing with an ax
biting its bottom lip
and ready to take my head

bury my remains
in some swampy
desolate location

is it Bedtime?

waiting with a quilt
and a pillow
so that i might finally get a good nights sleep

i hear the clock ticking
like a metronome or a bomb

the hands are coming around
and
i only hope
they are not coming around
to choke me

Una Cosa Me Da Risa

it's just
the memory of the sky

blue
and maybe it only seemed so blue
because it was the first time i noticed
just how blue it was

or
that it was blue at all

sure
i knew

enough to offer that up
as my answer
when asked

but this was the first time i saw it
and i finally realised what it meant
for the sky to be blue

it seems so simple
until you look at it

and the grass

it had been green
for as long as i'd rolled around in it

buried dead canaries
beneath it

ripped out patches in my small fist
and chewed upon it

it was green when i spit it out

also then
were my tongue and my teeth

it had always been green

gramma told me stories
from when she
was a little girl
and that the grass had been green then too

my mom told the same stories
and likewise
was the grass green when she was a child

but now
as i looked around
i realised what it meant
for the grass to be green

it seems so simple
until you look at it

i do not recall a cloud in the sky on that day

i'm sure they were
but i could not see them

perhaps they were hidden behind houses
or under the leaves of the trees

those still giants that stood in our yard
branches like arms
casting evils away

and their leaves
were green as well

voices whisper in the background
and everything smells like lemonade
and potato salad

i could barely see the ones i loved
because it was too beautiful

a different kind of brightness than i had seen
when i would sit and stare directly into the sun

wondering
how strong my eyes
were

how long
was i able to stand
watching it burn in the sky

but it was early afternoon
and i just kept looking west

soon enough
it would be
there

soon enough we all would

settling
into our darkness

but for this moment
of which
i speak
the grass became truly green
and the leaves on the trees

the voices whispered
loud enough
that i knew they would echo forever

and the sky
it was blue

it seemed so simple until you looked at it

but if you learned
to look away
for
just a second
it was so obvious
that you just laughed