She Stole the Blankets, and My Wallet

the darker the bar
the better i looked

a little red light on my face
added some much needed color

at twenty-three i was still learning
how to handle my drinking
and i was learning a lot

i worked back-of-the-house in those days
so there was really no limit
to the quantities i consumed

as a waiter you have to at least look sober
but as a cook
or a dishwasher
you just have to show up

in those days
2 p.m. was morning
as far as i was concerned

i'd only been with a couple women
but i already read most of Bukowski's
and Fante's work
so i knew enough to know
they were not to be trusted

she came over to my table
where i was sitting alone
with a pitcher of Blatz
and she said
"you're depressing me"

i didn't say anything
not because i was cool
or stoic
or anything
only because there was nothing to say

"you should buy me a drink"

i knew she was running one on me
i was her mark
but whatever
i just paid rent
and had a few bucks to spare

a tall whiskey and diet
i brought back to the table
where she was now sitting
with two male friends

it occured to me
that the drink was a ruse
to gain access to the table
since the bar was crowded

"these are my roommates"
she said
along with their names
but i already knew who they were

they were both hipster musicians
whose bands both sounded like
knockoffs of The Pixies

i didn't know their names though
and didn't want to

but her name was Monica
and i liked that because it made me think
of California
and i always thought i should have been born in California
and i should have been taller
and i should have had a bigger dick

i sat there quietly while hipster-dudes
shared musings about their latest gigs

"are you a musician?"
Monica asked me

"no"

"are you an artist?"

"no"

"well, this is Riverwest
you have to be something"

she was kinda right
no one lets you sign a lease in Riverwest
unless you're some kind of struggling artist

"i know"
she exclaimed
"you're a poet"

"fuck no"
i said

last call bounced on us
the ugly lights came on
and the doorguy came through
yelling for everyone to drink up

Monica and the two hipsters went outside
and i went to take a piss

i figured that was a nice thing to do
give them a chance to leave without me
and not have it be awkward

but when i got outside
she nearly jumped in my face
"what are you doing now?"

"i'm gonna go home
and drink some more"

"can we come?"

"there's not enough for four"

"is there enough for me?"

"yes"

so she went home with me
in spite of her hipster-dudes
advising her against it

"he's not even a musician"
they rebuked her

when we got back to my place
she had a good laugh over all my guitars
drawings on the walls
and books of poetry

and she could fuckin'drink

twenty year old women
they're so tiny
and innocent looking
but she drank more beer than i did

i'd like to say the sex was amazing too
but i had some trouble drawing my weapon
and fired it off almost as soon as i did

we drank more beer after that
the sun came up
the beer ran out
and we passed out

i had only been with a couple women
so it was nice to feel a warm body
as i drifted into sleep

a few hours later
i woke up freezing
seeing that she'd stolen all the covers
and cocooned herself in them

grateful she was still there
i just grabbed my coat from the floor
and went back to sleep

the next time i woke up
it was to the sound of her
quietly pulling my apartment door closed
behind her

i got out of bed
saw my jeans draped over the edge of the futon
and felt my wallet was gone

because of my o.c.d.
i only had as much cash in there
as i had planned to spend the night before

all she got was seven bucks
and my i.d.

i was mostly pissed about the i.d.
but not even too mad about that

it seemed worth it
to remember what it was like
not to fall asleep alone

18

tomorrow
you will be one and a half years sober
as long as you make the next one and a half miles

as long as you don't make
a triumphant return
to The Waveland
or The Den
or Jeanie's

tomorrow you will be 18 months sober
as long as you get through the next 18 minutes

just keep pedaling
take the side streets
stay distracted

don't do what you want to
and try to turn this night into a rock'n'roll video

not gonna happen

best case scenario
your night'll end up like a Tom Waits song
or a Charles Bukowsi story
and people in Des Moines
never heard of them

you're in the wrong town
to try to be interesting

tomorrow
you will be sober 548 days
if you do what you did the last 546 nights

be bored
be boring
be okay with it

tomorrow
if you make it . . .

Do not underestimate my demand to win while simultaneously overestimating my will to live.

Appetite for Seduction

look beyond her full red lips
at those threads of heart
caught between her teeth

when she stares into your eyes
it is not because she loves
but because she is hungry

A Song That Does Not Swim

i am the brightest bone
in the darkest hull of the sea
a ballroom and a casket
a dance floor and a grave

no music ever swims this deep
no shark ever plays a trumpet
the fish don't dance
and the band
all drowned

i am only the scar of a song
that will never be played again

poetry
only
exists
because
you
can't
paint
emotions

The Book Was Drunker

i'd seen the movie
and thought it was alright

my dear friend Brent
told me the book was better

everyone says that
but i believe Brent more than everyone

and he was right
the book was better

and the book
more than the movie
reflected my own alcoholism back to me

now
my drinking wasn't as bad as Ben's
at least
not that week

but everytime O'Brien described
whatever cocktail our protagonist was having
it made my mouth water

the poison
that was destroying the man in the pages
sounded pretty tasty to the man turning them

those nights at the bar
i might as well have made my order by saying
"i'll have what was killing Ben in this chapter"

Trans

it's easy for me

to get it

as a baby

i should have been dressed in black

but they assumed i was going to be happy 

you can't tell a person who they are

but if refuse to accept that 

it tells who you are

I Wish I Was Your Favorite Broken Chair

stuffed into the corner of an attic
waiting for the day you have the time
for a bit of carpentry

just this one leg-
a little wood glue
a little maintenance
a little love

why is that so hard to find?

don't you remember?
the dinners?
the card games?
the summer night
you brought me outside for beers by a fire?

just think of all the other  memories
we could be collecting if
i wasn't up here
collecting dust

but
i suppose
you have plenty
of other chairs
and don't need
me
to keep making memories

A Bad Banana

i wake up lost in the jungle of morning

crying out to a monkey for help

he always comes

but sometimes he gets lost too

one wrong turn

suddenly there's no escape
suddenly there is only doom

aware of our surroundings-

our surroundings are the salivating jaws

of every ferocious beast

as the very bones in us fill with terror

we can feel where our flesh is most tender

where teeth will sink with ease

the jungle wins

the jungle is the fruit of death

and life was only a peel

The Osceola Moon

if only
no one had been
at the station to greet me
but the moon

and maybe
instead of me
getting off of a train
the moon could have got on board

as deep as the tracks traveled
to find a place where it is always dark

where sleep is a dirty word
and there's nobody foolish enough
to work for a dream

where the night needs no name
and the stars remember everyone
by face

where not an utterance
not a whisper
is ever spoken of the sun

I'm Only Here for the Sad Song

minor key tonality
requiems
dirges
and everything that hurts us
set to a melody

the kind of song you leave a woman to
the kind of song she leaves you to
and every time it plays you think of her face
in the space between the beats
takes you back to the place where you two first meet
every time that you hurt her
and every time that she hurt you
on every cold winter night
and each summer fight in the heat

the kind of song you bury a body to
the kind of song the dead always come back to
for every memory that just won't die
no matter how hard you try
no matter how hard you cry
the kind of song that crawls in your ears
and makes it feel like it's taken years
to say goodbye

the kind of song you just wanna be alone to
the kind of song you turn to glass from stone to

a song that's slow
a song that's sad
a song that feels like it's all you ever had

My Eyes

there are hints of
what the hell have i done?
mixed with some
what the fuck am i gonna do?

in the daylight they appear more homicidal
and more suicidal at night

but no matter what time of day
if you peer deeply
you'll see
that ready-to-die look is always there

they're heavy
they're sad
they're tired
they're crazy

they're letting go
and
they're holding on

oh
and they're brown

Don't Rest in Peace

So many horrors of which I rave,
and those I don't, amount to zero.
But the ones I love the most,
where flesh is eaten like toast
by the dead risen from the grave.
All thanks to you, George Romero.

An Empire of Dunces

As I finish re-reading
A Confederacy of Dunces,
I promise myself not to wait
another 13 years to read it again.

Next I imagine what might have happened had Toole not killed himself.

If the book had been
accepted by a publisher
before the author's grave decision.

Would it still have won the Pulitzer?

Would it still have been a hit?

Might Toole have even wriiten a sequel?
A novel chronicling the hijinx of Ignatius,
and the minx Myrna Minkoff
in New York City?

How would Fortuna's wheel spin
for Mr. Reilly in The Big Apple?

Those things we'll never know.
Questions without answers.

So for now,
here's to dreaming of alternate universes,
and cracking open a book that never existed.

An Empire of Dunces. 

The Haunting of Arey Elementary

i.

on one of the rare occasions i found myself
wandering my hometown
passing by the old Arey Elementary
i was blown away by
how small the playground was

there was a moment it was big
a moment i was big
life was big

a moment
as brief as a breeze
as long-lasting as a burn

it was 2nd grade
kiss-tag with a few cute girls
at recess

that was living
liked i have never lived
since

on the way back to class
full of excitement
telling the girls
"that was fun! let's play again tomorrow! that was so much fun!"

Tricia set me straight
"we only played that game to make fun of you! you're gross! no of us like you!"

that was dying
like i have died so often
since

ii.

Arey converted into the alternative high school a few years later

when Justin Dillon and his friends
made it clear that i wasn't welcome
at the regular high school
i finished my diploma at the alternative school

being back there
was like being my own fucking ghost

looking down at a parking lot
that used to be the playground
i wished it had always been a parking lot
i wished i had never played with those girls
i wished i had played hookie that day instead
i wished there was a way to exorcise myself
a way to forget
or not care when i remember

turns out
there was
and i found it at just the right time

iii.

i kissed those girls thirty years ago
and if i could take those kisses back
i would

i started drinking twenty years ago
and if i could give every drink back
i wouldn't

but as it is
the girls get to keep their kisses
and i had to set the drinks free

and somewhere on the landing
of the northwest stairs in the Arey building
there is the ghost of a boy who is full of light
about to ascend into a darkness that never shakes

I Haven't Thought About Killing Myself in a Few Days

i must be having a good week

suicide usually crosses my mind
once
or twice a day
at least

half the time
it's rather casual
over something as simple as
one too many donuts at Casey's General Store
or it's time to do laundry

half the time
it's the real deal

the cold draft of unrelenting loneliness
the sheer discomfort of my ever-worsening back
the dead-end job
the live-wire addiction
the bills
the people
the bugs
and the pain

the bills...
the people...
the bugs...
and the pain

anyways
i haven't thought about those things
in a few days

until i realised i hadn't thought about them
and
now...
fuck!

It's Okay to be Sad Everyday

clear skies are the feathers

with which the lesser gods

tickle their twats and dicks

sunshine

is the gleam of a puckered asshole
about to take a big shining shit of insipidness
all over your stupid fucking heart 

any god worth a damn

would be filled with pain
all the time

filled to the brim with rain

and

He

She

or Thee

would never stop crying
over how empty everything is 

Peace

my hands were
gentle
reaching up
trying to hold an entire galaxy
like a small pet

my eyes lit up
as they swallowed
each star
and i almost wept
for everything i missed when i'd blink

but it is in
the clearest sky
that the storm of truth
is most easily seen

i lose my patience
hoping for forever

frustrated by
all the lives i will
never live
the one death i can
count on
and i concede my hands back to my side

i leave the stars where they are
push my foot against the earth
seeking peace in what i am
and what i am not

Beware

shards of glass match the tears in your eyes

the flame of the candle
trembles with you

truth and lie become indiscernible
as the promises reach my lips

when i say
i'll never hurt you
that's
my way of letting you know
i can

The Only Stripper in an Empty Stripclub

holiday weekends

in the service industry 

always a tough game 

the stage is empty

seats are empty, but for me

when a girl walks out

but she's not a girl

hasn't been for a long time

living on fake tits

worn, but not worn out

hangs in there 'cause she has to

the pole pays the rent

private dances buy her lunch

i am here to help

feed her with my loneliness 

The Birds Have Lost Their Minds

he said,
"i  could not measure how much i love you
with a thousand wingspans"

she blushed
and fashioned a nest

he proclaimed
"the sky will always be too short
for as high as my heart goes
whenever you are near"

she blushed
and laid some eggs

he told her
"when our chicks hatch
it will be upon the warm wind
of my affection for you
that they learn to fly"

she blushed
and told him
"i love you"

meanwhile
i sip at my coffee like a grumpy cat
and think
"these birds are fuckin' nuts!"