victory pattern
puzzle inside of  myself
making pieces fit

the night i was a vampire

i drank her early

i drank her late

the neck of a girl whose hair was curly

blood from the soft milked skin of her nape

a night that survives

a night that never dies

the only night

that it felt right

to tell a few lies

to the blush of her thighs

A Life of Trades

i said,
"I will trade you my Nolan Ryan tuxedo-card
for your Reggie Jackson last-year"

the dumbass made the trade

i said,
"I will trade you this mint knockoff Strat,
for that beat-up Fender Precision"

the dumbass made the trade

The Gods said,
"WE will trade you an addiction that creates the illusion you are getting something
out of your miserable existence
for your miserable existence"

i said,
"DEAL!"

Mars Is Not Even Blinking

if your brother is a Trump supporter
looks more white than you
has more girlfriends
in a night

Mars does not bat
an eye

if your mother is a recovering meth addict
who has to constantly be reminded
you write poetry

Mars does not bat
an eye

she asks
"Where is the next exit?"
driving you back to Des Moines
at night

you wanna tell her the one that leads
back to Milwaukee

as if getting away from them
changes
anything

nothing
you
do
matters

if
you stay sober
for 19 months and 29 days

if
you give up
like you always wanted to
and knew you would

Mars doesn't care

Mars doesn't give a fuck

Mars does not bat
an eye

cry
in a coffee
cry
in a beer

keep crying
all the while
Mars is not even blinking

Everyone Thinks You're Ugly

they've never looked as deeply as i
into the centers of your alluring
and final eyes

they've never watched you
dance slowly and dark like the end credits

they say you're a poor dresser
but i love all-black

your voice is the song that plays after the band has left
and the stage is empty

your body is the abyss
and your touch is only cold at first

they say your breath is rotten
but i just started smoking again
and i miss those still warm kisses
a burning cigarette set softly against a dirty ashtray

they say your breasts are tombstones
and your cunt is a grave
but
i am tired
and i think you are beautiful

Almost a Ghost Town

when we lived there the streets were paved with parties
confetti always stuck to the bottom of our shoes
and the streetlights glimmered like disco balls

traffic was part of the music
car horns honking in perfect tempo
and every engine seemed to be in perfect key

but nobody we knew drove
we danced to get everywhere
or took the bus
and we danced
on the bus

it was one hell of a town
at one hell of a time

it's funny
because according to the census
the population has grown by almost five thousand

i read an article saying how
there are more restaurants than ever before

more people
more places
but
i can't shake the feeling
that nothing's going on

maybe
it's not the town that became a ghost

Ghost with a Dying Rose

a ghost with one rose
whose petals in throes
to death, tilts
smell of wilts
dying scents haunt a nose

thorns of attrition
bloomed with ambition
once lush red
soon instead
suits love's apparition

the seeds that dreamed most
of a stem, could boast
but dirts die
flowers dry
dying rose haunts a ghost

A Liar in the Light

"there is light
too
my
friend"
he condescended

he was a liar

not about the light
i know there is light
too

i have seen it
been brought to tears and knees
before it

i have wept "hallelujah"
and sang "oh, happy day!"

as a boy i called it god
as a man i call it love
but i know it is there

that was not the issue

what made him a liar
is to dare
in my moment of darkness
which i shared as if it were my
only bridge to reach the light
to call me "friend"

and the sad thing about it
is not that he was lying to me

i knew he was not my friend
and he knew that i knew

it was in his desperation
to avoid identifying with my brutality
and perpuate his pious illusion of self

as if denying the dark place in my heart
meant there was none in his own

Suicidal Ideation Is the Splice of Life

"An unexamined life is not worth living."
                                                            -Socrates
"Suicide's an alternative."
                                  -Mike Muir 



humanity is the unwiped
diarrheic asshole of existence
and my nose is way too sensitive

i try to hold my breath
but only for so long before
i am blue in the cheeks
and a big whiff comes
rushing up each nostril

it's not too bad
when i'm alone in this apartment

a towel stuffed under the door
the windows all sealed tightly
and scented candles burning
away

sometimes i think i would be okay
if i never had to leave this apartment

but even my own odor
starts to get to me
until it's pungent
unbearable

rank smells turn into rank ideas
and then i start to think
how nice it would be
not to be

[ her love is like 9/11 ]

her love is like 9/11
in the Trade Center of my heart
she hijacked me that one morning
and now it's all falling apart
i should have known it from
the moment we first kissed
she never was my babe
but just a terrorist








-for Harmony 

The Noose of Nostalgia

it is not just missing
the good times

slamdancing in a circle pit
with your best buds at a rock show

blacklit basement parties
doing lines of coke off cd cases

loquacious drunkards
gorgeous people
attainable pussy

last calls
and after-bars
with cheap pot
and cheaper beer

you'd be a goddamn fool
not to miss all that

but it's when
you genuinely reminisce
the fucking misery of it all

vomiting up a stomach full of vodka
at 11:30 in the morning
on the way to the next
watering hole

listening to the Agents of Oblivion record
on repeat by candle light
with a green plastic
bottle of scotch

writing incoherent
and unintelligible poems
as if they were grand suicide missions

turning blackouts into halos
and making romances out of horrors

as if pissing yourself
and burning frozen pizzas
were noble claims to glory

the memory of the knot
against the back of your neck
tickles

now
that
is addiction

Vomit

i usually didn't puke

oh
i would wretch every morning
i would want to puke
but nothing ever
came up

it was in between leaving Texas
and coming back to Iowa

it was in between The Uptowner
and Nessun Dorma
in Milwaukee

in the alley
between jobs
between towns
between heaven & hell

i opened Uptowner that day
two-fisting double vodka club sodas
gave the redhead behind the bar ten bucks
to play some Ottis Redding

Ottis is good music to die to

but
i didn't die
i just felt like i might

so i went outside
down the alley
and let it out

there was nothing to it
no food
no color
just a suicide's amount worth of vodka

i imagined i looked like a gargoyle fountain

the homeless guy walking by
didn't even ask me for change

too bad
too
because i would have given him some

stopped vomiting for a minute
to hand him a couple bucks
just so i could hear him say
thanks

just so i could hear someone say something nice
to me

just to not hate myself
fo one second

but
he didn't ask
so i just kept puking
and kept hating myself

Love

we all trip over our own comfort
and wherever we land is the lie
we build a home on

whatever love is
we only do it when we have to

for ourselves

whatever love isn't
gets a bad rap

if someone tells you to be what you're not
it is natural to hate them

if they feed you a line of bullshit
you're right to be disgusted

in a world where everyone is trying
to dance
and kiss
and fuck
themselves into being happy
the most beautiful thing you can be
is alone

A Candle I Could Not Keep

the darker the room
the more i needed her

she was scented
with tobacco
and cedar

she smelled so good
i wanted to burn her
every night

but for my cold love
her patience was a wick
and there was only so much

and i wept
over the melted wax
where she used to be