sipping cocktails in a dark corner… lit with cigarettes and neon we edged ourselves closer to the end of our stools to the end of our drinks

clear skies are the feathers with which the lesser gods tickle their twats and dicks sunshine is the gleam of a puckered asshole

when they have shaved the flesh until it drapes from the bones a mind begins to entertain the del… and an end will be had

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

no matter how damned everything is i keep a flower in my coffin to remind myself that the sun still offers me something

race against midnight an eleventh hour dash for the quick finish

brief landings never fool me my thoughts are made of tornadoes and I know the mind will never sit… “where the heart is” is the name of a bullshit map

watching horror films on vhs with gramma saturday nights

sobering up is a lot like waking up you don’t really remember your dre… but you know they were more exciti… than this

i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had

tire takes the pirate seeking lost treasures of sleep sails into goodnight

black shirts worn at day they spoke mostly of music bonded by the odd

plenty more on that beautiful head of hers she’ll never even know it’s missing

if you’ve show up to the poetry re… with no poems to read you better worry because you can’t go on stage with… so start looking for an exit

a man must find his way to live in the world a poet must find his way to let the world live