Friday, February 29, 2008

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

new poem

I Am A Terrorist And All Of You Are My Friends Who Have To Stop Me Somehow

Don't ever say "awe-inspiring" to me ever again.
It is too sunny here to see the flashing lights
of the band Metric. I just added you to my blog
reader. Congratulations on your newest Polaroid
of our friendship. It will fade and be destroyed
just like the real thing. Maybe it will find a
Polaroid girlfriend and have true romance. But
still, it wasn't that great a pic anyway. You
are kind of a fake. It is too bright to read any
of your crappy facial features. I mostly just
need to insult your Fig Newton-ish face. It's
nothing personal. It's not your fault. It is.

I am going to run you all over with a go-kart
made out of molten lava. Then I will sleep for
ten days and feel horrible about what I've done.
I miss you all. Do you think about me sometimes?
Sometimes I wish I was a missile aimed at an
important military target. You could write
"these colors don't run" on my forehead and kiss
my metal. I am sick of things that sound pretty.
Some say our friendship will end in fire or ice.
I hold with the ones who say our friendship will
end in a big USS Cole sized hole in your face.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

new poem


I am drinking wine and thinking about a girl who got hit by a car near my apartment and died today. I am thinking about what that means exactly. I am thinking about sleep paralysis and how scary it is to be awake and not able to move or talk. My friends don't invite me when they go somewhere. I am basically a dragon. I am a hollow dragon that is starting to get filled with rich chocolate Ovaltine and demeaning pornography. I can't breathe fire. I have to re-spackle parts of walls in my apartment because I don't want to pay for damage.

There is a man with a gun here to hunt me down because he thinks I have treasure so he puts a .357 magnum to my dragon head and says, "Give me the treasure you rape dragon." He blows my dragon head off and the bullet goes through my wall and kills my neighbor and then it goes through his neighbor head and kills the next neighbor and it goes through his neighbor head and kills the next neighbor and then it goes through his neighbor head and out his window and hits a tree. The tree is full of treasure. Someone has to re-spackle every apartment on the top floor of the apartment building.

new poem

Our Bodies are Cheap Real Estate

Everyone is talking about the old roads, the good roads.
Everyone's all, "Yeah, yeah, Fellini." Yeah, huh. This
generation is the Ass To Mouth Generation. That's because
our bodies are cheap real estate and no one should leave Dean
in charge of grandma's house. Who thought that was a good idea?
Um, the leaves are coming back soon, does anyone wanna krump
with me? I'll be outside. Oh, angular Texas. Someone forgot it.
How can we all be expected to fit in this contraption. This is
unreliability at its finest. The boys are doing Oxy again. Off
the teeter-totter? By the bird's nest? No? Do that thing again
with your vocal chords. The talking things. Deemed hereafter
"social networking." It's a little like watching people
publicly degrade their children. Alec Baldwin. Dresser drawers
emptied. Void of pizzazz. They have closed the road due to an
overturned wigwam. Someone had it in the back of their F-150.
It was shoddily constructed. It had a family in it.

new poem

Wasabi Junction

The couple who had parked next to me needed a bottle opener and we became their three-woman bluegrass outfit. I said, ‘Look, you guys keep working, I’ll do everything I can to get us a shopping spree at whole foods.’ They picked me up and dropped me into a puddle of wasabi. Truthfully, I'm as excited at the prospect of seeing show-opener Kings of Leon as I am munching on a can opener, a thermos of soup or drink, water, a bottle opener, and packets of soy sauce.

My dad was fixing a garage door opener he got electrecuted and turned blue. I can’t control his Furikake addiction. Grab me viscerally like a can of tuna! What food related paraphernalia do you carry with you? The Pampered Chef Can Bottle "SHUT UP AND ROCK" Easy Opener? We can think of a zillion ways to use it. Nancy made the cute little Frankenstein can that holds a gift or treat.

Note this: "Kimchi is my higher power."

new poem

Foodie Rebellion

I had begun to crust over with sweetbreads
and foie gras but then I scarfed elk loaf.
An excavator scarfed elk loaf. These are
extremely well-educated middle-aged Maine
lobsters? These are news channel helicopters
throwing babies into traffic. Back to you
studs in the studio. Back to your Volvo wear.

They wear their faces like they're "slummin'it."
They throw improperly prepared blowfish meat
into the microwave and at each other in line at
Fleur de Lys. They have wireless nunchucks.
Can we just nuke blowfish? I need my fugu.

A Wikipedia list of the town’s “notable people.”
Sold out Wynton Marsalis concerts. Myriad
Rosemary rubbed Motorola RAZRS. Do these
Clarks come in butternut bisque? It is raining
coconut water.

Can fault lines swallow
the Dow Jones Industrial Average?
The excommunicated Michelin man
leads a counter attack on Saks Fifth Ave.
These are our remaining species.
These are the same people who
wear Che Guevara shirts because
it makes them look “urban.”

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

new poem

looking around my room pretending i'm a girl on room raiders

looking around my room pretending i'm a girl on room raiders
helps me sleep because then i feel like i can define myself
by the things that are in my room. the posters on my wall.
the guitar cases. (he likes to play guitar.) the beer cans.
5-HTP. books. cds. guitar strings. dvds. gap jeans. adidas.
condom wrappers. change. netflix. macbook. coffee cups.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008