drying up

laying here

in a sheetless bed

wanting to speak

with you

about my contempt

for everyone

and everything,


sun beaming

through the

blunt burned holed


colored curtains,


dried red cough syrup

crusted on my beard

and pillow

and face mask,


maybe it’s the cheap wine

and unfiltered smokes,


or the three kids and four dogs

balanced on the speeding



that have led me to this point.


but i’m starving for your

attention and approval


so while i wait for a sign,

not just your sexy

glances and smiles,


I’ll run to the local

convenience store

for some instant noodles

and a boiled egg


and more cheap wine.



Just. Her.



i only want

to write for her,

about her,

to her,

i could fill

a million pages

with words

about her hair,

and a billion more


about her smile,


she doesn’t want

the pressure of

those words



so she sits

at a distance

reading some of the words


i was whispering them

into her ear

(of which I could write

a trillion more words about),

while she chats

with a lesser love.


happy international women’s day

i love that skirt,


with the patterned


one leg locked

standing at the printer


the other leg


at the knee,

hip swerved,

has me staring

at those curves

and the route

i’d take along

your calves,



to the

“oh my’s”

the moaning of

“oh my’s”

with your eyes


and your hands

clinching my hair

pushing my head

closer to the destination

where i do my thing

and you do that thing

where you don’t know






there are red leaves

where coconuts should


and coconuts where

beehives should be

and moss on roses

and durian on grape vines;

this place is unusual –

I need a drink,

looking out into the sea,

endless and vast,

quiet and peaceful,

for the moment,


the sun has its moment –

I need a drink

to numb her pain

as I can’t do anything

but stare out at the sea

and laugh with her,

gazing upon

the sunset


the Monitors

mate in

the ditch

and we sip on



One touch

I knew then,

when your hand

hung on for that

extra second

and our fingers

refused to depart,

that I knew

the connection

was real.

but the homeless woman

tried to sell us lottery


and I waved her off,

like an annoying insect,

with the buzzing noise of


zipping by,

with eyes,


fixed upon you.

They don’t want to leave

their position.

And why should they?

You’re treasure;

I won the lottery without playing.

But the homeless woman

is still homeless

while I get to call you home.

life just isn’t fair

and I’m surely partly to blame.



i see the flowers sprouting

from her eyes,

over there in the dark corner

of the bar where neon lights

from a hipster beer sign

shine upon the petals,

and it reminds me of you

and all the weeds i had

to poison

because the pulling out

wasn’t working.

tongue twisting

cherry stems,

sucking seeds

cherry cleaning;

i love the taste of cherries,

i love the memory of you,

i hate the taste of new love,

i want my old fermented

familiar twisted and knotted

cherry back … so i can

give it new seed.