bon appétit


as i


the streets

to my local



one to pick up


and bars


another to

pick up



one to buy condoms

and cigarettes


another for

paper cups

and penicillin

to dissolve

the ludes


and one just

for the fuck

of it,


i saw a man

walking with

his hands


he had both



but they






he gracefully



those hands

better than

most walk

with their feet

(especially better

than the drunks

i know).


i’m not sure what

he was doing

or why he

was performing

such a remarkable



but i did

wonder if

he ate with his


just to

fuck with

the ways

of the world.



company folk and the 2%ers

how am i supposed to find company

at a company full of company people?

i’m convinced that my two percent

rule doesn’t apply in this environment.


the two percent rule essentially

states that ninety-eight percent

of you

are goddamn worthless.


the CEO walks by; awkward stare.

in the elevator with the Chairman;

awkward silence.

in the bathroom with the President;

awkward glance over.


…time to head back to my “desk”


i’m gonna ingest these laced brownies,

sit at my cubicle, stare at my computer,

and watch my screen saver bounce around;

that’s what I call

a good day’s work.


the advice column #1

my advice to you fellas:

don’t stop tasting her

until she begs you

to stop:

either you’re really

good and you’ve

pleased her so much

she needs you to stop,


you need practice.

my advice to women:

make sure you tell

him which one it is.


a distinct smell and vague memories

waking up to

lipstick stains

on my sheets

(and other places),

i don’t notice

the aroma of

cheap wine


smoked substances

that are

soaked in the walls

and air conditioner filter

until my return

from an unsuccessful

trip for fresh water;

where’d you go?

were you even here?

traces of your presence

are outlined in my bed,

which i slowly

retrace with my fingertips.

scant memories begin

to reveal themselves:

veins pulsating in your

exposed neck –

head tilted back –

bottom of your

chin to the ceiling,

eyes rolled back in your head,

both your hands on the

back of my head

gripping the

suffocating product

in my hair,

contributing to the

uncontrollable shaking

between your thighs,

blood rushing to

all the zones

where blood doesn’t

even flow (adding some

color to your light skin

and new words to your

first, second,

spoken, and

unspoken languages).

yeah, i’m pretty sure

you were here;

question is:

why aren’t you here right now?

perhaps drinking another

bottle of cheap wine

and smoking a packed pipe

will enlighten me;


what else do I have to do,

except continue,

to think




Pillow cases

I can’t write you a

short poem

or enough words to fill a

138 page novel

but I can write you something

half of that


much less.

I didn’t see you

enough today

in my mind,

or in person,

or in my bed.

a glancing smile

won’t do anymore;

I need your

snoring, drooling,


face on my pillow

every morning,

especially if I’m

ever to

write something

meaningful about you.



i want you to be


i want you to

completely rely

on me;

i want you to

succeed financially,

i want you to


depend on me;

i want you to

be sexually pleased,

i’m the only one

that can

make you


(and the only one

that ever has);

i want you to

have guy friends,

but i’ll make just

as many girl friends

to ensure equality;

i want you to be showered

with compliments

from random dudes,

i’ll kill them all;


just want you to be happy,

but i’m the only one

that can make you





postscript:  This is the thinking that, I think, most guys feel, but never express.  Real talk: Live your best life! (just make sure it’s with me.) … and only with me.