Sometimes We Pee On Stuff and We Can Always Smell...
The world’s a stage and I’ve forgot my lines- ad lib is indiscriminate, then add wit, two parts Ha-Ha’s with a healthy douse of seriously? We drive, motor-less and rudderless, deeper into the city: all the more buildings, all the less sky. Oh what clouds, what stars, what hope, what dreams that wet these deviled streets; lamps lining avenues, dried yolk steaming on a bent spatula. Youth is a...
I'm Not Anti-Social, I'm Pro-DontFuckingTalkToMe
don’t feel much of anything any more. simmer down, it’s not as glorious as it sounds – friends wonder why you don’t call, why you don’t go out, why you stopped laughing at their jokes, and the women or the men or the both you want to fuck say you’re different; that your efforts are a bit idle, just a little macabre, and they say it with their words on tip toes because you’ve become...
Lazy Poetry Is Lazy XI
I had a dream I met Charles Bukowski. We were drunk and broke and happy.
I Knock Boots With My City, But That Baby Ain't...
Dear New York City, You and I are far beyond anything as arbitrary as Hello or Good Morning. I’ve always liked that about us, how we skipped the fake pleasantries of being together yet still come to know one another so well. We’ve been a part of each other for so long, so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with anyone else. I can tell what streets to caress and...
Lazy Poetry Is Lazy X
Poetry tells twisted lies - a broken heart does not rhyme.