Go ahead, wave
at me, pigweed.
Open up in my face,
petunia. Mark the day
I'm a loser.
at me, pigweed.
Open up in my face,
petunia. Mark the day
I'm a loser.
Three kids are killed
in a Pinto.
What for? How much could you
possibly save moving
the gas tank back?
My darkest days
are in early
February. You don't
know what it's like to live
in a gray cloud.
A single pole
holds ten wires,
a junction box and a
streetlight. Can't you hear my
whole body scream?
I can't thank the
world enough
for placing that girl on
that dance floor on that night
playing that song.
When someone you
know and love goes
and disappears in the
Hudson River, you feel
it when it rains.
When you visit
New York, you smell
the stench of a million
defacations and one
corner bakery.
I have seen the
change of that one
avenue from hick road
to nowhere to traffic
stops up your ass.
Little sixty
year old wonder,
I know every inch of
your brown body except
that which you hide.
Spinning through the
clouds above the
Colonial Motel,
I started a journey
with Mr. Fun.
Why do these trucks
travel moonlight
to deliver garbage
disposals to spinsters
in south Cincy?
I can't tell if
she's Moroccan
or Mexican, but if
she smiles one more time
I'm gonna die.
The beginning
was when you could
call a woman a chick
and not have to dig a
ditch forever.
Guitar solos
in front of big
speakers next to a bar
are overrated... so
are whiskey shots.
We all want to
feel the beat
of a being, the breath
of a hum, the clasp of
a soul to love.
It takes a long
while to get
to the rough parts where Jean
Shepherd created from
and hated home.
Put me out of
my misery.
This movie sucks and the
only relief is to
get her popcorn.
I don't recall
her lullabies,
but I do remember
her smile, the way she
loved all of us.
There must be a
sweetness on the
other side of the couch
where the highway begins
and the rug ends.
Right now, lying
in bed next to
a fan blowing hot air,
I am right where I am
supposed to be.
When I think of
all the silly
dreams I had as a kid,
I wanna shout warnings
out over time.
Stay, stay for a
lifetime of quick
yet meaningful kisses
before turning off the
TV at night.
I've got nothing
but the morass.
I've tried like hell to leave
it, but here we are once
more, you and me.
You can't have all
of everything.
If you're gonna make a
ton of money, forget
about tea cups.
All these people
come running to
America to wipe
their collective asses
with a corn cob.
Exhale, breathe
out all your bad
breath on a gray day in
May when there's black snow in
all the gutters.
Father Weiss wore
a purple sash
across his chest. I try
to run from this - but fifth
grade was the best.
Brown java on
white sheets like a
piece of chocolate fudge on
a dinner plate making
animal groans.
Snow on the ground
all around and
you're in a big f---ing
envelope with windows
and no football.
Snow at night with
low cloud cover
makes it bright enough to
see the maple leaves of
your misery.
Snow keeps you warm
cuz there's a five
thousand dollar furnace
blowing hot air on your
face all winter.
Snow sounds like an
explosion on
a really cold day when you're
wearing heavy camping
boots with deep treads.
A hocker on
the sidewalk means
a human being coughed
up enough saliva to
make you vomit
Our best poets
write songs so they
can make decent money
and marry French models
who snort coke. Yuk.
She makes me feel
good, which is more
than I can say of all
the trust fund bitches who
made love evil.
All of the souls
around you want
the same thing, which is to
kiss on the lips without
getting grossed out.
A single drop
of rainwater
travels the length of a
window. This could be your
heaven... or hell.
Cosmic doesn't
even begin
to describe the journey
I've been on. Sun, stars, moon,
space - what the f---?
A Dickman Farms
truck rolls by as
I wait here for my wife
to get her nails done
at a strip mall.
I'd bone her, but
then again I'd
get all this guilt as my
wife scoots over to kiss
me on the cheek.
Question all that
controls you and
answer all that you can
without racking your tits
in a grinder
metal manhole
in a snowy
NIPSCO field provides
portal to the secret
warmth of sewers
Indiana
calls my name and
caresses my cheeks
but won't let me grow so
I gotta go.
40 oil
tanks stand at strict
attention to guard the
fuel that powers middle
America.
"Logistics" is
rarely spoken
in much of the country
til you come here and get
caught by a train.
Love and oil
define my life...
along with steel, rain,
pollution, gambling, sex,
winter and love.
Your bond with a
bolt the size of
your kid prevents any
idea of moving
away for life.
When there's dust on
your hood and the
beer at Flick's is cold and
clear, you may not be rich,
but bliss is near.
If a man rides
his bike to the
mill for 40 years, can
he mention it to God
on the way in?
The perfection
I'm after can't
be found in poetry,
music, fiction or art.
Just in numbers.
Berkeley on a
gray day is where
I figured out that it
was time to pack up and
start heading home.
Telegraph Ave
leads to Dwight Way
which leads to Barrington
Hall where there's sex, weed, booze
and Bukowski.
When it comes to
a spirit, I
still don't want to hear it...
except when she kisses
my hairy ear.
Be comfortable,
release into
the spirit that is a
mystery. Soon enough
you'll know... you'll know
Snow against the
curb, ice on the
windshield. Sooner or
later you lie down in
the cold and cry.
The beast whimpered.
It limped to a
tree where it spit some blood
and a couple teeth and
fell to a knee.
Down and down for
no apparent
reason other than the
ground has gone and in its
place is nothing.
This love won't leave
me. I really was
supposed to be alone
in a one-bedroom flat
in Astoria.
Damn cattails
keep waving at
me all through exercise
class and into the next
wicked snowstorm.
The man on the
cross says love from
above and not killing
or shove will get you where
you wanna be.
In the trees of
north Berkeley a
woman can find her soul
without sin before her
privates went in.
A bumble bee
rests on my left
shoulder and reminds me
that I have again turned
one year older.
Don't tell a soul
but sometimes I
get down on one knee and
thank the Lord for putting
her in my life.
In the middle
of the night in
between songs I can hear
her speak, but she doesn't
say anything.
I've become the
guy in Winesburg
who scribbles on little
pieces of paper and
mutters all day.
How many times
can you straighten
up? How many times can
you say I'm sorry? How...
How many times...
You can't mix poems
and fiction in
the same text... unless you're
Bukowsk... and even
that is suspect.
Truth be gone, lies
shine through. Pretty
soon you can't talk of the
difference, which is bad
for me and you.
Electrical
boxes on long
thin poles remind us all
of imbalance in the
real world.
The fourth silo
sits outside of
all I gotta do to
make enough money for
my family.
If it's sunny
here, I'm okay.
But it's not that way in
LA, where it's sunny
every day.
Do you really
have to pay in
the afterlife for all
the things you did that were
fun and evil?
Amy bought a
grande latte
walked to her gray Lexus
and shed a few tears on
the steering wheel.
In front of a
dormitory
Parker hugged his mother
shook hands with his father
and started new.
Andy lined up
the free throw and
missed. Again. South Bend
St. Joe fans stormed the floor.
Career over.
Rumble thrust go
fast. This pace will
not last. Hopefully, our
love outruns me and my
idiocy.
A rusted out
pick-up rolls down
Ridge Road with three kids in
the back holding a big
red flower pot.
The force of space
and lace and weed
and need meet near the edge
of a hidden black hole
in East Chicago.
At some age you
just surrender
to clear skies McDonald's
flat shoes and the Fox and
CNN blues.
A piano
melody in
your head ain't a bad way
to go through life with a
job, kids and wife.
She's a freight train
rolling by on
a windy day and a
feather-touch kiss in the
backyard mid-June.
in a Pinto.
What for? How much could you
possibly save moving
the gas tank back?
My darkest days
are in early
February. You don't
know what it's like to live
in a gray cloud.
A single pole
holds ten wires,
a junction box and a
streetlight. Can't you hear my
whole body scream?
I can't thank the
world enough
for placing that girl on
that dance floor on that night
playing that song.
When someone you
know and love goes
and disappears in the
Hudson River, you feel
it when it rains.
When you visit
New York, you smell
the stench of a million
defacations and one
corner bakery.
I have seen the
change of that one
avenue from hick road
to nowhere to traffic
stops up your ass.
Little sixty
year old wonder,
I know every inch of
your brown body except
that which you hide.
Spinning through the
clouds above the
Colonial Motel,
I started a journey
with Mr. Fun.
Why do these trucks
travel moonlight
to deliver garbage
disposals to spinsters
in south Cincy?
I can't tell if
she's Moroccan
or Mexican, but if
she smiles one more time
I'm gonna die.
The beginning
was when you could
call a woman a chick
and not have to dig a
ditch forever.
Guitar solos
in front of big
speakers next to a bar
are overrated... so
are whiskey shots.
We all want to
feel the beat
of a being, the breath
of a hum, the clasp of
a soul to love.
It takes a long
while to get
to the rough parts where Jean
Shepherd created from
and hated home.
Put me out of
my misery.
This movie sucks and the
only relief is to
get her popcorn.
I don't recall
her lullabies,
but I do remember
her smile, the way she
loved all of us.
There must be a
sweetness on the
other side of the couch
where the highway begins
and the rug ends.
Right now, lying
in bed next to
a fan blowing hot air,
I am right where I am
supposed to be.
When I think of
all the silly
dreams I had as a kid,
I wanna shout warnings
out over time.
Stay, stay for a
lifetime of quick
yet meaningful kisses
before turning off the
TV at night.
I've got nothing
but the morass.
I've tried like hell to leave
it, but here we are once
more, you and me.
You can't have all
of everything.
If you're gonna make a
ton of money, forget
about tea cups.
All these people
come running to
America to wipe
their collective asses
with a corn cob.
Exhale, breathe
out all your bad
breath on a gray day in
May when there's black snow in
all the gutters.
Father Weiss wore
a purple sash
across his chest. I try
to run from this - but fifth
grade was the best.
Brown java on
white sheets like a
piece of chocolate fudge on
a dinner plate making
animal groans.
Snow on the ground
all around and
you're in a big f---ing
envelope with windows
and no football.
Snow at night with
low cloud cover
makes it bright enough to
see the maple leaves of
your misery.
Snow keeps you warm
cuz there's a five
thousand dollar furnace
blowing hot air on your
face all winter.
Snow sounds like an
explosion on
a really cold day when you're
wearing heavy camping
boots with deep treads.
A hocker on
the sidewalk means
a human being coughed
up enough saliva to
make you vomit
Our best poets
write songs so they
can make decent money
and marry French models
who snort coke. Yuk.
She makes me feel
good, which is more
than I can say of all
the trust fund bitches who
made love evil.
All of the souls
around you want
the same thing, which is to
kiss on the lips without
getting grossed out.
A single drop
of rainwater
travels the length of a
window. This could be your
heaven... or hell.
Cosmic doesn't
even begin
to describe the journey
I've been on. Sun, stars, moon,
space - what the f---?
A Dickman Farms
truck rolls by as
I wait here for my wife
to get her nails done
at a strip mall.
I'd bone her, but
then again I'd
get all this guilt as my
wife scoots over to kiss
me on the cheek.
Question all that
controls you and
answer all that you can
without racking your tits
in a grinder
metal manhole
in a snowy
NIPSCO field provides
portal to the secret
warmth of sewers
Indiana
calls my name and
caresses my cheeks
but won't let me grow so
I gotta go.
40 oil
tanks stand at strict
attention to guard the
fuel that powers middle
America.
"Logistics" is
rarely spoken
in much of the country
til you come here and get
caught by a train.
Love and oil
define my life...
along with steel, rain,
pollution, gambling, sex,
winter and love.
Your bond with a
bolt the size of
your kid prevents any
idea of moving
away for life.
When there's dust on
your hood and the
beer at Flick's is cold and
clear, you may not be rich,
but bliss is near.
If a man rides
his bike to the
mill for 40 years, can
he mention it to God
on the way in?
The perfection
I'm after can't
be found in poetry,
music, fiction or art.
Just in numbers.
Berkeley on a
gray day is where
I figured out that it
was time to pack up and
start heading home.
Telegraph Ave
leads to Dwight Way
which leads to Barrington
Hall where there's sex, weed, booze
and Bukowski.
When it comes to
a spirit, I
still don't want to hear it...
except when she kisses
my hairy ear.
Be comfortable,
release into
the spirit that is a
mystery. Soon enough
you'll know... you'll know
Snow against the
curb, ice on the
windshield. Sooner or
later you lie down in
the cold and cry.
The beast whimpered.
It limped to a
tree where it spit some blood
and a couple teeth and
fell to a knee.
Down and down for
no apparent
reason other than the
ground has gone and in its
place is nothing.
This love won't leave
me. I really was
supposed to be alone
in a one-bedroom flat
in Astoria.
Damn cattails
keep waving at
me all through exercise
class and into the next
wicked snowstorm.
The man on the
cross says love from
above and not killing
or shove will get you where
you wanna be.
In the trees of
north Berkeley a
woman can find her soul
without sin before her
privates went in.
A bumble bee
rests on my left
shoulder and reminds me
that I have again turned
one year older.
Don't tell a soul
but sometimes I
get down on one knee and
thank the Lord for putting
her in my life.
In the middle
of the night in
between songs I can hear
her speak, but she doesn't
say anything.
I've become the
guy in Winesburg
who scribbles on little
pieces of paper and
mutters all day.
How many times
can you straighten
up? How many times can
you say I'm sorry? How...
How many times...
You can't mix poems
and fiction in
the same text... unless you're
Bukowsk... and even
that is suspect.
Truth be gone, lies
shine through. Pretty
soon you can't talk of the
difference, which is bad
for me and you.
Electrical
boxes on long
thin poles remind us all
of imbalance in the
real world.
The fourth silo
sits outside of
all I gotta do to
make enough money for
my family.
If it's sunny
here, I'm okay.
But it's not that way in
LA, where it's sunny
every day.
Do you really
have to pay in
the afterlife for all
the things you did that were
fun and evil?
Amy bought a
grande latte
walked to her gray Lexus
and shed a few tears on
the steering wheel.
In front of a
dormitory
Parker hugged his mother
shook hands with his father
and started new.
Andy lined up
the free throw and
missed. Again. South Bend
St. Joe fans stormed the floor.
Career over.
Rumble thrust go
fast. This pace will
not last. Hopefully, our
love outruns me and my
idiocy.
A rusted out
pick-up rolls down
Ridge Road with three kids in
the back holding a big
red flower pot.
The force of space
and lace and weed
and need meet near the edge
of a hidden black hole
in East Chicago.
At some age you
just surrender
to clear skies McDonald's
flat shoes and the Fox and
CNN blues.
A piano
melody in
your head ain't a bad way
to go through life with a
job, kids and wife.
She's a freight train
rolling by on
a windy day and a
feather-touch kiss in the
backyard mid-June.