Cheating on your
wife seems like a
good idea until you add
up the debt and move to
a one bedroom.
wife seems like a
good idea until you add
up the debt and move to
a one bedroom.
Panting wife means
aching back and
wincing to tie your shoes -
pills, spleef, and the relief
of booze will work.
I just don't feel
like I deserve
the good things that come my
way. I squander moments
and smoke a jay.
Nottingham Square
has nothing on
Ridge and 41 where
with flowers and flame we
honor soldiers.
Your collection
of shame compares
quite favorably with
Genghis Khan but not your
stepdad or mom.
………
Spurlock, Gary
Spurlock, Dave. There's
Steve, Lindy and Sherry.
We bought their house and found
a bong downstairs.
My dad knocked twice.
"Don't make me thrice,"
he said. "What's this?" "I don't
know." "Do you lie to me?"
"Not this time, dad?"
………..
The fourth go-round
has never been
attempted before. Then
again, I've never met
such a whore.
The magic of
alcohol has
not been lost on me. Now
when I drink, I mumble,
stumble and pee.
Metal pots and
pans stacked high like
rims at a junkyard. Wash
them, muther---er, and
you shall be free.
I would like to
be a weeping
willow slapping harshly
at a storm, relaxing
all morning long.
A blank check with
no money in
your account is worse than
an ashtray full of butts
already smoked.
On the way to
the cellar, he
dropped a quarter and bent
to pick it up so no
one could have it.
Black backpack on
white snow next to
a picnic table down for
the winter. No birds to
disturb the ice.
A perfect jump
shot and rimless
swish can lead to a brief
belief in the beauty
of basketball.
With despair comes
God. With loss comes
Winter. In the Spring when
you're trying to regain
hope, just f--- it.
There's so many
languages at
once in Times Square that you'd
rather be home counting
cups in the sink.
You know that where
it's safe always
changes. It depends on
the location of the
crook of her neck.
For whatever
reason, I write
the best 24 bump
poems when I feel like
freakin' dogshit.
Azaleas on
the counter mark
another birthday. Socks
on the floor mean a long
day is over.
You left pizza
burning in the
oven all night while you
slept off slime on your thighs
and four vodkas.
You gasped as I
rolled my bike to
the door. You waited as
I rode to Indiana
in a rainstorm.
Johnny C's and
Ann Sather could
never compete with hugs
of chocolate and kisses
made of red wine.
Be lonely in
New York, feel
despair in Rensselaer.
It feels stronger at
night in Times Square.
Amigo or
bloke in a strange
language makes sense but too
many friends down the street
clouds your judgment.
Welcome to a
gray day in mid
November. It will change
if that message to send
you remember.
With fire in
your belly and
hunger in your soul, pick
up a Tommy's burger
and an old whore.
I knew she was
sleeping but I
whispered anyways - that
Navy skirt drives me nuts.
And I love you.
Pretty hands. Big
strong hands. I like
the way you kiss. I like
when you hold me tight. You
smell good. You don't.
Fame'll mess with
your soul if you
let it. Riches make you
think you are better than
everyone else.
I can't sit by
waiting for you
to decide if I'm a good
person or not. Yes or
no, Charlie Brown.
Gray side of the
road there's a toad,
three bottle caps, two
shells and a body with
clover on it.
I don't feel
so bad about
myself as long as I
write these stupid freaking
loser bump poems.
There’s no catching
up to Now. No
matter how fast you run
by the highway, you won’t
reach that Mack Truck.
I just wanna
have a little fun
before I die. There’s so
much hate and loss, sometimes
you wanna cry.
Here together
once again we
fumble with elastic...
knowing full damn well that
the end is near.
She gave me my
notebooks, seven
Grateful Dead albums, two
roach clips, a Cubs hat, and
no more was said.
Cold winter, ice
on the eave. Please
kiss me on the forehead
before you leave for the
other option.
A train headed
to Martinsville,
Indiana, where they
used to hold Ku Klux Klan
meetings at night.
The politics
of the day don't
interest me nearly as
much as a perfect jump
shot right at half.
Here you go once
again with your
false accusations of
who left a towel on
the bathroom floor.
Munster versus
Highland is a
great rivalry for a
winter evening when there's
snow on the roof.
A violent
rush of leaves on
a concrete platform where
men used to holler and
pack ball bearings.
Baseball pleasure
beats a hot day
at the beach fidgeting
for some action. "Beer here"
was my first choice.
The roar of the
Borman quiets
Jimmy leg and cuddles
your agitated mind
into a purr.
A pack of lies
rules haughtily
in our little corner
of the world. Our nights
reveal truth.
She fell into
a canyon where
coyotes are having
a field day with her
cute little butt.
California
was a long time
ago. It is even
more distant than my mom's
call for dinner.
Looking for a
disruption
to crosses on the wall
and towels down the hall.
It will come.
I need to know
the name of what
it is I want. Maybe
it's just money and fame.
How freaking lame.
A Bucket loss
feels like used
floss left on the side of
I-65 southbound
near Winamac.
Thanksgiving Day
drags on like a
romantic comedy
your wife drags you to at
the new Showplace.
Helluva month,
November. It
starts with sleet and ends with
snow. The only thing worse
is December.
aching back and
wincing to tie your shoes -
pills, spleef, and the relief
of booze will work.
I just don't feel
like I deserve
the good things that come my
way. I squander moments
and smoke a jay.
Nottingham Square
has nothing on
Ridge and 41 where
with flowers and flame we
honor soldiers.
Your collection
of shame compares
quite favorably with
Genghis Khan but not your
stepdad or mom.
………
Spurlock, Gary
Spurlock, Dave. There's
Steve, Lindy and Sherry.
We bought their house and found
a bong downstairs.
My dad knocked twice.
"Don't make me thrice,"
he said. "What's this?" "I don't
know." "Do you lie to me?"
"Not this time, dad?"
………..
The fourth go-round
has never been
attempted before. Then
again, I've never met
such a whore.
The magic of
alcohol has
not been lost on me. Now
when I drink, I mumble,
stumble and pee.
Metal pots and
pans stacked high like
rims at a junkyard. Wash
them, muther---er, and
you shall be free.
I would like to
be a weeping
willow slapping harshly
at a storm, relaxing
all morning long.
A blank check with
no money in
your account is worse than
an ashtray full of butts
already smoked.
On the way to
the cellar, he
dropped a quarter and bent
to pick it up so no
one could have it.
Black backpack on
white snow next to
a picnic table down for
the winter. No birds to
disturb the ice.
A perfect jump
shot and rimless
swish can lead to a brief
belief in the beauty
of basketball.
With despair comes
God. With loss comes
Winter. In the Spring when
you're trying to regain
hope, just f--- it.
There's so many
languages at
once in Times Square that you'd
rather be home counting
cups in the sink.
You know that where
it's safe always
changes. It depends on
the location of the
crook of her neck.
For whatever
reason, I write
the best 24 bump
poems when I feel like
freakin' dogshit.
Azaleas on
the counter mark
another birthday. Socks
on the floor mean a long
day is over.
You left pizza
burning in the
oven all night while you
slept off slime on your thighs
and four vodkas.
You gasped as I
rolled my bike to
the door. You waited as
I rode to Indiana
in a rainstorm.
Johnny C's and
Ann Sather could
never compete with hugs
of chocolate and kisses
made of red wine.
Be lonely in
New York, feel
despair in Rensselaer.
It feels stronger at
night in Times Square.
Amigo or
bloke in a strange
language makes sense but too
many friends down the street
clouds your judgment.
Welcome to a
gray day in mid
November. It will change
if that message to send
you remember.
With fire in
your belly and
hunger in your soul, pick
up a Tommy's burger
and an old whore.
I knew she was
sleeping but I
whispered anyways - that
Navy skirt drives me nuts.
And I love you.
Pretty hands. Big
strong hands. I like
the way you kiss. I like
when you hold me tight. You
smell good. You don't.
Fame'll mess with
your soul if you
let it. Riches make you
think you are better than
everyone else.
I can't sit by
waiting for you
to decide if I'm a good
person or not. Yes or
no, Charlie Brown.
Gray side of the
road there's a toad,
three bottle caps, two
shells and a body with
clover on it.
I don't feel
so bad about
myself as long as I
write these stupid freaking
loser bump poems.
There’s no catching
up to Now. No
matter how fast you run
by the highway, you won’t
reach that Mack Truck.
I just wanna
have a little fun
before I die. There’s so
much hate and loss, sometimes
you wanna cry.
Here together
once again we
fumble with elastic...
knowing full damn well that
the end is near.
She gave me my
notebooks, seven
Grateful Dead albums, two
roach clips, a Cubs hat, and
no more was said.
Cold winter, ice
on the eave. Please
kiss me on the forehead
before you leave for the
other option.
A train headed
to Martinsville,
Indiana, where they
used to hold Ku Klux Klan
meetings at night.
The politics
of the day don't
interest me nearly as
much as a perfect jump
shot right at half.
Here you go once
again with your
false accusations of
who left a towel on
the bathroom floor.
Munster versus
Highland is a
great rivalry for a
winter evening when there's
snow on the roof.
A violent
rush of leaves on
a concrete platform where
men used to holler and
pack ball bearings.
Baseball pleasure
beats a hot day
at the beach fidgeting
for some action. "Beer here"
was my first choice.
The roar of the
Borman quiets
Jimmy leg and cuddles
your agitated mind
into a purr.
A pack of lies
rules haughtily
in our little corner
of the world. Our nights
reveal truth.
She fell into
a canyon where
coyotes are having
a field day with her
cute little butt.
California
was a long time
ago. It is even
more distant than my mom's
call for dinner.
Looking for a
disruption
to crosses on the wall
and towels down the hall.
It will come.
I need to know
the name of what
it is I want. Maybe
it's just money and fame.
How freaking lame.
A Bucket loss
feels like used
floss left on the side of
I-65 southbound
near Winamac.
Thanksgiving Day
drags on like a
romantic comedy
your wife drags you to at
the new Showplace.
Helluva month,
November. It
starts with sleet and ends with
snow. The only thing worse
is December.
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