at M. Wong’s

pink vapor rises

my feet grind to the wild song

we howl hard at love

on 4th street

when the dogs got tired

and laying on the floor

perfectly brown and gold spots

little Dachshund legs

stretch out but just a few centimeters long

and green eyed kittens by the door

wild shooting whiskers

like the sky on fourth of July

looking for big momma’s kitty teats

then we all look up at the window

simultaneously in time

although i’m just passing

through an old aunt’s borrowed room

the whistle of the train

needled through my soul

and they perfect holy and beautiful

yawn at the sound of the force

out pour


your breath

easy now

that’s good like that

i like it when you

tense up and move wildly

oh see there the moon blushes

together let’s hold the dam back

slow down some don’t give in too quickly

in a few moments the lightning will strike

my Paul

just tonight can we stare at the lamp lights

     gleaming on the surface of the puddles in the street

tonight ange triste will you stand still

    so as to peer upon your waifly silhouette

without it floating from my bandaged hands

    can i be your Paul and place my ear atop your heart

and etch in little kisses i love you on the

renegade palpitations there about

       tonight no wine no smokes no laughing hard

no sucker punches no living the life no mosher pits

                   no altered minds

      just a little silence with you ange betwixt my arms

instead of me amidst your legs  

    you don’t always have to run away   scared little bird

pecker and picker of my nerves  and priestess of my vacuumed        


    one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires

stolen nectar

you blue humming bird

i orange blossom opened

satisfied you go


when our palms met

that balmy Chinatown night

a little lost canary

from the corner pet shop

sang a melancholic cord

switching his little face

from right to left

he looked at me

and flew away

i had fallen in love

the kind of love

that makes you scrutinize

your breath your weight and even your thoughts

the kind where

you leave your beloved

friends pets and dishes

behind just to think about him

the kind of love

that makes you check your phone

fifty times at two in the morning

you know the kind you lose

your soul to in the encasing darkness

and nothing feels the same

distilled death and i churn my spirit

but you danced with me

for a few years

you are no longer Aaron

i am no longer me

i don’t recognize my smile

its erased forever in your cusp

my heart has melted away in your hypocrisy

my common sense buried under your peach tree

and Aaron he no longer lives here

and i don’t recognize

the song of the canary anymore



me now

your raw heat

on my begging

lips tickle softly scrape my skin with your

chin take your fingers pulse them low inside

let’s look away

nothing lost

when the




tossed in the

rain of remorse

pelvis to pelvis we dance on the floor

desperately clinging to whatever

we should forsake

to avoid



unlike Joanie and Chachi

the side of your salty neck

was black with my eyeliner

your purple nails tore at my back

while i tried to pull down my pants

you had insisted on wearing your dad’s kilt

to a Circle Jerks recital

and with breathless whispers we gave up

i pulled up and you pulled down

but as a consolation prize

you let me grope your jockey ass

as the first riff of

“I just want some skank” started

Wm. Mead, holmes

Photo by Hunter Kerhart

the blinking sun saw

lines weighed with school uniforms

clothes of mechanics

kids pink and purple sneakers

mail boxes stuffed with worry

alternative ending

a wishing well

the red door smokey

music of any generation blares

curtains coil in the caress of night

the sunken eyes cheeks moist with the dew

truth you are a liar gospel im lying to myelf

regrets im sure the devil had some scorn ive had my share

smoke puff he loves me ash flick he loves me not

clinking glasses last call some hearts stutter

can i bum a cigarette another asks halo moon

bamboo jade blackflag germs window mirror

fleeting time biting nails taxi drive

the way of good intention blocked

to the tunnel one more time

flick flick flick shoot

i guess i love me not

tiny dust bowl doll