some time back on Franklin ave.

i love it when youre mad at me

and i try to lick your salty nipple

as you mutter in uncertainty

in between gulps of rye

i love it when we play house

you smack my ass

unzip your pants

and demand me to please

i love it when you ask of me

about politics and i say

i dont know i cant relate

but ive got to go and serve

the broken today

i love it when you yell at me

i shoot to the moon smiling

nodding on the fourth

like when Idris met Azrael

it breaks my heart

to come home

while youre lying on the floor

Gulliver tied down by

tiny airport bottles

i hate it when

i make you cry

after my lips no longer blue

call out your name

right before vomiting

my weakness you on your back

cock hard me on top

losing myself without regard

but right before

i come bouncing back to you

turning my tide

your palms on my thighs

laughing as we die

cover my eyes on your way out

it hurts me when i know

that i will be leaving

in a few hours to get away

from you

ill really miss

that ethereal tiny kiss

gifted from you to me

upon my forehead

when you asked to marry me

there really is no comfort

knowing that i love you

two grotesquely beautiful

liars contending

upon the mirrors of our eyes

English class

oh hey teacher no i’m no poet

         no need to give me your Conklin pen

i’m just a kid from down the nickel loud mouth

     skidded knees cigarette boozer

         blood upon her sleeve

reveler of sunsets  procrastinator in the dawn

i am the honey of her thighs

       and the pulsing bang bang of his gun

    but hey psssst mister i ain’t no poet

bawdy as all hell quiet when i need to be

      if some angel fell in hell

i’ll go fetch em’  Darla Hood impersonator   feeler of the waste

      inside their eyes corny graffiti kids

         longing for the it apps to arrive

liquor store dwelling social services auditor

      of her majesty the street  but mister

i assure you mister i ain’t no poet

     AC/DC cranker upper Curtis Mayfield fuck play it louder

poker player chopper rider star watcher  little fighter

     hey man call me foolish   lady riff raff   heart on fire

          but hey seriously   i am what He says i am

            so yeah mac i ain’t no poet


the gray shadows tiptoe and sob  just outside my mind

body parts

for a wild Irish boy

tempest in your name

wild love ripples through my soul

tease me rowdy wind

periodic emissions

i must’ve needed the pain you gave me

it started like a dream knowing always

that it wasn’t meant to be because of odds

i was so very screwed in the head

my compass smashed by consequential hammers of life

you were what i needed then

but you came not to me without your complications

we didn’t make love

i don’t even think i know what that is today

it’s not been explained in anything i ever read

least of all not there when you’d touched me

we fucked like animals and it was explosively good

and i’m not ashamed i have no regrets and i’d do it again

you cautious i free

all of which was good and partly wholesome  

after my fifth reincarnation

i can now admit i was looking to die

you were the perfect trigger

cruel mean handsome strong smart older

and so very wrong for me

i the perfect foil

in the hunt that men love

gullible vulnerable presentable stupid educated young

i have aged since then yet i haven’t grown

i’m a perpetual socially functioning adult

with the soul of the song of the lone barn owl

in the dead of a rainy frosty northern night

as the minutes pass every now and again

they stab me slash me and run away laughing

with the memories of your bristly mouth

alternately between my lips and my breasts

my neck and my legs

your rough skinned hands clasping my wrists

to keep me from jumping

your honey yellow eyes who wept

with me at our miscarriage

and your graying temples

where the kind lies of indiscretions were confined

if i still smoked i’d light up

after some of the dreams i’ve had of you

i miss our chemistry animalistic

sloppy sleepless rough bitter

with the right amount of intensity and ambrosia

i miss your manly scent woodsy of earth like Adam

the reverberation of your voice

on my navel

just the flu

the magic leaves sanity a sacrifice ill pay for it tomorrow you gotta get some help tidal waves before me the river banks have failed screaming angels in a rage the faces flashing in the night i look for her and i cant find her sweet warm jello fingers pushing buttons to the elevator going up can you smell the gardenias wilting beeping and the blinking of the medical equipment sent tiny shocks of stress directly to the head the only way to soothe myself after a stressful situation  was to savor the sensation of my eyes rolling to the back of my third eye it started with strained nerves and jittery eyelids tiny tear drops oozing from the corners and then the dark flowing through pin-hole relief of my private world painted with French carnival colors golds were greens reds that were milky blood pink old ship ropes and Macaque monkeys like the ones in Tangiers i remember while riding on the ambulance that late summer night

22 days



comes fast

bleeding has not

stopped but i wonder how

the little birds are doing outside its raining

the momma flutters about with pink worms impaled on her beak squirming one

last time as slowly as time is crawling my thoughts converse i imagine them eating cucumber sandwiches asking if worms breath

my bladder called mad as hell on account she needed to be emptied cold with wiggly knees i stood as if my life depended on it i smiled a little wishing i could care

twenty two days of my demons staring me down i imagined them wearing fine silk tunics sky blue laughing green eyes and if i could feel them they would feel like velvet i missed the lies but when they possessed me it was if i was being held by a mother tenderly and warm safely

away from the dark but one day my eyes opened and i saw that it wasn’t true none of it tired of my demons telling me what to do i stopped talking to them inviting them in the resentments i felt where stronger than the need for false love and security which they offered so well at first it was easy then it became hard then it was as if i just walked from one box car to another waiting for the entire train to go off the rails




me no rest

blind darkness thrive

in the garden hidden past the mountain

fold my arms atop my chest and walk off


cold and dry




where have

you gone from

your wild child free

but lost to fences that strike my soul shut

i don’t see the stars any longer light

anyone’s way

before night

one last



there is something mystic about how you held your cigarette and smiled at me with soothing turquoise eyes and a twinkle in your tone the mere idea of your touch floods me in places that i cant mention while the lilies stand alone in glasses full of wine i still think of you at dawn and how you made me woman through your arms and your voice and your dreams and your thoughts i was every femme fatale sans the silver screen a dress up doll knitted in the silk of your tongue remember your company’s party we were better than the real Rick and Ilsa when did time go by Charlie now the moons have passed and people descend lower into madness and love is threatened by my not finding my place without you my Black Flag to your Rolling Stones my Smiths to your CCR but we both liked Kurt Weill and we both loved making love and greasy fries afterwards longing is hell am i that bad as to have lost you “he’s up in heaven so i’ve got to be good” every now and again i see your pea green fedora staring at me and it says ‘mornin, angel’ with that Indiana twang