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Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Behind me Now

Thanks for stopping by my blog, and keep it classy San Diego! Don't forget new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. No date set yet  check them out here:
if Dave has published, it is GOOD. Recommend JJ Campbell.

Behind me now

I play jump rope barefoot

amongst the tossed razors and syringes

and once I used a Ouija board to find out who he really was

inside of me.

I lost my echo

when I checked the pulse and found my shadow when I discovered that wine came in a box.

I caught a tiger by the toe once, and his teeth were like the needles I’d later fall in love with.

My mom would cut my peanut butter sandwiches into triangles

I would try to invent a potion that would make me a mermaid.

I could roller skate better than anyone else my age but when I turned tricks
everyone looked the other way

No one ever told me not to swim in the deep end and no one told me that I could never be a mermaid. These things you learn early in life

stick to you

Like the gum my cousin put in my hair when we all went to Six Flags.
I stood on my sand pail

and tried to hang myself with that jump rope once, but all I got was a scratched knee

and failure and sadness

that would stay with me forever

as I realized that sometimes there really is no way out.

Prisoners act like prisoners

and I feel like I should be singing the blues Put shackles around my ankles

and perhaps my behavior would make more sense.

I just wanted you to know

That  I still want to be a mermaid

And that jump ropes

Ain’t good for a hangin’.


Wednesday, July 24, 2013

brand spanking new poem..tonguing the wound

Thanks for stopping by my blog! Next book coming out on the awesome Interior Noise Press. No set date as I am still reassembling my brain...

newest poem, first one I like a whole lot in a little over a year, please share any comments good or bad!

Tonguing the wound

My hatred
Is changing
Making things grow
From the blackened barren ground

Containing soil which I spent hours upon hours digging
Those around me thought I wanted to plant a seed
I simply wanted to hide a bone
But no suitable soil was found

My love
Is forgotten
The word itself written on a piece of paper
A thousand times over
Then crumpled and used to light my last smoke

As I walk my veins throb
For a good old fashioned
The aforementioned ceremony to be attended
By only the finest self-appointed priests, healers, and snake handlers

But when I finally managed to get this pen to paper
To tongue that red swollen mouth wound
The words fell out
Only to shape the notes I wrote into the
Devils chord

And I can’t help but think
None of this would have happened
Had I kept my lazy crazy eye
On my rented out red right hand.

A bone would come in handy right about now
I think where I messed up
Was by not cauterizing the wound
After the big show

In fact a fire
Might have saved us all
From myself.


Sunday, July 7, 2013

One of the most influential poems of my writing "career"

I'm bringing back the blog, it never really left. I just left. Nothing to be too concerned with, just a temporary complete loss of my mind.... read this poem, do it
(Still have a book due out on Interior Noise Press...genius takes time)


Jeffrey McDaniel

When I was little, I thought the word loin
and the word lion were the same thing.
I thought celibate was a kind of fish.
My parents wanted me to be well-rounded
so they threw dinner plates at each other
until I curled up into a little ball.
I've had the wind knocked out of me
but never the hurricane.
I've seen two hundred and sixty-three rats
in the past year, but never more than one at a time.
It could be the same rat, with a very high profile.
I know what it's like to wear my liver on my sleeve.
I go into department stores, looking suspicious,
approach the security guard and say
what, what, I didnĂ­t take anything.
Go ahead.  Frisk me, big boy!
I go to the funerals of absolute strangers
and tell the grieving family: the soul of the deceased
is trapped inside my rib cage
and trying to reach you.
Once I thought I found love, but then I realized
I was just out of cigarettes.
Some people are boring because their parents
had boring sex the night they were conceived.
In the year thirteen hundred and thirteen,
a little boy died, who had the exact same scars as me.