Killing off incidentals

Killing off incidentals

Writing magnetic poetry

On a child’s blackboard

That I found in a dumpster.

 And then sometimes I get really high

 and Light a long filtered smoke, Thompson style.

And I exhale so hard until I am practically breathless,

In hopes that God himself will procure cancer

And beg for our help…

Not to see who does and does not run to his side

But to see him fall

‘Cause if he falls, it proves he is only human after all

But if we see no crash, no landing

Perhaps it means we ourselves are not human at all

But only animals chasing our tails…

A sinful whisper traveling the land from ear to ear

Like an underground telephone game.

 I get back into the poetry

Struggling to make things fit in my head.

Using someone’s chosen cookie cutter words

To create what I have been screaming

For years.

Could drive a nice girl like me insane,

Mad even.

And there are never enough words

And there are always too many words

No validation, just a mindfuck

And finding yourself into another pissing contest with yourself .

I peek out the window now and then

In search of a miracle crash

But it is disturbingly quiet.

Then I light another smoke,

And blow smoke rings off into the sky

Like carrier pigeons sent to scream sickness and chaos,

and disturb that unsettling  silence.

And I think I am doing this all

In hopes of creating

My very own miracle

But no crash landing has happened

Suddenly, Optimism crawls up on me

Like an unwanted child

.

As I think of the results

On the pool on god’s fall,

He’s dropping back in the race

No gloves up at all in sight

I’ve got the upper hand,

The angle

And now the words on the chalkboard flow

Like William Taylor Jr’s sweet never-ending glass of wine.

The silence is gone,

Replaced with screeches, natural disasters, and bells from those carrier pigeons

Letting me know their task is done.

And somehow, now everything makes sense.

Time to get high again,

And search for a vowel on the chalkboard.

My black smoke rings

Dance around in the sky

like a good old fashioned

SOS.

Please be on the lookout for my forthcoming book from Interior Noise Press. No date set, because apparently I have become a lazy asshole. Shocker.

                                          

comments and hate messages always welcome.

These are the hands

Keep your eye out for my new book on Interior Noise Press. I have not yet set a date because I am lazy and irresponsible.

These are the hands

When you cant get much lower

 You want to build a ship

To sink

Rocks in your pockets One for each sin

That you forgot to cross your fingers for

The tin man

Invented the snow flake

Huffin the silver stuff

On the back of a city bus

I want to hitchhike

In dark desolate areas

And

I feel like a bar fight

I think I knew from a very young age that these would be the hands of either a writer

or a killer

and I still think I should have taken the easy road.

                                                      

You take the forest, I'll take the moon

Thanks for stopping by my blog. Comments always welcome. Be looking for my next book out on Interior Noise Press early next year. Date not yet announced! 

http://interiornoisepress.com/

You take the forest, I’ll take the Moon

Too much buzz buzzin’ in my ear lately

About leaving a light footprint

Me?   I’m putting on my steel toed boots,

And  stompin’ as hard as I can

Down my dark and windy path.

My footprints will be so deep, so thick,

It will look as though I bounced off the moon

With each and every step.

I like that!

Me doing twists and turns in the sky

And having space (literally) between those beneath me.

The blood red moon has always grounded me,

 the same way fools follow

 that sacrilegious and unholy north star.

Nonetheless, I find myself bumping into trees

Knocking myself out, only to wake up

Forgetting where I’m going

And never liking where I am at,

It’s my curse and I accept it.

And a lot of you hypocrites that preach about “going green”,

Fill your SUV’s with gas, and head over to Costco

To buy large quantities of “green” paper towels, laundry detergent, diapers,  (cause you are all breeders)…tampons, deodorant, herbal remedies…

And anything else you can think of.

And they clog up the landfills

The exact same way

As the cheaper stuff bought at the dollar store.

Green Green Green

I’ve been forced to pledge allegiance to a country

I have never believed in

I have seen horrible wars started by “my” people

And hung my head in shame.

So, the only green I see are Dead Presidents

You know the ones who all started

These never-ending wars…

Tread lightly, and go green

If you wander into my path somehow,

 Don’t be surprised

To see me quickly bounce down for another hard stomp

Sparkling of moon dust

With a pocket full of stars.

Stomp, stomp. Stomp

Because my dreams

Do not come

From bumper stickers.

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:  http://interiornoisepress.com/
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’.

                                                

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

Hurting

For a good old fashioned

Bloodletting

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.

                                                        

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)

Lineage

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 didnít 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.

          

With my hands around my neck I can sing like an angel!

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.

Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by

With my hands around my neck I can sing like an angel

Lazy Sunday

morning

afternoon

evening

laying in bed reading

and you sleeping next to me.

Reading about how Alan Kauffman's

tattoos were protests, truths, and lies all the same I felt humble for having a coffee table

then I read Jack Micheline and realize,

I'm a fucking whore

if it's really about the words cut em' with narcotics

and mainline em' to your heart (even if it's not a straight line)

Let's hotwire my heart bandages falling all around like a mummified sonnet no need for sugarcoating.

DA Levy

telling me

to go back to my childhood and kick out the bottom I'm trying to find

my steel toed boots while waiting in line

With steel teeth

you could turn a tin can into a throwing star aim at one falling for you

have a bloodbath of wounded stars

Perhaps it will make your veins sing a sad song about going home one you've never heard.

If the music gets louder when you're walking away it's because tall buildings

intimidate the words on the page

and elevators were never designed to set you free.

                                                      

Oh, about this new one I am fucking...

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.

Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by





Oh, about this new one I am fucking...





he really brings out the drowning victim in me.

climbing ontop

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.

Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by

Climbing on top

I'm on fire.

I let out a hushed moan

as I trace the back of my neck with my fingertips

My hymen was clipped at birth

by a crazy surgeon with bloody scissors.

I'll crawl on top an old army knife

Firmly between my teeth

I'm on fire

And I will tie your hands then attach your feet

to those cuffs of yours.

My sexuality

is bigger than this

it blankets the actions keeping what it wants

as the story you tell your friends.

I know we are both scared of ourselves I know we are both scared of each other

But I'm on fire

And you're fucked.

                                                    

Untitled

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.

Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by


Untitled 



Actually, you drooled on my shoes

As I was walking away

I had an ace up my sleeve

And some magic perfume



But I saw when you hit the deck



You were beautiful. 

                                                 

3:57 in the morning

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.


Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by

3:57 in the morning

I put extra change in the meter every time I park the car
in hopes that I won’t make it back

 and I carry a black umbrella

in hopes of making this poem a fabulous clichéd disaster

I think maybe if you’ve never accidentally set the room on fire,
you obviously haven’t been trying very hard to get high

I pissed on a guy for 3 bucks once at the train tracks

but actually
it can seem rather small at 3:57 in the morning

my sagging breasts 
a smokers cough
a drive by
 a god
or even

that scar

from where you lost all your guts…