Smashing your head on the punk rock

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.

Thank you for visiting my poetry blog!


Smashing your head on the punk rock

 
Punk rock is that pitcher of margaritas that you sucked down 

(Forgetting to leave a tip) With the bitter salt

That left you licking your lips and wanting more



Punk rock is the chip on your shoulder

It's the scab on your knee

It's the red horse that crashed Jesus' crucifixion party



It's the swollen bump on your tongue Begging you to run it over your teeth With the raw pain



Smudged all over your high school years

That mugged and raped you

In the beautiful foul stenched alley of hope.



Take no fucking prisoners

Trust no one

You will be tested on this material

Over and fucking over

Until you deep throat grandpa's gun

Music with no words

Gloves with no punch



Leading you right back to suburbia Pawning off your ole' punk rock

 escapades As a string of stories in your wild past 

Fuck you if you ever forget

                                                

Confessions of a shut in genius

I am so thrilled that so many people enjoy my work. But I need a favor of sorts. when you +1 can you please do it on my blog from now on and not on the google link? Only asking because my blog numbers are way lower than usual cause everyone is posting on Google where no one can see them. Also, If you have any old +1 around or in front of you, could please move it to my blog. Not trying to be bossy. Just trying to get all the +1s I get on my blog so the numbers are a correct number of the feedback I am getting. But I really just cannot thank you enough for all the support. Its what keeps me going! If you have any questions about this there is a place to send me an email on my page.
THANKS AGAIN!!!!

                                  
                                     

kill your television or it will...

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.

Kill Your Television or it will...

If you spend enough time With the television on You will eventually

Become a homicidal maniac

Or perhaps, That’s just me.

                                                                         

                                                                                    

5 bucks on Micheline

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.

This poem was published in the Poems for All mini poems series.

                                            5 bucks on Micheline

Baby,

I'm glad you can still taste me on your lips... Can still smell my pussy on your fingers.

But I was in New Orleans with Jack Micheline He had some paintings

And I had a boom swagger boom Laying down some lines

That resembled webs

And we got a bet goin'

To see who the real hustler is

And, I'm feeling lucky....

So, could you use your fucking hands And let me go back to sleep?

                                                        

Ain't no Cure for Suicide

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!

Ain't No Cure For Suicide

Wondering

What’s inside a demons pocket

Or if Satan’s liver

Is bad,

The masses are waiting

For me to pen

The great spider web sonnet

But I blew my stamp money

On cyanide

And there

Ain’t no cure for suicide.

These

Pricks with needles

Send me head over heels,

Tripping over sunflowers

While

The Father and Holy Ghost

Have gone fishin’…

The son, left behind,

To wrap up the trilogy,

A traveling salesman

Nailed from the very beginning

Hustling soul protection

And hot crucifixes,

Busted

Tossing halos out

To the pure and the mean

Like some Mardi Gras

For the angelic scene

And every time I think of my calling

I cry

Because I sold out resurrection

And their aint no cure for suicide

                                                 

circus of a waste of my fucking time

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!

Circus of a waste of my fucking time

Boom swagger boom

When I move across a room

I take up space and make noise

I work the room like

By forcing myself upon them

Laying them down

They assume the position

And I have a proposition

Considering my condition…

I leave a trail of scales

On my way to you

I can hypnotize you with my eyes

And I can  hiss and meow

Simultaneously

I mark my territory

With piss and bile

The revolving door of men

Who travel thru my den

Like a goddamn freak circus

And I should have learned my lesson…

But I still have a thing

For swallowing the knife

                                                            

final words

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.

Thanks for stopping by my poetry blog!

Final Words

When the cops come in

Following the dogs

Locked onto my scent.

The following dialogue

Will be the final one spoken

In the same room

with my corpse in one piece

Ever again.

“This is so, so terribly sad”

“Yes,” turns off my stereo

which was on repeat.

“she went out listening to Emo”