WALSTS

for Mary on her 29^th birthday

you mean so much to me

it’s just not worth calculating – like the time I would spend

tallying it all up is better spent

writing something no one will read but you

have you ever tried to use a calculator as a shoe horn

or a whisk? It’s nearly useless in its omnipresent usefulness

as if the un-keyed numbers inside the machine

have histories of their own

& are unwilling to tell us, those bastards

I’ve figured out that there will always be new

restaurants to try with you, new and violent movies

to force you to watch, video games

where we murder thousands, literally

& places to explore – the limitless cracks in the

basement that we spelunk with headlamps &

40s of horse spit – the floating faces in neighbor’s window

as we mimic the mating calls of owls or just

our own mating calls whatever

fantastic, we will read about it

because I’ll force us to do that too  

we play pool together & calculate what each other

are looking at: high def televisions, buffalo chicken wings

Bocce & crotches & the fools that make this life

so fucking good to live

with you, I’m saying

that’s the whole point, right? This, right here

is very exciting & no one should be allowed to use the

word love in a poem. Anyone that does should have their

hands chopped off

& set out on the sidewalk as a warning to all

poets & people entertaining the notion that someday,

through hard work & countless rejections,

they might be a poet

so much of the calculation isn’t figuring out what

to do, but what not to do. There’s only one calculator

that can figure out restraint – which ball to hit & at what angle –

how much will this really make me happy? Watching you

whisk or flip or marinate poolside in the great state of Texas

all of these questions are much easier 

for the most part

love does that to you

the change is a subtle as a comma, but easier to use correctly

because you make that easy too

I mean, you mean, we all mean something to someone

I love you

here's a fucking poem

here is a photo of a dead person, here

is another. I took this photo of

a living person & now, after some time living,

they are dead.

I never bothered valuing the time between

the photo & the fact

because who the fuck has time for that?

*

I gathered up

what self-esteem I had & plunged myself

into success

& look at all the power I’m enjoying now

look at all this power. It’s hard to focus on

living things when there’s just one

dead thing in the photo – we crowd around the idea

& let the loudest heart applaud

*

how much can one image change you? If the

internet is ever present, there is no way to

really leave the room. Here’s a photo that was

never intended to leave your phone – here’s one

of you panicked, all alone, giving birth to

the idea before the idea   

*

good morning all you Millennials. I am so, so

sorry

*

here is photographic proof of

the best poem

ever written

by a person

*

now that I have so much power, strangers

play tricks on me. Like,

here is a photo of you cumming. Here is a different photo

of me cumming. Some stranger used Photoshop

& sliced us together & now I spend my powerful days

tracing each retweet deeper into the Tumblr

to find the space we might have shared

albeit artificial & ultimately unsatisfying. Other

strangers comment:

that doesn’t look like them at all

I try my hardest to ignore the most trivial

& fail

& fail harder

special poem for the new book of poems - Newlights Press 2012

Prayer for Heads

Oh hi, you weak

& vulnerable head

Oh hey, you

half eaten person

with personal

matters & dates

other heads don’t

care so much –

in the gutter here

becoming vilified

as butter

if this book were

a head, you

could eat it

instead of tacos

or Miami

if this book were

Dick Cheney

you’d be thumbing

an asshole 

TABFBTICSLT

you will never catch me repeating shit

over & over in a poem. Would you like to

know why? There’s a band from Baltimore that

I can’t stop listening to – there’s a band from

Baltimore yes yes yes!

*

we have so little to say because all we have left

is archery – when you’re tempted to make it personal

just make it universal – like two painted angels looking

bored. Now that’s speaks to me hotly, like an arrow

through the back of someone’s head, like my friend

nailing headshots on the couch next to me, ping spinning helmet

like this game was made for making heads geyser

*

so much of it is the sound

*

Just when you think you have it figured out, you remember

it’s all about contours  – this might not be completely true

– principles create principles

until we can’t identify the origin of the rule – the imagery

repeats in heaps of beauty. The word okay was

said over seven thousand  times during the four days

of this conference &, more often than not,  it was the

most useful word in the room

*

there a band from Gainesville that I can’t stop listening

to – there’s a band from Gainesville – why why why?

any professional who uses “think outside the box” in a

serious context needs to start masturbating

every single day. They need to invite the virus &

boil their blood until it isn’t poisonous

*

people repeat themselves all the time. I was in a

Civil War workshop & someone asked, “Why didn’t they

use bows and arrows in the Civil War?” and the professor

answered, “This country was founded on exploding,

you nitwit.” Everything you write, no matter how much

love lives in the letters, is a criticism of something. That

is the magic of language. Definitions are never

singular occurrences – if you’re the last one on the planet

you automatically have no name

*

deep down, we’re all survivalists, we all want to watch

the end of the world happen to someone else. We

had sex in the woods & we shot rifles & we talked about

precision & we watched one of the best rock shows this

city has ever seen & we survived it  

*

there’s a band from Detroit that I can’t stop

listening to – there’s a band from Detroit wah wah wah –

I miss that music feeling that music use to make me feel, but now

I get it from things I used to make fun of.  I’m in love again.

Am I allowed to say that? Sure!

*

nock the arrow, pull back slow,

aim for the chest or face or neck, I’ve been

told to hold my breath

*

 I’ve allowed myself this 

TFIEG

we don’t talk just to hear ourselves, we talk


to hear ourselves – you can tell people what they want to hear


as long as you’re in love with the idea too. They will


believe you. Hey, that tree over there, that


tree over there did something miraculous & we both


missed it because we were talking. You walk up to the


tree & ask






*






let’s not focus on what we shouldn’t be saying. Instead


let’s focus on how great this beer is &


how moderation is sexy. Dinosaur jokes never get old


because they were around way longer than man. There’re


conflicting wikis on this, but a very depressed pterodactyl


told the first knock-knock joke. It went like this






*






no one ever said, “Jesus, a poem would be really good


right about now.” – mainly because the rules of dating


have changed a bit, and it’s possible to talk about


the transaction while the transaction is happening.


There’s faith in every gesture. Even running is faith-based.


I fall a little off my stool. Laugh. Lose my car. You like


that part, too. No one ever said, “That tree


would look much better on fire.” No one


ever said






*






we listen to the tree, but it speaks tree language &


we have no idea what the fuck it’s saying. Things I don’t say:


Uday had a golden Kalashnikov. Uday fed women to feral dogs.


Uday electrocuted men’s testicles black. I wonder


more about the words between your words –


how your laugh-germ glees & subsides – how the


infectious stare leads me there






*






there are nations where, in order to qualify for public


office, you have to be a proficient skeet shooter. I


am saving all my rainy day money to visit this country,


and I hope you will join me

IPMYC&TWAT

I call your phone & your phone calls my phone


& that’s how it begins. Simple, right? The tattoo


underneath the tattoo


speaks the language I want to learn. I put my ear


to it, the warm part lip dabbing. Above me, you look


anguished. Then royalty! Then kinda anguished


again. Just remember, a man


invented marriage just like a man invented


months. And windows. And delicacies. The only things


we have to teach each other


are things we already know




*




the idea of myself that I love


is very different from the idea of myself that you love, but now


we have more control over those ideas – what pic will be your pic


& what people get to see it. I watch the other you


do the other things you love to do & money


showers the room




*



my abandoned profiles Frankenstein somewhere.


They crawl the dungeons of listservs looking to party.


They have more hair & a lot less money – cigar nubs & mounting


doubt. Let’s load up & hunt the 22 year old online Justin Sirois down


like the confused prick that he is





*




things got rather Black Metal then. I forgot how to


talk on the phone, I forgot how to pet a dog, I finally


forgot how to burrito. Sadness is pocket-size


& can fill a gymnasium. Somewhere along the way


I got mean. I stopped loving. I sharpened every pencil


in the house. I sewed special pockets into my jeans


for sharpened things. I locked the door. I pulled out


of the driveway. The road ripened


& disappeared




*



years




*





dark-blunder & waste. Tiny assholes* separate the


good stuff from the good stuff




*




when you Googled & found Justin he was a bit older. Less hair.


More expensive boots. He seemed a little unfocused, but


passionate about something. He wanted to use the word


healthy in place of rad




*




everything wasn’t lost, though. I eventually remembered


how to burrito. I saw a woman release a jar of


lightning bugs half way through a lackluster summer comedy


& the theatre swooned & everyone took off their shirts. Look!


The shape of my skull started to resemble to shape of


faith & I learn how to properly use a semi-colon & I probably


made you laugh maybe


& that was awesome, too

YSYSYS

I saw you yesterday


& lost a little bit of my cool.


What else to do? Looking for the moon through


the daylight – fight the night fight – find


a few dollars in your jean pocket. GIF animations will always


be relevant because there’s no beginning & no end


– you just enter it


& stare & there we are. Hey!






*






you saw me driving the other day, driving


the day around with the stereo loud. I put my arm


around the day, smiling lions. Cheese burger or


no cheese burger? Good problems. I backed the car


up to the tree line & opened the hatchback & played


music for the trees and animals and inserts. Everyone danced.


That’s what!






*






that’s what I like about seeing you – how the laugh atoms


succotash & the good infection snakes my stomach. Sometimes


I’ll watch the same GIF animation over & over – things get unclear


& then there is always someone there to pour the


cool back in you. Hey, hey heart attack in my foot. Hey,


hey Uzi in my trunk. You say, you say you set


the sequence & hit repeat & complain when


the quenched thing can’t be quenched – again


with the thing – I saw you yesterday

poem - IMATAMY

CATHOLE

CATHOLE will be available in a new book named CATHOLE in early 2014. More soon. 

video!poem - TWWDATOETOAA

video!poem - OYHSTWTM

NWIDTTTMIA

.


deciphering at the traces & I hope that’s you

clicking through. Most of what we know, we imagine

& that’s ok – it makes words so much more valuable. So,

like,

keep coming, keep kneading the mouse. I know it’s

you on the other side of the box

where the thinking happens

& the thinking makes more thinking happen
.
.
*
.
.
assume there’s a puma looking into your bedroom window

while you masturbate. The puma doesn’t care

if you’re still wearing your underwear

or if there’s a beer bottle on the nightstand. He’s

not your father! He just wants whatever he can’t reach

just like the neighbors who called the police

a minute ago
.
.
*
.
.
if the internet is about honesty & transparency, then

what gets better than the internet? That’s at its best, though

& you can’t talk about best & worst

if you’re going to get anything accomplished. The puma

ate the cardinal who at the ant

who never assumed anything in his life. That’s what

you get for honesty
.
.
 *
.
.
sometimes I know it was you. I love

imagining where the thought ran to, where

opinion is putty or plastic explosive or both
.
.
*
.
.
 next week I’ll drive to the Thurgood Marshall International

Airport. I’ll zombie through security & I’ll

get on an airplane. I’ll want to

put my arms around every mother & father

son & stewardess. I’ll wake up in a smokeless cavity

where no one can see me

except the ant

& the cardinal

& the puma

.
.
*
.
.
logoff on the good side of the bed

.

HTAYKSSS

I sat down here today (it’s early here today)

& said, “I’m going to write something

powerful!” & then I said, “That’s the

worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.”


*

growing up

fireworks were our first masturbation –

at least we were encouraged to experiment

& build – we could use any saw or axe

in the garage, murder trees, design our

own planet – we could maim the legs

of the Free State as long as the Free State

could still walk straight come dinner. Hither

through the woods. The skinned knee

heals like a map we follow for the rest

of our lives


*


she never makes promises

just in case she can't keep them. There

is something I admire about that

but I’ll never understand why – she says,

after I touch her tiny shoulder,

“You touch it, you scratch it!”

& there I am, scratching her back

in the kitchen I never grew up in


*


I love this house, but it’s still a weird

place. A cat over here. One farting over there.

Weightlifting the electric bills. Evidence of

splendor on paper plates. I will honor

all of you when you’re gone

with jokes & insults & endowments of shit


*


I say shit too much.

I don’t know how not to.

It’s as prevalent as ketchup, but worse

for civilization. Really. You can blame

every evil on ketchup. Why do Americans

cover their dinner in liquid candy? Because

no one told them it’s disgusting


*


the only thing nine volt batteries

are good for now is powering fire detectors

& guitar pedals -- both are responsible

for saving an equal number of lives in

American lives. Heroes save people

from one sort of fire or another. Artists

do the opposite. Bring me the heads

of my family, the severed heads of

my friends & colleagues, twisted &

swinging giblets by their hair – bring every

Facebook & Twitter head I’ve never met –

the cute, the trolls, the combustible egos.

Pile them in the middle of the living room

where my head will be like the angel head on

the Christmas tree of moldering stupid

& open my house to the public



*


we’re not always this morose



*


she wrote something on my hand that never

washed off. The gosh, the ghoulishness

tattooed inside the mouth like a wallet



*


now I’m lonely. Boo hoo hoo.

Can you come over & help me move all

these heads out of the living room? They’re

blocking the TV & I want to play this first

person shooter where my family is chasing me

through post apocalyptic DC & the monuments

are skinless fingers in the distance

& the goal is to make infinity not cliché

THISJFOSTCL

for Bassie
(1998 - 2010)



some people say

dogs are parasites. If that’s true

then cats are demons

that hug your face & plant their fetus

down your esophagus

where it snuggles in a writhing coil

until it unwinds out your pureed cave. Pukey

hairballs on the stove burner again –

that’s a unique smell to come home to. Clean

& hug & repeat


*


I’d like to think I found you

by myself, but that’s never really the case. No act

of love is private – there’s no privacy

in love. Dusty thing in a thrift store

brand new to me. What fits in the hand

grows into armfuls & infamy

& then there’s all that hair to sweep

& a Mount St. Helens of poop.

There I go talking about love

what the hell?


*


all your mothers text:

where are you?

all your mothers comment:

in the bathtub licking the drain, stupid!


*


now that you’re gone, how do I know

if I was good to you? As good as I could have been –

there was no one to ask then

& no one to ask now. NPR in the kitchen. The house

is just full of stuff that can’t listen


*


I’m not normally sentimental.

I’m not normally this kind.

I spend too much money in restaurants.

I come home late & you’re still my best friend.

Deadbolt spits out keys like a baby, Jim Beam me to bed

where the old cat rules my legs

ATTWD

right now, I’m doing like

eight things at once – but really I’m

just writing a poem which is always

like doing three things at once

if the poem is any good. If you’re

reading this at 6am on a weekday

I’m probably doing ffffour things

at once – if you’re reading this

at 2am on a Saturday

I’m circling the high-rises

of your shoulders & you’re

fogging the highest window


*


what are you doing? Get over here

at once! I need some help meditating.

Bring some Beam & a pizza

bring all the games you usually bring

to make these breathing exercises easier


*


the best part of the 21st century, I can already tell,

was when the internet started making sense –

& then all of a sudden

it stopped making sense. You pop up

& disappear – wait & wait for the

opportunity. Fingers become batteries

in the mouth. Lick the window

& your reflection licks back


*


email while coffee while remembering
I forgot to while readjusting while face
lotion while facebook & tracking numbers
while voicemail while cute kittens &
cute cheeks & somehow you liked that
more than I thought you would while
half dream & alert reminder & stat counter
while just now realizing those new Old Spice
ads might be working on me


*


hurry!


*


I will spoon out my eyes, let them

dangle like Tabasco yoyos – I will free my teeth

with a smashed pint glass unless you

hurry up

& get to the point

because I have so much to do before my body

fails me & I will only be able to do one thing

at once

YCUABOCATA

come over here –

come right over here & lay down –

kill some time with me, laying here, it’s

that easy laying here. The first time

you sleep in someone else’s bed

you know them a little less


*


I’ve shot so many people in videogames,

I’ve wasted so much time, how many people

do you think we’ve wasted? The developers

rewound the headshot thousands of times,

marveling at the physics & the splatter

& I lay here marveling, too – dying

in a room I’ve never seen


*


you text:

come over here

I text:

where?

you text:

right here


*


you drive under a burnt out car & take aim

at the spot on my back where you’ve

danced your hand. Your sights shake. You

hold your breath. The recoil from the

rifle pops higher than you expect

snapping my head off at the hose – flipping

grimly like a blood dipped pinwheel.

We spray laughing bits of pretzel. We

venture out for another


*


you text:

you kill me

I text:

over & over & over


*


over here

OYHSTWTM

the man who first said, “I will have them

eating out of my hands!” never fed an animal

in his life. He never cooked a meal for his mother

or his son or his wife – never bought a meal

for anyone but himself – but once, on

an airplane, he passed a coffee to the person

next to him because the stewardess

couldn’t reach


*


they only way I’ve survived this long

is that I can taste the thing before I’ve

put it to my tongue


*


I would let you


*


you’re careful not to get your fingers bitten

as you should be

they are lovely fingers


*


I’ve never been truly hungry – close to starvation or

too weak to cry. There are two types of people

in this world

men

&

women

& they crawl through the blackness

towards one another, locking mouths

in the months before elections


*


people who have experienced great loss

& great love, great war & great weirdness

don’t really talk about it much. & why would they?

People who eat out of peoples’ hands, they talk

as loud as they can.

No one listens to them



*


you open your hands

show them what they’re missing

WAPAUSHTGOWYLD

today, I succumb to the obvious –

we were born between periods in time

that historians still struggle to name;

Generation Applebee’s upgrades from career

to career, allegiance to the feed. Generation

Beta can’t work at all, rubbing one out

on the clock’s face – between the toke

& the title menu. Halleluiah! Today, I succumb!

I’m part of that unwilling & crippled Generation

fueled by unmanageable debt

infertile by their own fields



*


oh, that’s fine. At least we still have conversation,

at least I can still make you kick. When I get

all serious, people stop paying attention. It’s like

those terrible political activist paintings that obviously

hate their audience.

Why bother, we think. &

why are pants & underwear

so hard to get off when you’re lying down?


*

World War I used to be called

the Great War

just like the Great Depression

used to be called the Great Depression


*


blame gravity when there’s no one else in the room

or Salinger

yeah, that’s easier



*


in this short time together, lying here, struggling

with the obvious, I’ve decided to name the thing –

not so you know what I’m talking about

I’ve never been worried about that

but to put some magic back

where the magic was

& now we’re magic

BWASTMTAILF

there’s a term for when the movie trailer

is better than the actual movie

& there’s a term for when

the picture that you think of when we look at you

isn’t the picture we actually see


*


love has been the least rewarding endeavor

of my life. No, that’s not right. It’s

been the most rewarding. Let’s be honest

with ourselves, let’s not kid ourselves anymore –

the only thing that’s keeping us from each other

is everything we’ve learned about ourselves

& really, how little

is that?



*


riding in my car last night after getting

the alignment fixed, I leaned out the window

& a potato chip bag on the sidewalk said,

“I was never in love with the people

I had the most fun with.”

& that was ok

because who wants to be in love with a bag?



*


I got the courage

& then lost the courage

& now it’s all about being comfortable

with that



*


one day the profile will update itself

& the other me will have dinner

with the other you & they will have

the loveliest time. Weird. There’s footage of it.

We’ll watch all that when we have time –

& we’ll make time

because we’ve already seen the movie trailer

& it looks pretty sweet

IMATAYM

when the metaphor fails us

we just talk directly at the thing – like your

body is a temple, but it’s squishy & I love

to put my face in it. The man who

invented the knock-knock joke

shot himself & lived. He was a

rotten & charming man


*


you need no excuse today. There’s an app that

calls your boss & says

_________ won’t be coming in today

because _________ …zzzzz… zzz

& then there’s horrid screaming! & a lion

roaring! & the kitchen stove turns inside-out! & it’s

obvious why _________ might have to

lay in bed until the drawbridge relaxes

into dystrophy


*


as much as we labored, it didn’t totally work out.

It was awesome, though! I promise!

Look at us glowing

over the internet. I know you were

here

& I take comfort in knowing

you’re still curious

about my rotten charm


*


who is more grateful for the drawbridge

the cruise liner or the car? Or maybe the news anchor

who made & then ruined his career by

open & closing

& open

things he knew nothing about. I’m just as happy

watching the drawbridge

as I am driving over

or floating under it. Is that weird?

Simply watching? It’s just a

damn drawbridge