Your loss.
Not mine.
June 2013
2 posts
He's a real man. He can protect me
I hope he beats up ten guys
or hunts you a saber tooth cat
with a club
while he pushes and orders you
In all his ‘better-than-me’ glory
May 2013
6 posts
“Did it feel like you expected?”
“No” I said.
“It never does. What did it feel like?”
“Like it was myself that I killed. Does it get easier?”
My friend only shrugged.
“I hope not” I said.
My private eye alter ego Flint McQuiston has some questions for the two of us.
Crack a huge smile,
tell me it’s mine.
I’m already yours
I like sitting
next to
a little hate generator like you.
I feel pity,
but I can’t help but feel better too.
At least I don’t hate myself,
nearly as much as you.
April 2013
12 posts
Hunger
Food is this crazy thing nowadays,
and don’t misunderstand me.
It used to be *the* thing.
Now it’s just another crazy thing.
People live their whole lives never
really knowing what it means to eat.
So when their lettuce is
in the wrong spot,
or they didn’t get
extra sauce on the side,
their reaction is to be
concerned
with presentation.
Not the fact that ancient humans
were endurance hunters, and
chased down their prey for miles,
and miles.
That people picked and foraged
through thorns and weeds
to feed their family for a day.
or I suppose two,
if the beast was large,
and the pickings were
ripe.
But that’s just it.
There’s hardly a difference
anymore.
It’s not a complaint
that we can focus on
grand exploits
and undertakings,
now that food is right there.
It’s a complaint that
we’ve forgotten what we used to be.
So when the time comes
to fight for something. The thing.
We won’t know hunger,
when it claws at our chest.
I feel sexy
Being the nice guy
Who finishes last
In a game he’s not playing.
Special,
Like I win anyway.
“You could’ve probably made it through the 20 items or less line by now.”
“I’m not in a hurry… What am I gonna do, go home and look at my new socks?”
Headache Behind the Eyes
I kept looking at the door
wishing you’d come through it.
The TV flickered, I thought
about getting a cup of water.
I wrote some sideways words
in my notebook
and cut my finger
playing with the broken spiral binding.
You never did come through that door.
kiss me please?
yes, because you made a very tired boy smile just now
“I love you
but don’t know what
to do.” —Charles Bukowski (via fakeville)
but don’t know what
to do.” —Charles Bukowski (via fakeville)
‘It’s always been like this’
said the leaf borne in warm weather,
as he doesn’t even see the burnt
orange,
taking root in his veins.
‘Why would it change?’
He said.
His color became undeniable,
The cold was insurmountable,
He fell.
‘Why?’ He asked.
But all he heard was the wind,
because it had always been that way.
“
my father always said, “early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise.”
it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.
my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.
taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.
now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered
the world but I’ve avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people
one of whom
was
myself—someone my father
never
knew.
