Tag Archives: poetry

sad boys

sad boys

live sad lives

in this sad town

in this sad world

with these sad wounds

that sadly won’t heal

with these sad smiles

and sad jobs

in this sad house

where even the walls cry.


Somewhere in Between


more drawings




more paintings


Of farts on



And massive babies

giving birth to tiny adults


Spindly Blue Men licking their own asses


Women Skydiving

with babies attached to umbilical cords

That are also skydiving

in spread eagle form

Wearing helmets

and parachutes

donning faces that fight the wind




When we look at them on canvas

We can’t help but laugh


Being 8th grade fuck boys

Which we still are

hiding in bags of Cheetos

that lie below beards

and Cheetos stained wine glasses

Partnernless and Stir Crazy

You should have said, yes

to the guy who asked you out at work

he could listen to your paranoia

so we wouldn’t have to

a lover would have better ears

Post Hoc Death Blues?

Traffic seemed to sludge by us and the sun hit our collective black shroud. While my sisters  son hid in front of me from pretty middle school girls yelling behind us, “Hey! Tyler!”, my sister, with red hair flowing and freckles gleaming in the light, said that Verona air smells like peaches and gasoline. Tyler’s friends were probably drinking cokes, eating disco fries and fun-dip, and talking about hot girls. Babies were being born somewhere, babies were dying somewhere, and I couldn’t deal with the intensity, so I put on my glasses to hide while we smiled to the girls because: What else do you do?!

It was a forgiving father that I saw at the post office smiling, but grimacing, because his daughter filled out a form wrong so they had to do it all over again.

And it was a smile because death is awkward and peaches and gasoline create beautifully fucked up tension.

So what else do you do besides calmly submit to the horrors of the endlessly intricate world, and smile in a confused transparent bubble.

cant you see?

will the pearly whites just slam shut

and stop that volatile spittle from spewing

i just dont have time to deal with your desires

your agenda is far from first

on the list of what matters at this moment to me


no one can pamper you

like a Mother can.

no one makes better mac and cheese;

or hot chocolate

just after you’ve come inside

from building a snow fort.

no one makes a better breakfast

on a lazy Sunday.

no one gives a better hug

than a Mother can.

no one gives better advice

when you don’t know what you’re doing

with your life.

no one is more comforting

when you’re having a rough day.

hell, No One else knows you well enough

to notice something was wrong.

untenanted words

I write songs with no music

I write hooks with no beat

I fly with no wings

I run with no feet

I drive with no wheels

Do you know how that feels?

I think with no brain

They call me insane

I swim with no air

I’m a broke millionaire

I act with no part

I end with no start

I love with no heart

That’s why I’m falling


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