Tuesday, September 17, 2019

Clementine

i held you like
the world was ending
but that couldn’t stop you
from slipping through my fingers 
like sand 
i wish i could bottle 
but you are meant for beaches
sunsets  with the waves 
crashing over you 
if I bottled you
the world would never forgive me 

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Mugshots, Obituaries, Major Awards

I remember when 
we were all bright
and smiles extended
past endless summer sky

I remember aspirations 
long since forgotten
a look in our eyes 
now unrecognizable 

We’ll always cling to 
these memories 
sweetened by time or 
made bitter in hindsight
for nothing is as good or true
as you remember it- 
but it’s how you remember it

If I could go back
I wouldn’t -
for what I’ve endured
I don’t wish to again

Thursday, February 28, 2019

Somewhere Between 007 and My Desperate Search of Verse

In the interest
of mending broken hearts
I bring you superglue and silly putty

For the one I've never minded to mend
I turn my heart to the east
but my fears lie to the west

Love is the death of duty
due diligence be damned
ripples from rocks skipped across seas

Nevermind never mine
Never you mind damn you
Lest the words explode

Like shrapnel from your chest
I will not hear a word of it
Yet even whispers cut all the same

Kiss me you fool
Celluloids illuminate the night sky
Black and white so unlike life

To live I'm sure
Death is
Whatever this is

Montauk, Bangkok
Little Italian villages
Owosso nestled between darkness

I'm uniquely qualified
To find myself hated
In every corner of the world

Yet wherever I have loved
Love
Has been sure to follow

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Persona Non Grata

Step out from the shadows
and let me get a look at you, little man.

So loud, so loud, yet
trouble growing into your pants.

You say you lost a lover along the way,
a friend makes two.

Your problems are their problems,
right, little man?

If you love me...
Do you love me...?
Oh, so you don't love me.

I've heard it all before,
taking what doesn't belong to you.

Little man,
do you think you are a man?

If you say so,
shifting uncomfortably in your skin.

Little man, how will you shrink
when the world is watching you,

Taunting you
with what you're so rightfully owed?

Put yourself together,
little man.

Fading into the ether,
all these years and a
pile of clay to make of it.

Materialize elsewhere,
little man.

Wade until you're saved,
sputter about how you nearly drowned
yet your feet always touching the floor.

But knowledge is violence
right, little man?

Abuse the privilege
until the privilege hits back.

Watch the little man cry about bruises
when he's left scars.

Little man,
do you think you are a man?

Little man,
I know who you are.

Little man,
I know what you are.

Crawl back into the shadows
or squirm in the light,

I don't care,
little man

No more,
no more.

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Abuse

I've become afraid
of the monster hiding behind closed doors.

Eyes like a void,
blank like death.

It doesn't know better,
hands where they don't belong

bruised lip quivers for forgiveness,
curling into a slick smile

rows of jagged teeth
the thrill of the hunt

The wolf and the sheep,
predator and prey, design-

playing the roles assigned.
Entitled monsters,

no means you know you want it
no isn't enough

not for the monster hiding
behind closed doors.



Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Anesthetic/Aesthetic

If I could be so eloquent,
to alleviate the swelling of words
festering like bacteria in my throat.
Like a rabid animal
foaming at the mouth
Jaws snapping, teeth gnashing.

Fever dreams,
I'm in the Garden of Eden
Slapping the apple from Eve's hand,
Rotten milk drips from her bosom
Adam clutches his side,
the serpent swallows its tail.

You say I'm beautiful the way
a tattoo is ugly as it heals.
Scabs obscuring some great art.
Scar tissue, fleshy and pink.
Dead skin falling
like snowflakes -
or ash,
depending on which
disaster you bring about.

Ointments and antibiotics do not do.
I'm prescribed free literature
sweaty pats on the back
the comfort of strangers.
Self-medicating, self-care malpractice.
Glossy brochures,
the bulge of pill bottles in my pockets.

Patchwork therapy keeps me together
with band-aids, duct tape,
bits of string collected through the years.
Help me by telling me everything
I want to hear.
Gold stars on my calendar for every
day I don't think of you.

If I could be so eloquent,
to alleviate the dumb thoughts
spreading like a rash over my brain.
The blisters so itchy and unsightly.
To say,
Doc, you gotta help me, Doc.
Find me a cure for this love,
whatever it was-
an infection.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Owosso Poem/The Jordan Sovis Fanclub

"It's like what Kurt Cobain said, man, 
'Weather changes moods.'" - Remy 

Those who romanticize small towns
never had their heartbroken by one.

Places where the brightest minds
all fall to darkness.

Where the flames of passions are
extinguished by the icy chill of indifference.

Where light isn't a strong enough disinfectant
to cleanse the legacy of bigotry-
from Confederate flags to the KKK.

I was born of this dysfunction.
The cracked streets and impoverished
blocks whose sidewalks I had traced
with my feet for years, as if trying to
etch my name into the city,
anything to leave my mark.

Naivete gave way to residual angst,
contempt that familiarity breeds.

Maybe it's the memories I hate,
making times past still feel so raw.
Maybe it's bitterness.
Maybe it's the dead friends.
the dying friends,
those rotting away because of a system
that has fucking failed them-
and a community that refuses to support them.

This isn't a rant,
this is a warning.

A love letter
Dear Owosso,

Your quiet intolerance
Your White Trash malevolence,
a toxicity that's hereditary
passing down an ignorance
that's resistant to medicine.

Where the artist will die,
malnourished unless they
find fertile soil. 

Where the art scene is more
of a cult than community.

Where the only poetry is found
in a pastor's sermon.

Owosso, you made me out
of what you couldn't provide.

Where boredom equals death.

Where I learned
to never look back.