Poem Poems

Falling Back

It’s getting
Darker and darker
Earlier and earlier
It will be dark
Just when
I open
My eyes

Raping of Virgins

I have God-dam nerve
Shoot my stuff
All over innocent
White defenseless pages

Your Last Bubble

You don’t give-up
All in one chunk
You give-up in drips
First, you give-up on a word
Then on the line
Then on the poem
By now, you are drowning
In a sea of aborted words
Who are angry at you
For not letting them exist
They push your head under
A pile of their fetuses
At the last second
You have a beginning line
Which turns out to be your last
It rises to the surface
And appears to the world
as a stupid bubble

Cheap Art

This could be yours
For 99 cents
Too much?
o.k. take three more
for 2 bucks heck
I’ll even throw in a very
non-poetic 48 inch plus plasma tv


Bunches of chrysanthemums
A chorus of cicadas
But not a god-damned hamburger
In sight

The trouble is

I like this
Even though it’s too short
And it’s not saying anything
It’s mine


Flour, cheese, sauce
Thrown in the air
A miracle
Delivered by man
Not by any goddamn God