Doom Mary 3

elegy for virtue

long since lost

in forever youthful gazing


sculpting clouds

into faces

back when slow warm breezes

never stopped blowing

over teased hairs raised high

sprouted out of

tender taut skin

while Summer’s honey mouth

licked her slow lingering lesson

she read the boy’s reverence

on the Braille of his body

as he stared dogged

daring & unblinking

back into face of the sun


until the world he created

withered around him

like a dry cock

dangling limp

& he let go, finally

& wasted along with it


A Terrible Death for the Octopus

live with one foot in the grave always
take deep breaths every Spring Morning you are breathing
don’t feel ashamed to enjoy the day
from inside a dark room

out through a dirty window
the tightrope ballet is our lot
to enjoy all the vast bounty
without over indulgence

hungry ghosts be damned
I want another beer
and/or Italian custard

an Octopus death deep sea
sees limp legs dwindle down
deeper into the blankets
of sand and water
to shore to shore
and to wash up finally through Kerouac’s

onto beaches onto beach
reaches blind
with its sand studded
rubbery sea paw
up for the last last





Poet’s Wax

for Michael S. Begnal

paranoid in a solarium at night
the yellow tongues of bulbs
bathed wood-grain and skin
side eye ears listen to the creak and hiss of late noises
settling monuments and function
wary and earshooting
late night dick on rounds and me
stoned on the clock
poet’s ear waxing
table sat
muse hard
little long cold fingers white in the knuckle clenchpen
scratch a code in
odelay anadalaide a ladel lee
cracked hymns, it’s fore ayem!

Photo on 4-7-15 at 4.16 PM #2

my agent is better than your agent (my agent is your mom)

1) i told my agent that i’m more likely to be mouth-fucked by a dragon than fall asleep on a bus so she bought me a helicopter

2) my agent got me an iced-up chain so now my jewelry game is overtime

3) my agent informed me as our helicopter landed in bushwick
that ironic shorts were on the agenda

she bought me ironic shorts
for the erotic slam

4) my agent is so into me being in her when we’re off the clock, but during working hours bro, hand-checks on point

5) your mom was like “we’re all frauds, find a con you dig”

i fucking❤❤❤ your mom


A Poem For St Joan

I dig this cock I now own,
but once trounced fools
with the flaming sword of Saint Joan

on blooded jaws
but there was too much damned applause

we wept blood when tears ran dry
and always tasted
by extended tongue tip
the salty sad irons of eye

as we learned how to say he instead of she
she instead of