Afternoon Antelope

i hear someone

walk through the door 

and keep staring

at my drink, 

expecting another old man

in the dive bar


so I’m surprised 

to see nice legs and a skirt

walk up next to me,

wait patiently 

for the bartender on the phone

and when she asks for

whiskey on the rocks, 

i feel my imagination run

to the end of its leash



but I’m sturdy

going back to my beer.

she downs her whiskey and leaves.

somebody says,

“did you see that girl?

what was she doing here?”

As The Cows Graze

american monotony

yawns another

stretch of sky

for me to

dwell in.

it’s noon

on a saturday.

i’ve had my coffee

and jerked off,

only to put on

Brahms no. 3

and ride the violins

toward my own



they say

everybody needs

a hobby.

i just like

being alone.

It’s All Fair

there is

no normal,

so we’re all

fucked up anyway.

it’s any drunk’s guess

how lost the world is,

and the ones

in big mansions

don’t know any more

than the ones

sleeping in

a doorway.

the student

is as mortal

as the teacher,

the silence

is another song,

and tomorrow

is just another


to now.

The 11:40 Red Line

having a cookie

with my coffee

and enduring

the obvious wait

on the rest of my life,

countless hours

fulfilling dull tasks

for money that’s never enough–

open skies with no room

for your soul.

all those bodies

stuffed into the train

and not one mind.

everything going,



and we can’t

say where.

Bathroom Humor

when the booze

starts working

and the stomach

is empty,

as the brain

echoes into

its own image–

i suffer

leopard farts

and greek drama:

persona coming out

another hole

twisted like turd cursive.


i put it

in a frame

and ask you

to hang it

on your bathroom wall.


you don’t want to offend…


may we both

get this shit

over with.

Quantum Kiss My Ass

i can’t tell

if i even care

but i suppose

that’s the approach

to writing

unless you want

to try.

no, no,

i know better

than that.

this drink

and this smoke

is all

it has to be.

as the 3am sky

folds in on itself

only to laugh rain

on the already homeless

and horizons line


to the length

that we can see,

i’d say this

written accident

has gone

far enough.




Landing On Two Feet

i guess it
works out because
i don’t care
if i fall down.
whatever the task,
whatever the glory,
it’s being able
to eat shit
that allows you
to shine.
if you try,
if you grip the wheel
too hard
you crash the car.
it’s those
un-resisted movements
matching rhythm
without naming
yet somehow writing
a poem.