Remaining Within

From Time Magazine
From Time Magazine

We walked to the wall

holding hands

As dry as sheets of paper

You had LOVE tattooed

On your fingers

I can remember,

Dark the ink was.

The wall held a series

Of graffiti. FEAR

Is a word I remember,

Seeing there

Written in a quick red slash.

“It’s on the inside.” You said

“It doesn’t come from the outside.”

I ran my knuckles against

The rough edges of bricks

Painted upon, over and over and over

Slight changes of colors null

I always felt I could feel

The humanity, even in the most

Hateful things, things that fear

My knuckles became scuffed

I bled a little, stillness—still

I bleed a little more—remembering  

The depth of your tattoo

Dry against my bosom

The wall isn’t finished, can’t be

You said

“There is a bag of bricks

Hidden in our bushes,

Ready to be thrown

at our windows.”

I didn’t put it together

Until now,

why the wall was here

Why you left, why others leave.

We now live in two separate times

I have a child now

I can’t find the bag of bricks


Hair Yell


It’s ok to use a little hairspray

To keep it out of your eyes

Glue it down, rearrange it

Before you lose your mind

And yell at the mirror

Blaming your cowlick

On that worn pillow

You named Mr. Flattie

Throwing aside Pregnant Betty

The pillow who’s too fluffy,

Yet leaves your hair alone.

Hey, it’s sleep or style

A choice many make during the night.

No wonder you’re naming pillows.

But, as you yell

At the reflection of a bird nest

On top of your morning-before-work head

You imagine that your hair is…

The split-ended image of a yell

Swept back, bird plumage, Trump-like

Angry words pushed forth

Ahead of any functional thought

As if the loud sound

Emanates from the pre-coffee era

Or the post postmodern alcohol crazy-shit era.

Making you wonder

Who has control of your mop top?

A Yodeler gone idiotic?

A Cavewoman in prehistoric menopause?

Your coworkers will wonder

Who you had an argument with.

Was it the whole of America?

We’re you poking your nose

in some other country’s junk drawer

Hoping to find a flat iron?

But, it’s more complex than that

You could style it all out

If it wasn’t for the damn bathroom

Louder than any other room.

Who designed them that way?

Why would anyone wish

To listen to shit at twice the volume?

Your toilet yelling becomes whiplash

A blowback, an implant, a fierce shot of wind

You can’t wear a hat all your life

Hoping it’ll protect you from overreacting.

You tangle with the hairspray

A cold mist surrounds your aura

Placing your roots back

Into the mild mold it knows

It’s time to catch the train


Remember, for later, at coffee break

If your yelling attempts to fly

Violently to one side or the other

Shut up

Schedule a hair appointment


American Grocery List


  1. Broccoli
  2. Carrots
  3. Romaine Lettuce
  4. Avocado
  5. Spinach
  6. Mary’s Virgin Olive Oil
  7. Dave’s Corporate Fiber Bread
  8. Weightwatchers scammy little peanut chipotle BBQ tempeh tenders
  9. Red Wine, preferably under ten dollars
  10. Soy curly fries
  11. Buy a salad, premade, in a plastic bag
  12. Put back the broccoli, carrots, lettuce, and spinach
  13. Buy Wishbone Blue Cheese Ranchy-like chunky salad dressing
  14. Buy Tony’s Frozen Pizza with cheese inside the crust, topped with exotic free-range animal meat
  15. Put back the Weightwatchers in the “Unhealthy” frozen section that for some strange reason needs to be separate from the “healthy” frozen section. The only determining factor is price.
  16. Buy Jo Jos- topped with chemically treated fake jalapeño gooey sauce
  17. Put back Mary’s virgin olive oil and the soy curly fries
  18. Buy a case of Budweiser or equivalent that’s on sale
  19. Put back red wine or not, THEN pause, making it look like you are deliberating on the issue of wine or beer for a half an hour, so it looks like you’re making important decisions.
  20. 2 pounds of hamburger with the highest possible fat content
  21. Wonder Bread 100% Whole Wheat genetically engineered Hamburger buns with seeds from unknown nuts, newly invented, imported, grown in the wilds of the Falklands and pieced together in Shanghai.
  22. Pretend you’re boycotting Dave’s Corporate Fiber bread, place it back on the appropriate shelf, with a little extra slam, finishing off with an angry look on your face, making sure you’re noticed by the nerd at the peanut butter grinding machine.
  23. Keep the avocado and let it rot on the kitchen counter


Last Of The Trick Or Treats


Little slim acne face

You know you’ve been jabbed at

Your laugh the littlest

A small-like snicker

Bedrooms are for hiding

No need to involve yourself

In overtime with the idiots…just

Dig into that last Halloween candy bag

Your grandmother bought you

For Christmas

And pull out the best Snickers you’ve got

You can see there’s no more

Monkey bars for you

Even though you will remember

The bark dust on the playground

Gets changed every other year

Sometimes it’s the big chunks

Other times, little

Still the slivers feel the same

You cling to the bars now, but

You want to lose your grip

On that coldest day of spring

When the metal stings your hands

Beginning a taste for chocolate

To soothe the curve of your hip

That bends the playground

Into lead memories full of twists

Will your first glass of wine

Make you dizzy?

Will she look like you…or?

The pain still resonates, but

Your new laughter is heard

Even while you hide in your room

You Are Never Gonna Be Written




There’s a sliver of night

That says to me, write

However, I gotta worry

About evening’s strange plight




Night is undependable

Unpredictable, and unreliable

It’s the “UnCola” ….it’s liable

To be too soft and pliable




My whims and thoughts

Into creepy plots

Making words bend

Into shapes like stinky socks!!!




Putrid verse into pockets

The stuff for silly lockets

Words that make me

Want to curse in never-ending “fuck its”. (I would say that’s stretching it a bit)




My stanzas don’t get squashed!

Making me wanna get sloshed!

There’s gotta be a muse

Who, like me, looks for that one missing galosh……………………….. (What?)




I start to feel a wee bit warm

An interesting idea begins to form

I’m attracted to its shape

A poem appears, like that! new born




That bastard named Revision

Catches me inside his windshield wiper of collision.——— ( I know, I know)

It’s an all-night job

Now, I’m stuck with a tough decision




I feel, I’m just scribbling a note

I wanna barf on a coat.————- (Good choice! It can be easily washed.)

I swear poetry

Is the art of the goat! ——(Oh, so now you’re evil?)




Day appears, crystal clean

Adding sense to the scene

And I realize poems

Need love before they are weaned





That calling of the night

That says to me, write

Depends upon morning bright

To make sure my poem’s got bite. ————–(Oh, you suck. You really suck.)




There’s a sliver of the next night

That says to me, again, write……..


(You bastard. You just took me back to the beginning. You’re a vicious loop. Just forget the whole thing! I’m going to bed! I’m not going to write you. Ha ha! You’ll be the one who suffers now. You won’t be written, EVER!!  Ha ha!! You won’t even exist and I can go on watching movies or playing video games, picking my nose and wasting as much time as I see fit. Whoo Hoo!!!!!!)