new poems

All Things ConsideredI really don’t care
what you think 

so I’ll keep writing

this schism prose

if only to entertain myself

and my aunt confined 

to a wheelchair

who smiles 

when I stop reading.

Points to the sky

and says it’s raining.


Judas Reneges

I don’t need to explain shit.
Just take your thirty coins

an’ a nickel on the compound.

Take it. That’s all I got.

The lords of industry

have not been kind.

So my children have starved

and my wife is ill.

Thanks for the contract, scumbag.

But I’ll take it from here

from now on.



So that’s what old poets do.
Tell shoddy tales of subjugation

as preambles. Twelve minute studies

of three minute poems.



We’d progressed to the point
of extinction. So per her suggestion

I fuck myself and grab an’ espresso.

Children of the pestilence

say the darnedest things. 


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