Monthly Archives: August 2016

“Cursed with a Face of Ingenuous Exactitude”

Cursed with a face of ingenuous exactitude I’m afraid I am When I would rather have sun stroked eyes. . The underdog role would be more fierce, I think, An ability to see for miles down streets So wanting for my rapid movements. . Time and again, My inner oracle calls for a self-examination, And […]


This is the abbreviation for post-traumatic stress disorder. As a way of accounting for the extreme frequency of its applicability to individuals in the general public, we will hereby refer to it by its abbreviation.

“The Chronic American Misadventures of the Chicken Parmesan Sandwich”

I work right now in Central Indiana, Terre Haute. It’s a town right on I-70, 60,000 people. And I sh** you not, I’ve just had the best chicken parmesan sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. Let’s backtrack a bit here. Let’s go like, for instance, anywhere. Chicken parmesans suck thoroughly. Let’s start with Colorado. […]

“As Bad as Love Hurts”

As bad as love hurts When you’re 18, Swinging your mighty axe Before the bedeviled spirit of adulthood And making like whims Under gusts at the top of Mount Everest Just barely hanging on by your limber gait And your steely jaw, . The colors will start churning And churning The moment you get older, […]

“Gimme Fiction”

As you get older All the real issues become “fake issues” — Because nothing matters anymore — You’ve seen the spiritually helpless Head guru Stomp on any lives, Innocent necks, With proverbial cleats, And you’ve seen the cluttered masses scramble For distractions and dark movie theatres Leaving you to wonder at the Wishing from the […]


In her voice is like a contrapuntal marrow song, As her eyes fly a bee line into mine, Flopping and sloshing as we mix juices, Brilliant little blues and yellows Down there in the essential stream of life And I can imagine what dancing with her would be like To songs of the city from […]

“Brick Dust and Moxie”

The sociological missive is there — You are CONTINUALLY making something out of nothing, Just wanting to know your streets, Just wanting to smile at all the street signs and names, Have every moment be as in song, The wild weeds aching to get out of their plastic shells.

“Tract of the Guitar’s Shadow”

Life as an amoral injunction of aggression Around theoretically informant buildings Hits you after you’ve seen everything else, Which you’ve lost so long you’ve forgot what it felt like, Boredom turning your insides to Apples moving and oscillating As droll hazards of individuality.