Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

culinary tradition

Last Tuesday, I read an interesting article
about “The Top Ten Things Most People Don’t Know About”.
It blew my mind that #4 was: “When You Make Meatballs You Don’t Use Beef.”
Few things really shock me anymore, but I’ve got to say
this left me reeling.

Have we reached a point in human history
where shocking our fellow people is more important
than common sense, or are we just that far removed
from basic culinary tradition?

It’s days like this that make me glad my grandmother
isn’t alive to see how foolish society has become.
“What’s next?” she’d scream, “first you dump a big pile of shit on your plate and the next people will want to bring a fucking salad to work!”

Pardon her French, but Gramma never really was a big believer in roughage.


Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

below the eaves

I just want to spend
the whole day
smoking weed
like a chimney
& eavesdrop
for girlie things.

You know, like:
“I hope you have
a nice bike ride home”
“It’s ok Laura
I still love you”

I mean, it gets
really exhausting trying
to live up to what
everybody expects a boy
to be nowadays


Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

a good plan

i wonder if people like carly rae jepsen ever think about the money?

i mean, long distance rates are pretty wild these days.

maybe she just has a good plan

or maybe, she just genuinely believes in old cliches like

“money can’t buy love.”


Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

summer i

slashing cooked blacktop lane
dropping sticky layups around
imposter mutombo
floating teardrops over
wannabe mourning
burying treys in transition
off of rocky road crossovers





Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry


when i was in the sixth grade, my neighbour would stick her head out the window while my friends and i waited for the bus. she would scream about how dangerous microwaves were for society. covered in a thick, pasty-white cream, which i can only assume was SPF 50 or higher sunscreen. her most famous line was: “i know i’m gonna go out, but it’s not gonna be skin cancer.” then she’d spend the rest of the afternoon in her rocking chair slurring insults at panasonic, general electric, and maytag in between swigs of watermelon-lemon soda water.

momma used to say that if it weren’t for all of the cussin’, her rants would almost be poetic. heck, if fruity loops had been around back then, she’d probably have become a somewhat successful myspace rapper. that’s the thing about poor mental health: it’s cute when you can wrap up someone’s eccentricities up with a nice commodifiable bow.