Posted in Poetry


I am having the worst time of my life.

My business is going
to shit,
all because of a woman.

Not the sexy elderly kind. The kind that makes you
talk a lot about
killing your babies.
I need some damn space but she always
finds a way to cheap shot me and get me back on the train.

Then it’s just another week, maybe two of not eating and constant begging.

What a hell of a transition—at least,
that’s what I call it to the investors.

I’d just roll her straight down the hill, if that sort of thing was possible.
She is definitely
confusing me
than she is helping me.


the Devil

in a bottle.



Posted in Poetry

Loose Pieces

I’m not into buying Legos. They remind me too much of something my therapist told me—how my life couldn’t stand on a shakey foundation. There’s so much more to building a home than sticking a dog and some kids in the basement and telling yourself you’ve achieved some goals.

Or maybe there isn’t.

Maybe you’re just supposed to suck it up and live with someone you’re not in love with because that’s comfortable. And just raise some half decent kids, feed the dog, grow a beard.

At least until you step on one of those loose pieces. Trying to find the bathroom at 2AM, you remember that when you start with something broken, you’re bound to always be picking something up.



Posted in Poetry


She’s just a cheap
prototype of
a girlfriend

ain’t no one finds that sexy

Something about her smells
like a fart locked in a jar

If you were to let that
thing out
it’d basically take out
all of downtown

Of course I’m angry

There’s no warranty when
you get mixed up in
this sort of business

it’s not like I can
call the feds on her

they don’t give a crap about
that kinda stuff

They’re too busy

writing sonnets about
cocaine dependency and
metaphorical disembodiment.


Posted in Poetry


haven’t figured out how
to live

with anti-depressants, yet.

Every year I choose
January 1st
as the starting point, but I am

never ready to go.

People tell me that I need to pick
better priorities, that my resolve should be more
tugboat than raft. What they don’t understand

is that popping pills is not
like saying “Hellllloooooo!”
to an Americano in the morning.

Fun fact,

it’s more like trying to fuck a girl
with hiccups: every crest has a trough and no one really ever gets off.
You both
find a way to accept the numb.