22nd week of poetry

March 27


Mr. Feeny in the house bitch

Education yeah

Watch too much Boy Meets World

Your eyes will bleed

Yeah Science!


March 28


Lilac flowers

Look like pussies

Pussy flowers

Look like Lilacs

Or Dandelions

Or beautiful fleshy skinful roses

Whatever that means, am I right?


March 29


Bye Bye Forever

Old towns and new towns soon to follow

A life in the sky

A life underwater

Sky hooks you around

Sky-hooks all around

Brian Scalabrine-ing everything

White Mamba on the loose

Yes Yes, that’s the life, isn’t it?

I hope it is *if it’s not I’m fucked*

Time to go watch Boy Meets World some more

And try and stave off some headaches

(And play some basketball, huzzah.)


March 30, 2013


Went out today

Saw God in a basketball

“Godlier” children and teenagers tried to read me like a fortune cookie

And all I heard was vague generalities

Some songs and prayers were had

on my behalf, I guess since it’s Easter and all

Fuck Easter

Who gives a shit about the Easter Bunny or about the celebration of the Lord or about anything else?

I worship vagina and basketball and literature and life and death and coffee, hell fuck yeah do I worship coffee

So why not spill my guts out

And open my soul up

And be as awkward and as nauseatingly honest as possible?

What’s not to love, fellow poet laureates of the night?



March 31


Acne souls everywhere

What’s the point

Pizza face

I’m hungry

Self-sustaining economic bankruptcy networks

Watching Always Sunny in Philly

And watching sports highlights for hours on end

And reading John Dufresne

This is probably my summer vacation in some odd way,

Selah. Cazart.
I’m Done.


April 1


Sherlock on BBC

I’m still waiting for Series 3




April 2


America America

Oh beautiful America

Star-spangled eagle

Huge-tittied flags

Never-ending green lawns of vaginas

Never-ending threats of death under oath by

Judge, Jury, Executioner, and the Media, as well

Ball so hard

And I guess I’m supposed to like a

Fuck it, burn it

Burn it all

America, America

Why must you disappoint yourself?

Why must we continue this lie?

Why should a poem like this

Be able to capture every single little moment

of your tired existence?

Hell, the world’s not any better,

But, let’s not kid ourselves here:

You’re no better than anyone else.

So what we can buy designer clothes?

That shit will fade away, and will need to be replaced

by NEW ones, made in China, just the way we like it, right folks?

Everything. Made. In. CHINA.

What exactly do we do, again? Besides dumb ourselves down

and try E and try this and a little of that and voila, it’s all the same shit, anyway

Whatever man, just go out, man, just party, dude, go to the movies man and don’t worry,

society will remind you to buy that new phone or that new car otherwise you’ll never amount to shit because of a million and one commercials goddamn they’re everywhere

It must be hell to be an ad exec

It must be hell for the Devil to deal with these scumbags

I’m not dealing with it anymore

I quit

I quit trying to bend down for this society of commercial garbage

And no, I’m not better than any of it, but I don’t pretend to be ignorant

America America

You’ve betrayed yourself

But maybe the flame will come alive again

Or maybe not

Who’s to say, anyway?

I guess I’m like Shaq that way: I’m done(and I still need my rings, damnit.)


Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare

       Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare


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