activism addiction affectation Americana art atheism baseball writing behavior belief cemeteries chronology civility divinity festivities fucking funerals geneology government government and a lack thereof happiness Hell history human behavior iconography insects Jazz kindness Lent literature local color love poetry medicine mourning nature nightmares non-fiction pandemics poetry politics pop culture psychology punk puppies religion Uncategorized



will sell you

candy cigarettes,


Camel Wides,



nicotine patches,

life insurance,

and a bronze casket


in one lifetime.

addiction Americana art ecology humanity nature nightmares pandemics religion science Uncategorized war waste

we have forgotten to call our mothers

as the ocean reclaims the land

and our comfort level with it

we will realize in a collective gasp

we have squandered

centuries of invention, blood, and privilege

with human conceit


we have wasted every memory

every idea

every love

by failing the planet


we have forgotten to call our mothers

as we were killing each other



and inflexible




don’t go crying to science

science tried to tell us long ago


so eat your nachos

and barbecued chemistry lab meats

cheer on your gladiator teams

as they bash their skulls together in a coliseum

enjoy the halftime performers as they twerk and bleat


live stream a diversion

drink your wine and craft beer from sustainable bottles


insert artisanal tampons made from the wool of

vegetarian  fed sheep


file your taxes


don’t you look pretty

with thicker, fuller lashes

drop your child off anywhere

so long as you don’t hear their screams


pay for neon sex

on the latest smartphone

with that one last good credit card


swipe the strip or insert the chip

but do it hard,

consumer culture,

more, baby, more


a civilization

blindfolded in agreement

and a few syphilitic mosquitoes

is all the next

mass extinction needs






with perfect nonchalance

when Andy Warhol

was shot with a gun

i’d like to think he fell to the ground

with perfect nonchalance

activism film journalism poetry sociology writing

where have you gone, joe dimaggio?


is the purest

form of journalism

in an age stripped
of its innocence


where the huddled masses

are reeling from the latest

upgraded Halliburton version

of the vietnam war


as children of the eighties

we wore throwback peace signs

waxed romantic for woodstock

and tie dyed everything

because we wanted in on the optimism

the blatant irreverence

we wanted a hit off their cause


now we have our own vietnam

and our children are craving

the eighties


a time we considered

a decade of decadence

coining the phrase greed is good

yet they view it as a simpler time


i suppose

that is the natural order of things

in an unnatural world



in the eighties

we still had food

that would biodegrade

because it wasn’t

made from polymers


pete rose

didn’t break my town’s heart

’til 89

after having made it swell to heaven

in 84


don’t make direct contact with another human

don’t believe anything the government tells you is the truth

and don’t drink the water

as mr. murrow would say

ladies and gentlemen…


good night, and good luck 




Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

eating meat and wearing fur

there i was

upper middle class
grocery store fabulous
smelling of expensive perfume
made from the tears of persian cats
shopping in heels
where everything costs more
for hubris’ sake

giggling amidst the pork tenderloins
thinking about the weekend
we spent
having too much sex
justifying all of it

i knew you were a liar, vagabond, and thief

what’s worse, a drummer, jesus

but i was raised poor

we were taught
never to waste
good meat

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

something blue

i’m so sick
of this marketing campaign
to make marriage and child bearing
seem like the utmost a woman may attain
beyond a degree from college

as if life will be as breezy and pristine
as a morning talk show segment

where they tell you how happy and excited
you should feel over a pretty princess wedding dress
so expensive it could feed a third world county
for a week
and the promise of stainless steel appliances
to follow

yes begin your life indebted
spend thirty grand on the ceremony and reception
spare no expense
as it will be one of the last days you’ll feel pretty

thoughts of how lovely
the bridesmaids looked
and the lemon raspberry cake
will carry you through those moments
of doubt
as you scrub the grass stains out of your loving husband’s socks
and his feces from under the rim of the toilet

while he sits in his recliner
waiting for dinner
feeling trapped

give up the dreams you had
the day you signed up for freshman english
make no mistake
a career comes second
your job is to give life to new consumers

focus on the best diaper pail
to contain your little angel’s shit smell

find the most realistic bottle feeding system
for when your nipples are too cracked and bloody to be suckled

should be enough
to feel fulfilled

and pretty please with sugar on top
buy into all the hype about how giving birth
is the most beautiful thing you’ll ever experience

at home or in a hospital
submerged in water
or perched upon
the latest designer
baby crapping equipment

you will feel like the belle of the ball
as you vomit over the bedside
shit and piss yourself as you push push push
and experience the magic
of your flesh ripped apart
from your vagina to your asshole

and as soon as those stitches heal
back on your horse, cowgirl

go back to work because
you’re not a woman if you can’t manage
this domestic three ring circus

leave your baby at a daycare for ten hours a day
you’ll be sure it’s the next best thing
to a baby bonding with its mother

yes, young lady
it will all be perfect

until the first
grade school diagnosis
mass lay-off
and house fire

makes you question
why you didn’t run away
from the altar screaming

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


last night i fell asleep
reading on the couch
waking at 1 a.m. to find the television on

the screen displayed a commercial
featuring a woman applying makeup in a mirror
explaining to her bumbling husband
who was showering
(and illiterate for the purpose of this advertisement)
that he was washing his face with
her ph balanced summer’s eve feminine wash

she said if it was gentle enough for his face
it was gentle enough for her “V”
yes, you read that correctly
she actually referred to her vagina as
the letter “V”

i take issue with douchepeddlers
who are afraid to use the word vagina

but more than this
i take issue with the false dynamics necessary
to convince a woman
she needs to purchase a special soap
to wash her mysterious nether regions

it requires making a vaginal soap that reads
“External Use Only” on the bottle
what a mixed message

it requires a marketing campaign
creating the fear that your vagina
will smell like swamp snatch if you get caught using ordinary soaps or washes

it requires consumerism as disease
lurking within your female genitalia

it requires willing suspension of disbelief
and forgetting that women
somehow managed to wash their crotches
before 2008

and their is no male equivalent
for a man’s penis and testicles
the shelves are all together devoid
of axe brand cock n’ ball wash
because men are less gullible consumers

remember that

the soap
the marketing
the fear
the dichotomy
the disease

the next time your unwashed anxieties
dictate you spend

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

it’s just that demon life has got you in its sway

“Did you ever wake up to find
A day that broke up your mind
Destroyed your notion of circular time”

-M. Jagger, K. Richards

she runs up the stairs
retreating to her office
after dinner
afraid to drink the water
which may or may not
contain a death plume
emanating from a rich man’s pocket
along the elk river

slamming a rolling stones cd in a stereo
to hear sway
then presses her spine against the locked door
so violently the door knob eats her kidney

ice and snow covering all reality
even the inside of the television
weary of real and synthetic
human suffering

celebrities are the rhinestones
who bedazzle a pile of human excrement

a letter on the table says
her rare native american genetic type
is a bone marrow match that could end someone’s suffering
but they don’t know how recently she’s been
to the sickened shores of new jersey

something will soon blow up in russia
she thinks
and her boss will be too far away
to take any of the shrapnel to the face

her poetry is pissing blood

and the suburbs are a carcinogen
killing us all too slowly