there are times
i feel like the only person alive
who feels that
one Bukowski
was enough
Categories
Tag: Living
U2 is spinning on the turntable
achtung, baby
arguably their best album
trying to throw my arms your arms around the world
as i sort through my life
purging
packing
moving on to this next chapter
having raised boys into men
clearing the detritus
of four lifetimes
of mistakes
losses
victories
regrets
hearts broken
hearts mended
lessons learned
love found
all this living done
and tomorrow night
stars will find a way
to fill the sky
Categories
if you’re reading this
if you’re reading this
you must understand
that every poem
is a message in a bottle
set adrift
on an ocean of lifetimes
looking for
a happenstance
recipient
i am shipwrecked
on my island of savage words
i do not wish to be rescued
please
place the scroll back in the bottle
cork it
toss it back to the sea
this poem has more traveling to do
thank you for conspiring with me
Categories
40
you rationalize
justify
all you want
age 40
is the doorway
to the latter half
of your life
thoughts and prayers
and other useless platitudes
to those struggling to catch up
but
if you haven’t found your way by now
you never will
i have loved
owned a ridiculously big house
lived in the best school district
driven luxury cars
worn designer clothes
mounted men with huge cocks
and still i was left
wanting
unfulfilled
i was surviving
not living
because the only pure bliss
is freedom of choice
autonomy
the ability
to not give
a single fuck
Categories
crocuses
now comes
the inevitable onslaught
of springtime poems
as the poets
realize
they are in fact
not dying
this could be a poem
about failure
in love
my career or lack thereof
first female presidential aspirations
gone awry
i was born too late
to be joan of arc
or marie curie
it could be about divorcing twice
and how that precludes a third try
the way i’m not my father
or my mother
a sonnet about autism
what having twin teenagers
who live
inside an alternate reality is like
and the sudden image
of sissy spacek in carrie
when your parenting method
need be applied
stretch marks
grand addictions
bourbon goes in your mouth so willingly,
have you noticed?
panties fall off so easily
those two may be interconnected
student loans
shotgun wedding consumerism
single parent economics
fried green tomatoes
leading to an existential crisis
a closet full of pricey heels
and clutch purses
wishing they were
hiking boots,
sturdy jeans,
and pocket knives
it could be about some piece of shit
who dicked me over
or someone i put the screws to
being thoughtless
it’s funny the damage one can do
without even trying
in southern families
the way
needing a bassinet
is more tragic
than needing a casket
but it’s not
it’s not about any of that
this poem is about gratitude
for all i’ve been spared and given
this poem is the thundering cry
of one human
sent crashing skyward into stars
for god to exist
if not for me
for my loved ones and friends
this poem is about living to write this
Categories
victim pool
to consider his victim pool
is quite staggering
all of them spent time
lashed to a provisional chair
a designated corpse
forced to wear a party hat
yet once they hacked their own arms off
to escape his attic constraints
each went on
to wondrous achievements
and it’s not because life with him
is an exclusive prep school for young women
with only one degree field offered
in overcoming sadomasochism
though it may be a touch to spite him
he abhors being less than
because bitch
you’ll never be equal to
no, no
it’s that he has a predilection
for attempting to destroy
the most beautiful things
his stool sits next to me at the bar
one hemisphere to the left
he tips his panama up with the rim
of a green belgian beer bottle
leaning in until his shoulder finds mine
this is an unfair question
cuz i get mad when people ask me…
i don’t know after all these years…
but do you KNOW what you want?
she leans back all cleopatra
with an asp in her purse
and says
yes
i want to read everything
i want to write everything
i want to fuck everyone worth fucking
i don’t care about fame
i want to die a grandmother
from a lethal bong hit
i want to be mummified and placed in the Smithsonian
so that i may keep saying something to people
damn
that’s beautiful
what’s it gonna take?
a steely resolve to keep moving
dog (wake up, human)
eyes open
the softness of pillows
avoid phone
bathroom ritual
vomit (prolley the bourbon and steak last night)
coffee
social media but no status update
vomit (unrelated to social media, made the cafe bustelo a tad too strong)
alka seltzer
dog (mandatory fetch playing)
book
tangerine
cook a proper breakfast for the house
morning news
avoid phone
vomit (morning news inspired)
pepto
mediate teenage territory skirmish
dog (walk)
coffee
bourbon
irish creme
notebook
avoid phone
book
kitties (aloof, conspiratory)
coffee
wrote this poem
still no status update (the world has gone mad)
all before lunch
i wear my silver hair
a mysterious darkly dead father
a beautiful blonde door locked mother
siblings of foreign surnames
an uncertain childhood
the capacity to thoroughly consider
high school amongst wild hogs and angels
husbands
my bad choices
evil men
good women
great grandmother who is a disney character
exposure to religion
loving too late
the one man i want
and can never have
every war we have waged since 1776
motherhood
twin stretch marks my battle scars
autism
traveling
being a mortician
being a poet
being a teacher
bourbon
smoking
being born
all have aged me
i wear my silver hair
lightning atop my brunette crown
as medals of valor
death
will cease to age me
i’m only 35 as i write this
my god
it’s a long way down