big trains through small tunnels

it struck me
as funny
that free condoms
handed out in
New York City
had subway maps
on the wrappers
in case you were erect
and desperately needed
to get
to Yonkers

poetry travel writing

the resistance

i’m moving to

south america

to fight

in the resistance

it’s not political

i just love wearing berets

activism addiction Americana analysis art behavior Uncategorized

posthumous letter mailed to the marvelous hunter s. thompson at his trashy extended stay suite nestled on the briny shores of hell’s lake of fire



hey louisville,

long time no hear from, don juan try hump fat

i’m about to get waynesburg on your stubborn ass

and i want you to know for years

i forgave you for blowing your head off,


i applauded your ballsy choice

you were nothing if not consistent

you were proof the most intelligent and keen amongst us

are prone to depression, suicide, and addiction,

because we understand how fucked up the world can be

and simply can’t bear the soul sucking siege and insult of it

no one should be made to suffer,

but you should be alive now

we need your voice now

more than ever,

gonzo journalist,

who thought the best was behind you

and it had only just begun

n’ don’t you tell me all the best kentuckians die young and grandly

you’re dead as a damned door nail

you can’t talk back

and  aye, that’s the rub,  old friend

i’m so mad at you for going away

if you weren’t already dead

i’d shoot you again myself


love you, fucker


biology literature sociology

have your children avert their eyes

my favorite feature of his

was his gargantuan scrotum

it was damned frightening

by god

like the vietnam war

every bit as hairy

and protracted



up until him

i had only seen that sort of thing

in a zoo


or an antique dentists office copy

of national geographic

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

glamour gal

i have the legs
of an angry ballerina
battleship hips
and stevedore arms

i laugh too loudly
but often cover my mouth
to hold the ecstasy inside me

i punched your uncle who was in the navy
at your christmas party

i spike my orange juice
with bourbon and honey

i’ve been known
to leave the house
wearing two different pumps

perhaps only one eye
of makeup done

makes it so
i sometimes get dizzy when i’m driving
or wearing heels
and fall down
let us hope it’s a day
i have no panties on

i’m a poet
so i sit around
in the orange gloam
of after dinner evening
with other writers
coffee mugs in hand
discussing why it is
we haven’t slept
in years

and what it means when your piss smells
like a fresh roasted tanzanian nigerian blend

i can’t be anywhere on time
there exists a curve in my very existence
but i’m from the south
i do everything slowly
and with great deliberation

i masturbated in the tub once
and nearly drowned

such the glamour gal

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

pilgrimage to india

the hindu woman
avoids the utterance
of her husband’s name
because it is believed
each time she speaks his name
it brings him closer to death

i ask no forgiveness for
feeling silk wedding knots
wrapped around my throat
my pilgrimage to india
and saying your name in my sleep

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

knit me a glove with just a middle finger

i may be a poet
and known to occasionally hold a paint brush
but make no mistake
i’m not the artsy fartsy type

i shave my armpits

i don’t dance naked at midnight
through a field of kale chips

i wouldn’t use patchouli oil
to grease my engine

birkenstocks look as if they would make
a fine door stop

i wanna choke every hipster i see to death
with their fair trade hemp scarves

knit me a glove with just a middle finger, sunshine

look at the bohemians
aren’t they fucking quaint?