smoke if you got ‘em

while corporate bullies
shake hands with cruel
children in designer suits
I type poems that drink
beer with me and listen
to punk rock at night

while new enemies are
designed, punished by poverty
I type poems that throw
rocks at tanks and burn
cities to the ground

while our sadness is rendered
despicable and the world becomes
a turd we can’t flush
this poem lights a smoke
choosing the rules it will obey
as some poor bastard
finds it in his heart to
pray for me

Every Reason #4

is now available. Two Dollars.

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Every Reason #3

My literary 'zine, Every Reason, has made it to issue #3. It's pretty damn good and super cheap!

You can get one here for $2 ppd. in the U.S. :
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Get it while it's still available!

Sunday Morning

my head suffers
from last night’s vice
as a selfish, arrogant sun
smashes my window
unwelcomed

desire and tradition
deliver my sins
to a beer can kitchen where

pouring coffee
seems dramatic and
ridiculous as I
prepare to hustle away
another morning of my life

trampling the purpose
of yet another champion
hangover

Buy this book

Me and my friends are in it. It's better than the bible or the Watchtower.

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/sanctuary/13220478

Punk Show

Punk Show



“One, Two, Fuck You!”



the music starts.

energy is released.

I smile.



I look over at my daughter,

her eyes are large

behind her dyed Black bangs

as her mind processes

what her eyes have

seen.



we move to the front,

where the sound is deafening,

and the transition is made

from spectator

to participant.



“This kicks ass!” my daughter shouts.



we both smile.



sweat is flung from

thrashing bodies as

lyrics are screamed

through a strained PA



this is honesty

slapping the face

of a greed driven world

we all grew so tired of

long ago.



the first band finishes

their set

and another band

sets up in

their place.



and my daughter and I

stand together

looking at all the beautiful creatures

the rest of society

has rejected.



“These are my people,”

I tell her,

“I feel comfortable here.”



“I do too,” she confesses.



“One, Two, Fuck You!”



this will continue

all night

long.



we look at each other

and smile.

The Longest Poem Ever Written About A Sinus Infection

my whole body hurt
in a way I
didn’t think was
possible

it must have been
100 degrees that day
as I gasped for air
in a hot car
moving slowly to what
I hoped would be
some sort of end

I felt like I might
die
and there were moments
when I really wanted
to
as traffic locked me
into position

I couldn’t believe
how much I
hated
every car and
every person
ever made

and all I needed
was a place to breath
to sleep
to live a day when
the sun could be
a little kinder

and I continued moving
slowly
toward what
I hoped would be
some sort of
end

and in what seemed
like a million
hours
I was under
cool sheets
restlessly sleeping away
pain and delirium
and another day
I never wished
to relive

but sleep was
only a dirty trick

and I awoke to the sound
of a child that
was not my own

he was playing outside
and screaming a
stupid child scream
and my head exploded
I couldn’t believe
how much I
hated
every cell that
had divided to
make him

I got out of bed
and slowly walked
to the kitchen
for a glass
of water

my body still throbbed
it hurt to breath
to walk
to think
but I had
to do all
three

I drank the water
but remained
thirsty

and all I really wanted
was a sound
proof room
or something else
as equally
intangible

I again felt
as though
I might stop
living

and then
there were those
moments
where I thought
I had probably already
died

and my head
exploded
and I could not
believe
how much I hated
every second that
passed

but I continued moving
slowly
toward what
I hoped would be
some sort of
end