Posts Tagged ‘Observational poems’

“No Hard Feelings, Just My Hard Dick”
I wanna fuck
the world
without a condom
Shove it inside
from Pittsburgh
to California
Fire a load
that could
cover a continent
To let everyone
know it’s cool
Now since you’ve felt
what I felt
Although I’ve been
mistreated and
I’m over it
Here’s my proof
you self serving
It’s still pulsing
Here I am
I fucking exist
No hard feelings
Just my hard dick
“Infertile Ground”
I knew she was
a cunt, a bitch
a sexy asshole
I had a premonition
of an occupied
Wilted roses and
bloody toilet paper
A feeling in my pants
that had to be let out
We went down
that turbulent road
All the way down
until the zipper broke
We made love
which turned
into hate
We spent wasted time
on infertile grounds
Felicity was uninvited
The only fond memories
I have retained
From all this grief
and perpetual sorrow
Is the sound
of your giggles
after I let you have it
You always thought
it was hilarious
when I made you
bleed from your
delicate asshole

Worst Thing in the World

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world

she says and shuts the fridge door, raising an eyebrow.

and I think to myself, please not you too.

Not now, in my childhood kitchen

with my niece running around.

Not now when my sister just told everyone

she was pregnant again,

not now when my first novel came out,

when we just decided what country number five was.

Not now.

But she turns her back to me.

I make jokes and she half smiles,

reminding me again that having a baby

wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world

and I think

no not the worst,

picturing the mountains in Salzburg

and Mozart’s grave,

remembering Caesar’s

and waiting on Beethoven’s

not the worst,

I nod,

not the worst,

but so awfully, dangerously close.


forget this fucking
even the animals
want out as they
run free
watching clowns
try to fuck each other

~ everyone loves a bit of violence in their coffee



is of inept

in city`s so



that if we blink

we would have missed

a certain


of our ghosts



there is so much

darkness; riddles,

they are

sufferers for a



I have

not a thing\nothing to offer

just absence & misery

in a sea of muffled




I am an enigma,

the least

of someone else’s


and tears, they

often fall

like cream

to sweet`en the blow

of a bland



Oh, how

we are suckers

for a bit of violence

in our coffee.






I dreamt I was so hungry.

I ate my whole hand.

It started with the right pinky,

then the ring finger.

I devoured my middle finger,

then the right pointing finger.

The thumb took a bit longer

because I was feeling full.

I got my second wind and

I ate my palm all the way up

to the wrist and the wrist watch.

The dream was so strange.

It took about an hour for

another hand to grow in

place of the eaten hand.

The new hand looked just

like the old hand only a

little bigger and less rough.

I had new fingerprints that

belonged to someone else

that was not even human.



Shadow Players


One glimpse

of darkness

hops from the larger

bank of shadows

just a fleck


a baby bird

with ebony feathers

has flown the nest


never to return


only to bring

flashes of lightening

as it plays



I Need to Quit Listening to Ice Cube!


it’s a bad habit,

a 9pm-standing-on-a-corner-smoking-a-cigarette-next-to-a-hooker

bad habit;


I tell the arresting officer,


*Yo, Officer, you’re making a big mistake!


but the officer laughs,

then the officer spits,

and says


*Tell that bullshit to the judge!


No, I don’t need to quit smoking,

I need to quit listening to fucking Ice Cube!



(*lyrics courtesy of Ice Cube’s, BeBe’s Kids)





small hairy man

taking his lunch at the diner


tufts up hair

rising from the breach

of his yellowed shirt


I can picture him now

extracting a toll

under some bridge



$ 150 an hour & all I got is this song

I puke midnight
all over your lovely
piss stained floor
light another cigarette
& try to forget..the hookers loved the needles
& tried to pretend
every dick
they had to succumb to
was one
their eyes glazed over
reminded me of doughnuts
& i figured the cops had shown up
for a free meal

& I would write songs for them
on the five strings left on my guitar
saving them for an album
tentatively called “gutter trash…the story of my life ”
in white rabbit vomit
& gin soaked cum stains
i would watch the nights
depraved transgressions
& go home alone
’cause even the drugged out whores
didn’t want my broke ass

















I dropped her off at

6AM 2 streets away

from her home. She

told me her husband

and kids would still

be asleep. She’d just

get a shower and

change her clothes

and panties and

everything would

be good. ‘ Do you

love him?’ I said.

‘ I will give you a

call tonight,’ she

said. And I watched

her beautiful ass

disappear into the

harsh morning light.