8 Bucks

no additional text.
I am still.
a man at play.
ocean phone.

this keeps going.
like love.

lips and left hands.
strange and beautiful and sensitive.
vodka beach.
beneath stars that see.
me and you.

The Footsteps of a Female Dracula in Brooklyn

first she walks Bedford Ave,
eating men, eyeing prey,
all the way.

then she turns onto 7th,
where blood runs cold
and passion is every little thing.

surviving on craft beer
and Arcade Fire songs,
her cleavage is nice and noticeable.

she kills for fun,
and loves for revenge,
watch out!

When Blue, Wear Red

and drink vodka
out of a backpack
in McCarren Park
with a girl
that is just okay
and filling the void.

and find a film
you love
that will keep you
going for the time being.

and hurt your back
doing backward somersaults,
just so you have
something to blame
your grump on.

sorry, I am sour
my back has been hurting
since I hurt my back.

and disappear
somehow somewhere
to wear overalls
without judgement,
while telling true stories
about gangsters and guns,
both of which are fun.


In Florida less than 48 hours
and already almost
get into a fight with a racist.

Dude was yelling
at the bodega clerk
and I told him to knock it off.

He didn't like that, apparently,
and got louder and even more racist,
revealing a 'COON' tattoo.

I knocked on my teeth,
and went crazy,
and he backed down fast.

We are all animals,
and I called his stupid southern bluff
as bullshit with nachos and son.

this is Daniel. he is good. 

She Lives in Chicago

well, devils!
there goes all my courage.
once and done.
broken backwards.

I am two beers in
to ten or twenty
and I think she is
adorably stunning.

so, I thought I would
give it a go,
because I like her
smile a bunch.

life is short
so you have to try,
teeth and hammers,
nail it from far and fly.

don't talk to me about my art unless you have something to say

questions don't count,
especially from your morning mouth.

do you have a blow torch?

I have a headache
in my hands.

don't interrupt me.

bad luck brings beauty
and bruises and you.

lick your terrible tongue.

I am always searching
for the words of the dead.

is the past dead or does it live?

I'd do it again,
paint the path the same way.

do you feel it, too?

Eating Pizza in Bed

Oh! the little things:
the things that
don't deserve photographic evidence,
but will live on famously,
stained with grease and memories.

Hell Horse

I had a dream.
about you.
You were riding a horse.
The horse was on fire.

I woke up early.
laid in a bed.
ignored my phone.
existed under ceiling. 

life is funny.
and I laugh.
at its pitch-black, gallows humor.
I can be evil, too.

what came first?
the evil or me?
maybe my feet.
cheesy as they are.

this verse


prepare defenses for the indefensible listings

as the ostrich boils,
I spill my guts.
am I still a slut?

mixed up hopeless; 
a cocktail of whiskey, want,
nostalgia and dumb romance for nada.

the flame and the tv,
muted math and me,
adding up to a broken compass in the night.

humming sweet loneliness,
dripping sauce on a cheap Australian guitar
which rests on my corduroy lap.

I read the air conditioned wind,
blinking silent minutes into my own mayhem,
breaking life into loves. 

burning dinner and deliverance,
just as bridges and picture frames,
we all wait in wonder of past and future, no matter.

Elizabeth from New Jersey

goddamn goodness gracious,
there is a jersey girl
that has my eye
and makes me want to die.

she lives in an office
in my mind
all the time
and I am just a fan.

if all,
she is lyrical,
Jon Bon Jovi,
turning nights into...

I am the last to know,
so I will take it slow,
no love until love,
if I can exile it all.

Yellow Light

poems suck tonight.
They just aren't happening.
Maybe, it is the exhaustion.
Maybe, it is you.
Maybe, it is me.
Maybe, it is the music.
or the inspiration.

There is a dead cat
in the corner.

Standing in Blood

if it's good,
in my heart,
like Pepsi,
and a dinner date,
a cool breeze,
and sweet relief,
then no one can stop me,
in spite of being bloody.

standing in a puddle
on Sherbrooke and Saint whatnot,
when the rain starts,
surprising me again,
making my shoulders smile
like life is right,
at least right now
in this lonely, lovely, living place
where fights are good and bad.

I am a brave drunk near the city limits,
and Liz used to be Elizabeth,
registering with the weight of life,
saying "I am, too."

gosh darn, my hold it all together,
and I never want to see another night
as long as my life lives forever,
far from many eyes,
and when the darkness comes for me,
it comes for you.

100 Years After 100 Years

give me peace, please.
So I can give myself

I am a fan
of your complicated

But I am toast,
secrets that are scared of

Have you ever gotten
a hair cut in the dark?
Life is a lot like that anticipation.

Fort Greene, Brooklyn

are you watching the Yankees game, too?
Are you moving to Fort Greene?
are you listening to the songs that listen to me?

you're retweeting Aparna
and it's weird, because I know her.
she is a funny friend.
real people with real sound.

I burp this whole verse,
following clues of you,
from a Rathbones live feed
to my sore shoulder.

we need to bleed
all the inside jokes,
love and bullshit
and shore up.

From Carlton street
with your magic
to waste
before it was written.

come say night night
And forget
before moving me.