POEM 053/100

May 30, 2013

The rotating rubber handrail

of the subway station escalator


like the bare steel brakes of an incoming train

or a pig having a really bad day

POEM 052/100

May 29, 2013

A reoccurring theme

in a lot of my dreams

is being part of a team

tasked with useless, doomed projects


Such as the labyrinth of mirror encrusted drain-pipes

we installed and tore out, ad nauseum, all night long

— a slow submersion into the depths of a glided futility


What I need to know is:

Are these dreams about my job

or my art?

POEM 051/100

May 27, 2013

In the dream that shocked me awake

Betty White gave me a blow job

A really good blow job

And insisted I call her “Estelle”

POEM 050/100

May 15, 2013

The father and daughter beside me on the train

speak in sign language

at full volume


Their karate chop hands

and over expressive mime mouths

make me anxious


I want to ask them

politely, of course,

with sensitivity, no doubt,

to please


Keep it the fuck down



are trying to read




POEM 049/100

May 9, 2013

The bicycle courier

stood facing the elevator door, agressively

smelling of under-cooked beef shawarma

POEM 048/100

May 1, 2013

The doctor’s expression

upon informing me my testicles are not riddled with cancer

betrays a sensation of intense relief


such as one might wear

after a particularly violent series of bowel movements


I suppose that I myself

should feel such a keen release of tension

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