POEM 056/100

November 2, 2013

How’s it going?

Not bad for a Wednesday?

It’s getting to be the end of the afternoon

Time to start thinking about dinner

What to get for take-out

Have to talk to the wife

What to do

Go to bed early

and come back here tomorrow

This is the life.

He says to me, and
washes his hands at the sink, and
watches me in the mirror,
as I piss against the white porcelain.

POEM 054/100

June 19, 2013

Banker blue button-down shirt

dark continents of sweat mapped out on his back

and the stench of fried onions drips in the air



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 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

POEM 046/100

April 3, 2013







POEM 045/100

April 3, 2013

The moon hung in the inky dark

seemed to mock me

as I lathered my hair

until the window fogged



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