Day 189/365

When the stranger licked my leg,
I wanted to leave.
"Look how cute he is," you said.
I found his visage less interesting
than the mouthful of bacteria
he had just deposited on my thigh.
"Come on," you begged.
"We're so close."
I was far from close.
The streets were cacophonous.
Bodies were omnipresent.
Sex was overt, exhibitionist.
He hoped I'd play along
in his world
when I just wanted
to take my balls
and go home
alone.
So I did.


ewr

Day 188/365

When the battle is one
and popular culture contain itself
in a neat little package,
the Pragmatic will lift off
into the pye in the sky,
salt the earth behind itself
and create another wonderful story
for America
and its children
to cry and grieve
on the television
yet again,
forever and ever,
omen.


ewr

Dat 187/365

thallium in my blood
i rush into your cold arms
and collapse for you


ewr

Day 186/365

Instead of celebrating,
I willed myself to illness.
The fever first, of course,
because it led so nicely to the headache.
Soon the sinuses dripped,
the throat got sore,
and my lungs filled with mucous.
I had gotten so good at this
the last time,
I altered my bowels as well
(and that's all I'll say about it
and I know you're thankful).
As I lay as death
sprawled on my livingroom sofa,
missing fireworks, hot dogs,
fellowship,
I wondered why
my neighbors, friends, and family
were celebrating
this woman,
Lady Liberty,
this drag queen called
Bertha Vanation
with her big fucking toe
in the middle of every else's apple pie.
Yes, there's a Great Black Hope
in Washington,
though we quickly realize why:
we hope he'll do something soon
aside blow smoke and mirrors.
Maybe tomorrow.
In the meantime,
I'll lie here sick
and wait.


ewr

Day 185/365

I arrived at Trust Falls
with a heart on my shoulder
and a chip on my sleeve.
Mother never loved me
but I didn't care.
Father loved me
like a boy should be loved.
I embraced myself
in Trust Falls
until I felt nothing
which was nothing new.
I searched for another embrace
which wasn't a problem
in Trust Falls.
Every alley, dock, and corner
promised something new.
The first stop was the dirty bed
of a redheaded boy
with more marks on his arms
than freckles on his face.
He kicked me out
when I told him his crumbled lips
weren't touching my cock.
Another night was spent
drinking with the bartender after hours
in a club called Whole
until he passed out in my lap.
I studied his male pattern baldness
and held his tight arms as I lifted him off me
and onto the floor.
I finally found a room
in the home of a blind man
who told me that
the mirrors were left
from the previous owner.
They reflected backwards,
showing me where I'd been
before I came to Trust Falls.
"What's it like?" the blind man asked.
"I've never seen myself at all."
I told him it was like remembering,
but not quite.


ewr

Day 184/365

Kvlt as fuck,
his wrists drip blood
without being sliced.
Skin so pale
and hair so black,
he appears in photos
as pen and ink drawing.
His amp hisses
when it's unplugged
and doesn't stop.
His Vortex is almost ironic.
He inhales the fumes
as he writes the set list on his hand
with a Sharpee.
And the death growl
echoes
as if through Hangar 18.


ewr

Day 183/365

broken, crumbling sidewalks waving upward
hydrant twisted open and gushing water off the curb
smell of soft pretzels from the lunch cart hovering, close
chokes with antifreeze spurted from a beater broken down on New Jersey Avenue
mama carrying her breasts in jumper cooling herself with Diet Coke
naked babies charging with their older brothers and sisters for the ice cream man
sweat dripping down the brown breastbone of a man drunk on Colt 45 and dehydration
firehouse siren song hanging longer and flatter in the air than the day before
diffused shadows surrounding the buildings like earthbound halos
lunchtime workers chowing on Crown chicken and shooing away homeless man from the doorway
stray calico sprawled on the stoop of St. Nicholas


ewr

Day 182/365

My poetry
is limited
by my vocabulary.

My vocabulary
is limited
by my ignorance.

My ignorance
is limited
by nothing.


ewr

Day 181/365

an old friend
not a friend
what is a friend?

not a friend
what is a friend
if not an old friend

what is a friend
who's not a friend
old


ewr

Day 180/365

I can't do this to myself
again.
I refuse.
Thoughts end,
rest comes,
and a new day is nigh.

And then there's always a nasty case of idiocy
lurking around every corner.

I need to calm down.
I need to come down.
I need to cool down.
I need to find another cliché.
I need to empty an ashtray.

Ever notice that ashtray is Pig Latin for trash?
Weird.


ewr