"The Injury to Troy"

[A poem where each line, originally spoken by NFL commentators during Monday Night Football, was transcribed by the author who then took and arranged the excerpts into a poetic context]

They knew it was coming
A tough spot to start
Slow to get it started
We’ll see how this thing shakes
He was shaken up
Do you wanna know what it feels like
How large does that loom right now?

An unbelievable second
Will take a step backward today

A new adjustment
A different wrinkle
What an unbelievable turn
How two unexpected partners meet
After piling up
They were both there
Did what they did to another
They’re doing it with some missing pieces
Therein you get burnt

You really are scrambling for one wild
Stretch of the imagination
Your poison has been the story
Even your prayers
The gamble
Talk about the fact of where you were
At home again
We’re having problems
Is there even one noticeable difference?

We don’t have enough money to give you
For anyone who is wondering
Spinning around the edge
That’s a long time to hold
Pressure around him
We’re going to break

I admire so much what he does
He always keeps that vision
Very quiet
Try to squeeze him
They feel like a strong ending
I don’t know if I still believe it
Shame on me
An eye on the man
Which will stop the clock
To finish up the last
By no means is this one over
Let’s remember the sequence the last time

[A D V E R T I S E M E N T]

HAMMER meets tooth,
tooth clanks onto glass floor,
tooth bleached,
tooth glued to pages of Fresh Magazine.

TOOTH naked, Ohio fields.
tooth & two feet tap dancing.
tooth can sing!
tooth signs contract with agent, Mouth (“hereafter referred to as Agent”).

AGENT massages tooth;
tooth buys wallet;
tooth buys comfort’r, ‘makes’ bed, sleeps upon wallet;
tooth drinks sleepy-syrup, ignores sirens.

SILENCE— tooth develops a tic.
tooth twitches, loses touch with music.
tooth-lungs go numb, no more speaking roles.
tooth sells bed, sleeps on old magazines.

MAGAZINE rings Agent’’s phone.
Agent screams.
Agent purchases shiny new tooth.
The Publisher sleeps upon piles of old money and old teeth …

flu york city

a thing my mother taught me: how to slow dance.

a thing my mother did not teach me: how to talk with women you meet online.

These are the wallpapers on my phone.

at Red Hook, Brooklyn

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Shoot Heroin, Not People

you don’t think about me as much I think about you

"Fuck it, I didn’t wanna go to heaven anyway."

Yet Another Love Letter

Good morning, bomb. Good night shelter. Hello, head shot. Goodbye, gun-shy.

The princess picks up wild lilacs and eats ‘em. Di-gest slowly, sweetheart.
Tomorrow morning, the emptiness will fill yer holes again.

Sound the sex alarm. Sirens for Siren. Yes,
a body urges a body craves a body eats away a body.
The hunger subsides. Head shot.
Gun shy. Swallow the poison & smile wide under bright burning lights.

One thousand men. Two thousand men.
Round up the nooses—I promise we’ll win.

Our father’s fathers ate fat & made the same mistakes. My grandma was a Jew. My father is a German. I am not a singer.
This is not my sermon.

Sleep song: silently breathe into softness mattress pillow whirring till the thought-motions blur into black-nothing slash dream-something Latin sashes and eyelashes purring. Is it really that spectacular or just simply natural?

What is wasting time when yer spirit is eternal? Why worry about the burning when yer fever’s so infernal?

feelings is just a word

you is a word
are is a word
the is a word
love is a word
of is a word
my is a word
life is a word


Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy