Poetry by the numbers

June 17th, 2017 — 2:49pm

There is more plastic in our oceans

than fish.

More guns are fired each day

than kisses given.

We kill over 250,000 living organisms

each time we exhale.


100% of us will die.

Despite appearances

there is no tomorrow.

The day is sufficient

unto itself.

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To all my fellow suffering poets

June 9th, 2017 — 1:05pm

I got into my Range Rover

and headed to the beach.

On the way cashed a check

and loaded the cooler

with Patron and Dom Perrignon.


I called my stock broker

to tell him to send money

to my bookie.

I put 200 quid down on the 7th

Exterminator to win.


It’s a bitch being a poet

lying on the soft sand

cold drink in hand.

It’s a bitch pretending to be the

poor degenerate

everyone wants you the poet to be.


Read these poems of mine

‘nd make no

mention of who I am.

My jacuzzi isn’t big enough

nor does heaven

accept get out of jail free cards.

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No Schaudenfreud

June 9th, 2017 — 12:48pm

The question is –

why is our happiness

so conditional on

our subjective belief

that we are better than

someone else?


I mean – holy shit!


Just think of it.

Our whole culture one

piss den of evil ego –

crabs clamoring over each other

to get out of the bucket.

Narcissists anonymouses

selfish worth

Dorian touch of gray.

It’s everything. It’s everywhere.

No wonder we don’t

have a word for it.

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One Way Street

May 19th, 2017 — 12:54pm

You only get one go round.

No take 3 steps back cards.

No reset button

No buy one, get one free.

No spin again.

No time machine, no encores

Not even a U turn.


So you got 2 choices.

  1. Enjoy the ride and hope against hell there’s cotton candy and soda dished out by bosommed blond maidens after


2. flash your fleshy bottom at the fair master constantly turning the crank and making things move forward, round ‘n round.


You choose.

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May 19th, 2017 — 12:48pm

They’re always askin’ me

“When’s your book coming out?”

and I tell them

“Next month. I’m working on it.

Next year. You just wait ….”


The postman, the neighbor, my bartender

the neighbor’s kid, the barber, my alter ego.


I should just come clean

say what I mean – “Never.”


Books are overrated.

The minute you finish one

the thing is dead, rotting

and then what?


So the notebooks and scratchins

pile up in the back closet

and the word stays alive in me

as I, like any good poet

find better ways to lie.

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May 6th, 2017 — 10:06am

I once knew a guy

who was always hungry

even though

his fridge was full.


He’d order out while

all the cheese, cold cuts, milk

rotted to hell.


It’s like that guy

I heard about on the news

floating for days

on top his windsurfing board

Lake Baikal.

They rescued the poor sod

and evacuated him to the hospital

suffering from severe dehydration.


So many of us poor souls

suffer irreparably

from farsightedness.

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There ain’t no Oz Dorthy

April 18th, 2017 — 6:40pm

You’re never gonna win

not even if you practice

all day, every day,

not even if you get

that nose job or

invent a better mouse trap,

not even if you win the lottery or

hit the triactor, 100 to 1.

It’s just not gonna happen.


Entropy has you between her legs

and she’s holding your head down

in her dirty hands.

There’s a loose nut in

every assembly line,

there’s a self destruct button

blinking on and off

in each of our hearts.


Best to not swim upstream.

Learn to love the toast on the floor

jam side down


your ship always goes

back out again

and you’re never gonna win


there ain’t no Oz Dorthy.

Go ask Cesar.

Go ask Marilyn.

Tell it to the moon

and then sit back and wait

for the next go around.

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Quantity affects quality

December 8th, 2016 — 12:18pm

She asked me about

my readership

and I replied,

“A good dozen in a good week.”


She looked a little taken aback

and I could see her

saying to herself,

“How we gonna sell that?”


The deal fell through

and I tucked my dream

of being an internet millionaire

under the pillow

in the spare bedroom

where I sleep when

I know I’ll wake up

with a really big hangover.


I’m not a numbers guy.

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There was no index

December 8th, 2016 — 12:16pm

It’s been 3 days

mostly on the shitter

and I’ve still not found

that Bukowki poem

I read from his latest

unpublished stuff

titled – “Competition”.


Just not lucky I guess.


It’s like life.

There are no signs.

You think you got everything

lined up in a row, organized

until you try to do

the same thing twice

‘nd realize you kant

‘cuz┬áthere are no directions

for the recipe

you’ve been baking

‘nd thank god for that.


We all have to stumble.

That’s how we learn how to fall.


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Ask A Poet

December 7th, 2016 — 11:40am

It was a cold fall farm morning

the kind where

you see everyone’s last breath

the cow in the barn

pulled up from the straw

by the nose,

the steam rising up and disappearing

god knows where.


I was 9 or 10 years old

enthralled by Mr. Sparling’s

Popeye like forearms and dark beard

watching as he

put a bullet into the cow,

the cow just standing there

screaming, screaming

like cows scream.


Mr. Sparling slowly walking over to

the barn door

like this wasn’t the first time

nor the last

walking back with an axe

in his right hand

then lifting it and smacking it

backside up into

the cow’s forehead,

the cow kneeling down and

with a few more Viking style whacks

rolling over silent .


Now many years and many deaths later

thinking of this

of Layton’s bull calf too

thinking of

my own time and space

and that

there are no winners.

Go ask Cesar.

Go ask Marilyn.

Go ask a card dealer.

Go ask a grave digger.

Go ask a good poet.


Tonight when I watch

the news

the body bags, the car wrecks,

the heavy eye shadow

on the newscaster,

when I watch all that

like Li Po

I’ll drink my wine

and laugh from the belly

and dream of my

pink row boat in the sky.


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