Poem Number 10

Polyamory Being

With each relationship
my love expands
for each
and the world at large.

I am secure + free
can live in the world


Poem Number 9

Being Human 

Two demons climb a hill
convinced they are alone
In each other they find
love                  eventually
they come down

Poem Number 8

Tombstone Picture

The prettiest woman I ever saw
was seen on a tombstone

black and white picture
showed more than
the highest of definition camera

the silent broach sat at the base of her neck
puffy flares in the shoulders
place her existence
somewhere in the early twentieth century
confirmed by the dates

She died at 24
probably an immigrant to the prairies
I wonder if we could communicate beyond
hands and eyes.

Poem Number 7

A Great Indifference

Back and forth the machine moves me
clipping grass
discharging to the right
a thin pile left on the ground
underneath lie the dead
their stories sometimes appear in front of me

a bad childhood
horrible marriage clichés
years of unhappiness

better to be the lowest of the living
than king of the dead

The machine and I are in agreement
we don’t have the time to listen
so we run over the dead
and discharge them to the right. 

Poem Number 6

Paraphanelia found at the Paranormal Conference

Alien UFO statue held together by shoddy glue
Wood carved ancient Egyptian Pyramids
Mysteries of the Soviet Union
         on the cover
         a little Grey alien
         behind a picture of the Kremlin

Free naturopathic consultation
             a mere $29.95/half hour
red background along the wall
camera in front
get a picture taken of your aural spirit
electromagnetic detector    determine if you’re being followed
aliens or the CIA
no difference really             said the guy
Libertarian banner riding high
                a promise to reveal all secrets
                the government has
                on UFOs
                                           The guy seems respectable
                                            with his properly tailored suit
books promising to reveal secrets
the Alien-Industrial-Jewish-Freemason-Academic Complex
                  exposes everyone but you and a few patriots
                  are in The Conspiracy.
psychic readings
offered by a woman
with a fake Jamaican accent that makes Kisi’s face blush

Commander Riker sits alone
his poster autographed to someone on eBay
a tempting purchase
but it’s time to go see the main event
a former military guy
prepared to reveal all his secrets
the aliens are here
buying all our shit.

Poem Number 5


Sometimes I feel like Odysseus
exploring different worlds
never staying long enough to join them.

Unlike him
I have no home to return to.

Maybe I’m more like driftwood
that hasn’t washed onto a shore.

Poem Number 4

John Wayne Wannabe
I march into the room like John Wayne
shoulder dipped, long strides make me gracefully awkward
preparing to shoot my gun
my clothes come off
she laughs
pulls out her cell phone
sends a picture to her friend(s)
the internet gets to see me
in all my naked glory.

Shuffle out of the room
Now I’m just awkward          no more grace
time to join Anthony Weiner
in hiding.

Poem 3

Season Two Finale of the New Adventures of Emily Dickinson

I tweeted our adventure
solving mysteries
from a learge red van
we decided not to 
eat @Macdonalds
(no veggie burger)
opiting instead for the roadside truckstop.

Over lunch we were called upon
to solve a dispute
gas station clerk and a vehicle owner.

One side said there was nothing
before the Big Bang
the Other believed God created it all.

Emily took God’s side
I most certainly did not
we thought the other stupid
years of frustration was released. 

She drove off without me
I stared into the distance
face slightly sad
camera shows me from behind
hit with  the butt end of gun

… To be Continued
Roll Credits.

Poem Number Two

In Which the Poet Tries to Outsmart the Reader

I’m the worst at titles
can never come up with anything
this poem the one you’re reading right now
the best thing I can come up with is,
“mediocre poem no 156”
doesn’t that sound embarrassing
I call myself a “poet”
what I really am is
occasional writer of lines
who isn’t creative enough to come up with a title.

I’d like to imagine how I’ll be remembered
some poor 16 year old kid
more worried about his first sexual experience
than his english mark
is called upon to dissect this poem.

With a distant look in his eyes he’ll mumble
great uh
but the title is terrible.”

So even without paying attention he’ll dissect my poetry
with an insight greater than most critics.

Of course the teacher won’t care
ask for some deeper meaning
or some damn thing.

Look teacher
I’m telling you
the kid has it right!
This poem sucks.

don’t worry
sex before 20

Poem Number 1

Fixing the Fiscal Imbalance

I wake between two piles of books
on the right          The Fountainhead
to my left              Manufacturing Consent
trying to recall the previous night, I am stuck
unsure of the order in which things happened

sitting up I notice a lone coyote has broken into my apartment
it’s head tilts sideways before looking at me
         Stephen Harper is fucking up!

under most normal circumstances this would be quite odd
today my whiskey inducted hangover cannot process oddness
so my mind assumes everything is normal.

we spoke at the length, Coyote informing me that
the coyotes
(not the hockey team)
were quite concerned about the state of the nation
Coyote prescribed a number of excellent policy options
to protect the environment
stop income inequality
control inflation
fix the fiscal imbalance

I debated with Coyote the merits of each option
occasionally finding flaws       just one or two
the proposals were well reasoned
grounded in empirical data

before leaving
Coyote licked my face
sensory overload my memory of specific public policy proposals
no longer exist
but I remember Coyotes last words:

        we’re always watching
        and for Christ’s sake
        cleanup these piles of books
        it’s a goddamn fire hazard