this is it
    this is it

this is when
I'm supposed to read scripture
         and point fingers at your head

it was you
                 you wasn't it
fingerblasting the holes of heaven
  distributing small pockets of insurgents
at every corner mart

wasn't it you smoking
  rocks and snorting rocks
and telling me the world is ablaze
  ablaze with the heat of false prophets
false idols
                    false hope

this is it
  this is it

this is going to be
  when you start pointing fingers
at scripture this is going to be
  that time

you weren't full of shit
  you were full of methbombs
pockets filled with hash
  and your death it
was like a chain of gold -
                          - a thin glimmer of light
in this tunnel we call opportunity

dreaming up fantasies
                         of some life

   touched me
     fucked me
          shot me
lay beside me


plumes of bombs scatter against
  the grains of sand
and land on your filthy
                              naked body

  come here



flesh to flesh
  mouth to mouth
hand to hand
  your legs on mine
my legs on yours
  don't stop                               no
  come here

this is it
  this is it

this is when
  you quote scripture and tell me
                       babylon the great
mistress of harlots
  abominations of earth
it's all you've sought after in life

wife of bath
  mistress overdone
lady meed

how many more
  until you find peace

is this it
  is this it
  come back to me


self eulogy

if I die
a most undeserving death
do not burn me do not bury me
do not give me a funeral

throw me into a body of water
let me go back to where I had lived
let me be eaten by what we eat later

invite my mother
invite my father
invite my brother
but do not invite anyone else

burn all of my clothes
drink all of my alcohol
draw on my body with sharpies
and play a day in the life

do not invite or inform
            anyone that
I had loved outside my family

to tell them is to
            ruin my social
life I just want all to wonder
'where has this gentleman gone?'

maybe I'll come back a specter
            and haunt my old haunts
like my typewriter or porn websites
or I'll play ukulele in the attic

bring a rabbi, a priest, and a philosopher
            read the scripture in latin and english
preach marxism and eat the flesh of Christ
place me under a chuppah and let met be
                        judged by a jury of sinners

let it be known that
            I was a yeoman
sired 11 sons and daughters
and that I died of grief

let my tombstone read
'this man was a subpar human being'
and toss it into the sea
make sure the coast guard presides
                        over this event

but that's if I die
if I die
a most undeserving death

les nantais

december in buffalo hurts
not like december in manhattan
it pierces your heart
            your poor unsuspecting heart

it stabs it repeatedly

it goes on forever it seems
                        but it IS...

            I wish it were you
                                    I wish it were you
burning in this wintry desert
                        hurting moaning fucking cold

remember when you told me
            forever forever forever
            I will see you like the dawn
then winter set in and you never gave me
                        the chance to thaw

it hurts, december in buffalo
                                    not like december in westchester

            you're already gone

gone with my poor unsuspecting heart
and I saw my blood
            and I thought of you


half truths and lies

            on this
            the HEAVENS
I sigh in relief
  knowing there is NO PLACE
            I CAN GO.

aren't you AFRAID
  that people will take you to
WRONG places or
            UNFORTUNATE accidents will happen
as you walk across a street?

  I'll be here chained
  and live out the rest of my days -
I'll be sure that
won't be AN ACCIDENT.

perpetual conception

as the sun lit up the crimson room
  my eye opened with terrifying alarm
  but all I could see was my
  capillaries and the presence of light.

fumbling about the room
  I made it to what I thought was the center
  and cried and thought about
  how I can begin to open my eyes
and I felt someone push a scissor into
      my hands.

I didn't understand -
  I didn't want to understand -
but reality is shocking
    and I had no choice

I felt the cold blades of the scissor
  even before they touched my face

as the sun lit up the crimson room
  my eye opened with terrifying alarm
  but all I could see was
  the presence of light.



                                    when we embrace the sardonic
cacophony of blue light symphonies,
  the environment of the world falls
  flat to their roots and pays

only God himself can conduct the
  mezzanine filled with brass
  and woodwinds
  and an angelic choir -
                        you would think humans
would be in awe
                                    but really
                                    down inside
we are filled with a burning anguish
  of lust and hate and rage and
  jealousy that all we can hear
  is the Devil laughing in our

but if we find a tune -
                                                a worldly tune
  a down-to-earth-no-bullshit-here kind of tune
            a tune that'll make you cry, make you move, make you smile
  send shivers down your spine, and
                                    raise our spirits to joy,

we can laugh and hold hands with
                        the world
and listen to our music, our

                        told by God himself.


I garnish feathers after preening
            the sarcophagi and peer
            into his eyes

deep-fry locks of hair and
            veal to get chicken stock
            for faces of measure

he tells me to laminate mole-hide
  and tenderize daffodils and
  insinuate racist thoughts to beagles

the manhattan skyline burns red
  and the buildings pierce its heart and melt into the light -
                                    I am blinded

sans thought

we came from the pits of
            pitch black love -
distinguish between accidents
  and coincidences
dance and trip and make it look
            like part of the program

31 days will pass and pregnant
  women will not bleed, but
  soon enough their lips
  will be rosy and blood will rush
            to their cheeks

miracles don't happen for any reason
  the voices of reason draw
  strength from dreaming

when we embrace summer
  becomes green and questions
  beauty since it lasts for a fraction
  of life.


night in gale

fair Procne lend me your ears
  the morning dew hath struck the
  glimm'ring noon -
                                      maple leaves
dance whispering undaunted verses
  of leisure and you,
                  beautiful avi - an enchanting
                  songstress - brings me peace over
                  my burdened eyes

the midday sun blushes grey as
  clouds pass by idly in
  a midday slumber

Procne, darling Procne your heavenly
  harmonies bring sweet tears to
  my heavy eyes
let not the world tear your tongue
  out for the recesses of pleasure
hold thy self darling and do
  not tremble at the thought of
despair -
                  for all is right with the world



I knew a man
  who was depressed
    he took anti-depressants
      to get away from depression

it drove him to take other drugs
  to forget that he was taking
    anti-depressants to get away
    from depression

christmas eve, he started taking
  hard drugs to forget that he took
  drugs to forget that he took
    anti-depressants for his depression

and at the height of his abuse
  he told me the only way to end
  this cycle was to leave

I asked him what he meant by
  leaving and he sobbed

he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said 'you should go'


this summer day -
  loving and caring warmth
  envelops me and I can hear
  it whispering adoration in my ear

my eyes see saturated colors of
  red, blue, and green and all
  I can think of is the beach
  and how beautiful it would be

parasols and coolers and ice
  swimsuits and volleyball and
  of course the smell of sunscreen
  and I'll rub it on my shoulders

this summer day -
  this sunny day


ma soeur

the day I heard
  that you were gone
             I thought
  it was a lie

I called your phone
  over again

heard your voicemail
              over again

I waited for you to call
  back but I knew
  the phone would
  never sing that song-

some Belle & Sebastian
  sing you downloaded on my
  phone and set as your

'you'll know when I call you
     and we can catch up'
  but we hardly ever

it hurts to know we've
  both left a lot unsaid -
all I have are scattered
  memories of you