Monday, April 17, 2017

spend your skill points on small talk, trust me

if words were solutions
to the complex problems between us,
that distance,
that void
that demanded to be filled,
was i,
out of my depth -
not knowing the right words
that could have pulled at you,
or did i need to find
that hidden combination?
was i close,
was i so,
far off -
had i the wrong things,
the wrong words?
had i the wrong accent,
the wrong language?
had i the wrong problem,
had you the wrong me -


Thursday, February 23, 2017

i can't put my head on

on my shoulder is
a sinkhole
the size of
a small galaxy
it is from
that one time
your head needed
a rest from
the rest of you

i don’t remember you
leaving bodily
liquids, at least not
the kind that
can burn through
skin and
flesh and
bone but
there’s this sinkhole
your face left on
my shoulder

i can’t put my head on
an angle, one that
allows me to
look deep into
myself through
this sinkhole, but
someone risked one
peek into
the abyss in
the middle of me
and she told me
many dark things i
already know, and
then she told me
my heart is

so this is
what it is
all about, i wanted to
ask you, if you had
anything to do
with this. if you
took it, will you
return it, what do you
want in exchange,
where and when; and
i am sorry if you
expected me to
have caught you
in the act, i was too
enamored with
watching your hair
in an affair
with the wind, lapping
at my cheek that day,
receding, surging,
surging, receding,
the softest
tidal waves


Thursday, February 16, 2017

screw, sonically

you may never guess
the number of times i have
deferred my extermination,
i have lost track,
lost count, myself,
nor have i kept
a tally of the many times
i have evaded deletion,
or consumption by angels,
or by the Silence,
or other extraordinary perils
from every pocket of
the closets of time,
but you,
you would have fallen
to any of them, unless you
have this same thing i do,
in my pants,
this wibbley-wobbley,
this timey-wimey,
pen-like thing,
which we strive to convince everyone
that it’s just a tool meant
to push metal pins
around tiny, finite,


Monday, January 30, 2017


scientific method suggests
my Samsung phone is a Decepticon,
i am convinced it sends love text messages in alien runes
to another of its kind across the globe at 3AM
when it thinks i am asleep,
and i know their love is designed in circuits
that spells destruction and/or domination of all humans

my Macbook is a Decepticon,
it is better at trying to stay concealed
yet it feels a degree warmer to the touch and that says a lot,
that concludes it uses energy transforming every time
i leave for the water cooler.
i still have to determine what it does when in evil robot form.

is the USB cable one of them too?
or is it already transformed, only it botched mimicking a serpent?
i think so, i think so.

i am very close to identifying them all -
i am 87.87% certain the TV is a Decepticon.
and the refrigerator in the pantry. one of the power banks.
surely not my car - too obvious, too obvious. maybe my glasses:
i thought i momentarily had Terminator-like vision once,
when it had a glitch and it hoped i did not notice.

so if you are reading this.
on my Macbook you just stole.
slowly, slowly
inch away
you must live!!!
and when you deem it safe!
you must find Shia LeBeouf!
break him out of jail!
ask him to save the world again


Friday, December 23, 2016


moons hung in place
of other heavenly bodies,
since you told me you kept
a piece of the night in the pools
of your eyes, and that
it was a mistake
to have dived into them. but
i wanted an answer and
there were no other places
to extract knowledge of you
out of, not outside your own
universe rabidly kept close to
and within yourself -

and so we rewrote our world
into having cold, cratered orbs
stuck to our ceilings, grey
and hard and unfeeling like old
and over-chewed gum. we moved away
from having luminescent suns
and learned to love in darkness,
at least on my part, removing
the need to pay respect to
the made-up looks
you may have invested hours into,
in powder rooms of every house
we’ve been in.

and sometimes when lightning
disrupts our blindness
it is a reminder, constant, consistent, cruel,
and it is truth, torturing, tenacious, terrible
that i cannot know you -
that i never can.


Sunday, October 16, 2016

how to build a religion

first, imagine yourself as how you want to be remembered.
think of: if you were to write yourself into history.
you must amplify all the righteous acts you or you may
not have done. you must sell the most fantastic ones
as divine and miraculous. you must erase from existence
all the times when you were cast inferior to your new image.
but, you may keep most of your pettiness, as they will come
in handy as a weapon later, particularly among the blindest
of your followers. then, set that image of you apart
from yourself and
call it God

second, find and cast a foe as everything you are not.
where you were the victim he was the tormentor.
where you were and will be the just and victorious,
he was and will be the unrighteous and conquered.
pin on him all attributes of evil and pettiness, except,
of course, the special ones you kept for yourself
- like your homophobia - then ensure that he
is powerful and terrible but less so than you, and
call him the Devil

third, you must take advantage of the faith of many.
drive them to have the human-based, human-like god,
caged god, as the center of their lives, that they shall
have no other way to live. you must threaten them
with promises of eternal burning and pain should they
deviate from your prescription of life. also, as important:
have them work and pay your bills, build your cathedrals
and finance your other luxuries. daydream until you
believe you can do this eternally, then tell others it is
something they can aspire to as well, and
call it Heaven

fourth, be vigilant for there will be those who will not
buy what you have to sell. they may see through the holes
in your story, or their faith might be inclined towards
something else. never mind if they are kind and humane,
even if they are more so than you or your followers.
you may and it’s allowed to mistake your treatment of
them as kindness: that you are doing these lower humans
a favor. but keep in mind that you are superior, and
call them Heathens

and lastly, you must be aggressive, be firm as it is for
the righteous good. shame them. ostracize them.
demonize them. run an inquisition. burn them at the stake.
crucify them all. then,
call it their Salvation


Thursday, July 7, 2016

no goodbyes, goblin king

I figure the wedding happened somewhen in the 70s - when
many of us were still on our way to the world.
The Starman had landed in London, and when
he touched ground, one foot was slightly ahead of
the other, and I imagine the sound each footfall made: not
a thump each, instead, his right foot rang, “I do,” and
his left foot followed, “You do, too,” and
just like that the world was married to Bowie

Some may think the world divorced him some decades into
the marriage - all the younger brides and grooms out of
posters we cover our bedroom walls with taking over;
I myself in my youth found a muse in Jennifer Connelly in
The Labyrinth, and for years I reveled in that truth until in
my adulthood, a faceless, part-time, one-time, online friend
had to speak the other side of it: that, for the world, it was all
about the Goblin King’s crotch dominating the screen and now
we wonder how it must have been like had 3D technology
landed in 1986

And then some may even think the world was widowed early 2016, but
do you ever really believe in such improbability? When,
in the middle of a board game my Monster fires up
her Macbook for music, and As The World Falls Down breaks
the silence and the world is reminded, the world falls down, to
its knees, again, and says, “Yes, we still do.”