To be wealthy

People who are generous will never be rich
Yet I do not fight them
I have no stronger confidants
Lose us, saddle us, bridle us unwillingly
Like a stable that knows no unknowns

December 13, 02

Nailbiting

Avoid a massive reproduction
Deny obligatory style
I will only grasp success as myself
But to be like those
Who succeed I feel obliged to plagiarize
Never again create
Use a formula, squeeze my own words in
Pressure forms like a hemorrhage
I need to drain other authors from my mind
Prefabricated ideas and processes are a
Hematoma of the skull that has now
drained as far as my cheeks
Will it affect my tongue? Or pen?
Force myself to continue and something
Lies inky on the page
Maybe not what I intended, maybe no inspiration
But forced poetry creates truth unwittingly
Once in a while a line shines out as a ring
On my right thumb basks in the auburn
Bar light

December 13, 02

Pre Birthday

Now I’ll just write – about Ford sponsoring
Absolutely everything – about wheat beer
And my birthday in a day and 1 hour – but
No one to spend it w/.

Now I know why prepositions
Don’t come at the end of sentences.
Who wants an abbreviation @ the end?
Although this is good practice for

A date. Leave them wanting
More is always better than pretentious – too much
About which I must find more about which to talk – pure pretension
Exchange shitty presents and wonder whether

Cursing is appropriate in poetry
I believe it is only calmly. Angry
Swearing only detracts from the apocalyptic
Meaning of my words
I’ll prolly finish a beer before anyone

Who matters shows up. It’s always
Easier to drink faster alone
Unless in a drinking game. And they won’t even
Hire me at Bailey’s
Everything is so much more frighteningly

Poetic in the moonlight or by pen
Somehow key strokes capture
Nothing but words
I value a floating lemon and the girl
Beside me on a bar stool
Who doesn’t even know his last name
The Better Pasta Pot has a colander in the lid

And a nonstick surface
Must like most people here
It’s kinda like the Butter Cutter
I remembered
The book “Who Likes Donuts?” today
My mother sent me Tori Amos in a box
And a faux card offering stars. I almost cried

I was mean to her yesterday
And the day before, but a present from her shouldn’t fix it
Especially since I deserve to apologize
At least I’m not writing on a napkin

It’s hard to write about people around you
When they’re right next to you
When you talk and write, everything
Is very truncated, disjointed and stream of consciousness –
Start and stop – wonder what to say next –
If you should escape and how?
Numb your tongue.

December 13, 02

Kill the Marketing Executives

All commercials suck
Once on a Saturday we tallied the
Good ads
We found only four and that took
Us three hours and 12 minutes.
We didn’t give up, we just forgot after that.
The Empire Carpet man should
Never pretend santa claus.
Morgan Ferchild will even take
Old Navy’s money.
I would never buy fur
As a consequence of an ad campaign
Or choose fringed boots instead.
Usually they force me to boycott
The somewhat fruitless yet “necessary” path of these consumer products

December 12, 02

Stretching Out

Ambition-to-wake groans, crushed and
Oozing like it fell in the back of city
Garbage truck
Manage to love the couch with base devotion

Sprawl and writhe, lie motionless as
Frogless pond scum
Instinctively remember the fetal position
These are things about which one should

Worry.

My skull is a cathedral dome, empty
Except faithed knowledge and hoped motivation.
I move to douche my brain of yesterday’s
Emotional excretion and every day’s before.

Rattle my pen across paper,
Scribble my theoried therapy only to
Discover accidental truths, patterns,
Lights of mirrored sight distance – illusionary

Duplication common in food court
Restaurants.
I have viewed every commercial,
Exhausted every episode of every show,

Befriended HBO like a feral and
Promiscuous college roommate
Living vicariously from my
Cushioned leather existence.

These are things about which one should

Worry.

December 12, 02

Lying in Ambush

He couches a secret for
Ammunition later
Truths like arrows
Strike harshest

She must read a lot
To think so brutally
He believes he can
Match her ability
-- with practice

Later they will dine
Lay out their words
Like fine china
Sketch and ink in
Formalities

Feign independence and truth
He feels no loyalty
No longer values their past
As one forgets the liberation
Of virginity, yet feeling
Freer without

To let forth fury and no longer scramble
to gather the words he has strewn
He couched this secret to truly sear
Those properly batting eyelids
The world does not disappear when
One shuts her eyes

December 12, 2002

Motor City Career Path

He’s wondering about his niche
He’s begging for the opportunity to
Prove successful.
Slam his car door and brush the trace of caked
Michigan car salt off his right suit sleeve
Flick his wrist and confidently snap
Southworth Parchment Paper sheet of embellished accomplishments
Flat for inspection

There in the expansive lot of American vehicles
That lug suits, briefcases, little plastic badges with little plastic smiles and blank eyes
Back and endlessly-forth like ants at a picnic
He thumbs the Zippo and gulps in the sweet Marlboro Red calm

Big Brother has nothing on the Big Three but plenty on him
This thought compels him to question whether he
Should feign conformity or individuality
Because “be yourself” only applies to
First dates and even then is terrible advice

Trudge toward the concrete façade
He rehearses the answers he must offer
To sell himself

December 12, 02

Liquid Confidence

Something weird on the table
What it is I can’t discern
Drinking to feel more confident
Wipe away lonely concern
Some people sit one side of the booth
Facing me to make me squirm
Take another, tip it back
Almost too heavy, I’ll never learn
October 28, 2002

Judgment

Stupid bitch, two chins and pockmarked
Wearing a man’s t-shirt
Don’t stare at me because I’m drinking
Alone—it probably took you 3 years to
Make your 2 friends
Take that to-go box and waddle your
Rude way out of here
You’re just jealous that I have the
“confidence” to go on a date by myself
October 26, 2002

Just to be There

Travelodge covers the lampshades
In plastic
My mother calls after bedtime to make
Sure I’ll survive
Someone hurt me and that hurts her
That in itself gives me reason never
To procreate
She deserves mad props for putting
Up with me
Let alone this level of devotion and love
I can’t imagine many others are capable,
Including me
She wants me home to comfort her
Little girl
But I’m here writing under the light of
Plasticized lampshades

October 19, 02

Overreacting Jealousy

Too many of them make you uncomfortable
-- my poems

too many situations make me sob
I don’t want to drive my car into any
More ditches and
I don’t want to leave you
Behind again
Michelob ultra should benefit
Me in more ways than one
But last time you just hated me
Facile and sexualized solution
When all I want is devotion

You just can’t take them
Too seriously
-- my poems

October 18, 02

Before the Marine Corps

My elbow on your chest
Legs intertwined
Splash of wheels going by
Set back with brazen relief
Hum of the computer and
Whir of my cell phone charging
The battery died an hour ago
The days I don’t drink I down
A yellow pill
Saccharine with medicinal
Value, you are my high
I would give you Tums and
A sleeping pill to keep you longer
A slant of carlight slides off my
Fingernails to your chest
Run away again
October 18, 2002

Resolution

I can’t write shit
What if these words cause
More harm than good?
Harmless release and expression
Stokes the fire that engulfs resolution
Fuck politically correct
Forget best wishes
I mean it, truthful wish for
Your happiness
But dammit
Don’t belittle mine
I wanted “closure” and here it is
But now I second guess
My poetry

October 17, 02

With Benefits

I feel like I deal with
Backlash everyday
You amaze me with reality
And punctuality
I appreciate the outgoing lengths
With which you visit me
I will thank you
With my body and occasionally
My mind
I need to be sure
More than you need me
I want that feeling
Moaning forgiveness
At least we both benefit

October 8, 02

Hotels

There is a beautiful wasteland
Outside my motel window
Rolling hills of construction
Haven’t charged my cell in 3 days
Yet you still leave me voicemail
One more frat and plenty of offers
Long distance definitely doesn’t
Connotate this situation
Too bad I love you so much
Too bad I want you here
Instead of any of them
Mean jokes and everyone says I’m a bitch
Was I this hard to get along with before you?
I make them dislike me for an excuse
But I want universal acceptance
Too bad I don’t love them

October 4, 02

Pop Culture

I want to improve the situation, but
You’re like I stepped in some shit
I can’t get off my shoe
Every time I hear a
Knock, you haunt me
I keep my drapes drawn
My volumes low
Hours of repetitive
MTV
Gotta get by
You are just my friend
Forgive me because I
Did this again

October 2, 02

Commonplace Dream

I long for banal schedule
Void of fraternal debauchery that
Eternally internalizes true relations
He benumbs any seismic situation
To spare my feelings
As I wade through dismal withdrawal
From knight-on-white-horse fantasy
I allow my delusion to fade
How I degenerate, how I long
How I let it all go to live this life
Of stimulation

October 1, 02

Performance Anxiety

The yellow sulfur of loneliness bubbles in my brain
Socially quarantine myself for monetary gain
With more friends than I can remember
I grip my credit scepter like a competitive queen
I’m forced to present things as they seem
If I cupped my hands I might retain some of my fluid integrity

September 30, 02

Nostalgia

A strong wind whipping the scent of freshly cut grass
Across the field behind the playground
Where I found the arrowhead
Hot pinch of stinger inside the shoulder of my t-shirt
Callused foot bottoms mildly poked by
Driveway stones
Camping near a green pond with small
Frogs splashing
The snap of taking my first stud earrings
Out to put in new pink and yellow
Ice cream cones
Rivers and their tributaries eroding my sandbox and floating
My brother’s he-men to the wooden corners near the grape vines
Laying face-toward-the-sun on a partially
Deflated
Inner tube in my neighbor’s above ground pool
The rubber prism grip on my pencil the first time I wrote my own name and
That wonderful new car-type smell
Hay stuck in the rolled bottoms of my
Jeans after looking for kittens in our hay loft
Fighting the force field holding my arms to the wall when
My evil brother “lex luthor” wanted to stop my wonder woman powers in
Matt’s basement
Going to visit Aunt Darlene and Uncle Ken in Cincinnati, excited to eat
Sugar smacks or any cereal our parents wouldn’t allow our flourided teeth
To chew
Rolling down a scorching sandune with sand in my bathing suit
Aug. 15, 2002

Cases of Basket

Seething with embittered passion
I wait and scrape and
Expect the impossibility of
So many possibilities
Back up and run over another ambition
Age defying minefield where I
Trip painfully
Wish I could move mainly
Without debt
Laborious, whittling new passions
Work toward a goal but lessens
The objective because I forever
Wonder where I went wrong
No wonder I choose not to hold
On for long

July 15, 02

Create

Embryonic mishap
That was our fate
Bastard of social conformity
Stop all to prevent deformity
Look now at what you create

Cancerous melancholy
Of those alone
Mosquito bite reaction
To losing life altering traction
More offspring others condone

A need to create
New born successors
Bare naked link between
Her lineage benefit seen
Lost weakness of feeling lesser
July 15, 02

Michigan's Canada

A country of metric
Minded filth
And
Legal
19 year old
drunks

July 14, 02

Cards in Car

I live in monetary desolation
Hopeful ruin without exhaust
Where I beg for my drinks but
Reside in luxury
Avoiding mean finance through
Others that love me
Happily chat with my potential assets
Curse them after positive yet unwanted response
Solve this with new credit card,
Pasta in a box and stubborn demand
Adult demeanor or satisfaction
The meaning and benefit of both, but
Possible like a cold July in Orlando
June 28, 02

Justin

White the way its supposed to be
White the way the grass sleeps
Memorable masterpiece
Green the way its always been
Green beneath the happy grin
Aggressive behavior and
Jarhead scowls
June 25, 02

Drugged

Wake up sweaty, entangled
Senses matted, like my hair
See him
Only 3 drinks—one from
His arm which flops over me
My thoughts garbled with
Urges of flight and panicked flashbacks that
End without conclusion

June 11, 2002

Comfortable Relapse

No, but two wrongs makes a hypocrite
You’re awfully nobel
Somewhat lame
Your are wrong like beastiality
But much less sick
A taboo term for you, you
Fear the association

The next morning of our relationship—
No makeup and foul breath
Turn away in disgust or to spare the other?
The point of no return

Hide from the things you fear
I take cover from you
May 7, 2002

80 MPH

What calms better than
Cuticles when driving?
Directionless mastery
Sooths every pore with
Pounding cool air that
Still holds a memory
Of the day
Roll the window down a
Bit further
Gravel road and paved
Plan, but not until tomorrow
May 7, 2002

Who?

She wipes crushed epiphany from her cheek
Smiles and says, “you’re ok, too”
She once learned the stealth of spellbound
Merry-go-round self-transformation
Always another creation
Of her own
Learned to tie her shoes early
And now walks bare soled
To bear which soul she chooses
To define her today
May 6, 2002

On the Road

Watchful, weary
Uphold your hold on novelty
Two weeks to know me,
Two moments to forget
Where you wear me, aware
Of the lack of commitment necessary
Flailing, keep from failing
Bad days good nights another
Solitary lunch
Poetry on napkins
Bypass passive hesitation by
Ordering another
Repeat receipts for familiar faces
Digital memories of each
Leave the landmarks
And leave my mark
April 30, 2002

Faithfully Intoxicated

Amid mastodon faith
I shirk fully comprehending my duty
Where I walk more cautiously,
I have stumbled
Cower beneath thundering, righteous
Hooves with integrity
And attempt to awaken
I observe through calloused pupils
Like the bulbous bottom of a beer schooner
Your pressures, your strengths
Shudder from the painfully vivid
Reality we endure without intoxication
Drumming my finger tips on your skull
Maybe you’ll also wake
April 28, 2002

Beside Me

Masterpiece of emotion, genius
Of the soul
Wishing for circumstance within
My control
Memories rudely ingrained
More painful
Because of content or situation current?
Torrents
Fall above
Whetting your absence on my mind
Unborn journeys, winds of remembering
Emerson’s folly says give all to love
If my solemn wish puts you
Beside me,
I appreciate his contribution
April 23, 2002

Vicariously, Politically Incorrect

During the football games these men are doing other things
Which they deem more important because they
Have no choice
Or because they feel trapped in a routine
Or they can’t face their lives
Without self medicating
Poverty, low self esteem, broken soul

Negros and the night watchman are more similar in their shame they
Have no choice
Polacks may be alcoholics or nursing away problems, or a hard day at work
They may be the most “ashamed”

These men are proud in both senses of the word
Proud of their sons
Proud men—marked by constraining or exacting self-respect

Irony
Because these men provide for their families
They can’t be with their families
Why is the Pollack not with his wife
Or his son’s football game?

Dreams of the heroes they wish
They were to their families
Dreaming of the heroes they want their sons
To be
In the football game
Living vicariously through their sons
Who have freedom and valor
And possibility and opportunity

The sons’ power and determination—beauty of soul—contrasts the father’s
hopelessness and shame
The night watchman is ruptured, his soul has been crushed,
His pride and hope have burst and drained out of him
Over many years

Women are starved not for food, which their hardworking husbands provide,
But for companionship, “love”
Beautiful lines

No one thinks their activities or professions
Are heroic and no one, not even their families
Respect or thank them
This absence of gratitude is like
Those winter Sundays
Even though the workers families probably appreciate the hard work the fathers
expound
They don’t acknowledge
Just as the son whose father warms
The house for him every morning.
Aug. 15, 2002

Scorekeepers

Temporary pretension
Staring pupils past
Empty table…
Slowly, bumping
Excited by lessened
Co-dependence
DJ with less opinion
Than I—and hopefully
Less bass.
Tonight—the bar,
And a big fucking fan.

Feb 3, 02