GRITTY SHEETS is ready!!

omg, i thought this day would never come... i can't believe how crazy it is to hold on to your own words in book form. i know that poetry isn't the most widely sought after type of literature in the world, but mine means SO MUCH to me, and i actually can't imagine my life without it... i just hope that someone else out there feels like it's actually worth reading. in my head, each word has significance and power. each phrase brings me back to the moment i wrote it... it totally doesn't chronicle my life in the sense that i use it as a diary; it works as a catalog of feelings i had at the time. the stories and ideas may not have any truth to them, but the emotion behind them does. some of it is gritty, some of it is painful, some is goofy, some is depressing, some is just life...

it will actually be sold on Amazon soon, and major book retailers will have access to order it for customers! wow... that's all i have to say.

so anyway, here it is GRITTY SHEETS !

Sunday Brunch

Busied boiling macaroni
irrigation of throat meticulous
morbid silly hangover
shrill light, bright noise
no more surname

Busied handing you affection
my digit adorned again
suffering distilled orbit
a ravine of broken bottles
my lord

No work for 2 days more
loaf here
with Captain Suffocate
he left a big howling lacuna
and forgot me again

The Sauced Chef

We were cooking
Always
watching Plantsie of the key limes
barren
A beautiful chunk of Romano
crumbling
Piles eudora, heaping:
peas, beets, tomatillos resting in papery shells
they climbed the rotting garden wall all summer

Attempts for Telly to interfere
thwarted, marital
but after so much planning he could create
syrups now
reductions
sauces
his favorite: sauces
I think don't give up. Don't give up.
in my opinion
what he Googled wasn't as good

Rich enough

Do those who are rich enough bring a photographer
On their honeymoon? It is difficult to always
Take pictures of only one person or flag down an
Innocent 3rd party, makeshift photographer.

I guess most people who are rich enough
To bring them along get them for free – paparazzi.

Back and Forth

She back paddles and avoids
His longing glance
Her intentions backlit like
An antique silhouette
And a back draft of self-consciousness
Stifles her wit
He has psoriasis and sunburn

Before the doorbell

Pork chops and pasta without sauce
Litter the dining room table
Once fine china, finely cracked
Like dry winter skin,
Holds canned peas, butter.
His bouncing knee rattles
Disarrayed silverware –
He never knows if knives are
Left or right – and he
Gulps down another glass
Of pale red wine.
Maybe he was mistaken,
Today is not the day or
She never really said yes.