a poem I wrote sometime in 2008 that I found stuffed in the bottom of an ugly shoe in the bottom of a cardboard box in the garage and then revised slightly while transcribing due to not being able to read my own scribbly weird handwriting

Pick your poison from a list of names
Fold your menu, dig into the luminescence
of your unfixed etiquette
ending these sentences with predicates

This piece of plastic lets you live like
some kind of 6th story rebel
men named Giovanni take you dancing
while I stay home, saved by the bell
And if we had 15 minutes to sort this out
it would be so absurd to discover
from the incisors behind pretty lips
what I've so long see in your eyes
sinking unbelievably large ships

loose lips
loosen tongues
forget our lines
and we fail to mind
should we slip
on decks of the boats
recovered in outlet malls
and science halls
mortaring all the red brick
walls you put in
place to separate yourself from            those selves
you collect on each a more lovely mahogany shelf

You dust on wednesdays
Drinking poisonous sips
Huffing the furniture polish

the energy builds up

swelling like a symphony

at our backs

turn your palms to the wind

we are about to take flight

I think the wind

knows where to go.

MUG-GLE: What I get for taking a poetry class

deus ex machina

sometimes I cry
because the world is so beautiful

in these moments of clarity
everything appears impossibly
perfect,
all objects moving towards one
another with the timed precision
of a pendulum

I gasp, a fish--
grow gills and seep water
where the clockwork cuts me

an eloquent passage on a bike
sing-song wheels and feet

what about
grass going up
on shaved meadow

why in winter
what hope is there
for that at all

why now, sing-song, i trusted
that. why it's all have
to think about

before my frame crumpled
and I lay
in the intersection

You can simulate rain
on the internet
even a fireplace
it's like the internet
can replace our real lives
it's like you really don't have
to live anymore
it's like maybe
if you die
you can go
to the internet
where it rains
and there is a fire
and there is music
and porn
and you can be happy

isn't that sort of what
Tron was about?

An Haiku

in yellow moonlight
the aspens seem to tremble
your window is dark

Do what you should
over what you must
because lets admit that
being agreeable isn't
your best and
most winning feature