Flowers for hours


As always, thanks to Jesse for forcing me to produce and share.

Kid on the beach blanket next to me this Saturday:
"Yesterday……a body came up on the beach."

You know what’s funny?
When the ice cream truck is playing, "We wish you a merry Xmas."


Follow me to hell
I hear the weather is warm
And I have short sleeves

Rapunzel did a puzzle, Hansel did a Gretel, served some time and then went to hell.
Hell isn’t half bad, it’s the world that wins the award-
teeth clenching bored and brothel bound.


Websites that should/might exist



Serpents eat surfboards and surnames
like cough syrup on their pancakes

The wife has a knife
And the husband has a gun
Let’s make ourselves scarce

Barf up a storm cloud
Cancel our date on Friday
I saw you IRL

I saw Avatar
And what I took from it was
Damn, I want a tail


Everyone is so angry these days.
Anger and hate seem to be what brings the masses together.
I’ll take my irony over-easy, thanks.
It’s like watching hundreds of hunters spreading hummus on pita with war paint on their face in front of a boar’s head on a stick, tongue lolling and flies making babies inside of its eyes.



Post-blow blues:
"It’s like I need you to be here for me now the way that I wasn’t there for you last night."

I spied across the lake at her, dillying with the daffodils in her spring-time trousers while I boxed with the bass and my tackle box belied her beauty; the backyard dirt belittling beautymarks and dew-strapped dimples.
I’m writing bullshit, I’m riding whorey-horses, I’m rooting around in the reeds.
I have wrought iron fences.
I can’t speak or smile.
I can’t even feel you fucking me kind of deal.
Write with your gloves on.

Here in Long Island, the sound of a train passing by never seems to disappear.
As if the train runs the extent of the world and the lead car is attached securely to the caboose.


I let a doctor cut my throat. Who knew I had the nerve?
Practice your alphabet. Bet I’m your alpha.
People tweet the way birds used to and now I know for sure, birds have more to say than man.

I just want to dream
with my toes in the summered grass
and my head rolling past the tree line, out to sea.
I want to feel all my own,
unafraid, unforrowed, unstated, out right and unraided.

The beginning to a Bed-time story
Once upon a time
far, far away in the dandelion forest, there lived an owl.
This owl, despite expectation, waas not very old at all and therefore not very wise either.
He knew nothing about banks or bills or jobs or girls.
He knew next to nothing about fiddles or riddles, history, houses, literature, or how to catch his own mouses.
this little owl knew only his mother and that he loved her dearly.
This is not to say that our little owl was not very curious- he surely was.
He longed to know all of the business in the forest and beyond to be had and it was his every night’s work to set upon finding this out.
Soaring from branch to branch (for Little Owl was still quite small and his wings quickly tired)
he would explore the treets and forest floor beneath him. 
Whenever Little Owl came across someone unfamiliar, he excitedly (but politely) inquired,
"Who? Who?"
On this particular night, Little Owl was perched above a tiny pond, staring down at the Little Owl in the water beneath him.
He had been asking the Little Owl "who" he was for nearly an hour now and was getting quite irritated because the Little Water Owl only repeated back more quietly asking Little Owl "who" he was.
By and by, a Slimy Little Green Owl hopped into view.
"What you yellin’ at yourself for?" the Slimy Little Green Owl asked, but to little boys and girls it would have sounded like he only let out a big CROAK.
The Little Owl blinked his eyes in confusion.
Looking at the Slimly Little Green owl, he asked, "Who?"
"Why I’m a Frog," the Frog said. "I’m green and slimy and I live in this pond, eating Flies."
"Who?" the Little Owl asked?
"Flies are those little, tiny things that you see flying around the pond."
The Little Owl blinked and looked at the flies and then he looked back at the Little Owl in the water and asked him WHO! he was.
The Frog laughed and grabbed his belly, but to little boys and girls it looks only like the frog let out a big, "RIBBET!"
"That’s your reflection," the Frog said, "That’s not another Little Owl, that’s YOU!"
"Who!" the Little Owl said.
"That’s right," said the Frog.
The Little Owl politely thanked the Frog and flew off to see who else he could meet.

Sometimes I hope that I die a peaceful death and other times I hope that I don’t ever die.


The ground and the sky were the same color, so we just walked up to the stars to escape this place. We were a nation bleeding from the temples, a land passing out from the trauma and we limped if we could, holding our howling in if we could, crying only if we were allowed or freshly wounded.

Log in to write a note