Tag Archives: Psychology

Dicks & drugs

You can have
a hard dick
or a slurred tongue
but you can’t have both

Or hey what do I know
maybe you can
I knew a dealer
in New York
who had little blue pills

There’s actually something
I’ve never done
his neighbor told me
it fucked with his head
they both looked at each other
nodded & agreed

He had a couple pit bulls
they were lounging beside him
with their tongues out
as he smiled reminiscing
the fond moment
he was fucking this chick
& put her head thru a wall

I could write tragedies
about some that I’ve met
back before there was Weedmaps
when gangster wannabe’s
stood between me
& some moldy catpiss that
hardly took the edge off

But I won’t—

A cock is not just
for playful pummeling & painting
piss murals on everything
a cock is like a barometer
a cock gives you a choice

                 Someday I predict
                 I won’t care as much
                 if I make it another thirty years
                 come smoke me out with sap
                 on the side of the trail
                 on a sunny day
I’ll have had so many
thousands of deafening orgasms
by then—tens of thousands—
it will all seem like one
about to happen



The moment I left New York and never returned

Not that long ago
I woke up furious
at the blue light blinking

I wasn’t pissed that the txt
was from my sister—but that
you thought you could get to me
through her—I didn’t even read it
immediately after reading your name
that I buried in my past where it belongs—

The only thing I could remember
other than those cold dead eyes
that I wish I would have seen sooner

Was when you took me on a bus ride
I can’t remember if you lied about job hunting
or this was part of your reinactment
on how to make love stay
you knew it like you’d done it a thousand times
the same route that would be flooded
with a bunch of schoolboys
in uniform all looking almost incestually identical
& you turned to me and said emotionless
that it was your fantasy

Old friends

I once had a friend
who was a paedophile
It’s just a phase I swear 

Someone found his stash
at a gaming party
when he passed out first
we all saw what he thought was hidden

We didnt even know how to react—
so we made fun of him and called him a CPA ’til he figured it out—

He used to wish me a happy birthday on 11/11,
was the last of my old friends that did so

But when I’d get drunk—I’d get loud—I’d
get crazy, unpredictable and insane—
and he would shush me to be quiet
like he was still afraid
after all that time
I’d write this poem out loud
for everyone to hear

The dream (inner ear)

Never recognizing
the faceless shadow
that stands beside me
in a dim dream
of some bazaar
looking down at this
gold watch
with a ship
sailing northwest
on my wrist
thinking I will not purchase this-
then it begins

A loud electric surge
pulls me undertow
a speechless soaring
tearing me down;
I will not go

Your name
releases me
to this life
we fell into

My love
is the anchor
that sinks me
to the bottom
of the deep dark sea

The carcinogenic neurotoxin

I drank a toxic smile
to smear my eyes
a little further
down the canvas.

I laughed myself
inside out.

I imbibed a poison
just to feel like
one of you.

It is not love,
it is not hate.

It’s something in-between.

Who put this in the well?

I feel your heart beat
across town
in the night.

So here’s a toast-
for the further we stray
from the source
the higher the chance
of corruption.

The experiment

With every thought
and every shiver,
growing what looks like
Metabolizing biosynthesized matter
at a frequency adjusted
for the star walkers spectrum.

Usnea sways in warm tea
like some kind of seaweed.

Without these stories
coiled into a dance
there would just be
these timeless all encompassing

Nothing is ever empty
or far
and no one is ever

Will these seeds sprout along the window sill
next season?
Will this tether supersede,
or will it disconnect?

Sometimes the last straw stowaway escape hatches,
while the rest,
a perpetual love making
that knows no limit
set by the chain reaction.

I almost didn’t make the train
but I fought my way
thru a test tube
of infertility
to write this.


By the time I was five years old
I thought I already knew what it was like to die.

You could say this was my earliest memory
as a singular being.

Falling through the cracks of the room
and into an endless and polished white space.

There was something I had to do.
Something I could not do.
An impossible task.
Death was coming because I was unable to do this
in that small window of time.
There was nothing I could do but wait.
I was afraid.
It was my time.

Then the chilling and paralyzing fear
grew warm
and blanketed me with the deepest sense
of peace
like falling into
the most relaxing
slumber of my life,
turning off,
and letting go.

And it was there I found
my earliest memory.

I was inside of the womb
dreaming, looking outside.

An archetypal whisper in the numerical wind

My soul is screaming
burning in the flames
of a fire of eyes
sifted through a net
thrown from a vaulted dome
and sleeping almost peacefully
but numbing extremities
just for a bit
until the morning washes liquid
magma superconductor alien hissing
drones slicing insectoid-

Exoskeletal reflective
and closing off but
driven by a fuse
inching toward ignition.

Swallowing atomic bombs
of possibilities
from the sun
of the bottom of the heart.

Melting into leaked streets of death-
the dangerous apathetic erosion
of attachments rooting prosperity
fruiting emotions falling down and fermenting
on warm concrete and dribbles of piss
picked up by the pants.

Looking away from the swarm
of walking mirrors
made out of some kind of plastic
as not to amplify
the already volcanic
eruption of balance
flowing up from the