All to Myself


I like the world best at 6am
because things are quiet
and still
and I have the emptiness of the streets
all to myself.

By 7 the early early commuters are out

eating breakfast with one hand

and narrowly avoiding pedestrians

with the other

and by 8 the school buses roll

so children can learn the importance

of commuting during high traffic times

(the key to conformity is practice),

I like the world best at 6am
when I still have the emptiness
all to myself.

When I Was Growing Old

A vectorized map of the United States dotted with icons on important cities.

Thirteen days past Reno
I finally read the note:
you’re always going to miss me
was all that she had wrote.

She left a quiet voicemail
while I was living in Saint Paul.
Her voice was full of sadness
and I didn’t return her call.

I never read the letters
she mailed me from Fort Wayne,
not even when she signed them
with only her maiden name.

The Tulsa skies are lovely,
or so I’m often told.
I never stopped to notice
when I was growing old.

The last I ever saw her,
at a wake in Sante Fe,
we shared a wistful smile
and went our silent ways.

76.3 (On Average)

A pitch black scene illuminated only by the lit fuse of a bomb with glasses on its body.

76.3 years
(on average)
32.1 spent
trying to figure out
what’s important
and 44.2 left
now that I’ve realized
that nothing is.

I am a dangerous precedent to set

Before I Can Give You My Heart

Don’t let them eat your brains

before I can give you my heart.

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It was your brown eyes
that first caught my attention,
and the symphonies of your voice
that held me there,
and I hope you won’t
take it personal
that I ran away.

It’s not fear of commitment
nor is there some other girl;
truth be told,
I was worried about my brains.
You see it’s just really bad timing,
what with the swarm of zombies
and the collapse of all civilization.
If you have not been eaten yet
then somewhere beneath the apocalypse moon
maybe you too are looking skyward
and thinking of what almost was.

Don’t let them eat your brains
before I can give you my heart.

Kurt Cobain

Drops of blood spattered on a blank music staff to create notes

I miss the America
that played Nirvana on the radio,
before every morning commute
was spent surfing between
a bunch of radio dress-up dolls
with their paint-by-numbers pop hits,
who never even had the integrity
to be homeless once or twice.

I miss the old celebrities
from back when fame
could still destroy your life.
They understood better
the value of defiance
and the beauty of persistence.
I miss musicians
who loved the music enough
to let it kill them.

What it Really Means to Be Smart

A symbolic mathematic equation detailing the myriad things it takes to make man happy, versus the few and simple things it takes to make a dog happy.

Sometimes I like to
congratulate myself
on how intelligent I am
because I understand
(a little bit)
about astrophysics
and I don’t have to pay anyone
to change the oil in my car
but I’m rarely as happy as Duke is
when he finishes a refreshing drink
out of the toilet
so maybe I’m still figuring out
what it really means
to be smart


A mask sits on a table outdoors under a brightly lit sky

The prettiest girl I ever dated
had perfected the art
of laughing without smiling
so we broke up
and I passed through
the young man’s
rite of passage
of realizing
that the important things about women
aren’t things you can see.

When I was young
I wanted the shapeliest
woman in the world
with jewel lips
who understood demure seduction
but since then I’ve learned
that the best woman
is one who is intrigued
by sitting on the patio
listening to Coltrane
and talking about the rising stars
as we all remove our veils.

The Cover of Time

Dogs of all shapes and sizes play, relax and enjoy themselves while on the TV, a single vicious dog is shown.

We all are fascinated
with news that’s sad and grim
and more people watch your program
if something shocking is within.

There’s little to advertise kindness
goodness sells fewer papers than crime
it’s murderers not Good Samaritans
that make the cover of Time.

When it comes to news and headlines
niceness just isn’t up to snuff
if you’re trying to be famous
just make your kill count high enough.