In Your Club

in dark rooms,

with heavy bass,

and fruity drinks,

watery beer,

polo shirts stink of sweat,

hair gel runs down the neck,

high heeled shoes are broken

hips collide

like crash course dummies

the cool crowd bumps their


songs encourage the losers to be themselves,

and that it’s better to party alone,

than with people that make you feel alone,

but this song plays in the club,

while the truly weird sweat it out elsewhere,

the clean cut mob stomps

the strangers,

then wants to feel unique,

as if our blood on their Jordans

gives them a piece of us to keep

it is the song,

bumping where we do not belong,

allowing the truly stupid,

and the truly boring,

to pretend they are odd,

just as they crush the crazy

in the grills of their parent’s cars,

you pay your price in pennies,

to pretend,

so used to taking things that don’t belong to you,

thinking cheap replacements are your friends,

thinking the real thing is trash,

polishing your reproductions

i bet you feel so special,

with dozens of people just like you,

i suppose that’s why the room’s kept dark

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Sinister Knowledge

that i know this is going no-where,

and push you around anyway,

and why not?

no matter what i know,

this is still very fun

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i’ve been somebody else for a while,

we now return to your regularly scheduled Liam,

who is also somebody else,

each morning,

forget i mentioned it

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Trickster Comes Through

he gave me a look in the eyes,

and he laughed,

grinning with long moon teeth,

his many legs shuffled,

and he sat bouncing on his tail like a spring,

“alright kiddo, lets see what you’ve got”

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Entry Level

We’re looking for someone with more experience.

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Posted, Nailed, and Stuck

the paper fluttering under the Hi

fan setting,

threatening to take wing out

my window in the night,

tracings of book covers,

hand replicated albums with long

highways, artfully broken records,

diagrams of the true mind,

the beating heart,

an open hand,

a glass of whiskey,

the Rain Dogs and Buddhas in ink,

the gods and lilies in crayon,

the postcards i bought and kept to myself,

in the Manhattan afternoon,

i always meant to send you one,

a bar-tending licence i earned in secret,

i always meant to mix you a drink myself,

and the incredulous faces of my favorite cartoons,

the things i hang,

posted, nailed, and stuck

in place,

are me,

willing to be torn in half,

just to get free of the things that hold me,

posted, nailed, and stuck

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Size Matters

the enormity of years,

standing over me like a giant,

your sky on my shoulders,

your mountains on my mind,

like the loss of a limb,

a never sealing sore,

the sheer weight of carrying your delusions,

wondering who you were,

not knowing that you stood apart from me

you pressured me one way,

knowing i’d react another,

and you made me dance,

you made me sing,

you made me slide through the night

howling toward or away from your door,

toward or away from myself,


beyond time,

beyond distance,

pages flap in the breeze,

i put you away,

and my own goliaths

come home to step on me

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