sorrow is such sweet parting

we knew this day would come
like death and like taxes
we welcomed it like winter
like sunrise and like madness
did our best to preserve it
tried our darnedest to bottle it
in a mason jar with a faltering lid
we just couldn't keep it air tight any longer
we tried our damnedest - really, we did
but sometimes we're just not meant to last
our number came up
like sunrise and like madness
you can scribble it out all you want
but you can't change the date of expiration
so i swallowed hard
and poured her milky thighs
down the kitchen sink
put on my bravest face
and walked out into the madness
exhaling like death and taxes

revenge is a dish best served with salt & pepper hair

i'm at that age now
where my handsomeness is fading
by the day
i'm starting to look more and more
like my fourth grade teacher
mrs. socket - that hideous educational troll
it gets a little more gory
with each pass of a mirror
some days it's too much to take
which one of you assholes
stapled an old chewed boot
to my face, while i was passed
out on the jack?
i'm at that stage now
where my handsomeness is fading
by the day
and she still looks as young & ripe as ever
but the fat lady has yet to sing
and nature's got a taste for irony
and just when she gets settled
into a mrs. socket skin of her own
i'll get my first glance at distinguished
looking back at me in the bathroom mirror

hello/darling

gentle
that was her
and giving too
fast asleep
under sheets
watching tv

grinning always
you're too kind
you're too kind
she would say
you're too kind
again and again

loud speaker paint splatter

i fell into her laughter
her soul
her fucking
her

confusion
that was us
in the depths
under the swarm
under the sheets
mesmerized just so

i fell into her

i can remember her every step
on that boardwalk
and each direction that her dress moved
in the august wind
we laughed endlessly

we played each other
in supporting roles
shot in black & white graininess
over theatre applause
in a kensington market

i fell into her moving mind

i fell into her laughter
her soul
her fucking
her

leading ladies

i keep a cast
of pretty girls
close by
always close
never more
than a telephone
away
for all the rainy days
and sleepless nights
and the cool october
mornings
i love them all
in different ways
for different reasons
if i lost my phone
i'd be devastated
all my starlets
gone in a flash
they'd shut
down production
i'd have to recast
all over again
i'd complain
to the new ones
that they weren't
right for the part
all my pretty starlets
i love them all
i take them
everywhere i go
they're so dear
to my heart

now that you've already bought the book...

poetry is rarely found on pages
it's what crawls on your skin
ink can't fully encompass its being
it is far too potent a medium for paper
it'd burn right though it like acid
it does stand up on the back of your neck
but it doesn't get reprinted in different languages
because pages can't contain its essence
it does, however, punch you in the gut
when you hear the words
i don't love you anymore
that's poetry in a nutshell
sorry - no refunds

arrest this girl

i kissed a russian girl
at a radiohead show
in the czech republic
she asked where i was staying
i told her that i wasn't too sure
she asked if i would join her later
for drinks in her two star hotel
and i said that i surely would
she threw-up four songs later
well now that's just great!
the karma police
have crashed our party
i guess this is what we get
still, i can't think of a better venue
to endure such bad luck

doctor gonzo in a bathtub with a plugged in radio playing jefferson airplane

the scars on my wrists have faded nicely
it was a lengthy process to get here again
new cells and news hopes and new meds
but old habits die hard when dying
and i find myself wanting to relapse in the bathroom
feeling better behind a locked door
with only the sound of a running faucet
come to think of it
the floorboards needed a fresh coat anyways

town crier

i awoke this morning
and sprang out of bed,
unfastened the case
and held my guitar to the light.
i cut through all the strings.
returning it to its resting place,
i took a moment to take it in.
with a smile on my face
i thought to myself -
there! now that's better isn't it?
and then i went back to bed

scary things on the ceiling

douglas coupland
tried to warn me
his words died in vain
i drank an entire bottle
of robitussin anyway
that's it, from now on
i'm taking literature
far more seriously

bitter/sweet

lately
my heart's been breaking
but at least i know it's
still there

binding separation

sometimes late at night
we turn pages together
from separate beds
separated by streets that intersect
our pages pressed between clean sheets
pushing us into separate heavens
marching on the prose of typed sentences
our plots twist where our limbs won't reach
sometimes i wish our reads were side by side
so that i could be there when sleeps finds her
to separate the story from her falling hand
and replace the covers over her shoulder
tucking adjectives under her slender frame
sometimes late at night
i wish we weren't so separate