…and I guess we can just OPEN the afterparty to my funeral with “Ohm Sweet Ohm” —because yeah, you don’t change with age but you learn how to be you P.S. no afterparty? #NotMyFuneral
Blue gray Thunder red and The tread, the dread, the Tires, the soul tires. At the gas station, I remember A man as he taught an eager boy how some One pumps gas. The boy needed Two hands to hold the handle Steady. I think about that moment, Or a moment between us when Plastic … Read moreSurrender/Midnight Blue (Of Course I Still Write Poems)
Dear God: Sorry about the end of print. I always liked the smell of ones and zeros as they peeled off the screen onto my paper. I hope you are happy in Autobot Heaven, though. —Nietzsche & Brian
…I could be RIGHT
[…this poem originally appeared in a San Diego Writers’ Ink Anthology…I think] There, when the air is just like that when you feel it an it becomes sticky, salty, like sand my entire machine shifts gear and I become something else again and I remember what happens to time because it’s like some Kindergarten worm-hole … Read moreMoisture
California—Of all the men, you’ve broken my heart the worst. When I was eight, the coolest Trapper Keeper covers were photos of you. Everyone talks like you these days. California—you look more and more like Vancouver on TV, Netflix. You speak Spanish with a thick Asian accent. You ruined my attention span. California—I am sorry; … Read moreCalifornia
…ever since I learned Auden wanted “Sigfried’s Death March” played at his funeral, I’ve been obsessed with what I might INSIST be played at MY funeral. My answer has changed over the years. I have always been true, of course—which is why tonight I realized it had already changed. Back.
Billy Corgan is actually the Little Prince; his lyrics are sad & gloomy because he’ll never make it back to his planet indeed.