Deliver me

Deliver me

head-first into fatherhood

snip the lingering umbilical of

my warm adolescence

sentient, isolated


not alone

heartbeats through the screen

baby’s first sinewavehello

the little kumquat sees us with

eyes shut

coming down the pipeline

through gates of healthy


douse me in amnyotic surrealism

tell me I’m awake

life is ours for the making

tiny bones ossify like the

mother-father chemical bond

hardening our family against


is it a boy

or a girl?

fuck you.


a night of heavy dreaming

dark circles running from

my soul to my eyes

neo-raccoon diguise

i’m hungover after

a night of heavy dreaming


awake now i step up

to brew a cup

as black as the patina on

my heart

weathered soul still

tethered to the misery i made up

and lived through

last night


look back and unpack the suitcase of feelings

smuggled from a non-world

peppered with familial loss and fireballs

falling from the sky

is this some sort of fucked up

training for my third eye?


seems like dreams try

to pump the bilge

and purge the world water

from my tiny little head

good effort


face it

we face it

one way or another

forbidden fruit rotting

i may never watch

my brother die

but at least i know


i’m afraid to try


beaches full of quicksand

dreams force things on me

i always felt

but never knew were there

i’m rarely the main character

in my dreams but somehow i

never care


tattooing the page with

what little art

i brought

back to waking life

waking next to

pregnant wife maybe

these life-and-death moments

are meaningless

nevertheless i feel lucky

i can try

to teach myself a thing or two


my self


what are we waiting for?

debating when and how the end will hit

we’ve got to be ready for this shit

we think

but not so

we totally missed it

we’re busy bracing for impact

while the fallout piles up on our

sickly shoulders


the palsied pundits ignore it

preppers glorify and militarize it

pop artists desensitize the otherwise wise

and have us convinced that the devil’s in the distance


and where now is our prince?

humanity, this sleeping beauty

needs a kiss on the apocalypse

to rise from our slumber that we may see

we’ve already gone under


the doomsday we fear isn’t just near

it’s already fucking here

this catastrophe is brought to you by capitalism

and by viewers like you


we imagine the end times

will be an era of ruthless competition

and truthless exhibitions of power

where the dominant wield silver guns

and the subservient get a golden shower


we imagine the end times

are controlled by the strongest gangs

who build the tallest walls and steal

the most resources

feeding those who oblige their requests

and murdering all the rest


we imagine the end times

will compel us to take sides

in the name of security

the dirty work is not commendable

but hey man, the situation is dire

and everyone’s expendable


we imagine the end times

as a vacuum of morality

where it’s damn-near impossible

to distinguish between

hallucination and reality


we, the walking dead, imagine without imagination

and zomby about without a clue

that the end times are

all around us

even though

all we can smell

is blood

cross-eyed soul

there’s something there

i see right through you

or i would

if there wasn’t so much refuse inside

read you like a book

that i judged by its cover

but i tell myself i know the whole story

i don’t need no goddamned cliff notes

there’s something there

i’ve seen the likes of you before

you’re just like all the other people who do

that thing that you do that i’ve heard about

on the radio

you fit my concept of ‘to-be-avoided’

or at least ‘-controlled’

you might explode

if we’re not careful

there’s something there

you must be suspicious

of us that we

are suspicious of you

plotting from within your

cross-eyed soul

and canted glance

i fear you for

the harm i know you are

capable of

don’t you dare

come near my family

i can just tell

there’s something there

but maybe it’s

that we don’t


each other

at all

infinite rest

and just how much pain is tolerable

it ain’t up to the individual

to say uncle

acceptable limits are decided upon

by the silent majority who didn’t even know

they were registered to vote


we hold eachother

this constellation of individuals

accountable to all of the same standards

without regard to difference of ability, will, spirit,


and we therefore all move closer

to a likeness of the mold



have i given up

trying to illuminate for others

the mechanics lurking behind the scenes

in favor of controlling the machinery

under my immediate stage

which control allows me

some cheap replica of stability

and peace?


am i patient,

or complacent?


i like this phrase

but i don’t like what its logic

says about my potential:

writing a book that can change the world

is very much dependent on

the world’s ability

to read

home in haggett

i’m back in that familiar closet

whose number of walls still throws me for a loop
two cots, a tiny window,
some sweet music-makin machines
a green-tipped Earl
and infinite excitement for the company at hand
‘i just discussed this at length with new friends,’
any one of us was likely to say,
‘and now it’s our turn’
throw the rocks
kick the cans
brew the tea
feels like i’ve finally
lost it completely – and it feels wonderful
we came to a place of learning
and in finding you
i learned to unlearn a suite of society’s
sour preferences
i forgot how to knock
i forgot to respect the powerful
forgot how to look in a mirror through someone else’s eyes
forgot my swim trunks
forgot how to talk shit
forgot to forget how to climb treees
forgot the stigma against smoke
forgot to be a virgin
forgot that some people aren’t important
and remembered
how to deeply

crucify christmas

the only way

to have “christmas every day”

is to abolish it once and for all


jesus christ

you probably deserved a better tribute than this

some of us earthly humans really tried

to carry your legacy

but the roman state shifted shape

from one conquest to the next

and by the time it succeeded in colonizing

your revolutionary history

we didn’t recognize it as an oppressor

at all


i’m really sorry

to inform you that

just as the crucifix has been reduced to a

representation of devotion to the powerful

so has christmas become stripped of even

its own weakened spirit


for the sake of historical insurrection

let us attempt to combine

the two turtle-doves,

holiday and cross,


crucify christmas


christmas, you are hereby charged with the

murder of jesus’

legacy of universal love

and acceptance

in the first degree

you are further charged

with felony assault on life

with money, a deadly weapon,

which was and always will be

found at the scene

of your crimes


knowing as we do that

a jury of your peers would sentence you

to a large but manageable fine

and a meager probation,

we, the people

who few still somehow care

for the past, present and future

well-being and prosperity of life

and humanity’s small part within it,

irrevocably sentence

you to death


we thought to opt for incarceration

but quickly dismissed the notion of using

your own weapon against you


santa, as the footsoldier who carried out

the majority of christmas’ atrocities,

you will be properly shackled at the feet

and strapped to a large wooden cross

which burden you will haul three quarters of a mile

from the motorcade in the parking lot

to the center stage

in the courtyard

of the mall

of america


there you will be forced

to raise the cross yourself

and lean it on the corpse

of a noble pine,

whose life you are also guilty of ending,

you will be tied vigorously to your final home

with the largest incandescent light-strings imaginable,

stripped to the nude

and pelted with chestnuts

as your feet roast on an open fire below


hanging there like a yuletide stocking

you will slowly begin to notice the

menagerie of your accomplices,

the bankers and lawyers,

marketing agents and mothers,

musicians and poets,

pundits and pope,

ups drivers and hallmark sale associates,

talking snowmen,

icy polititians

and all the little boys and girls

both naughty and nice,

all of us complicit in and therefore guilty of

the great homicide of our time,

bound in tinsel and wreath,

locked up with you

on that silent night

inside the mall

whose only remaining commodity

is revenge


listen, santa baby,

listen, all, to the sweet silver bells

of justice that sound

as the emancipated slave

formerly known as rudolph

lights the entire mall ablaze

with the fire hidden in his nose,

putting evil Decemberism

once and for all

to sleep

in heavenly peace