another experiment, inspired by the late musician Arthur Russell — the name of the next poem is perverse universe we made a pact to lick each other’s wounds it’s difficult to feign indifference more so to beat an invisible tambourine yes, grander objects of affection dearest thespian are just as counterfeit, yet here I am, slapping the twenty-dollar bill upon the scarred wooden counter…

A desperate love poem. — I’d make you a cup of coffee I’d make you eggs and toast I’d pour you a glass of juice Whichever you fancy the most I’d nestle within the crook of your arm I’d hover over your snoring face I’d kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips Make love in our sleep, mine…

I Know Part of the End — spell it like this enunciate each syllable not a bang not a clash not a whimper nor a crash I. a universe solely consisting of burnt Folgers with too much cream and lukewarm PG tips where pastors and clergymen through convincing, shit-eating grins shred and eviscerate every manifesto in the…

A belated Halloween-influenced poem. — i. The unwanted children cavort and gyrate amongst the privileged civilized Minneapolis folk I want everything to be normal again I want everything to be normal again Tight-lipped, Minnesota-passive (I mean NICE) emotionally-stunted Minneapolis folk summon the Blue-Badge Death Squad to usher the Dionysian to an imaginary orphanage I want…

A Fuck-You to anything heteronormative. — they were once regal here, the pristine couple rooted in a manicured front lawn you were once the ideal aspiration, lofty daydreams musings of enclosed, Easter family picnics yet poised, erect, expectant dreading to be erased cringing in advance sticking sliced thumbs into mouths where no one offers bandages where no one admits defeat…

Being too late. — a sluggish mass, bundles of sore muscles how cruelly we featured creatures are stricken with the triviality of pining chapped hands nursing feverish faces caked in last night’s grime and sweat wipe off those crumbs order another bowl of tonkotsu they wouldn’t want you anyway spittle creasing upon your lips dry as sandpaper lacking his…