My Head is a Jungle

My head, my head is a jungle

Ancient and forever newly young

Snarled with vines and alien dreams

Drenched in the steam

Of a musky eternal summer

This is where I hide away

To steal my Eden slumbers

To lick my wilting fault lines

In the supple shade of a tree

I should never have touched

With friends I should never have met


My heart, my heart is a black box

Perched in some angle

Of the mangled plane that hurtles

Toward those tangled trees below

Recording the prayers and the wails

Of passengers who will die in the crash

Or find themselves stranded

In this wilderness of words and pools

And glittering, slithering snakes

This burning bower of bliss

This strangest of utopias




I want to plunge my hands

into that main stream.

Sink towards the bottom

while it rushes past me.

All those people and their

slippery liquid dreams –

The technicolor deluge

tugs at my seams.

They may not

whittle their souls

with a razor’s promise,

but all that wild neon raw,

so sleazy ghastly loud:

It makes me want to sing

and tell them thank you.

A Try

Our kisses went up like prayers

And your stares popped all my zits

When you caught my eyes like mirrors

I knew you were chasing your face


How I loved to touch your skin

How I hoped you’d want me to

Well, you tried to smooth my folds

But I couldn’t stay flat on my own


All your family thought I was bland

Till the day they saw my tattoos

Then I caught them searching for secrets

Behind all that innocent ink


I drink like Gideon’s men,

My knees and nerves unbent.

I look up from the sink,

Face red and dripping wet.

But meeting my stare in the mirror

Gives me vertigo in a blink:

And I shrink,

‘Cause I think

That I’m standing on the brink.

Insomnia gives me a wink.


I stretch in the morning sun;

I reach for Cupid’s quiver.

I pray his golden dart

Will prick my straying finger.

But Cupid has something to tell me,

This maxim to impart:

That art

Without heart

Is not the right place to start.

Now Cupid must depart.


Like My Status

You like these tired games

Because you’re innovatively sane

And all your words are just so

When you put them in a line

One your friends are sure to snort up

Until their noses cave in, seeing as

Your stuff always gets a good price

Even though everyone’s selling

At the big blue boring auction, like

Twenty likes, fifty likes, eighty likes

A hundred; two-hundred likes, now

Three-hundred likes, five-hundred likes

And SOLD to the man in the back

Because five-hundred’s pretty good

For a normal guy

On a normal day

I mean, it’s pretty good, I guess

To get five-hundred clicks, or

Five-thousand friends, or

Five million Monopoly dollars

Like the best paycheck everrrr

Like my status or I’ll hate you foreverr

Write a caption I can use as a lever

So I don’t have to worry that

Nobody cares what I’m doing here

With my tiny phone

And its tiny frames

For tiny lives and tiny waists

The slimmest model ever, now on sale

So slim it’ll fall through the cracks

Of your feeble attempts to make

One single meal

Taste as good as it looks on your feed

So you’ll feed and feed like a parasite

Or Jesus when he fed a few loaves

To his luckiest five-thousand followers

Who proved themselves just as

Depressingly capable

Of feigning satisfaction with crumbs

As your own followers are today