poem 34 – 6-13-15 – THE DESPONDENT DORK


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the opening line will read
“I’m tired, the sun is coming up”

I wanted it all to end
but I was nowhere near done

a self-involved recluse
with a savior complex
contradictory and incongruent
to his own sophistry

with the Plath plague
in the dismal desert
you’re the despondent dork

when feelings subdue
and all thought is suppressed
vision is clogged
your heart burns
and your stomach aches too

you are reduced
and revert back to fetal position
at the edge of the mattress
at the center of the room
where you feel trapped and safe
a soul present in all dimensions of depression

you feel glum
while the flowers bloom
you feel dumb
while others applaud your efforts
you feel like a fraud, a hack
you feel like an existentialist
cause that’s what you truly are
you will not reach the sublime

not with feelings like this
not with words like this
not with poems on solitude

you bathe in the banal
you sullenly soak, alone
you closed the door

you heard a knock
your lips didn’t move
but your pride answered back “NO”
then something disguised as dignity
dug it’s way out
and added “I’M NOT HERE, I MOVED AWAY”
you then heard footsteps
walk into the distance
you were happy for them.
You were there
recumbent for a bit more
you held on
for as long as you could
then you realized
you should actually leave
and do something else

poem 33 – 4-27-15 – TIME


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he heard her voice

and thought her cadence was kind

she spoke to him softly

as she leisurely worked on

a self portrait

her eyes moved from the mirror

to the canvas

she was fully aware of her body’s inflection

part 2 her.

she questioned intention

and if she even wanted “it” to go there

he felt both familiar and new to her

she was conscious of the conflict between her past

and the current questioning

in her head she asked herself

if she should allow “this”

whatever this “is”

to run its course

she was elated yet mindful

“this” like milk

might be a few dates away

from its expiration

she tried her best to suss out the situation

using common sense to avoid a common mistake

she isn’t too worried

she is going at a steady pace

part 3 her.

she played cards and passed time well

she sipped her drink like i never could

i watched her like the observer i am

sitting in that stupid french restaurant

across the street from where i find comfort

it reminded me of the old couple

i saw sitting across from each other

at a small table

slowly chewing their dollar burgers

with their pilsner beer in their plastic cups

at a McDonald’s in Paris, France

when i was drunk

years ago

part 4 her.

there was a pink oil paint stain

smeared on her bleached hair

on the left hand side of her head

her roots were visible

she was a blonde brunette

part 5 her.

filled with open doors

with open windows at the center

they held the space between words

she let him know that she enjoyed his frustration

with being in social settings

she was a social butterfly

both at work and at the bar after work

she commented that the process he found himself in

was hit or miss

she meant his writing

and nothing else

he took it personal at first of course

but then ultimately was relieved

he felt challenged and in a way encouraged

part 6 her.

she didn’t mind his distance

it wasn’t his intent to create it between them

he sat there

and replaced his present with nostalgia

he romanticized the morbidly mundane

but she could easily bring him back to reality

if she needed him there


his thoughts were scattered and stagnant

for years

he owned a cross bite

constructed of a clutter of jagged teeth

he grinded and sharpened them in his sleep

he had concluded he didn’t fit her fixed future

he lived in fiction

he knew he hadn’t discovered the optimal

he had just uninstalled dismal

and dismissed the disinformation publicized

he thought that was good enough for now

he was sure he would stumble across his path

with that

part 2 him.

banal truths were hard for him to swallow

he kept his mouth full of greasy street food

his hands pathetically searched for anything caffeine-based

he had a grandiose sense of mission

his ears were clogged with pride and suppressed regret

your platitudes flew right over head

and plateaued

he spoke only in omissions

he took conversations for granted

and that is how he got so lost

he closed his eyes

he tried to sleep it off

part 3 him.

lonely angry masturbation

was a preemptive attempt to hide the fact

they wouldn’t see each other next time

they see each other

he thought himself a glutton

a sexual deviant

young in ways that prohibited actual answers

both past failures and past loss

helped him not hurt as long as most would

this matter owned no death

so why mourn it?

he thought

part 4 him.

the fish’s spine must have broke or something

he thought

its body resembled the letter j

it swam upside down and looked like it was having trouble breathing

for days before he thought he should put it out of its misery

he fished it out of the fish tank

he walked with it in a stainless steel-handle net

the fish was on its side at the bottom

his eyes on the fish’s one eye visible to him

an overhead view would show he walked in a s shape

he got to the waste basket in the kitchen

then he saw the fish’s pupil explode

the colors broke like glass that had fallen to the ground

the life left the soul case with that

part 5 him.

the young fellow fell into a redundant stupor

where he felt most at home

he made sure to fail

anything good made him feel uncomfortable

his decisions congruent to a life of solitude

he had his friends

he kept at a safe distances

a bus ride away

a phone call away


part 6 him.

he tried to give as much as he took

but always came up short

he never replaced the toilet paper he used

the q-tip brand cotton swabs he compulsively cleaned his ears with

each time he used their washroom

the pomegranate face wash

the soap

the shampoo

the conditioner

the dental floss

the toothpaste

the coffee, the coffee filters, the brown sugar

the secret stash of chocolate in the cabinet

he ate while she slept

part 7 him.

his eyes transfixed on a single bulb

among a strand of green wire christmas lights

his vision bubbled

his tears caused this

he knew he couldn’t convey the moment

and it hurt him to know where he was

in that point in time

part 8 him.

he sits on a wooden chair

with milk cartons behind 

books beyond his forehead

a computer faces a stack of bricks

and sits profile to him

a blonde brunette sat on a steel stool

her hazel eyes were on the screen

she read a correspondence

between her manager and the owner of the bookstore

she works at

and he sits in

she was a couple hours late a few days ago

the manager wanted her fired

the owner wanted to give her a few more chances

but didn’t want her to know

the manager came in six hours late the very next day

part 9 him.

boredom sat there with him

he thought back to when he was in another bookstore

in another part of town

sitting on the couch

in front of the desk where you pay

Patrick the owner sat there

on said day

“don’t be so jaded” Patrick said

knowing the kid was down

he got up to grab a book from the bookshelf

he was breaking character

he sat back down and opened the black sparrow press paperback

and read him Blue Bird

there was an understanding between them

and it gave the kid some hope

part 10 him.

he always visualizes his memories in third person

an imaginary perspective

from an imaginary cinematographer that had no life

he had to live through others


not existing otherwise

her 2.

she felt a disconnect

she kept her relationships compartmentalized

a subliminal sabotage to intimacy

her coffee was purchased with a bank card

she took back her invested time

she puffed on her electronic cigarette

as she checked her electronic mail

she read a message that echoed

a black hole to a cup of immediate gratification

that could never be brimmed

her partner’s insecurity

made her decision to let go

seemingly logical

part 2 her 2

she didn’t want to seem cold

she hated that she compared

but couldn’t help to acknowledge

that it was both a difficult yet a simple choice to put an end

to the relationship

it had a life of only a few months

she thought in a juxtaposition retrospect

and reminded herself

she ended her last relationship

that owned a run of a few years

you know the kind

the kind where you own a pet together

the kind where you feel comfortable

the kind where you are objectified

the kind where drinking equated to plain fun

a time filler

her drinking wasn’t questioned

it didn’t have any negative exponents attached

part 3 her 2

she carried the month of march

with grace and tried her best to make it easy on him

she was successful in doing so too

3 black cats crossed her superstitious path

she waited till the end of the month

so it would be easier for him to hold on

she was right

and he realized it after a 3 mile walk

part 4 her 2

she thought she lost something irreplaceable

she felt alone once the words were spoken

they equated to no sex with who she said it to

and again she was unprepared to watch her partner go

she misconceived what she said would mean to him

she had one eye that was green and one that was blue

her lover’s eyes were both brown

they were connected to a different ideology

she felt disconnected in a close-off space

stuck in nostalgia

she kept

Mr. 7 years ago around

she saw him twice the week she said what she said

to him

she kept in constant contact with the coffee shop comedian

he dumped her

but kept her longing for the connection

he contacted her late at night while she was in bed with her present

her brown eyed lover felt the hurt

he felt the belittlement

he felt the loss

but that wasn’t her fault

they just saw things differently

she saw this 

so she let him go

even thought she wasn’t ready to

her vision blurred

as she stared at the light on her ceiling fan


SARAH click on image for weekly poems posted every sunday poem 31– 3-26-15 I SHARED MY LAST DRINK WITH SARAH PRATER

it stung

like the thought

life is gonna be like this


i will always drag my feet

nostalgia’s white lie

i will always play dumb

i will never drive an automobile

bored of ourselves

ordinary madness

i descended into the couch

a dying city in a mind

gran legacy


at the bottom shelf

i counted the times

i gave up

fear of the unknown

will never let us go

poem 30 – 3-16-15 – YEAR OF THE WHOPPER


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poem 30– 3-16-15



yea i’m sober

but that might mean

different things to different people

please remind yourself that

let me start off by saying…

that it doesn’t mean

it isn’t tacky

for you to ask me

these three questions




chances are

i drank more than you’ll ever drink in your lifetime

so for me to talk to you about drinking

makes no sense

you haven’t earned my words on the subject.


“you ain’t a punk, you punk”



my last book of poems was dedicated to Jenny

my girlfriend that drank herself to death

and Piss Drunx

read it like a novel and don’t ask me stupid questions