“Circling the Drain”

“Circling the Drain”

Paper notes,

and fallen Popes.

Don’t objectify me!

Unless, I want you to objectify me.



Rage turned loose.

You see, I don’t really want equality.

I just want you to suffer as I have.

I’m supposed to be better than you,

but if we’re being completely honest,

I’m not.

I just haven’t had the opportunity to be as vile.

A walking talking contradiction.

Self-serving benediction,

worship my false idol.

Pedestrian pedestal,

stalled, devolution.

Self lies are sexy,

and allow fear to keep me desperate.

I will scream until you relent.

I will scream until you repent.



Idols fall at the fevered pace of fake news announcements.

Ideas brand you as dangerous.

Dialogue dry-well, drywalled in.

Immovable position.

Paralyzed by fear.

Innocence becomes the lie it always was.

Ignorance is heralded,

especially when wrapped in arrogance and denial.

There is no middle ground.

Just extreme extremism extremely extant.

Order is caving and leaving on chartered flights, and squirreled in the hold of shipping containers.

Those that feel comfort within the framework that a society provides, have no conception, that that luxury is only provided by that which they hold in contempt.

Consequence is gaining.

Ignorance is not bliss, but a precursor to suffering.

The middle will not hold, unless good people stop listening to those that sow doubt.

The philosophers are extinct, and their ashes have been eaten gluttonous by apologists that are in love with their zeal.

I sit out in the open road, hoping that when the collapse comes, I can see that sinister look of recognition dress the faces of the smug.

A recognition that liberty is just another illusion in the tent of Abraham.

Institutional ignominy delivered on target by drowning drones.

Driven mad, by madmen, and the most sincerely irrational and well-meaning people.

“Fugue State”

“Fugue State”

All of a sudden,


detachment is necessary for survival.


sailor’s scurvy.

There’s no one in the crow’s nest.

Uncharted course approaching,

at breakneck speed.


Netflix and spill,

your guts over the Starbucks side.

Waves are swelling.

But, if you focus on the horizon,

a tidal wave is building,

Momentum gathering at a point.

When will it get here?

Waiting on the coastline for a Tsunami is tremendously boring.

A great scourging purge will claim the abomination we dreamt,

and teach us new universal truths.

Wandering, faces aglow.

The aroma of Huxley’s soma,

drawing us further into ourselves,

without hope of surfacing for air.

It was tech’s JOBS, to imprison us behind the GATES.

Barbarians are we, gates or not.

“Barely Hidden Tattoo”


“Barely Hidden Tattoo”

Barely hidden tattoo,

peeking over the neckline of your tank top.

I can’t rightly say if it’s the tip of an iceberg,

or a singular disembodied something.

What does it represent?

A victory?

A regret?

A tribute?

Is it a mocking representation of you in a foreign language?

Did you get it in Bangkok?

When you bent over to pick up your dropped pack of cigarettes,

I espied an ornate belt wrapping your midriff.

I’ve heard others vulgarly call them Tramp Stamps.

For what it’s worth, you don’t look like a Tramp.

Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?

I’ll show you my ink.

The doorman at my building has an arm sleeve tattoo.

I saw it that time his arm got stuck in the elevator.

when he tried to stop the doors from closing on Ms. Jenkins.

Are tattoos copyrighted?

Who gets the copyright?

You, or the tattoo artist?

My tattoo honors a fallen fetus.

My friend miscarried.

It was a boy, it wasn’t mine, but I wanted her to like me.

She got a tattoo of the father’s name instead.

They overdosed in a trailer two summers ago.

The ink ran out.