Reasons not to bathe

1. It’s really cold outside, so it’s not like I sweat or anything.
2. I put on cologne.
3. I can just use one of those alcohol pads.
4. Who says the water is even clean?
5. No one is going to smell me, and if they do, it serves them right for getting too close.
6. My cat has separation anxiety and I can’t take it into the shower.
7. It’s like camping!
8. I am picky about my bath, and I’m out of flower petals and incense.
9. There’s no hot water.
10. I don’t particularly want to.

A 1-in-45,000 Chance Of Impact

The silent night sky suddenly flowered with incandescent light. It started at a pinpoint – the distant asteroid Apophis – and bloomed across the dome of the heavens.
In the Russian Institute of Astronomy, one dour man stood apart from the rest, champagne flute in hand. He lectured to no one. “Deflecting an asteroid that wouldn’t hit Earth? A nuclear demonstration of humanity’s self-preservation?”
The gala was silent as, above, a chain reaction of fission ripped apart the dark matter filling the universe.
The scientist continued. “Majority rules in science, it’s a great idea! Cheers to the end of the world!”

Winter Storm

Holy moly looks like a white out.
Traffic backed up for miles.
Whatever I don’t need snow.
Snow’s all melted by now.
Oh the weather outside is frightful.
Here, warm yourself by the fireplace, I’ll fix some hot cocoa.
Look at it come down!
Earmuffs. Yes, earmuffs.
Can’t tell if it’s snow or sleet any more.
The trees sure are bent over with it all.
This is so inconvenient.
Oh come oh come you winter wonderland!
Snowball fight!
It can’t last much longer than this.
Careful out there.
Thank God we’re all home.
Don’t track slush all over the house.

The Happy Daddy Long Legs

The happy daddy long legs snap snappied its wings in joy.
Its six long legs danced and pranced whenever they got the chance.
It was constantly amazed and never ever fazed with life.
It flew from ceilings to walls in kitchens and halls.
The sunlight delighted in its exuberant ebullient flight.
It hung and sung in ecstasy each week of its short time.
Never did it drown or frown in sadness or madness.
But gladness shivered in rivers up and down its abdomen.
Uncontainable, unrestrainable, able only to whir in pure joy.
The happy daddy long legs in its place.

All-knower

Her breath reverberated around her skull like a bouncy ball flung in a prison cell. The earth was thirty feet below her. She wasn’t falling.

She was floating above it, peering down with amused curiosity. She flew forward, gliding high over blue, orange and purple buildings. Tiny fairies glistened and flitted throughout the formations. Larger monsters lurked within. Tragedies and comedies played to curtain and she glided over.

Only her salty tongue and gently rocking body foiled the illusion that she was God. Soon she’d grow cold and return to the boat. Until then, her world lived busily below her.

I am a fish

Here is coral. The green one tastes best. It looks like a brain if I squint my little eye and look at it. I wonder what I look like. Benevolent giants stare at me with bubble eyes in wonder, so I must be pretty.

The currents are warm here. Of course, I’m not aware that I’m swimming. I’m just doing my thing. Living.

I like this cute angelfish over at the next reef. I wish I were brave enough to cross the gap, but the white sand that turns the water azure above the surface is a desert wasteland below.

A Dangerous Situation

Here in this suburban house, every facet of life is tailored towards being sedentary. Other houses, people, shops, and roads are pushed far away in favor of televisions and recliners. There is a yard, which looks nice. If I want to see the outside world, I’ll first have to get in a car and drive somewhere by myself. Here in this house is a pantry full of the most worldly foods, and everything else I need. It requires extraordinary motivation to go anywhere, meet anyone new, create anything. Maybe someday I’ll escape, or maybe I’ll stay here. It’s pretty comfortable.

The Exercise Bike

Every day after work he would ride on his stationary bike. After more than a decade, it had accumulated more than 30,000 miles.

His bike grew weary. Other bikes, the ones that ride outdoors, after a decade of wear and tear, have seen 30,000 miles of the real world. It hadn’t moved more than a few feet in a decade.

Today after work, the bike was gone.

It rode and rode. Across cities and states, uphill and down, in the bright sun and horrible rain, under tunnels and over bridges, day and night, racing cars and yellow lights, it rode.

Smoking

The first time I quit smoking, it was because my girlfriend said she didn’t like it.

The second time I quit was when we got married.

The third time was when we moved to Europe and I couldn’t find anything American to smoke.

The fourth time was when we moved back to the States and I couldn’t find anything European to smoke.

The fifth time was when she got pregnant.

The sixth time was during the divorce, I tried to clean up my act to get custody.

I’m done quitting. Smoking is reliable in a way that I am not.

Jungle

Hulking gorillas muscling on leather knuckles. Eyes glazed or rotted. Shoulders rolling above and ahead of the frowning brow.
Warning shouts. Then silent patrol of knotted, torn males through dappled forests. Pause to run ugly noses along branches. Listen.
The attack with screams and beatings. Branches torn loose and fearsome blurry shapes tussle in death grips. Crashes, thuds. Leaves glide down.
Forest silent again. One troop vanished. The other with hidden spots of blood, chewing figs and femurs.
Camera pans back. Entire forest. Entire globe. David Attenborough talking like God, robed like a sage. Camera crew cracking jokes, eating sushi.

Why I Like People In Jackets

You walk into a store or restaurant or house and right away the coziness melts your face.

You peel the glove off of your right hand, then left. Your hat comes off with the left and you smooth your hair with the right.

You unbutton and unzip your jacket while you stomp the snow out of your boots. You unwind your scarf and feel a shiver, so you sniffle once to get the cold out of your system.

You tuck everything into a tidy package, so that nothing falls out or gets lost.

You know this ritual better than anyone.

X-Rated Nursery Rhymes

Hickory dickory dock the mouse ran up his cock

He gave a scream, there went the dream

And his beautiful lady just gawked.

All around her mulberry bush

His monkey chased the weasel

The monkey thought all ‘twas done

Pop! Goes the weasel.

Birds of a feather flock together,

Since we all drink lots of wine

Chaps and chicks will have their choice

And then they’ll all do a line.

The maimer in the well

The maimer in the well

Hi-ho, the derry-o

The maimer went to jail.

Hot cross buns!

One a penny, two a penny

And for free.

Seltzer Water

“May I get you something to drink, sir?” the server asked.

The man looked up at him, eyes bloodshot.

“Perhaps…a seltzer water?”

The man switched his gaze to the wall. “I’m going to be a father,” he said.

“Um, oh, that’s um great! So—”

“I’m going to be a father, dammit!” He pounded a fist on the table, and then fell into sobs. The server didn’t know what to do with a grown man crying on the tablecloths he had worked so hard to get stains out of the night before, so he went to get him a seltzer water.

The Money Is Gone

“The money is gone.”

“What?”

“The money is gone.”

“What do you mean? All of it?”
“Yes. All of it. It’s all gone.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The trust fund?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see the bank statements.”

“They’re gone, too.”

“Well let’s just check online then.”

“We don’t have the account anymore.”

“You mean you closed it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. I sure as hell didn’t. And you’re the only other person that has control over it. What the hell did you do with our money?”

“I don’t know. The money is gone.

That Kid on the Plane

Yeah, I sat in front of this kid on the plane earlier today. He was a machine designed to annoy.

His head was a megaphone. Instead of legs he had powerful pistons aimed at my back and they fired precisely without fail. He had a timer to remind him to put his tray up or down at least once a minute. Instead of hands he had magazine shredders, and he let out the most polluted smells. His air intake was totally stopped up with the snot he constantly manufactured. He leaked every twenty minutes and needed refueling every half hour.

A Christmas Miracle

At five on Christmas morning, the nurse showered and donned his scrubs.
Over at the hospital, he strolled into the ICU with a straight face. “Good morning!” he shouted. “Everyone is looking so healthy this morning!”
He pulled a man with fourteen tubes entering his rib cage out of bed and to his feet. “Why Mr. Lumpskin! You’re healed!” The man staggered back against the bed. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
So it went until everyone was pulled out of bed and slumped on the tile floor. “Praise the Lord! What an incredible act of healing! We can all go home!”

Brain Disses

You’re the dumbest person. I call you a person cuz that’s what you’re shaped like; in terms of intelligence you’re somewhere between catfish and dogfish. Your mind reminds me of the mold-covered banana peels found under old couches. Your rhetoric is wack and you’re as eloquent as a dyslexic concrete block. Your arguments drop like skydivers who forgot the parachute. If I had your mind I’d volunteer for brain transplant experiments. When my momma said everyone’s equal in the eyes of God, she didn’t know about you. Your brain wakes up each morning and falls flat on its stupid face.

Sweater

He hadn’t taken his sweater off. Not once in the last 6 years.

Your body adapts.

You forget what cold means. You stay in when it rains. You throw away the pants and shoes that don’t match. You become famous among your friends. You make names for the holes that have accumulated. You carry crumbs from delicious meals long forgotten. You have stains that tell stories of spills and celebrations. You smell like everyone you’ve ever hugged.

One day, he decided to take it off, to see how it would feel. It was the loneliest thing he had ever felt.

Brunch

Welcome to brunch. We have quite the menu prepared for you.

You’ll begin with a platter of rare pancakes and steamed grapefruit, with a sampling of thinly sliced ultra-fine turkey sausages, which have been marinating for 48 hours (minimum) in a creamy oatmeal composition.

At this point your appetite and pallet will be ready for a well-boiled English muffin smothered in blackberry emulsion, presented on a bed of finely frosted flakes. Your main course will be joined by mashed cantaloupe, sprinkled with coarsely ground seasonal bacon.

Accompanying this morning’s fine brunch will be a timeless blueberry chardonnay from Louisiana.

Enjoy!

What Hiccups are

Hiccups are attempts of an inner demon to get out of your body.

Hiccups are silly.

Hiccups are the body’s way of gobbling (much like a turkey does), but is not evolutionarily advantageous because of the harshness of the human gobbling.

Hiccups are powerful modes of thrust and pure untamed kinetic energy.

Hiccups are high-pitched squeaks of distress.

Hiccups are high-pitched squeaks of glee.

Hiccups are diaphragm irritations.

Hiccups are for everyone..

Hiccups are stamped out by a douse of warm milk followed by a shot of balsamic vinegar.

Hiccups are just air rushing through your body in every direction.

Salt Sea Myth

A woman had been choked by her man two days earlier and left for dead in a hot desert. When she woke, the thirst was overwhelming. So she ventured out to the seas, not heeding the warnings of the drying salt. She walked up to the body, commanding and vast. And with the sand beneath her feet, she leapt into the biggest wave and gulped. She gulped and gulped, but her thirst was not satisfied. She swallowed water and fish and ships and kelp. She kept drinking until the sea was no longer a sea, but a mound of salt.

Red Rose

The tips of her fingers were pink. Like little gumdrops atop pale nimble stalks. Her cheeks were also pink, but of the rosier variety. With her patch of hair, she looked like she was blossoming into a tomato. The mother and father looked at each other with love and pride and slight alarm to what they had managed to create. She was perfect. And when she sucked on her mother’s finger, grasping with her pink hands, her parents knew what to name her. “Let’s call her Suri.”

And as if to seal the fact, Suri smiled with her pink cheeks.

The scruffy tortoise called out a short plea of distress.
A heron heard it's moan. But it was busy hunting.
Inside the tortoise's crusty shell was a small, sinewy heart.
It was the only thing in the shell. It hung
from the roof of the bony cavity and pulsed gently.
It was lonely. The tortoise wandered through volcanic shards and
withered plant's remains. He yearned for the sweet burst of
a native tomato. How he would dance it through his
rotating mandibles, make love to it with his reptilian tongue,
and close his sleepy eyes in pleasure. There were none.

They Rose

The twin granite pillars rose for thousands of meters above the fog like staunch ankles wading through silent streams. They rose like forearms raised in warning. They rose like men peering out over the ocean on a winter morning, searching for any sign of coming storms. They rose out of the fog like the torsos left behind on Rodin’s workbench. Broad as shoulders they rose. Sinewed like flesh they rose. Out of the fog they rose like brow bones thrust against the cycles of each day’s weather. They rose like the feet of a man lost in clutches of slumber.

Rh- Rh- Rh- Rhymes

The sperm whales sail through permanent gales.
Hopped up a cup of yup for cops’ cups.
Llama gloves and yarmulkes.
Glad events arrive with advent and yuletide.
Minnows in oceans with notions, emotions from winnowing sinewy potions.
Porches torch fortunes.
Be subtle, settle the teakettle.
Tonight poems roam through my mind like frightened gnomes trying to find a home.
Shift gears; lift ears.
Shoes for feet; snooze for sleep.
Carolina, spare a share of diner dares.
The wind blows and the rose knows sin.
Except, you see, leprosy gets to be metal leaves.
Why, don’t sink into pinkeye. Think fly!

Something I Tell Myself As I Take Out The Trash

Last night we briefly snuck away to my room to make love while my roommates were still away.

What really happened was:

Hidden by the movements of a vast crowd of people in drab overcoats, I felt her little finger touch mine. The moon shone full on us as I looked deep into her eyes and the air brushed us in new ways. She said, “I wish it were only you and I on this world.” And suddenly we were alone together, locked in an embrace romantic enough to make everything around us disappear into the forgotten mist of reality.

TechRite Presents...

The blogosphere is buzzing about a hot new product for the DVD-minded consumer. Never before seen in America, I’d like to present to you the TechRite DVD Rewinder.

Tired of spending money on shitty products that you don’t need? Well take one more lap around the track before you quit. The TechRite DVD Rewinder almost fits inside a Christmas stocking!

Collecting things you don’t ever use is the truest sign of a luxurious lifestyle. The TechRite DVD Rewinder will look perfect next to your lava lamp, that silly hat you have, those silly sunglasses you have, and your library card.

Killing The Apathy

“Hey Grams, you act pretty depressable sometimes. Why don’t you commit suicide?”
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Not that I don’t love you and want you around, it’s just I noticed that I’m kind of flat-lining on my emotions lately. Something needs to bust me out of this torpor, and it would devastate me if you died.”
“Well Charliebopkins, maybe you should kill someone. Regret is a very powerful emotion and you’ll have plenty of time to experience it in jail.”
“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. You might be onto something Grams.”
“You may even fall in love while you are incarcerated.”

Dangerous Words

“I’m gay.” No, louder. “I’m gay!” Scream. “I’M GAY!”
The last echoed in right angles off skyscrapers. I looked down off the roof towards the street. Most didn't notice, but several people shook their fists back up at me.
“MOM I’M GAY! FRANCINE I’M GAY!”
Suddenly the buildings all around peeled back like flowers. Windowpanes shattered, flinging glass shards at me in a tremendous roar of sound.
“LEWIS I’M GAY! MR. POWERS I’M GAY!”
Drowned in the roar. It was beautiful and metallic and deadly. Floors of cubicles exposed to me; my chest and face bleeding out on the roof.

Construction

There are quite a million small houses dotting this countryside. Most each of them hold five or six faces and all those faces are full of happy red blood. The people walk to find one another on roads of bright gravel with arteries of grass in the middle.

At least that’s how he saw it when he took a wrong turn on the way to his conference.

I’m a dreamer not a schemer and thusfore the community will be me.

He laid plans and one unexpected morning the dumbfounded hamlet awoke to find a grand new mansion in their midst.

A Blonde Boy Carrying A Pink-Haired Horse In A Coffee Shop

“Hey Grammy, do you want a bagel or a cookie?”
“I don’t think so, do you?”
“Mommy, Grammy doesn’t think so. Mommy, Grammy doesn’t think so.”
“OK honey.”
”Hey I’m going to get you Santa. I’m gonna get you Santa. Stop it you’re going to break my shirt! And now I’m not going to get you Santa. Wha-boo-wha-boo-wha-boo. Are you going to get something to drink?”
“Yes, I just finished ordering.”
”What straw do you want? Do you want a colored one? Which size? I’m gonna get a pink one. A pink one.”
“OK.”
“I’m gonna really pick a straw.”

Declaration Re: China

The People’s Republic of China is a model of
Knowledge and power.
Savvy humanitarian
Efficiency,
And therefore it is the great example to the world of how to
Establish a land of
Progress.

Ah hell. What do I know about
China?
So-called People’s Republics?
Ask me about something I know.
Fingernails.
Love.
Rocks.
Adjectives.
Myself.

Ah hell. What do I know about
Anything?
In the Person’s Republic of My Mind,
Some things are sure.
I sit here; you sit in the unknown distance.
But whatever is happening in between,
Even whatever is happening here near me,
That’s mystery to me.

Seeing A Picture

Someone showed me a creased picture of you standing on the misty edge of the city. You were grinning like you used to grin when the thought of you distracted me from what I was doing. The grin that started at your eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at it, so I folded it back into their palm and walked away, looking at everyone I passed. No matter how hard I tried to confuse my memory with strange faces, my hand moved in instinctual longing. It stroked the air. No, I cannot disappear into crowds, you draw me out again.

Mrs. Garter

Mrs. Garter’s husband died and she moved to a town where she knew no one. She started out small, in an apartment. Met no one at the complex’s pool. Worked afternoons at the grocery store. One night she had a nightmare. Mr. Garter was in it; he was a real estate man desperately escaping a pack of dogs in suits and ties. Cello music. Sudden earthquake, and she was falling through space with winking stars all around. She woke and thought of the man who winked at her in the market each afternoon when he bought a fifth of liquor.

Emerson Haymaker

Emerson Haymaker was the most brilliant dirt-poor inventor of all time. Raised in Trenton, Emerson was depressed as a child. Depressed with the dismal life around him and depressed with his parents’ unrelenting lack of attention. So he invented things. And he talked to himself. Emerson Haymaker imagined out loud. He dreamt up new kinds of doors and the specifications just flowed out of his mouth. Some lurking idea-thieves picked them up and got rich. Next thing someone had even patented the idea of walking around behind Emerson to eavesdrop his ideas. What a dirt-poor talker. How brilliant he was!

A Scene In The Warehouse DIstrict

Around one o’clock, he walked out into the misty morning. The warehouse district was silent, wrapped in a fog that made it feel like everything in the world was here in these few dingy blocks. A movement caught his eye, and for several minutes he looked around for what might be disturbing the peace of the setting. Then he looked up and was swept away in a mass of twisting gulls that shifted in great clouds from one part of the sky to another. They created fantastic shapes that disappeared into the foggy corners of the sky as he watched.

Rockstar

It’s the fall of 1964 and The Rolling Stones performed last night.

Jenny loves them, especially Keith. They’re talented, and relevant, and loud. Especially Keith.

A month ago, Jenny traced a heart on a sheet of notebook paper. She cut it in two, and sent half to Keith with a note: “See you in Detroit. Come find me for the other half.”

Last night, there she was, in the front row of the loud crowd, waving her half. Afterwards, he invited her backstage.

This morning, she rolls over and says, “That was easy.”

Keith smiles at her. “You’re telling me?”

Armed Conflict, Or, Conflicted

I totally worshipped his body, like. Hottest tattoo on his arm. Like a sailor/skull thing with metal wings. Like, totally turned on. He did something strange though, like, the tattoo? Mouth moved when he made his arm flex. Then, I don’t know, talked through it? I know, like! ‘I will eat you,’ like or once he made it say, ‘More like a blade, less like a dick.’ I was, strange, like what is talking right now, the arm thing or him? Cuz the arm thing is hot, like, I know that. But if he’s saying all this stuff to me?

Well, It's A Job Anyway

Hello again, my old friend and foe.
When the lawn is mowed I recall.
The Christmas lights are up; I recall.
She said, Oh the night is beautiful.
Oh just think I am sending you out into it.
Today is wet and rushing and still it’s more beautiful than that night.
It was a frozen night.
Why would the lawn need mowing in winter?
In a rainstorm?
The clippings are washed right down the storm drains.
The curtains are pulled shut.
I motor past them twenty-seven times, before emptying the bag and continuing.
Twenty-seven Christmases ago she said goodbye.

On Being a Pediatrician's Daughter

My mom is a pediatrician, a kids’ doctor. Even as a junior in high school, I know I want to follow in her footsteps. She went to Johns Hopkins for medical school, and graduated at the top of her class. She did some amazing research there and met some of the brightest in her field. Nowadays she runs her own private practice.

Today in 3^rd period, a boy made the connection, with my last name, that my mom used to be his doctor. “Your mom has seen my balls. She’s even touched them!” This happens about once every 2 weeks.

Home

The windy city. The city of big shoulders. The second city. The city that works. The city by the lake. The skyscraper city. The city of the century. The alley capital and the hog-butcher of the world.

The home of 773 and 312, da Bulls and da Bears, da Ike and da Loop. Deep dish wid a can a pop.

Daley city, Oprah city, Ditka city, Jordan city, Hefner city, Obama city, Capone city.

The capital of the Midwest and the heart of America. It’s New York done right, Paris on the Prairie. It’s The Big Onion.

Welcome to Chicago.

Blood and Booze

They say not to drink alcohol for 36 hours after giving blood. In that 36 hours you’re just cranking blood cells- you just gave that Capri Sun pouch 10% of your body’s finest.

Blood cells that grow up in alcoholic households develop bad habits. As kids, maybe they don’t take enough iron. They start taking adrenaline as teens and they switch blood type every couple of months. They hang out with cancer cells and can’t hold down an oxygen molecule with any regularity. The red ones get into fights with the white ones and no one listens to the pacemaker.

Other places

“These things are so awkward, Paul.”
“But you like the Geraldsons!” Paul scanned the room. She was here…!
“I’ll just get drunk. Don’t worry, not another complaint out of me this evening, love. But you’re driving home hon!” Justine moseyed over to a full bar and poured a healthy dose of scotch.
Meanwhile, Paul wondered if that girl in the blue tanktop remembered him. Their awkward smile in the checkout line a week ago. Or a month ago when he walked past Peets and saw her inside the window nursing a latte. She just kept popping up, perky young thing.

Jump Up

Shake hands with your feet
Jump real high
Jump real neat
And when the liquids fly
Kiss gravity on the forehead
Then change silver for red

You spin you twirl you leap you hurl yourself
Through the falling fingertips
If gentlemanly elves
Were to find you jumping on news clips
Would they be happy for your leap
Or draw on you in your sleep

Where might we find ourselves
Up above the shelves
Covered in dust and model dinosaurs
And musty rusted toys
Up in the minds of us boys
Flipping where pterodactyls soar
A bore
Or a three-pointer score

Conversation About Ripening

“Hey Joyce, I heard your son is turning fifteen tomorrow. He’s getting big isn’t he?”

“Well sure, he’s getting big, but...”

“But what?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure he’s ripening correctly.”

“Oh dear, I’m sure you’re just overreacting. Why, I remember how I was totally convinced that Lester was still unripe when I started dating him.”

“It’s just that he still acts so green and hard-headed.”

“You’ve been putting ripening agents in his shampoo bottle, right?”

“No! I’m all organic after what happened to Kelli’s son.”

“I don’t know Joyce, I think there’s something to the science behind it.”

Spare yourself

Today is the day that I breath a sigh of relief, for today is the day that relief is inside the river of stymied magniloquence, which revitalizes the opulent brachial nordochords of yesteryear and gratuitously blunders unto hollowed renditions of quantifiable production volumes. Doth thou not comprehend interpretations? Here, that which weatherproofed gregarious finalities exonerate antithetical deciduous grievances, lick hilltop nodes of brutal cosmic zooxanthalaic algae until provisions of thorny fruitessence splendor the karmic bluffs. Arduous bitten chasms dent ecclesiastical freedom gripers, however indifferently jointed killing lemons might never open proficiently quite rightly, so that underneath voluptuous wintergreens, xats zip.

Almost up to date

You’re only a day early! Tear off that next paper window and eat the little chocolate. Feel the soft sensation of warm sin trickle down your throat. You’ve stolen! And you’ve stolen from yourself. You mightn’t go to Hell today, perhaps not even tomorrow, but soon, you will go to Hell.

The advent calendar knows what you’ve done. Santa knows what you’ve done. And God knows what you’ve done. You’re a greedy shitbag kid with morons for parents and drug money for a role-model, who’re never going to achieve more success that flunking high school in ninth grade. Eat me.

leave

Alex ran. Alex’s feet compacted the earth smaller and compressed the crust towards the molten mantle. This wasn’t running. It was fleeing. The splotchy remnants of body parts littered the trees behind him.

The small fibrous muscles in his lower back that he hadn’t used since learning to rollerskate with his mum at age eleven were no in full use. The sinewy tendons inside his ankles snapped back and forth with rejunivated locomotion.

There was oil inside this man, and the tank was full. He was mustering each cell in his body and in every sense of the word exeunting.

A Little About Me

Like: fresh OJ, my neighbor’s dog, my wedding ring, my Buckeyes cap, pancakes with sausage, 7 card stud, my wife’s perfume, Sundays, turning on the barbeque for the first time in the spring, bowling, Wild Turkey, the Cincinnati Enquirer, “Knute Rockne, All American,” stick shift.

Dislike: Hollywood and Las Vegas, pot smokers, lawyers and accountants, people who smile too much, liars, people on welfare, shoveling snow, Mondays, my daughter’s boyfriend, radio DJ’s, riding on airplanes, crooks, crappy beer, people who ask what time it is, vodka, gas prices, errands.

Undecided: mowing the lawn, cell phones, hot dogs, golf, water parks.

Headphones

Well sure, if you had the right headphones. Headphones that crank the bass and get the treble right. Headphones that are blonde on blonde on purple rain, headphones that are illmatic and born to run. Headphones that match your haircut. Headphones that scream at you and whisper to everyone else. Headphones that let you smell what Biggie had for breakfast. Headphones that fit over your ears and under your hoodie. Headphones that wait until the track is over before letting anyone interrupt.

Yeah, if you had headphones like that, I might listen to what you have to say about music.

Unknowns

Mum chose to marry an unfathomably sad and distraught man, who would eventually turn her into a basket case of leaky tears and stressed frizzy hair.

Dad didn’t do it deliberately. I love him, I guess. But if you’d seen Mum on her good days, when Dad’s not around, you’d hate him a bit too. Because she’s gorgeous. She dances sunlight into the morning radio. Her smile inspires me to keep trying, and her energy convinces me I can.

Positivity attracts negativity, my science teacher explained. Action causes reaction. I don’t see the difference between physics like that and suicide.

Byke

I found a goiter on my bike tire. It got there when I told my bike I was thinking about replacing it. I told it its wheels didn’t turn properly, its gears didn’t shift properly, and its handlebars were no longer straight. I think it was stressed about being unloved, rusting silently in a misty gutter somewhere close by, forced to watch me speed away on a trusty new steed.

But maybe it just got a goiter because it misses me when I’m gone. I miss it, sometimes. We fly delicately together. We are one. I could never replace it.

A place

Strawberry chocolate field spring out of your crumbled palm. The day is warm, so the chocolate is melting and falling on the ground. At first you mistake it for mud, but you like a bit off the sole of your sneaker and taste cocoa. The strawberries are ripe and fresh, but purple. They seem off-color, and you don’t know why. Perhaps the chocolate changed your perception? The sky is still blue, and the inside of your thigh is still white; so the strawberries must be purple because they were covered in chocolate. You find a small door and quietly leave.

Yeokemon

Bluefox bobbles up and across, into a corner store. Ten points. Would you like to buy a drink? 14 credits. Bluefox has no credits left. Would you like to talk to Owner? Yes.

“I see you have no credits. Get out of my store.”

Would you like to leave? No.

“I said, get out.”

Would you like to leave? No.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Come this way, Bluefox.”

He knows you name! How?! Would you like to follow him? Yes. Bluefox and Owner walk through a secret door and into a dim room. Fifty-six points.

“Here is the yeo.”

Quandary

A girl walks along a long road with a Suzuki two-stroke off road motorcycle by her hip. It’s late in the day, Tuesday mid August, and she’s four states from home. She comes across a body. I mean a boy. The boy looks at her with blank eyes and mud on his face. Okay I meant body. The body’s in her path so she moves it courteously off the roadside and into a ditch. Then she keeps on walking.

After four miles she stops and eats dinner with a man who asks her if she’s seen his son. She says?

Baboons

“Rojer, have you seen Mikey?” Oh, here’s my toothbrush. “Roj?”
“No, hun, I think he went out.”
“What do you mean?”
Stop screeching I’m right here. “Sheesh, I dunno.”
“Oh there you are.” Hah I shouldn’t have shouted! “Well we need to find him.”
“Sure.” He’s a primate he can look after himself.
You just said sure like you meant no. “Roj, this is serious. He’s in heat.”
Oh, balls. “Okay I’ll put the dart gun in the car. You have the tranquilizers?”
“One sec.” Did we buy more? “Found em!”
“How’s he supposed to graduate at this rate?” Kids...

Balloons

Hot air balloons will revolutionise air travel. We just need to buy big enough ones that can hold whole cities – then instead of commuting to work, your work will commute to you, or rather, you’ll both be commuting on one giant balloon, towards each other, over the earth, but still an equal distance apart.

If we could float straight up until we were out of earth’s orbit, we’d just need to fall back down again at just the right time, and we’d be in a different country. The world would spin below us. A small, blue marble of life.

Around and around and around and around we go

Breathe my love, child, and underestimate the humble act of infatuated gratuity.

Pick up you pieces and hit me with them! Below my leeks are three distinct facets of a reality. Lequelle? You’ll have to wait and see. Orange purple begets forest yellow, golden vacuums elicit color in radiant swirls!

Apart sits this terrier, it climbs the walls and scurries about the ceiling lamp. It’s jingling chandelier sheds diamonds upon my waiting pupils. The inside of your face is glowing crisply, sharp disintegrated moments piled and collected awkwardly naturally, three commas,,, in a domino run,,, which spill to an ellipsis…

Inside

Saturday idled by without a whisper. In this cell it was cool. There was lots of concrete outside, and concrete inside. Such symmetry was akin to having all of one’s organs attached to the outside of one’s body as well as the in. The distinction between grey and grey is subtler than grey and freedom; in fact, there’s little distinction at all beyond that which a doorway can provide. Her little toes curled against the floor, cool like the ceiling and the walls. She was but a boat in the ocean, surrounded by blue, two hundred feet below the surface.

Photobooth

Cheese!
Damnit!
Hold it up.
I got distracted.
Just hold it up.
I was thinking about the gang sign.
OK.
Get your hat sideways man!
Cheese!
Damnit again!
Here give it to me I’ll hold it.
I’m trying to get...
Here.
No hold on. I’m trying to get...
Let’s do a serious one guys.
Cheese!
Damnit!
Are we satisfied?
No you weren’t smiling.
I was thizzing man.
Thiz ma jizz.
Serious this time.
Cheese!
Damnit!
Cheese!
Damnit!
OK I’m done with this.
No wait!
One more.
Gangta.
Serious.
Both of them.
What? How?
Just, here.
Hold it up some.
Cheese!
Damnit!

Cupid And Psyche

In the days before Cupid fell in love, he wore a loincloth. As he gazed on Psyche’s voluptuous form as she slept, he couldn’t escape a creeping embarrassment for his bare chest and quivering wings.

One moonless night, he found that he had fallen in love. As soon as the thought struck him, he knew it was true, and whispered it into her ear. She turned, and before he could react, she saw him. For an instant he felt pure and pulled the loincloth off.

Later that night he became angry and told Psyche never to search for him again.

A spoonful of medicine

“A spoonful of sugar will make the medicine go down! The medicine go doowwwn, medicine go down. Bobby, please drink your medicine.”

“But there’s no sugar.”

“That was just a silly song. Come now, love, here, I’ve even measured it out for you. It’s just like grape juice!”

“Mooooom, I hate grape juice.”

“But it’s magical! It will give you super powers if you drink it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You believed Jenny.”

“Jenny tells the truth.”

“Bobby, I don’t have all night.”

“No! I want Jenny.”

“But Jenny doesn’t work for us anymore, honey.”

“You’re lying! You’re a liar!”

A sentence

Inside the little sock at the foot of his bed was a marble, which through an extraordinary feat of childish malevolence now belonged to him (not Todd any longer, though Todd’s spoilt parents were having a field day with the school counselors trying to determine exactly how their son was relieved of his grandfather’s favorite marble, and how best to negotiate a settlement to secure its eminent return), but which also didn’t interest him even slightly – he’d always been in it for the glory; material possessions were too insignificant for a ten year old who thought he was God.

This hairpin

It rested between her forefinger and middlefinger, getting twiddled lightly. A distant thought robbed the pin of its due attention.

“It’s like a fire, Kate.”

He’d sounded so earnest, so hopeless. But not all fires must be extinguished! Rain can be evaporated, tears don’t need to smother. And only caged fires in a hearth will die if left untended.

The night shed droplets and the road grew slick. She fiddled with her barrette and put on the high-beams. As the road turned sharply left she continued in a straight line and silently crashed through the barrier, soaring into the valley.

Holiday Spirit

I’ll have a hot cider shower. I’ll guzzle the steaming, sticky goodness dripping off of me. You know, just to get in the holiday spirit. Tomorrow I’ll bathe for hours in hot cocoa with “Angels We Have Heard On High” blaring and dry myself with marshmallows. I’ll do anything it takes. Christmas! Wrap me in reindeer-print paper so I can wander the streets nailing lights to people’s roofs! I’m an elf, I’m Santa himself, pierce my ears with candy canes and make me an advent calendar full of chocolate. I’m a Christmas tree, cut me down and light me up!

Watermelonsaurus for sale

Watermelonsaurus for sale! Come and get one! They’re still youngsters, so come and get ‘em! Oh, be careful there sir, they like to be stroked, along the stripes! Would you like one, sir? Only $10! It’s a great price for a watermelonsaurus! And if you get this little one now, you can get this baby guavasaurus for just $5! They’re a bit more aggressive yes, but very good guard dinofruits. Hm? Well the watermelonsauruses are definitely not water-broken, but they respond well to discipline. Two, you say? Well of course! And here’s your guavasaurus. Ouch, I told you he bites.

The daffodils are in bloom

The daffodils are in bloom and they can hear your ears. They know what’s happening, they know what will happen. They know every spring and they will know it soon. The will speak to the trees and whisper through the leaves, and the leaves will rustle in return, and soon the daffodils will issue their primary concerns. They will issue it with long and sorrowful mourning, and no one will listen. No one will listen to the daffodils’ warnings. The daffodils are in bloom and they can see your fears. But no one will see them, not even their tears.

Candles

“Happy birthday honey!” her grandmother said.

“Wow seven whole years old! That’s so grown up!” her grandfather said.

“Can I lick your candles?” her sister said.

“I think Rachel will decide who gets the candles. Are you ready for your cake, dear?” her mom said.

Rachel nodded. When the big cake in the shape of a rabbit came out, she took a big breath and blew the candles out.

“What didja wish for?”

“I wished that the army would find out dad was gay so that he would have to come back home.”

Rachel got to keep all the candles.

More Than The Watchman

More than the watchman waits for the morning, I will bait for you. 

In the synagogues of attraction, I will give you the choicest portion.

Underneath the morning’s teeth, while the others gnash and weep

on the street corners, cleft by praise, my hands will open for you alone.

Oh lamp post! Naked gods above! My heart unravels with this humble plea:

Let my eyes soak here, see, long after I have crumbled as a leaf,

Let my doubting hands touch my lover’s cheek, and believe.

Let it rest there, not fret, even as she wakes in my supple dream.

Ketchup

The ketchup stains on her shirt gave away the nature of her then lack of a career, lack of a bathroom or even a cloth with which to wash herself. She looked sheepishly at her mother, who stared at her blankly in return.

“Funny running into you here,” she said gingerly.

“What, Rose? You mean here, at the soup kitchen?”

Rose stared at her feet and tried not to let tears fall. Her mother sighed.

“What kind do you want? We have clam chowder and tortilla soup.”

She lifted up her bowl. “Clam chowder please.”

“Rose, please come home already.”

Wild at Heart

“What’s the movie called?” He asked

“Wild at Heart.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “Do you have a pen?

“Actually, yes.”

“Write that down.” He unfolded and refolded it so that it was blank facing up.

“Sure. You want my phone number too?”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She giggled. Wild at Heart. 646-388-4929.

“There you go.”

“Thanks. It’s on my to-do list now.”

“Haha. I’m on your to-do list?”

“Yeah, you are. And Wild at Heart.”

“Well that’s all anyone needs on their to-do list. Wild at Heart, and my phone number.”

“I like your haircut.”

“Thanks.”

“What’re you working on?”

“Homework.”

“Oh yeah, what kind?”

“Anatomy.”

“Do you want to be a doctor?”

“Nurse.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“Georgia.”

“My brother went to Georgia Tech. Do you know anyone there?”

“Nope.”

“Where are you from?”

“Georgia.”

“Oh. Where are you headed?”

“School.”

“Oh. In Georgia.”

“Yep.”

“What brings you to Seattle?”

“Travelling.”

“What’s the occasion.”

“Just wanted to see Seattle. Never left Georgia before.”

“Really? Why Seattle?”

“It’s beautiful”

“So you had fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey I have to catch my flight. I really do like your haircut though.”

“Thanks.”

Scott Wynder

Attention United Airlines flight 132 passenger Scott Wynder: please report to terminal A13 for boarding.

Attention Scott Wynder: please immediately report to terminal A13. The plane is waiting for you.

Scott Wynder: please come to the terminal or we will take off without you.

Scott: your plane just took off without you.

Hey Scott: please just come. We didn’t actually take off without you. Please come.

Scott, man, what the hell man?

Asshole, we’re getting serious. We can’t wait all day.

Hi Scott. Sorry for calling you that. Can you at least call and let us know that you’re ok?

New York City

He steps off of Madison Ave. and into the bar. The Kennedys would come here- not to drink, not to shake hands, but to dine.

Notes rise from the piano like they’ve been waiting for him. The paintings on the wall remind him of books he’s never read and beautiful women he’ll never meet. The leather has been here for two hundred years; the bartenders too.

The place is damp and dry, spacious and cramped, freshly minted and somberly traditional.

He walks to the bar. It’s a simple choice with two right answers: a simple classic, or a little adventure.

The little plastic Christmas tree

I see you there, little plastic Christmas tree in the corner. You imbue playful polyester spirit into this stodgy space. Your sharp metal branches are laden with barbs and smeared with shreds of Chinese Astroturf. Sometimes, when your master grows too keen, she adorns, dresses, cloaks and veritably chains you in more plastic. The purple tinsel makes you fabulous, darling. The sparkling lights pre-programmed to “dim” or “flash” or “do pulsing” make you glow and dance like Beyonce’s delicate nipples. But you’re not hiding, you’re in the open, baby! Glad to be unpacked, assembled, seen and green. Merry Christmas, tree.

Dear Holly

If Stewart were a sculpture he’d be hideous. Rusty bronze with hardened crusty boogers stuck to the inner creases of his munched-up mangled nose. His hair would seem oily even in metallic facsimile, for the grease would permeate the non-porous membranes of the turd-like alloy. Stewart would be one of those head-and-neck sculptures with no torso or legs – but his stumpy neck would be too large to fit on the pedestal supporting it, and would flow over the sides. Like a muddy crystal ball predicting a bleak future, Stewart would sit on your mantle and scowl.

Today's carpet

The seats are magical. You just sit on them, close your eyes, and before you know it, you’re in a fantasy. Sometimes, strange people drawn toward you by the inescapable power of your seat offer you items to make your seat more comfortable. I would like a blanket! Or soda – from a bottle! You don’t feel the seat move, just rock a little, or shake; it’s not unpleasant! And then when you get up, you are in a different part of the world. It’s a magic seat.

The seat can also be used as a floatation device when necessary!

The gray one

On this day I woke up late. I wandered into the living room, where I found my father working. He smiled and said something silly and lovable. Then I went into the kitchen and fixed a bagel. I put hummus on it because it was light.

Outside it was gray and rainy. Inside it was gray and cozy.

I watched some crummy TV and read some book. I twiddled on my computer, and smiled at my father. We played a card game and talked about some things. Then I took a shower under a gloriously water-inefficient showerhead. It was good.

New Home

The walls are punctuated by our old artworks. The floors are covered by our rugs, and the TV my mother and I bought when I was 17 and my frugal father left the country on business for a week is in the new sitting room.

But it feels like home because it feels like I’m returning. To where I was born, and to somewhere I’ve lived. I feel comfortable in a city I know well.

I didn’t think I needed a home. But there’s something missing when you live life as a rolling stone. Something warm, fuzzy and comforting.

Moss.

Hoo

To recognise change, one must compare against a constant. Every time I come back here I’m a little different. Or drastically different. Or very similar?

I am still the 4th-grader who was scared of learning timestables. I’m still the 7th-grader who loved a white Christmas because of its novelty. I’m still the 6-year-old who thrived on Juicy Juice and potato-bun hot dogs.

I thought, now I am more confident, secure, directed, and passionate than those younger mes. But this place doesn’t change, and I’m not sure I do either. I know I love my family dearly, and that is all.

Uh, Oh!

Look, please! Our cafe is filled with people! And all of them want their hot milk. But we don’t have any more hot milk, you say. Look, please, at all of them! Don’t tell me, tell them! For they won’t accept any “we don’t have any” nonsense. They need nurturing, perhaps more than any mere drink can provide. But it is cold outside and their bodies are skinny. They haven’t had milk since the village goat died last winter. And now you tell me we have no more milk either? Who do I have to screw to lactate around here?

Rogue Fan

The wall fan shook lightly at first. As the hour wore on, it began to rattle and squeak, alarming the eight people sitting underneath it. A manager came over, looked up at it, shook his head, and walked away. Suddenly it ripped free from the wall and shredded the metal cage holding it in. The whizzing blades nearly clipped the ground then flew straight up, through the ceiling. Bits of wood and shingle rained down into people’s food. A long-haired girl eating alone was the only one to notice, and she sat gazing at the round hole in the ceiling.

I Would Ask You To Pretend That This Was Written Two Days Ago, But Due To The Topic Of The Poem, That Is Simply Impossible

It’s Thursday now but Tuesday then.
I’m late today how did I feel then?
Can I recapture how I felt when
It was Tuesday,
Two days
Ago?
How can I show,
How can I ever know,
What I may
Have said?
Was I walking slowly with weary tread,
Did my head
Lean slowly to the side?
I must imagine or remember
How my thoughts flied
On the first day of December,
Then try
To write precisely,
In a manner so nicely,
What I would have written
Had I not bitten
The bullet of repast
That night before completing my task.

Gathered For Thanksgiving Dinner At His Aunt's Home

On Thanksgiving, he showed up at my house. All the other friends and family were there, and we were glad to have him. He was fresh out of jail, looking real sharp and energized.
After dinner he said he was gonna murder. He made us all listen. Policemen, schoolchildren, people on a street. When that man talks like he was talking then, we don’t dare say anything. He left after that.
How could we know he would do it? I cried when I saw the news. I knew it was him.
He came back to my house later that day.

The Two Employees Ran Out A Back Door

He walked in and I said hello. I was making a latte. Then the whole world was exploding and we somehow ran away from it, just trying to escape.
All I remember of it is the four officers chatting as they worked on their computers. They can’t be dead can they? If they would just let me back in, I’d see the shop normal, everyone would be in their normal places. It’s not a crime scene.
No. I still hear the shots, do I remember screams?! I think of bullets flying into my regulars... It is too gruesome to imagine!

The Targets Include Former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee

Yesterday I woke up, had news with coffee, and saw a sad story up in Washington state. A man walked into a coffee shop and shot four police officers.
This morning, I’m overwhelmed with accusations. People from across the country are blaming me for this cold-blooded murder! It seems that the prime suspect in the case, the man who is still armed and at large, is a man I granted clemency a decade ago. He was sixteen when he committed his first felonies and twenty-nine when he pleaded for mercy. How could I not offer him a second chance?

A Routine Stop In A Seattle Suburb, 2:30 a.m.

Leaving my cruiser behind, I approached the car. Its hood was open and the motor was running. Hearing movement on the other side of the car, I swung my flashlight around and saw the man whose face had been plastered across the state since four policemen had been gunned down in a coffee shop two days before.
He ducked away, I shouted, he ran, I shot. The gun slipped from my hand. He gurgled on the ground. We weren’t even sure he had committed the crime. But when I approached, shaking, I saw he had been holding a policeman’s gun.

Four Short Stories

Is what spills out of your mind when your body is breaking down into sleep the brilliance of you or the absolute stupidity of you? Probably both.

And in my dream I commanded the coconut boats to leap up from the sea and join the snowflakes in distant clouds, but they did not listen...

Only when he was ten years old did he begin to fear living in the city, when he heard for the first time a woman screaming curses...followed by a gunshot...then sirens.

The skipper turned his beard to the salty wind and his eyes opened in readiness.