Tag Archives: God


Standing outside the warehouse
3:30 a.m.
on a Monday night
buzzed as fuck because
my life was
completely out of
control but
the world was always ending

I was waiting for the
whatever man:
the Space man
the Big man
Blast man
–fucking Spider-man.

And I was there to pick up
whatever it was called
this time:
Blue God, Ice
Cloud Dream
Dark Light
-Elvis’s Last Shit.

We label things and
name ourselves
to make it all seem
so much more than
it really is and
have been doing this
since we swam up
on shore
and started walking.

It’s just drugs, man.
Just fucking drugs.
It makes people so crazy
but so does booze
children’s birthday parties
being around other people
and being alone.

A silhouette approached
almost melding with the dark
and I almost didn’t see it,

but her voice was
both exhilarating
and frightening and

“You’re here for Magic Man?”

“Either that or I’m really fucking lost,”
I said.

She laughed like
wind chimes
breaking a long silence

like glass shattering
every fragile illusion

like the rarest escape of
perfect harmony
in a world full
of mediocrity
of spiritual poverty
of holes under carpets
of monsters under beds
of floating garbage
and drowning people
of empty spaces
between empty spaces
of broken bottles in
endless alleys
of fools and ghosts
and miles of pain.

I knew that she was
and I couldn’t even
see her face.

And just like that
I had to know
everything about her
but I just quietly followed
from darkness
into light
towards magic


The Demonic Bathroom Tiles Get Me Everytime

It could be in the mirror
behind you
seen just for a second
or spotted in a photograph
-something that doesn’t make natural sense.

It could be you.
It could be me or
it could be something else.

You decide.
I’m tired of trying to
discern ghosts from the blonde next door.

“You have a comfortable bed.” She said.
Though it was the third time she’s used it.
“Thanks.” I muttered best I could
as the toothbrush viciously scoured my bottom row,
me being a fervent believer in oral hygiene and all.

The tube was spent and when I turned to the trash to discard it
that’s when I saw it:
The patterns on a single tile of stained linoleum
appeared to be forming into a visage.
The more I grew fixated on it
the clearer it became
until it sharply resembled the face
of somebody screaming.
The eyes were blank with terror and
the lips stretched back far as they could go.

I would only know such pain
if I were in Hell
and that’s where this face came from
as it was a window directly into the bottom
of God’s boiler.

I began to hear the cries
of a thousand souls
-a million.

I thought of death, war, Walmart, eternal suffering, Cthulhu, diabolic torture, George W. Bush.

It was pulling me in.
It was pulling me in.

“What are you doing, Silly? You’re dripping.”
She smiled in the doorway, laughed, rushed down the stairs.

I looked back to the floor. I could no longer see it
so I spit, rinsed, spit and followed.

It was time for me to cook some eggs
with the Peameal bacon left over from camping.

It was a lovely Sunday morning.

Looking For a New Ride to Break

Sometimes you lose control
of the car
so suddenly that it
flies spectacularly out
into the night
headlights staring up at God
bumper smiling at the
black nothingness
that has enveloped the world
(so quickly
does the sun die
in these times)
while inside
arms flailing
teeth grinding down
everything slows down for that
one final elongated second
as your mind
shows you old reruns of
bad sitcoms
instead of anything that was
monumental or important
and you abhor the fact that the
very last thing you’re going to see
before you die
is Bill Cosby’s face
as the car twirls as would a baton
in the hands of an angry cheerleader.

This is it, Man (you say to yourself).
Get ready.
I’m ready.

I’m so not ready.

The impact arrives as suddenly
as Christmas.
The car tumbles rolls and
like a rogue ballerina
until it turns over
one more time
-twitches, whines and finally

You open one eye.
It is still functioning so you
gamble to open the other.

You look down at yourself:
arms still there.
Legs, check.

Your manhood
will probably still function
after this and there is
nothing clamping you down or
sticking through you.

You are not part of the car.

Seeing that you’re not
completely wrecked
like the metallic shell that
surrounds you
you crawl out of where the
windshield once was and survey
the trail of glass and metal that
you have just donated to the highway.

That was close.
Too close.
Way too close.

When you going to learn?
when you going to learn?

Well, your cheque has not been cashed
this time.
It’s good to be alive
and stupid because God
must want you to live for the
sheer entertainment value.
He’s probably up there sitting
with his hand in the popcorn
delightfully confounded by
what a raving Jackass you truly are.

You could say that you’re not
going to do this again.

You could say it but instead
you wipe your jacket down
smile at the night
and head towards the conglomeration
of pinhead lights that signal
a nearby town

looking for a new ride to break.

The Tree From Which Robins Sing (For Sariah)

This is me in here
trapped, tragic and tearing
out life in words
worlds whittled
out from sadness
out into the dark from light
out from my hand
out like a melody
from the tree
from which robins sing.

I speak the language of birds
harmony in my happiness
when I am alone always
beneath the tree
fielded and frankly forgotten
with no other human in sight
I can breathe
breathe out dreams
and this is me this is really

In a moment all at once
all together the birds
leave on impulse
a unified cluster arcing over the
wide wondering blue
shimmering singing
painting my sky with wings
powering through the air
cutting like a
whispering wind
and I laugh and take joy
as in a moment I realize
that this is the sound of
and if he smiles at all
then this is him