Thursday, April 30, 2009

For the Summer

School is almost
over for the summer
but of course
school is never
really over
because the teachers
wandering the halls
shut up
and the bad kids,
the stoners and the
ill-equipped,  continue
to find their lockers,
open them with 
a smirk, and find
the silly books
that their
parents bought. 

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Brakes

The decision to approach
the word was costly.
I jetted to conclusions 
that weren't logical.

I am fond of this sort
of decision. This sort
of thinking is right
down my throat-pipe. 

So, instead of feeling
guilty just because
the universe sucker
punches you,

How about starting
a new group 
focused on being groupy-er.
This makes sense.

I'm wanting to outlast
you in regard to
thoughts, but my thoughts
keep stopping. 

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The Mustache!

What you might not notice
by reading these words
is that I have a 
as I write them 

and this mustache persists 
even through
the length of this
sentence or this 
poem and then,
at night, 
underneath faint starlight
(or nights that aren't lit)

this mustache grows.
The length 
of my upper lip is comforted
by these unshorn face pores.
In its gauzy blanket
I find warmness.
My mustache, my honey.
The warm syrup of my
mustache is what I tongue

when I lick toward my nose.
The mustache grows! Alive!
And like thousands of bad movies
these pressures 

keep pressing.
The deep dreams they can't describe

in the mustache!

Monday, April 27, 2009

Poems Promote Poetry!

Sunday, April 26, 2009


One thing more stupid
than poetry
is hitting a person
with a hammer.

Another thing stupider
than a poem
is rubbing your
knuckles with sandpaper.

If you pushed a baby
stroller in front 
of a bus, that would
be worse than a poem.

Something else worse
than a poem, putting 
ketchup in the 
pockets of your black suit.

Also worse might
be walking 
into a wall or killing
a little fish.

Also (I just thought of this)
a serious ailment
is way worse
than the average poem. 

Saturday, April 25, 2009


No time
to write
a puzzle,

Friday, April 24, 2009


I feel
I did

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Something Not New

I don't want to write
a poem

of course, I never do
but just find

myself here. I'm sure
you understand

or, if not, 
don't care

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

A Link and A Poem for the Day

There's this

and also the other half
of the world
which is proud
to be getting more
violent or
less violent 
depending on the way
the sun moves
or doesn't move
but always 
forgets something.
I ask questions
without question 
marks. Mark, it's
something I do. 

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

International Politics

I've been having moments
of doubt which seem to stretch across
the day as does a tarp,
sealing the grass below from the sun, 
becoming a terrific place
for slugs and ants and worms.
On this dank surface, I travel
about in my 2 wheeled buggy.
Pulled by the 4 hoofed horse,
I can hear the wind whispering
in my crinkly ears. The sound
is not like a guitar or clarinet solo.
Instead, I register nothing
but the ugly hiss of nationalism. 

Monday, April 20, 2009

To Clarify

I couldn't really evaluate my performance.
I was trying hard,
but, also, as someone else might say, hardly trying.
I wanted to be able to clearly ascertain 
the reality of the situation,
but, unfortunately, clear ascertainment 
is not my strong suit.
Instead, I am good at fog machines and generating
foggy environments like those created by
real smoke, dry ice, or genuine fog. Now,
when you think you understand
all of the songs from the eighties, that's
when the fear creeps up on you
and you can feel sharp, itty claws. 

Sunday, April 19, 2009

I Am Not A Failure

I am not a failure, but a human.
When I enjoy various aspects of humanity, I am not a failure.
Even if I don't enjoy various aspects of humanity, I am not a failure.
Or, I am a failure.
I can't quite know for sure. 
I believe I am not a failure, but I'm only guessing.
When I notice how human I am standing, let's say, in front of a window
and catching a faint reflection in the glass, I also notice
my status, as a failure or as not a failure.
When I consider my status I often have second thoughts.
One thought: failure. Another thought: not failure.
As a human, determined to stay so, I often don't consider
myself human. Instead, I look at myself as a graph or a record
for what might have been a human.
I am an inadequate but passable record keeper.
As for records, I spin on a turntable in a failure like way,
with the skipping and the warping.
As for my non-failure, it is beautiful and not a failure.
It is very, very enjoyable. I like not failing.
I'm even a fan of positive reinforcement. 

Saturday, April 18, 2009

I Am A Failure #3

When watching TV, when watching a DVD, when listening to a CD, when carefully considering questions of religion and philosophy, I am failure.
The mirror always sees failure.
Petting a dog or rubbing it behind his ears, I fail badly. 
When I whistle, I fail badly as a whistler.
Taking an elevator, escalator, or bus, my failure is obvious.
When eating candy and cake and ice cream I am a dessert failure.
Remembering happy moments from elementary school, I am a failure.
This failing comes easy.
It actually feels good because it's so easy.
I was touching another human's ear, in a tender manner, and I was failing.
I was stating that I was a failure, failing.
When I was failing, I was a failure.
When I was considering the cartoon, failing.
Holding a bottle, failing.
Wearing my glasses, really failing. 
Walking through the grass is a type of failure.
Changing my clothes I feel really like a failure.
The way I fail at each spectacular moment is breathtaking. I look at these moments in a failing way. 
I love them in a failing manner. 
Using a hammer or an electric drill.
Reading a newspaper.
When I take a bath in my kids' bath water, I don't get as clean as I could. I am a hygienic failure.
When I skimp on my work-out, I am a fitness failure.
I am really failure-like. 
When I find certain definitions, I am failing in a dictionary sort of way. 
All this failure is moving along as planned. 
The failure is written into the text.
I am trying to change this sense of failure, but I am
not having much success. 
I feel like a failure often.
Sometimes, all alone, I feel like a failure. 

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I Am A Failure #2

When I build an addition to my kid's fort,
I am a failure.
As I drive my car? Failure.
As I eat slim pizza for dinner? Failure.
As I dream of my former cars? I am a failure.
Also, visiting with friends, I fail.
When I wake, after a sweet night of sleep, I fail. 
It is very predictable and annoying.
When I think of you, sweet success who awaits, 
I am failing very big time. So much so
I am trying to block something out
but instead am erasing my own ideas. 

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

I Am a Failure

I am always a failure.
No matter how many poems I decide to write, I am a failure.
No matter how many failures I don't have,
I am a failure.
If I have some success, I am still a failure.
If I am told that I am not a failure, I am still a failure.
I am always failing because I can not succeed. 
I can succeed and still I fail.
I can win the race and still fail to place.
I am a failure regardless of what place I get.
I am a failure in every race.
When I sleep at night, I sleep as a failure.
Even if magazines and television programs proclaim
me a success, I am a failure.
Even when I am lauded as a success, I am a failure.
I always fail.
When I achieve something, I have failed.
When I accomplish a goal, I fail.
Even when I don't do something, I am a failure. 

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

A Poem to Read

And Nate Logan wrote this poem, which is sweet of him.

Listening at Bloof

You should listen to this, curtsy Shanna and Bloof. 

Monday, April 13, 2009

Monday Evening Such-Such

To think of you
as something different
is natural 
and regarded 
by the most important
people as peopled 
with humanness.
You pound the pavement,
you bury the foam,
you shoot stars like you
want to cream the minor
chords in all major songs.
You pretend
to be the British invasion
or the boyfriend
who wins
but (long view here) you 
know how silly it is
to act like a real
blues musician. 

Sunday, April 12, 2009

To My Two Kids

I love you. I love you both, so much.
I love you both, so much.
I just love you and I don't know how 
to love you more.
I just love you so much.
I love both of you so much. You are better
than anything in the world. I cannot think
of one thing in the world I would trade you for.
I wouldn't trade you for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I would not trade
you to see all of my other dreams in life
come true. I just love you both so much.
I just love you so very much.
As I kissed you both before bed,
as I hugged you both before bed,
I couldn't have been happier. I would
not trade your hugs or kisses for
anything in the world. I would not trade your
hugs and kisses for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I love you so much
that I wish I could love you more and be even
more to you, even more for you, help you and love
you just that much more. I love you  both so much.
I would love to say something better than just
I love you, but I don't know how to say I love you
anymore plainly than to say, I love you. I just
love you both so much. I know that my parents
love me and now I love you too. I love you so
much. I had no idea that I could feel this way.
I had no idea the love my parents had for me. I would
not trade you for my parents or my brothers 
or my wife or for anything in the world, not millions
of dollars or fame or power. 
I had no idea that love could describe how I
feel for you and how parents feel for their 
children. I did not know that vocabulary was so
inadequate. I just love you both. I love you both.
I just love you both so much that I want to
invent something new to describe it. But I can't invent
anything new. I just love you both so much
and want you to know how much I love you because
that is part of the point of all of my love. I had
no idea that love had a point before. But now I know
the point. The point is you. I just love you both.
I just really, really love you. I love you so much.
I just really, really love you both. I would
not trade my love for you for anything, not millions
or fame or power, not people or food or immortality.
I would not trade you or your love for anything
or any other love. I love you both so much.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say in this poem.  

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The Point

The word not available to the mouth
is the word you need, the one you want
to crutch beneath your armpits 
and lean into, sucking a purple little hickey
from it's neck and driving its dirty adolescent 
imagination off a cliff. Way down in the valley,
crashed and mushed in the pines, my steady
wet dreams of love, of understanding, of
communication seem to be deep
within this pretty girls jeans. My fingers
keep crawling in that direction, inching
always with a simple destination. We all
have been there before and we are always
coming back with the same dumb flowers. 


Friday, April 10, 2009

5 7 5 on the Undercover Cop

Is it cheating to
write 5 7 5 haikus
and call them real poems?

Wednesday, April 08, 2009


Kent Johnson will read
on Thursday in Muncie, IN.
Some good shit, people. 

Tuesday, April 07, 2009


a poem
is the easiest
thing in 
the world
for when 
it is. 

Monday, April 06, 2009

Like People Who Fear Obama

The enemies
of  National Poetry Month 
oil their guns and
bitch to their spouses
about the world
getting worse
and it sucks and sucks
etc. All through 
the horrible, shitty
month of April. 

A Gentle Reminder


Sunday, April 05, 2009

Getting Dressed

I can never decide
 if I am a failure
or a success. I feel
good some days 
and other days I feel bad.
I would tell myself not to use
words like good and
bad, but I'm lazy 
which might explain
my inability to reach 
a conclusion. In conclusion,
I dislike everything 
about myself including
this poem and it's little
tiny hat that I put on
here at the end.  

Saturday, April 04, 2009


Kids were running
and tackling and 
turning their ankles
and whatnot,
tripping around 
the island
and the adults
were drinking pizza
and beer too
and then the wine
started to take
effect and something
very strange bypassed
the landscape. In
the moon (in the whitish
area surrounding 
the moon) the kids
were laughing
and some were calling
out and then 
the sound of 
nothing and dead
animals collapsing
on the roof. 

Friday, April 03, 2009

In Less Than A Week

Poetry people of Muncie and surrounding counties, you would be very silly to miss this reading! It just wouldn't make sense.

The Idea

If was effortless and moving in an ugly
direction. The priest wasn't satisfied with 
the ribcage. The parents weren't satisfied
with the priest. The mother was weeping
and counting. The father was no father
at all, instead, a lonely crumpled sheet
of paper. He began beating his fold-y wings
and shushing the wind. O, the wind. Always
we end in this situation with the wind
eating the Jello from our plates. My dead 
sister, who never made sense till she 
was gone, she no longer was gone and 
was suddenly here and explaining some
reasonably complicated shit. I was just 
gawking and fussing over the back
half of my brain. Back there, barking, barking,
barking, barking. In the front office,
good times I shouldn't talk about. 

The People in The Middle

The people in
the middle
are waist-like
and also similar to
a belt.
The belt shape,
or the oval
or semi-circle,
is ubiquitous everywhere
you roll.
Say you are in
a motorcycle gang
and have a certain
patch sewn 
to your black jacket.
This sort of thing
is predictable.
Please, try
to calm everyone down.
You're totally 
overreacting by, like,  
freaking out. 

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

April Fool's Day

I began the day with too many
accidental pills, jutting
my nuts and shoulders up
making me sucky feeling.
And then, the sin of work.
And then, the then of dinner.
And then, the sound of this
and the little bitty beetle
munching on my post-it notes.