I wish I were a lumberjack:
Out all day from dawn until
I would hit my quota, then head back
To my cabin and my lumberjill.


This is a new kind of erosion –
A free-fall swan-dive into the never.
This is a terrific and wild implosion –
And it’s well worth the endeavor.


You hear those pillow walls?
They’re talking,
Reaching out to get you.
And when that mattress frame
Spring-boxes you in,
You know it won’t let you
Unknot those straight-sheets
That swaddle
Like the anaconda-pet you
Let in your bed.
Suffice to say,
That these awful nights
Are never going to fuckin’ forget you.

Just another day of being what we are.
Any other attempt? A moron’s measure.
Just another day pretending a scar
Was originally carved in mind for pleasure.

Damages and dents – entirely self-inflicted = you
Have scratches and scars, civil and tribal.
Don’t know what it is you’ve grown addicted to,
But at this point you’re past survival.

When the panic gasps come around in clasps
And you feel slowly left to die low,
Then may come a day when you come to say
“Why the fuck do I live in Ohio?”
You try to buckle down and blow the town,
But you’re tide-ripped by the sky-tow.
Alas, though you yourself-compulse to try to avulse,
You just can’t fucking leave Ohio.

Malicious and vindictive
– neither teasing nor in repartee –
Your words, like the dying sick, live
In the acrimonious things you say.