Either Way, I'm Gunna Fuck Something Up Tonight

I spare you the finger and flip open my laptop

Scream at the screen, saving your ears

And punch the keys instead of your big fat mouth

So if it comes out a mess and a wreck and a rustled-up piece of shit

At least it was the poem and not you

And Tomorrow We Get To Do It All Over Again

My buzz is starting to go. I have one more cold beer in the fridge but I’ll let it chill. I've got two good poems in the books tonight (now three?) so I’ll retire while I’m ahead. I have to work tomorrow anyways. For five and a half hours I’ll make thirty-five dollars. That’s what I’m going to sleep for. That’s what I’m committing myself to tomorrow. Maybe I should commit something else.

After The Party

last night’s trophies effetely on display
recording humanities triumphs
only until recycling day:

the memories were never encased

“C’mon baby, I’ve got gusto!”

She restrained.

“Catch my fervor!”

She pulled from the bottle.

“Embrace the night!”

She grimaced.

“Don’t make that face!”

She smiled.

“That’s it baby, let’s get reckless!”

Another pull. Another smile.

“Yeaah!”

To think: another night almost wasted.

I sit here alone, in the middle of the night, in a cold house,
under a quiet light, in a small chair, resting my sore feet on a distant table,
thinking about my first day on the shit job, and I can't believe this morning,
less than sixteen hours ago, I was crying.

Like I deserved something more.

How relieved I feel now.

To know,

The world owes nothing.

Two Pot Brownies, Eighty-four Ounces of Beer, And an Undisclosed Quantity of MDMA

This one is better spoken. Try reading it out loud if you're feeling playful.

MJ Thriller hot tub head bob

outside steam rise fog machine

werewolves and zombies no room in here

not moving don’t want to

could not do

beat it supernatural monsters you’re no son of mine

that’s against human nature and so is melting

but I’m boiling in this roiling

need to strategize can’t think just do

popping out solo still got the nod-nod-nod on

to the song-song-song

sweeping ‘cross the porch all cool and flow

chlorine droplets go drip-drip-drip

towel off the hang and in hand

now I dry-dry-dry

then go inside-side-side

another world of lights and noise then captured in a tractor beam

gaze locked to computer screen

pulled in with every step-step-step

surrender to the missing puzzle piece

that fits the deepest nook of me

virgin connection receiving infiltration

hook-up and download

now I'm 2.0 and after that watch another

and I am 3.0
then 4.0

on and on until my upgrade is finished

now I will operate differently

and when I reboot to complete

I wake up the next morning and think

Michael Jackson is good, but Nine Inch Nails videos are fucking crazy

We're Here To Get Each Other Through This Thing, Whatever It Is or Thanksgiving

To Target Corporation who pays me $7.75/hour to not think about myself,

to those who think about me even though I’m gone,

and to my Family who continues to be my Family

even though we don’t understand:

I give thanks.