I forgot I called the
plumber because the
sinks weren't draining
properly in my house.
After a strong cup of
coffee, and about twenty
menthol cigarettes, I felt
the tell-tale rattling in
my guts that I have to
take a monstrous shit.
So I ambled to the bathroom,
produced a bowl-buster,
marveled at its length
like a proud parent, and
then - without a thought -
flushed my shit baby away.
About ten seconds later I
heard a horrified scream
from the basement, and
immediately remembered....
Oh shit. The plumber.
Pinpricks | Poems that Suck
You were drunk on fine spirits, on the precipice of belligerence, trapping me between your body and the door - its knob in my back. "What the fuck are you doing?" I asked calmly cautious, but could see that your pupils were pinpricks, even in the dim. "Tell me all about it. Every little detail. I need to know the who, what, why, how, when of that stupid video." And I realized I was being mocked; for talking too much, for needing someone to share stream of consciousness with. It confirmed what I'd suspected for so long; that I'm not human to you - just a possession that you can molest whenever you want.
Books ‘n Shit | Life Updates
Hey, hey fellow perverts, degenerates and all around good-ass people!
I wanted to hop on and check in on ya’ll to see how you’re doing. How ya been? How ya doing? What’s new? You got any cool successes? If so, drop ’em in the comments and let’s celebrate that shit with a drink!
The semester is over and I’ve taken a month to revert to my vampire’s sleep schedule, so I don’t feel like a fucking reanimated corpse anymore. It’s Cancer season, baby, and I’m feeling vibrant as shit right now!
I heaved a huge sigh of relief the other day; I submitted my final manuscript (which needs desperate arrangement) to my dude over at Newington Blue. We got a title, and we’re working on author pic and cover art now. I’ll be the second release over there, so I’m thinking the fall or something. I’ll keep you updated!
For now I’m trying to bang out the rest of the Song of the Sister for Budget Press which is turning into a real fucking beast on my end. Initially I was writing with my usual chaotic energy, but something shifted and I’m getting real intentional with it. It’s, for sure, the most structured writing I’ve done outside academia and it’s taking all my brain power, talent and writing skill to get it done.
Anywho, I hope you’re all having a good summer. Let me know what you’re up to.
Unraveled | Poems that Suck
There's a flap of flesh
along side my thumbnail.
I wonder what would happen
if I pulled at it?
I imagine it would cleave
the skin, running all the
way to the bone, like some
wayward thread.
And what would I find, there,
hidden beneath the flesh? A
lifetime of regret, lies, doubt
and self loathing.
Best to leave it alone.
Tending Bar | Poems that Suck
Don't come to me if you don't want a straight answer. Don't come to me if you want to be coddled. Don't come to me if you don't want practical advice. Don't come to me if you just want me to agree with you. Don't come to me if you can't take it raw. I'm not your fucking bartender, baby. I'm not serving you a chaser after this shit.
Silence | Poems that Suck
Maybe I don't like the silence
because it reminds me of an ex
who used to disappear for days at
a time, saying that the aliens had
abducted him.
Every time he'd reappear it was
with some new girl, hanging off his
dick - and I knew he'd slept with her
so that he'd have a place to sleep, and
food to eat.
I could never understand why
he wouldn't come to me to ask
for these things, knowing that
he'd never have to pay for them
with sex.
The last time he disappeared
for months, turning up on the
opposite coast so that he could
"make it," but came back home with
a pregnant fiancé.
Shit n Stuff n Things | Life Updates
Hey guys,
I just wanted to reach out and let you know what’s going on in my world – and to apologize for the lack of posts these last few months.
Many of you know that I’m working on my Masters – which leaves little time for me to sit down and write poetry. When I do have the rare moment to sit down and write poetry, it’s been to fulfil my obligations to Newington Blue and Budget Press for the two books of mine they’re producing this year.
With regard to the Newington Blue book; my editor heard my wish to incorporate more exclusive pieces to that volume, so I’m happy to say that there will be nearly 30 new poems that you haven’t seen before incorporated into that work.
I think I’ve said this before about my chapbook with Budget but it’s worth repeating; we’re looking at about 14-20 pages of ALL exclusive material. It is very much a themed piece – an idea that I’d been playing with for quite sometime. Last update I revealed the title : Song of the Sister – but I don’t think I told you the premise.
So, there’s this book in the Bible called The Song of Solomon – and it is essentially biblical porn. Meaning, it’s an 8 chapter long erotic love poem to his new bride whom he dubs ‘Sister’. My chapbook acts as a response to that – the woman’s response to the male – with a more modern, rough twist to it. I showed the editor two of the pieces that I’ve written so far, and he digs… so we’re good so far!
Updates on the shoulder: I’ve finally got it sorted out! I ended up buying a brand new memory foam pillow that has helped relieve the pain immensely. I’m also working more on my laptop which doesn’t require me to extend my arms as far to work. So, all in all, I’m pretty good.
End of the semester is coming this time next month, so you will probably see more posts coming from me around then!
Thanks for all your love and patience!
L
A Revenge Poem in Tweets | Poems that Suck
Busted | Poems that Suck
I weave these ribbons between the hollows of my bones, sewing together the frayed flesh that you stripped bare in my pursuit of you. If I replace my heart with a Cuckoo clock, and my mind with a mocking bird, then maybe I'll sleep during these fitful nights of uncertainty.
Muse | Poems that Suck
"I'm your muse," his slow smile met my hesitation, exhaling a billow of blue smoke into the space between us. "Yes," I allowed, raking my calloused fingers through his soft, fine hair. "I like it," he kissed me gently as only a shy lover could. Do you? I wondered if he understood what it meant to be such a thing. If he grasped how much of my emotional landscape is painted in a pallet of him, The brown of his hair, the blue of his eyes, passionate reds, bruise purples, and the black of abandonment. It's all fun and games until someone loses their heart.
Poems that Suck 