(C)rap Battle #6

Inside Blague #1

The Future #5

J’avoue #1

Paris #7



NYC #12



There are many forms

Of education/s

Lying aching on a lumpy couch

After clearing tables and washing dishes

For strangers’ celebrations

Wanting to thrust a juvenile twitching brain

Into the consuming oblivion of excess libations

Slowly shedding these snake skins

Of a spoiled, debaucherous adolescence and petty adulations

Sticky film of sweat, berating voices, lacerating films

Of the past and a banal existence mixing with jackhammer

Invasions and pulsing temptations pernicious persuasions

Go jack off and eat dollar pizza you privileged red-headed caucasian

Succumb to the easy evasions oh you think you’re patient?

An undiagnosed patient? You think anyone cares you’re alone here in fear

Craving and raging? Or about your ruminations and frustrations and

Fulminations? The doubts and dead ends of your scribbling and wandering

Vocation? This couch is a lazy contracting contagion and spiritual stagnation

Get up you withering, bitter bastard before you


Now I’m lying in an empty park at midnight before a graduation

And the grass is cool, breeze from the river refreshing, and I’m weeping and I

Tell myself to try and let myself enjoy this brief sensation

This small step forward, a steady gradation, towards a vision of creation

Years and frontiers to go but breathe in this rising elation

Before I get up and go home and tomorrow morning

Receive a piece of paper that looks like a PowerPoint slide

Made in five minutes for academic accreditation.



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Just Another Stranger #7



He is sitting across from me

On the stalled subway

Sunday morning: 1:45am

Unshaven, bulging cheeks

Bags beneath the dark eyes

Age 35-45

Black pants with food stains

Black shoes worn apart

Peeling leather, frayed laces

A Shake Shack baseball cap

A Williamstown Theatre Festival

Sweatshirt (W.T.F.)

A dirty blue backpack at his feet

His hands are clasped together, firmly

And his dark eyes are looking down

With a distant, contemplative stare

And I imagine him as

A hopeful actor

Dreaming of Broadway

Or Hollywood

Of shining lights and leading roles

For years through cramped apartments

Menial jobs, constricting poverty

Tumultuous and poisonous relationships

Forgotten sacrifices,

But he’s flipping burgers

For now

And waiting for that acting role

That will break him away

From burgers and late-night shifts

And stalled subway rides

Smelling like grease and sweat

But for now

He tells himself

Hold on

My time will come

Be patient

Hold on

I will wake up tomorrow

And keep going

Hold on



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NYC #11



After working a few weeks bartending until 4am

And sucking down fried food hastily in a kitchen

The sleep schedule becomes

A little screwy

And the mind tends to become

A little cloudy

So I returned to my time-tested remedy

And ran when I could…and I found myself

At 4:30am in Central Park

With calm and steady strides and my past

Victories reignited in my soul and there I am:

800 meter Olympic final, about to win America the gold

Since Wottle in 1972

When a man passes me and I think,

“Don’t think so, buddy,”

And I sprint past and for the next 30 minutes

We’re racing neck and neck until I break him

And while I run away he yells,

“Thanks brother!” and I keep running

For another 5 minutes until turning into the bushes

And vomiting up chicken fingers, Olympic champion.


Next night my muscles are aching, trembling

And I knock a drink over on to a woman’s lap

And she shrieks, “This is a new dress you shithead!”

And the shift manager grabs my shirt and pulls me to the back,

Eyes bulging, “One more dumbass move like that and you’re fired,”

Spittle spraying my face, but I can’t help but smile,

And he asks, “Why the fuck are you smiling?”

And I want to say, “Because I’m an Olympic champion,”

But I say nothing and return to work.


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Insomnia #15



There are lifetimes

Contained in breaths

Cycles and seasons

Of birth and death

Can these mortal passing thoughts

Be merely electrical signals caught?

Briefly, instantaneously

Between the scattered synapses

Billions of electrical field gradients

Shining as varied patterns bent

As magnetic resonance images

Are anxiety and hope only the blinking battery messages?

Joy and despair chemical scrimmages?

Limitless combinations of reflective cinemas

How can these electric mazes be

Conscious of the game and change the game maybe they only

Tame or frame categorize reality to maintain, stay sane?

I should close the curtain because I’m certain

I won’t be able to sleep with the neighbor’s light

Another labored electrical device

Affecting my fading sight

I might just close my eyes tight

That’s right all right don’t fight just listen to the

Sounds of the night.


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This Hill.



I’ve been here before

This unforgiving ascent

The moment before the burn


I’ve stared up this path

Squinted my eyes

And taken the final breath


I’ve heard these songs

These excuses

These reasons to stop

And go home


I’ve glanced up empty roads

Glanced down at trembling limbs

Felt icy winds cut through clothes

And had tired eyes go dim


I’ve asked myself:

Who is it

You want

To be?


This Thrill. This Gift. This Wild


Before the



I’ve been here before

I know what to do

And now I will do this




pre outside trailer

Prefontaine, the one running on the hill above and one of my heroes, lived in a trailer while pursuing his running dream.


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Just Another Stranger #3


Sunday morning slog

Sweating out a hangover

And grinding through

Last night’s bad decisions

I see an old woman

On a river-side bench

Staring off into the distance

She has a deeply-creased face

Large, crooked glasses

A gray, wispy pony-tail

And layers of faded pink dresses

On her lap is a book

I glimpse the title: Wuthering Heights

And for a moment I wonder

If her soul has been ravaged

By unrequited passion

And sleepless, tortured nights

If she’s thinking of her lost love

And a lifetime of missed chances

As she stares off into the sky

But I’m already choking on my

Next breath and

Running by





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The Simple Glory of a Hot Shower


After a run

On a cold rainy day

Sit around for a while

In damp clothes

Develop a shiver

Wait until the extremities numb

Then turn that hot water on

Step beneath that stream

Close the eyes and realize…

This is a fucking miracle.


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Pro-(Re)cess Vs. Res-(Ad)ults



You can only celebrate

And dance for so long

On the summit

Of the Mt. you long

To reach.

So you might as well

Learn to savor

The taste of dirt

And the texture of rocks

For all the times you

Face plant

On the way



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Last Night At Sly Sam’s Secluded Swamp


Moonshiners bw


Sitting on logs

Passin’ the bloody brisket

Y’all hear them croakin’ frogs

And the racket of crickets

Sippin’ on leftover

Bootleg moonshine

I’d say tomorrow

Boss’ll pay us a pretty dime

Now Sam, put that gun away.

Quit horsin’ around…

One more time I’ll say

Put that


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Wisdom and a Brief Confession

Heart from a book page against a beautiful sunset.




Than Words


Yo mama



in bed.

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