Poem: Lackadazed

The sun ups and downs on the regular, shining a light

for all the money men and branded

bandit raiders, near as I can tell, the ones with stopwatches

tick tock at a trouble pace, I’m only an owl with eyes

to see the one hand washing itself, without soap

in a puddle, so the sickness pervades.


The news is a candy prison, but it’s tough

to determine the architect, through the dead eyes

in the mirror, staring nothing at all

right back at me, perplexed at my own seeming

callous nature, having seen it all

from my perch, I can’t even move against it.

Poem: Lackadazed

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

It’s okay, everybody calm down

and settle with us, debts of gratitude

admiration and teamwork, we shall

logically arrange the fragments

of what once was, mortal shadows

portraying positivity and willing

blindness, once through the tunnel

work will begin, hopefully our leader

pointing us true, with held noses

trudging through sludge is the way

to make change, coin flip funding

the path, hopefully to loving victory

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

“woo” my head shouts like my voice

would be, maybe not, delicate customs

in intricate intentions, I’ll stay

silent for now, mirroring the harbinger

cackling under bloody sky, dig a hole

swallowing a protein pill that tastes just

like ass, the alternative though,

racing all around wallpapering

blueprints of a shelter, because perhaps

the beast is born, and we are in trouble

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

Poem: Really, No Comment 2

The world will end in plasma

tax rioting, all stabbing all feeling life in the flow

of blood there is much made, to be

the known and to know, your fellow man

but not in his origin, or where he comes

and for what?  We are not shadows

from before making mountains

of planted flags, we are a king

unless we’re dead, which is the way of the now.

Poem: Really, No Comment 2

Poem: Really, No Comment

Everything goes in us all around, tucking gold prayers

in a circle sack, injecting snake oil and cardamom

supplement to ease the tremors, but shake we will

in an earthquake, the future is blades behind

a curtain it seems proven again, this morning

or next climbing up a toll, from two to three four

figures of the dead, and I can’t even watch

the horror unfolding, denial of it is surrender

to the all of it really, in the back dry retching.

Poem: Really, No Comment

Poem: Coin Toss

Vague histrionic pronouncements breed conspiracy theories and underground movements

aborted feebly, forever filibustering empty space with tasseled sheets of ice

arraigned in rows, rafter spies whetting razors on brown

straps pinned next to the mirror whispering siren songs, reciting a list

of future checkmarks to make with a black iron soul deaf to fear and pain

as long as it’s your own because we’re all pawns and it sucks

the big one, none of us is together with anyone or reconciled

to our own boiling scar tissue, looking like Lorenzo for a cure, we will find soulless.


Liquid therapy or et cetera to change the angle of incidental reflectance

that I have with reality sometimes, though on others it’s a myth-making mirror

and I can see satirical catchphrases raining like mana with movie

deals and halloween costumes, but I feel like Alex being cured

and screaming in pain, flowing rusty record scratch sensation

of tin foil flavored ice cream every night after dinner, so eyes up to see

the path before you is but terrors anyway, so sizzle your veins and solid your blood.


Time is the final arbiter, the scale pit and glory at once

together bumping bright holes in the sky, clouds tearing like

tissues apart with lava liquid pouring from the sky in a stream

to the ground, flowing the harbinger of what’s been earned

as well as given so in the end we’ll all get it, and after the reckoning

I’ll see you unless I don’t, because good luck is all that we have.

Poem: Coin Toss

Poetry: Nature’s Dick

Nature’s force blows, behind a wall of blather, and changes people’s minds

it seems.  Like a mule kicks a hole out, and passion flushes itself down

the toilet full of outcast opinions.  A “retarded” referendum, in our parlance

and his one would assume, when he speaks straight, his glory shines through

with blood and menace, as arena becomes the law.  He bids you gig awesome

in the spirit pit, which is where the magic happens, fortunes are won and lost

life is the prize of the fortunate, they get to wake up.  To wonder to what we wake

is called atheism and roasted, mercilessly stuck with sneers and smirking

assholes who think they know anything.  And he is their king, or would be

eaten in a night of drunken rage, for steering to catastrophe, or it could be.


Destiny shadows itself, dons a tragedy cape, tipping his cap and winking

plunging us to the artificial end times, because Jehovah’s not coming after

all we need is the impetus and it will be epic.  Humanity is endless genius

endlessly twisted and sadistic, mass producing pimps and protestors

and poets and politicians, and every time you find the exit, and you climb

to the top of an even bigger box, you find a new ceiling.  But maybe not

today Mr. Hotshot, sweeping away on angel wings, opening the kingdom

of hell and knowledge, it’s for our own good.  The name will become a symbol

of power and evil, but seductive and hilarious, making memories a million.


The tarp will ignite, crafting of its flame nothing, and the faithful are alone

with wildfire revolt, terror twisting in on itself.  I pray my predictions fall flat

farcical and grim, such as to recall starry eyed, refiling hope as a thing

in itself that must be protected.  Hope is like a goat in a thresher, dead

permanently over and over, for whoever is never the one, and the cycle

spawns a rote manifesto.  See that the sky is falling, give up everything

you ever believed and the world is yours, because it will no longer be

theirs, it will finally all be all mine, and don’t worry I’ll totally share.

Poetry: Nature’s Dick

Poem: Cycle Gaming

During the war, we loved the game

constricting bedsheets were standard issue

but at night, we frolicked among the corpses

playing blood censor and giggling again


grab the rifle, click their icons through the sight

the more we kill the more we die, so fuck it we die tonight


Anniversary fireworks lit the night alive

we kept still, each thinking it was over

proclaimed victory was poison metastasis

oppression is the devil’s eyes, glaring back at us


no no no is the leader we fight, he has bills to pay

so double down, we kill them all tomorrow today


revolution number two, slot machine politics

betting the future on a coin flip lever pull

the power to the people, consensus is solution

we figured it out and wrote it down in blood


it’s not perfect, for fear-frenzied falsehearts lead

pushers liars and cheats, don’t trust their seeds


those seductive grandstanders podium settle

my father fought, the bright revolution bla bla bla

and all their words disguise the world in tettered shrouds

the poor are starving and rising, a voice to raise them comes


a shining army of justice, frankincense and myrrh

keep on going straight, and we are where we were

Poem: Cycle Gaming

Movie review: Election (1999)


Director: Alexander Payne

Writers: Alexander Payne (screenplay) Tom Perotta (novel)

Stars: Matthew Broderick, Reese Witherspoon, Chris Klein

Movie is currently available on Netflix streaming

Alexander Paine’s Election (1999), a portrait of small-town high school politics is hilarious, realistic, and in the end very meaningful.  In the center of the film is a remarkable, rigidly intense performance by Reese Witherspoon.  She plays Tracey Flick, a High School student who’s commitment and ferocity distinguish her from her classmates, and she knows it.  Her character’s mask of cheeriness, along with her inexhaustible supply of energy, bring her into conflict with her high school social studies teacher, Jim McCalister (Matthew Broderick).

Broderick plays the ostensible protagonist of this story, and his self-serving inner monologue (which all four main characters also have) makes a comical juxtaposition with his callous actions.  He knows that Tracey Flick (Witherspoon), his most committed student, would surely win the titular election, and he feels he cannot let that happen.  In order to defeat Tracey in the election, he selects the student who is most clearly Tracey’s opposite, Paul Metzler (Chris Klein), to run against her.

Paul Metzlerl is absolutely brainless, but his heart is the size of a mountain.  At night, as he lies in bed with his hands folded over his chest, he prays “Please help her (his sister) to be a happier person ‘cause she’s so smart and sensitive and I love her so much.”  The sweetness in Chris Klein’s performance is hilarious and heartwarming, creating a nice counterpoint to Jessica Campbell’s perfectly centered performance as the film’s only truly sympathetic character, Paul’s younger sister Tammy Metzler.  Tammy Metzler, who’s inner monologue we could most easily imagine coming from a real teenage girl, acts as the audience’s true surrogate.

All these characters are woven into a complex tableau of small-town debauchery and the worst of intentions into a simple, short, magnificent film.  As negative as this film’s portrayal of small-town “values” and extremely selfish people, disguises in itself what I believe is a soft heart.  In the end, I believe Election is a sort of ethical treatise, and one that sees all its characters get their just desserts.  Election is hilarious, layered, and brilliant.  I recommend you see it.


Movie review: Election (1999)