Ophelia Gets Her Wings

I once knew a person
Named Ophelia

She worked for United Airlines
She was a stewardess
Or a flight attendant

She was many different
People at the same time

Ophelia refused
To become the pilot
She was born to be

She was too tired
To follow her dreams

All she wanted was
To sleep in the womb
Of the deepest sleep

She’s an angel now
I have her wings

Flowers In Despair

Welcome to the Motel California.
The Eagles have landed.

Joan Jett is leaving John Denver
On a Jefferson Airplane.

Rainy days and Mondays
Always get Karen Carpenter down.

Why do the Byrds suddenly appear
Every time Don Henley is near?

Welcome to the Motel California.
The Eagles have landed.

If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear flowers in despair.

Endless Breadsticks

Snapping turtles
All the way
Down

Time to drain the mainframe
Time to shave the whales
Time to make the donut holes

Infinite repression
Edge of chaos
Circular guilt

Endless breadsticks
Free Wi-Fi
Surf and turf toe

It’s the summer of sixty-nine
It’s four-twenty somewhere
The rent is too damn high

I’m a bipolar bear
Eating fish
Out of water

My name is
Wet Willy or is it
Lazy Susan?

Mister Ed Sullivan

Whirlpools in a rushing river
No man’s land
This lamb is your lamb

Charlie McCarthy rides
Mister Ed Sullivan
Harder than Woody Woodpecker

Carnegie Hall wasn’t built
In a day it took practice
Practice practice

Let’s all go to Hobby Lobby
And grab ourselves
Some Chick-fil-A

Cigars! Cigarettes!
Cigars! Cigarettes!
This is not a pipe dream

A rooster
Eating crow
Pets a cockatoo

Mister Ed Sullivan
Leaves a jolly rancher
For a factory farmer

Tomorrow looks
Cloudy with a chance
Of mothballs

I’m itching
Like a beagle
In a fuzzy peach tree

Mister Ed Sullivan
Has left
The building

Soy Milk Duds

Too many cooks
In the kitchen sink

Too many forks
Too many knives

Too many forks
Spooning knives

Too many spoons
Forking knives

Too many bowls
Of rice cakes

Too many cups
Of sugar cubes

Too many soy
Milk Duds

Too many frosted
Wheat Thins

Too many green onions
Or are they chives?

Too many
Legs of lamb

Not enough hands
To pass the thyme

Vegan cheese?
No fucking whey!

Green onions
Give me hives

Sir Real And Miss Fortune

Sir Real says
There’s no place
Like home
Confinement

Miss Fortune says
I make a better trapdoor
Than a windowsill

I’m depressed
I’m an atheist
I think I’m God
I don’t believe in myself

Sir Real hits me
Where the landlord
Split me

Miss Fortune rubs me
The wrong way

I spill my guts
I spill my seed
I cry over sour
Grapes of wrath

When Sir Real slams
A trapdoor
Miss Fortune shatters
A windowsill

All I want is relief
From the burden
Of being me

All I want is relief
From the burden
Of seeking relief
From the burden
Of being me

All I want is relief
From the burden
Of being free
To choose my own
Confinements

Opposite Day

Same shit
Opposite day

I mistake a deep breath
For a panic attack.

Same shit
Opposite day

A repetitive poem
Repeats itself.

Same shit
Opposite day

A repetitive poem
Repeats itself.

Same shit
Opposite day

A history of trauma
Repeats itself.

Same shit
Opposite day

I take my life
One panic attack at a time.

Still I Rise

Empty mind
Of thoughts
Not mine

Empty reason
Empty rhyme

Every day
I take my life
One decade
At a time

Empty sky
Of sun
Not mine

Empty moon
Empty tide

Every day
I take my pills
One half-life
At a time

Empty ego
Empty pride

Empty mind
Of thoughts
Not mine

Every day
Uncertain
Still I rise
Full of life

Every day
Night falls
Still I rise

My Happy Place

it’s where the sidewalk ends
prematurely
like my youth

it’s where I lost
my marbles

it’s where I sleep
like a baby
sawing wood

my happy place
remains so vast
you can’t find it
like a needle
in a knapsack

this is the best stanza
I wrote last night
in my happy place:

“tie forget-me knots
to a paradox before
graduate schools of fish
watch me sink
or swim in the deep
end of knowledge”

it’s an exclusive club
my happy place—
no pricks allowed
except the dick I think with