Tuesday, December 8, 2015


The title should suffice.

Profound Shit

She collapsed on top of me

And rolled over

To the side,

I was more exhausted

Than she was,

Funny how that works,

After a few minutes

She spread her hands

Across my chest

And plunked her chin down

On them,

Then she made the face

Of little girl

Waiting for story time,

“Tell me something deep,” she said


“You heard me.”


“Well, you’re a writer, aren’t you?

Don’t you guys come up with all sorts of

Profound shit?”

“Uhhhhhhh …”

I thought for a moment,

I saw the daylight

Coming in through the blinds,

I repositioned myself and

Got ready to speak,

Then it came sailing out:

“When you realize

That Time is your kindest friend

And Death is a beautiful maiden

Waiting for you at the end of a long, dark road

The power of life

Will grip you by the legs

And swing you into

The sun …”

There was a sharp silence,

Then I heard her laugh,

I looked over at her with

An injured expression,

She was talking

On her cellphone


An American Voice

I’ll be walking down the road

Some grey day,

Wrapped in thought

Or burying my nose

In a book,

Then suddenly

I’ll hear it;

The hideous reverberation

Of a thousand lunatics

Gurgling cum,

Or simply put,

An American Voice,

Its owner will undoubtedly

Be saying something banal


“Where the hell are YOU going?”


“Jesus, that stinks!”

And I’ll get this urge

To draw my fist back

And smash that fucker’s face into

Bloody screaming bits,

And then it dawns on me …

I’ve been talking

To myself



Check Please

One time

I was on a date

And we got on the topic

Of heroes

And my date asked me:

“Who were your heroes as a kid?”

I hesitated to tell her,

But eventually,

She dragged it outta me,

“My heroes as a kid,” I said.

“Were Freddy Kruger, The Joker, and Hannibal Lecter.”

Her eyelids slipped back around her eyeballs

And I could see the veins

Like tiny red worms

Writhing in milk,

After she caught her breath

She spat at me:

“How the fuck could your heroes as a kid be

A child-murderer, a cackling psychopath,

And a practitioner of gross cannibalism?!”

I took a sip of my beer

And chuckled:

“Their elected professions

Weren’t what I admired

About them.”

“Well what was it then?!” she screamed.

“What the fuck could you have possibly seen

In these gigantic assholes?!?!”

I looked her up and down,

She was wearing a grey blouse

And her hair was pulled back

In a ratty bun,

An angry white dot of spittle

Had formed at the corner

Of her mouth,

I handed her a napkin

And said:

“Forget about it.”


The Creep

So I was sitting on the tram last Friday

And I was in my groove,

I had my headphones bumpin’

And my fingers jeweled up

And my neck shinin’

And my teeth out rappin’

With Biggie,

Then I noticed this

Little blond boy

In the adjacent seat,

He was staring at me

With his big vacuum blue eyes,

Absorbing my rhythms and my shakes

And all the crackling noise

Around me,

I could tell I was

Creepin’ into him,

So I lifted my pinky and used its long nail

Like the beak of humming bird

To prick his spirit,

When his moms caught sight of this

She pulled him away,

Then the tram stopped

And the two of them got off

And left me thinkin’:

“Damn, I hope the little dude

Doesn’t grow up to be

A drug dealer.”


Note: I reserve the right to occasionally alter the character names, descriptions, and/or event details in my posts for the purposes of identity protection and “fluidity of story.” If this puts a kink in your panties, read someone else’s blog, homey.

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