27 December 2010

beard poem
for paul

the jaw angle hangs fat

do you still believe in ten

were my hands any stronger
i could hurt you easy by saying it

look up words
to say

say, the part of me that hurts is
every part

so i eat less--

heroin is nothing to me, me.
unless i want to 'come in my pants'

and i told you about this
train, i said you took

but you took absolutely
nothing from me, the haves

my dirty underwear maybe
my lonliness

or the spit
on my hands

to grip the grip tighter
to nail it

to leave my face
at home.

form of worship, your head
on my thigh, pillow dog
i am less naked when you are

the befores and afters are when
my clothes come off
or simply wont hide

you found the time
when the sidewalk
was smoothed.
fish jaw

i will talk
under a mouth bone
artificial structure added
but unable to chew

through, thumbs for teeth
plucked at the joints or
cherry picker

will i talk
nice words about you and your
pretty bacteria
unseen on my swinging

knees bent in unmoveable buck,
hip tall boots
grabbing at river darts

show me your true talk
over in the shallow
where the river moves slow

use the feet for function
all the ground being tight-rope
damp in romantic

because socks are for sandals
here, rotting wood pile
a poem about trees

tall living soulless, is
nose stubs, bent up branch
run my licked thumb over your eyebrow

girl thing
bite at the air passing between
your arm and ribcage, skinned

and jacketed
covered in water, can you
stop thinking

you are such a forest, moving
toward the moon
the top of your head breaking clouds

21 December 2010

haiku 27

write this down about you
without you's

why am i fixed
on parts that will break

on this body there
is no body at all

16 December 2010

sex poem

sewn in by the winter monger,
sweat feet in the dark, socks,

does the Atlantic make you gravy;
heroes and heroes are the same
as anyone making it.

it is just work,
the things i do for you, you etc.
kissing your hip too soon.

it is a bone but
i would like to thank you for
the sex i guess.

15 December 2010

porn poem
formerly known as kryzewski

a proverbial winter wonderland, i
never saw it coming

beautiful ice sculptures of naked women
and large

my brother lost his job when the porn shop
burned down
many people lost their

the things you can see, or subject them
into being actual people, on fire.

i haven't decided how it might affect me.

the only time i have ever been in a porn shop
was for moral support
when dane wanted to buy playing cards with naked fat women
on them.

that was around christmas too.

14 December 2010

hong kong foot

hard as it would be to wash some socks
for your boy

let him run around outside barefoot
for the wild of it

make him dream of playing football
for jon madden
science fiction

everything burns

the minutes i sing song,
another man, or man thing--

exit beauty, you
on heels. call me.
venomous coward/inward boy

know that you leave me; know that
when two quirks combine
a mass is lost or
i wont think about that

13 December 2010

for winter, and drinking

then the snow fell, again
the pears from the pear tree still on the ground

have you ever been this warm
in my old sweaters

and did the birds see it coming,
were you asking me.

10 December 2010

deer poem

deep into the deer season
my idle neck bucks

the leather here
is the tannest of all
reach to the drop tine

take hold

scout on what might leap out!
from the cover of indian grass

my knees rubbing the dirt
begging the earth
that neither of us is armed or wanting.

09 December 2010


markings on my face from berries,
my face the abandoned house.

my hands are dark purple today;
they never are
on normal days.

normally i would like to be lighter,
ignite wheat, or your other fields

do boys grow taller
where you're from, stilts and flat-tops,

the question doesn't know what i meant,
but all i want is to be
thin and a whisp

rememebered my rabbit face
or excuses to make up jumps
calming bridge sway

when i am alone in elevators
i shake them violently
waiting for the cables

my reflection makes me laugh
like i am not actually there.

08 December 2010


don't know the last i wore
both straps hung loose
during a kris kross phase, i think

used to try and sneak out the apt.
w/ my clothes on backwards

that was before hurricane Andrew

moved to Gering near the Scottsbluff border
w/ my dad and brother

then the huricane finally came

i was friends with a Broncos fan
named Joey Keener
we played at his parents ranch
climbing hay stacks and throwing things at goats.
gone right for the kisser

07 December 2010


you know i cannot light my cigarette
while i am walking, laugh.

the wind from your upper lip;
small appalachian hills

feeling my arms hang loose
and flap around aimlessly.

slipping on the ice
where my warm body sticks to--

hold you in my hand,
aligator pear.

pull my mouth over cinnamon stick,
caphor or bay laurel;

leopard speckle or do i call it
sun rain,

whisper to my fingers,
let them know the softest parts,

tell you, i will write this story for you.

tell me, you will be there.

gently separate the fruit from skin
with a spoon, working around.

06 December 2010


so the awake in me is from cane fields
or sand hill birds
as in flying back to nebraska

do you dance on my bed
even in the winter, or more then.
against my chest w/
long pink legs

the lips you bite
sewn to the nibble, a bit
for you to wear
when confronting the Hells Angels

telling me stories of them,
w/ their hammers.