holiday spirit

amazing ass
naked
on her hands
and knees
on her unkempt bed

writhing
clutching
untangled
christmas lights

amazing ass
illuminated
by youth
and a rainbow of color

crying out to the gods

i was only
twenty years old

and
the holiday spirit
had never
come
harder

for me.

my neighborhood capitalist

he paces the block
up and down, down and up

at least a dozen times a day

cigarette in hand
cell phone by his ear

scruffy beard
potbelly

lime-green crocks on his feet
in any type of weather

misunderstood genius of industry
barking orders at some poor schmuck
on the other end of the line

he always ends up in front of my living room

vomiting
stock quotes

letting the smoke in my window
along with his capitalistic bullshit

while i watch him
helpless with murder and hate

thinking

there are thousands out there
sick and dying

but he’s not one of them

and that says more about america
than any hopeless poem

than i’ve ever written
about this fucking place

or will ever chance
to try and write again.

poem to the man idling in his car getting yelled at by his woman

human bonds
can be so fragile

or they can be thick like iron chains

clamped down on your soul
and inescapable

save death

and she is the theatrical kind this morning

standing outside the car shouting
waving her arms like an orchestra conductor

stamping her feet

a sweating, ghoulish she-hulk
in a sunkist t-shirt and wrap around shades

you had time to take
the kids to school this morning
but you’re just leaving me on a street corner
to take a bus?

all of us sacks of shit
stumbling off to work
know your cardinal sin now, buddy.

that you didn’t just drive off
makes you an idiot or a saint in my book

life is never enough
for the people who find themselves
entwined in our own

people are bloodsuckers by nature

imagine our contentment
if we were molded to be alone
and simply stare at walls?

and you’ve been idling here too long
serving her demented pleasures

i don’t know how
you’re getting out of this now

maybe try buddhism

or reminiscing on when you and she
were young and liked to fuck

and i can’t stick around
to find out your fate

the love song of capitalism calls to me too

the ethereal hymn
of lost hours and wasted years

so good luck
god speed

and for the record, my friend
that bus stop she’s been bitching about?

it’s less than
a block away.

poolsharks

when i was young
and bored

i used to hang around
with steve and calvin

they liked to go to expensive clubs
drink overpriced beer
and watch dull women in fancy clothes
dance with dull men
in the neon and mist

they talked about all of the pussy they were going to get

and nobody ever went home with anyone

sometimes
i could get them to go to a bar

but only if the place had a pool table

steve and calvin
would play pool
while i sat there and smoked
and drank and watched the people
or the blank walls

trying my best to understand people
who played pool and went to expensive clubs

people who always needed to be entertained

steve and calvin
were loud when they played pool

they fought over shots
they fought over solids and stripes

they hit their balls off the pool table
and knocked over people’s drinks

they threatened to hit each other with their pool sticks

and made general spectacles
of themselves when they played

you could tell that the bar people
didn’t like them very much

when they were done
steve and calvin would sit with me at the table

drink their, warm waiting beers
looking sullen and dumb

they talked about how boring the bar was
how ugly the women were

then we’d leave
and go to the expensive clubs
drink overpriced beer
and watch dull women in fancy clothes
dance with dull men
in the neon and mist

they talked about all of the pussy they were going to get

and nobody ever went home with anyone
on those nights as well.

true worth

sitting here
in this small office

of white walls
and insanity

at this small desk
of despair

full of breadcrumbs
left for midnight mice

my precious time
exchanged for money

to pay my bills
and rent on a place i’m barely at

i stare down at the cockroach traps

badly hidden under
heating vents

and feel
reminded

yet again
of this world’s idea

of my true value
my true worth.