I keep writing about sex and death

and cleanliness, intense


there’s a lot of recurring stuff about aliens

the word oblivious keeps popping up

and other incarnations like oblivion

obviously, something is drawer me nearer

pulling me to the core of an idea

a truth burning sun-bright and blinking

like a ringing alarm never de-triggered

signaling the need for introspection—aliens and monsters, myself

a monster hidden but not within a closet

like some child’s small-minded comprehension

I roam the streets with half-smiles and rumpled preppy clothes

my audible responses to civilization and order

and the general way of the world are just as nonchalant

I’m a charlatan

a less-hirsute orangutan with bright eyes

flitting, fearful of making contact and finally

letting my guard fall down to the floor

and saying all those things

that otherwise stay

ink-stained on my tongue.

High School Transcript

I got a D on my essay on The Crucible? Who said that? Lies! Tell me who said it. Tell me. I got an A. I got two As. Actually, what really happened was I got a A+ and an A++ and believe me, that’s very difficult to do, trust me. No one has ever done that. Ever. That’s how good my essay was.

What’s this talk about a D? ‘Oh, look, hey, he got a D.’ Give me a break! #FAKE NEWS! I’ll tell you what though, I didn’t even read the novel. I know what it says without reading it. Here’s the thing my enemies don’t realize. I know everything, I really do. And people—some of them are good people, mostly rapists but you know, a few good ones probably, maybe—they don’t understand: I am very smart. Very smart. So smart. Tremendously so. And I’m too busy making deals and winning to read Hemingway. Did you see me win last November? What a big beautiful win. I love winning. And I’m very reasonable. My doctor says I have the health of a 20 year old black. But seriously, who said I got a D?  Whoever said that is really, really, very, extremely wrong. That person is totally misinformed, and they’re probably very troubled and not a winner. #FAKENEWS.  I’ve actually read every book in the library.


I don’t know how to build a rocket ship

I can’t make a potato clock either

I understand the basic concept, first you need a potato

some electrodes connected to wires shoved into its meat

electrons are drawn out (I guess)

protons are propelled (I guess)

the clock is powered (I’m confident)

but to construct something to launch us off this planet

hurl it past our atmosphere into the black void of space

where there is nothing in between all those somethings

and to survive in the precipice

that I can’t fathom

I couldn’t build it I couldn’t sit in front of an accurate schematic

and decipher and reconstruct and innovate against

and build my own more perfect version

it wouldn’t work

it wouldn’t make it an inch off the ground

but there are those who can grasp who grapple

who have the right temperament

the requisite drive to go beyond and push past the past

present and future of our feebleness

the combined confines of our collective hive minds

to build a better wheel and launch it from this planet

and hurl it past the atmosphere

into the black void of space

where there is nothing in between all those somethings

because when they were small, tiny, impressionable balls of clay

they looked up and saw stars

and they were kiln-fired in starlight

and wouldn’t stop trying until they could reach up tall

with toes on tips, with raised shoulders, with fingers lifted

and touch one.

Unsung Hero

When it comes to deli sandwiches and burgers, only a few cheeses reign supreme. You know the slices I’m talking about: American, Cheddar, Swiss, Mozzarella, Provolone. Those are your top five. You could make an argument for Monterey Jack’s cousin Pepper. Gruyere slinks around in the background, but it has a reputation (perhaps unfairly) for being snooty. Then there’s the Halley’s Comet that is Muenster.

With that dairy landscape, I’d like to offer up a cheese for your future sandwich and burger consideration: Havarti.

Yes, Havarti. It’s fantastic. Flavorful and full of well-melting fattiness. All it needs is the right marketing. And, for Havarti producers, you’re in luck because I have a real zinger. In the same vein as ‘Wanta Fanta‘, I offer: Hava Havarti.