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#1

i’ve been working on a book for about three years now. the book is called albacore and it’s a collection of various poems i’ve been writing. not sure when it’ll be done, hopefully some time this year.

albacore started out as a drunken personal bet to write a book of 72 pages and publish it on lulu.com within a week. i didn’t publish it, needless to say, but continued writing. eventually a friend, who is also a poet, came to me and suggested we write a book in collaboration, each respond to the other via non-lyrical poetry. it sounded like a good idea so we started and eventually began diverting off to insanity, forgetting the whole “response” part.

anyway, i’m gonna post excerpts of some of it here now and then, from poems i particularly like. i’m interested in getting my work out to people, for better or worse. i don’t mind feedback and/or criticism. so yeah. plan on doing a reading at a local venue sometime within the next week or so.

the grind
whatever you
do
don’t
let the
grind
get to
you.
bottomless pits are made by wizards,
hell is a mythological location,
there’s no black and white without gray
the peace
of life
comes at you
in the strangest, depression-fueled drug-crazed moments
serenity
is only a
revelation
away.

a waking hell
i live in a waking hell
you wake up, and eat some toast
while the cigarette butts pile up
while the beer cans pile up
i live in a waking hell
drive to work,
stuck in a traffic jam
staring off into the bright blue sky,
clouds drift like your gasping breaths
into the cold night air
a child plays
some friends talk
you go to sleep
and awake from a dreamless slumber
the right combination of words
the right facial expressions
the right body language
to make everything okay.
you sleep
you breathe
you dream, eat, smoke, drink, fuck, fight, yell
and do it again.
never escaping
always pinned down
from day
to
day
the cycle continues. never broken
except momentarily.
the minutes and hours blend into years
what happened yesterday could’ve happened
two weeks ago,
you’re never quite sure.
i live in a waking hell
with no escape
but to pass the time by
idly waiting
for release

serpent boiling
a serpent boiling in a tin can
threads of fate
twined in a robe,
empathy
never coming
strange places
to find
a cure for
a disease
like a dog, hell
waits at the door
for you to come.
sweat drenched, clinging to sheets
strung out on acid
you shrink away from the light
edged ever closer
feet to the earth
unknown, but feeling,
i sit and wonder
what dreams do end
this sweet death?

#2

tl;dr

#3

Here is a good one: “…the…”.
Astonishing, isn’t it?

#4

i love it! it’s a dire commentary on the poor state of third world nations! i diatribe on american consumerism and cocacolonization of the world!

#5

too depressing

#6

well here’s one that’s humorous.

yolky
“you’re a sack of shit,”
i spit, broken cigarette clamped between
my lips.
speeding by the river at maybe
50 or 60
street lamps whipping
by like faeries
in the night.
i’m drunk
we’re all drunk
beer cans in the glovebox,
on the seats under us,
filling the car up to our ears,
filling the trunk,
i swerve and suddenly i’m home.
i clamber up stairs,
throw the door open
collapse on my bed
and pass out.
and that’s when i dream
these visions come to me
of grinding teeth, flames, screaming
there’s a beautiful woman, completely naked
but instead of human legs she’s got horse’s legs
“what the fuck,”
i say to her as i grab her by the waist,
“let’s get goin”
and she says
"you’d fuck any woman that could fog a glass, wouldn’t you?"and i say
“no, just the ones with horse legs”
and then i wake up. it’s morning now.
i feel sick, hungry, hungover, tired,
and forget all about the ominous dream for the time being.
i put some eggs to boil
i go outside and have a cigarette
and while i’m sitting there i remember that night
there was a bunch of people, and drinking
speeding through space time,
what strangeness this all is.
all humans,
some of us drink to forget
but
i drink to remember.
it’s metaphysical, it’s important,
more important than
money or sex or leather wallets or old stacks of newspapers.
i go back inside
i run cold water, peel the eggs,
it’s difficult, the shell keeps pulling off
chunks of egg with it. i get frustrated and
spit
“sack of shit,”
and take a bite of the egg.
mouth full of shell shards, cutting my gums,
the egg wasn’t fully cooked. i pour mustard and
paprika on it anyway and eat it.
i get the sense that my life is a metaphor but
instead of thinking about it i go get drunk.

#7

I like Serpent Boiling from the first post, but I really dig yolky. Very “beat” feel to it.

#8

haha nice

#9

I don’t know anything about poetry other than excerpts from old school readings. So this is all I will say… Were you drunk when you wrote all of these??

#10

What you have to understand about poetry, some people only write when they’re sober, most only when drunk.

#11

@guzzi: i only write when i drink.
@krazor: thanks. serpent boiling and yolky are two of my favorites.
@sersoft: i’ve always liked that old hem quote “write drunk, edit sober.” except i simply forgo editing.

here’s another that i’ve gotten some good feedback on.

though the beat
contained within
a shit stained, blood
spattered, beaten tome
shades under trees,
thriving in agony
life struts about
like a whore
dressed in thick linen,
drab
with drapes of irony.
though you may look
and never touch,
sanctity
slips through thy fingers,
as sand
tall castles which mean nothing
jutting from spaces between understanding
just out of sight,
unbending
yet bending to the will,
a drum carries the dancers on
though they understand not
to what end,
that never comes.
fate which
fires blades of glass
words which cut
more than any knife
and yet as the beat
of another heart does carry
me further,
i dance, not knowing
where it ends.

#12

Come on, Nietzschesaurus! We want to see some more!

#13

you got it. here’s the first two poems of mine that’ll appear in albacore:

a dog would
the dog would,
under the ground
earthy fetters shiver
as the wind blows black through
the trees.

far away, in mountain streams
the life force of the planet.
caves where no light has ever reached,
deep in the core of us all.

a dog would,
stand high, tongue lolling,
shrouded in a canopy of forgetfulness
the leaves fall
in time with the deaths of each man.
fear
gunning the engine,
stepping out of the car
to witness a waterfall.

a dog would,
as the seas ebb on
slowly enveloping
us
flowing up into the streets,
completely unaware
sea life teaming.
edging its way into our homes
encroaching.
bearing down.

a dog would,
as ancient men danced
around flames glowing hot
as strange beats howled and gathered about
seeking just outside the the shadows
things
and mysteries
still unknown to us.
old ways, old joys,
forgotten in it all.

a dog would.

who are the shadows that, out of time, seek?
a mother urging her child to
do well in school.
but fiends nip at their heels,
the streets are a warzone
lost souls drift
not sane yet empty
drawing blood from rocks
on ravaging
two day weekend bender
that lasts all year.
white thighs
full breasts
dreams of something unreal
this fakeness, tinkering with our minds.
these men
telling us
heretofore
we’ve been missing something.
and we believe with such readiness
white thighs
full breasts
broken cigarette dangling from an unweary finger.
bright eyes, telling of the coming death,
speaking
mixing such truths and lies
of waste and wastedness
of lying awake at night,
staring at so many ceilings
so many car doors shutting with anger
chemicals draw out the venom,
collecting in little pools around your feet,
shrouded in a mystery,
wrapped in a warm blanket,
life slowly fades into sleep.
to things unremembered.

#14

Those were both winners, but I especially liked that part. I can really identify with that. Or at least I think I can. So, how can I read the whole thing? Are you going to publish it on lulu.com, or is there going to be a print version?

Also, +1 for the Tom Waits in your sig.

#15

Thank you sir, I appreciate the kind words. Yes. It’ll be published through Lulu.com in both downloadable ebook and a hardcopy. We haven’t nailed out the specifics but I’m sure the ebook will be free and the hardcopy reasonably priced.

I love me some Tom waits. Man is a genius.

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