Bossy Behavior

Month: April, 2013

I feel like I’ve made so many beautiful promises in my life.


it’s all I had, but it works the best so I used peanut butter like I did last time and I made one for you with apricot jam just how you like it (and we ate them standing and anticipating in a yellow kitchen with the late morning sun dancing through the window blinds). I got in the car and my stomach was in knots and it threatened to turn itself inside out but I kept giggling in the corner store and Mr. Patel wasn’t amused (these were killer I was already feeling it I think I took too much). the zoo is too busy, it’s crowded like a beehive. let’s go to the old woods. doesn’t the grass look like pixels now? the ground looks like it was from a video game, like a collectible hologram card from when we were kids. remember? doesn’t every dandelion look like a dying star? it’s really damned cold but also so damn bright. my stomach feels like its full of shoestrings and it’s going to open like a vacuum bag but I feel so damn happy. hold my hand, look at this delicate flower. it’s white as tissue and I believe someone painted it. I love you flower. let’s stand on the bridge, I want to look at the water. is this a man made creek? see the ripples? see how they move? the patterns are infinitely complex and as humans we can only perceive them as chaos. thank you for being alive. this is much better than acid. really? yeah. I was jealous of the time you did acid. why? you told me you were with some girl, oh that was a long time ago don’t be jealous of the past. baseball. they’re playing baseball over there. what is this song? it’s Baba O’Reilly. the Who plays it at all of their shows (the music is wafting from the game into the woods that we are walking in and it feels like high school love and candy necklaces, I can feel it in my thighs). I’m going to eat this Warhead, no I don’t want this right now. this is it! oh God I’m so happy! I love my mommy! I really do I just realized I don’t feel guilt anymore, I feel innocent, I feel like a child, I do I do! ( I am living in FM radio waves) I’m crying and I don’t know why, everything is ok. I know now it’s all ok. oh my baby don’t cry. no it’s ok! I’m just so happy. oh. don’t fall. are you ok? tell me a story. I love a brilliant man behind my ear talking to me, tell me the story about Barbara and Johnny. do you want to hear it like the movie or how I would tell it? just tell me how you would tell it. well right on. are you sure it’s going to be really scary? yes tell me. ok well, Johnny and Barbara are going to the graveyard to put flowers on their father’s grave. Barbara is simple and believes in tradition and Johnny is more worldly and he likes to tease Barbara because they are siblings (not lovers) and she has no sense of humor but she trusts Johnny because, you’re right! you’re so right! has anyone ever told you you’re just brilliant? just you. and some teachers but what could they do? they were just teachers trying to get by on what the government paid them, those poor ladies. so Johnny is teasing her with one of those old Lon Chaney lines, they’re coming to get your Barbara oh oh oh! I figured it out! I finally figured it out! finally this is it! this is it! hey I found some foam over here! Look! No wait, I’ve made some beautiful promises in my life. I found out the meaning of life and I’m going to tell you. this why people love Jesus and sports and music and pretty black girls singing in class, is that from personal experience? yes. and girls with long auburn hair reciting poetry, hey, that’s you. it’s these tiny moments of raw contentment and joy that make life worth it. these perfect sweet moments with someone else that make it ALL worth it. I don’t feel any more guilt, shame, and regret and in all of my 29 years I’ve been looking and now I have found it. oh how I’ve been looking and I have found it! I’m so happy! I found you! shit we’ve run out of water. really? there’s no more at all? Scott’s looking for us I don’t know where we are. I’m sorry this is terribly inappropriate. oh no. I’m starting to feel really bad there’s Scott. hey buddy. I need to go right now. you want to go home? yes? right now. no there’s something wrong, take me to the hospital. I knew I took too much. take me please! TAKE ME TO THE GODDAMNED HOSPITAL! I love you DAMMIT TAKE ME PLEASE! DON’T LET DIE TODAY! NO THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG! please I am shamelessly begging you! just take me to THE FUCKING HOSPITAL! you’re just having a bad trip. this happens to a lot of people. come on. NO THIS IS REAL! PLEASE JUST TAKE ME DON’T LET ME DIE! DON’T LET ME! CHRISTINA! CUT THE BULL SHIT! I WILL TAKE YOU OUT OF HERE! NOW FOCUS! AND LISTEN TO ME! YOUR THOUGHTS ARE WHATS KILLING YOU! I TOOK THE SAME, LISTEN TO ME, I TOOK THE SAME AMOUNT AS YOU DID! YOU’RE NOT DYING! NOW look we are in public now stop screaming ok? ok. yes sir. ok. but, please come here. and sit down with me. please sit down. ok now look at my face. do I look ok? am I breathing? yes. and what about my demeanor? yes you’re pretty. ok thank you. so are you. now let’s go home. are you taking me to the hospital now? what is the hospital going to do for you? NO LISTEN I’M REALLY GOING TO DIE GODDAMMIT! YOU’RE NOT DYING! IT’S YOUR MIND! try not to think about it. come on let’s get out of the car, and go inside ok? let’s put a record on alright? I have to pee. let me have my bass. so you feel better? yes, yes I do. oh thank God. I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for being crazy in the park. I really thought I was dying. I’m never doing this again. I’m going to hold you to that. I’m just going to sing ok? I’m going to play a song but shit now I can’t stop laughing

When I stand in line I mostly stand in contempt.

I’m late every day to everything. it’s not really because I’m lazy it’s really because I’m maniac most days and I have all these pseudo-genius ideas that I feel obligated to implement at terribly inappropriate times in fact everything I do is inappropriate and at a bad time ( is this really the time to scrub the mini blinds? yeah the funeral can wait) for instance if I’m at work it’s not likely I would be working as I should instead I’m probably writing these little crazy lines down or fantasying about sex or self-strangulation or drawing crude pictures or masturbating in the restroom don’t act like you’ve never you know the day goes by faster that way and enough coffee will make me feel high (when I’m running around like this I get shitty about everyone in the office and can hardly tolerate their inane voices and antidotes fuck but in the mornings though every day I leave at the very last minute always no matter how hard I try to be responsible I’ll be taking a call from a friend while buttering my bagel with my stockings needing to be pulled up and my hair in my mouth and shit I forgot to feed that cat but I got to go so I’m slinging my bag over my shoulder and jumping in my truck and remember I need to get gas but at it doesn’t say check gage yet so I should be good for at least one more day and my fucking cd player is skipping because it’s cold so I turn the damn thing off I’m at the post office to pick up a package that was left for me and I’m waiting behind 15 tired foot fuckers taking their sweet time so I think when I stand in line I mostly stand in contempt and I learn to bite my teeth and wait my turn like everyone in a constant content rage rather than lashing out because when I get to the desk I forget all of this and laugh to myself fundamental attribution error I guess or something else then I fight traffic to work in the rearview am I really 29 wow I guess I should act my age or some shit and I think about how I never see a hot dog vender when I want one but at least I have my faggy cold coffee sucking up the straw it reminds me of my mom and I land under the scowling clock on 3rd and liberty and see that I’m late again and the cd player is skipping Lou Reed is somewhere having a seizure with the minute hand inching closer and closer to dead line while I’m driving in circles in the parking garage looking for a spot preferably not on the roof and finally I make it in the office and I avoid everybody and plop down in my seat so I can clock in and write self-important poetry and emails to my friends and stare at the window and suck my faggy coffee but wait there’s my boss so I pretend to

all I could really think about

all I could really think about in the afternoon was what kind of girls he probably masturbates to feeling mildly jealous and a bit horny too and I couldn’t get it out of my mind no matter how many walks I took and I squirmed in my seat constantly I’m sure they were all young and flat bellied with dark hair with loads of semen flung on their cheeks and necks and sometimes clumping their hair I thought too about how he might touch himself in what matter with what hand and did he tease or go all the way and I squirm again wondering why I’m still thinking about this not my work or business or anything good or constructive but then start to miss the time I had the drive I had to masturbate myself and I kept thinking of his face and how it crumples when he’s about to lose it how he stops and starts and I send a horny text message from a stuffy office and dismally think I’ll get nothing done today because I’m not jealous but I really am a little bit because when I look at the girls he wants to fuck I

Conversation with a Pumpkin Fan

Conversation with a Pumpkin Fan

I used to own the AEROPLANE FLIES HIGH when I was just a kid, but you know what it’s like when you’re a kid, your mom gives you something, I KNOW YOU REALLY LOVE THE SMASHING PUMPKINS SO I GOT THIS FOR YOU and you really don’t know what to do with it, and you take the CDs out and leave them everywhere and you get them scratched and you lose them and then I was like MOM IF YOU EVER SEE THIS BOX SET AGAIN, PLEASE GET IT FOR ME I LOST IT, and she is like REALLY I am the biggest PUMPKIN fan I have been since I was THIS HIGH I was only 12 when I saw my first show OH MY GOD Remember when they lost their drummer? NO THEY DIDN’T LOSE THEIR DRUMMER IN FLORIDA, NO I REMEMBER they lost him when they lost their keyboardist he ODed believe me I KNOW they fired him and I was away at summer camp my mom wrote me a letter and I ALMOST DIED she said SOMETHING HAPPENED TO THE PUMPKINS and I was SO SCARED I WAS FREAKING OUT but it was only the keyboardist so SO LISTEN TO THIS MY MOM SAYS THERE IS A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE CHICAGO PAPER THAT THE SMASHING PUMPKINS ARE PLAING, TOMORROW! TOMORROW! at the METRO you been to the Metro? Well the Metro is a small venue with only two levels in CHICAGO and I got there AND I WAS RIGHT UP FRONT BEHIND ONE PERSON AND I’M EXCITED WITH MY BIG WALLET CHAIN AND MY SHORTS, AND I’M JUST AHHHHHHH! And I’m THIS TALL and I hear this whistle and I look up and it’s my mom, and she’s in the balcony, and she makes me come up there BUT I GOT TO STAY ANYWAY AND BILLY IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND HE PLAYING LIKE THIS! AND I ASK JAMES HOW HIS DOG BUZZ WAS AND HE SAID “BUZZ IS A VERY GOOD DOG” yeah I thought James Iha was a girl too, I thought he was just some chick with the band you know but I HATE BILLY CORGAN I LOVE HIM BUT I HATE HIM HE’S A GENIUS AND I WOULD TELL HIM THAT TOO BUT I WOULD ALSO TELL HIM I HATED HIM HE DESTROYED THE PUMPKINS you play bass? My roommate and me are the biggest PUMPKIN fans YOU WILL GET A REAL CHICAGO SOUND OUT OF US LET’S START A SMASHING PUMPKIN COVER BAND

This had to be all there is.


A figure admired

From shadow not mirrored, supple

Because I had finally

Sprung from sprout-

And long ugly just

Couldn’t believe it.


In that old room

13 years ago,

Spartan and sepia,

(or was it only photographed?)

Hung in shower limp,

Somehow a meat locker-

I had only just shaved.


I lost my virginity

In a fall of bruised night.

Staring at a street light

Through a broken blind,


Is this all there is?


I drew with bent knees

On white

With little humble lead

With a cordless phone going

Dead in the crook of my

Neck, content.


I sang for myself

And recorded dead echo on



But played it anyway

And sang again.


Suffocating heat crept

Through the burst down door.

I finally ate

shaking delirious abandonment-

My mother on the couch,

She slept.


I saw him walk the

Parking lot when he was young,

Holding some kind of faith in

Yellow legal pad promises.

I saw his black halo

And thought


This had to be all there is.

As Ink

Old love resting

As ink

Still, black, dead on



I miss you, now

To think

Dark eyed seduced



I guess I was


emotional stigmata


It would become you to hang from a cross.

Clumsy words and cunning hands that still fumble and are afraid to let go.

Grasping holes, a hole for each palm.

Emotional stigmata etching your body like the roots of a tree.

Splintered crown more like a muzzle than a Prince Piece.

A tongue pickled, a man made dumb.

You could hold your head high with dignity,

your only pardoned treasure.

I know you fear it spilling into a leaking chalice,

but could I tug the ragged cloth draping your hips and with a holy pole

in hand, could I heave it under your ribs?

You’re just a man biting the numbs of his nails.

The nails holding cunning hands.

Remember, I’ve been there along, built the Cross and the Club.

From below I can even pierce your sockets deep with my own

and see what I would love to know.

Sunken eyes hoisted by cheeks flushed with wine,

The Blood. The Body. The Holy Boast.

The splintered hair like a mask although

transparent to the eye ready trained.

Chewing your nails again, you’re looking through your punctured soles.

Clumsy words, but a sacred craft of word you own, a paradox.

Don’t worry, I’ll be the first to pull you down and bitterly wash your body.

I gathered your clumsy words just like the Latin label you rest under.

So do you think I could be the first to finger your holes?

Just a small reward for my attempt to understand that shattered paragraph

and that clumsy, cunning look you directed.



Black were the


White was the


Red was the


And right was the


And Dear Edna,

What do you feel now?

Your clever organs dried-

Bejeweled bones deep rest

In the cold clay.

I was eleven

And you were sixty seven.

My first Muse.

Grave robbers dare not

Touch your grave-

My friendship with God you gave me-

Expired and I prayed

How I fucking prayed to save you.

Deflowered. The virginity of my

Soul detached and the

Dichotomy of my world

Defined and spilled.

The ruins of your Garden,

Dear Edna,

And the ruin of our name.



Black were the


White was the


Red was the


And right was the



And Dear Edna,

What do you feel now?

Your clever organs dried-

Bejeweled bones deep rest

In the cold clay.


I was eleven

And you were sixty seven.

My first Muse.


Grave robbers dare not

Touch your grave-

My friendship with God you gave me-

Expired and I prayed

How I fucking prayed to save you.


Deflowered. The virginity of my

Soul detached and the

Dichotomy of my world

Defined and spilled.


The ruins of your Garden,

Dear Edna,

And the ruin of our name.

scabbed shoulders


Standing five foot eight inches

plump and pasty like

a boiled slab of fat,

She’s poured into an

ill fitting bathing suit.

A one piece grotesque

spandex catastrophe.

She is desperate to swim.

Under developed breasts

concave to the gut,

firm and small like two

malformed toads struggling

under the one piece.

Pinching her white fat,

the straps digging in like

wire into her shoulders,

it’s carving the fat

making bubos under her armpits.

Rolls of flesh and

cellulite compressed;

the red rind of bologna.

Boiled egg completion,

Slimy pinto bean completion.

Abdomen like pork belly

stacked but unsteady

like gelatin.

Prepubescent body as

graceful as a bowling ball

on a tight rope.

In that shabby suit

with beluga skin

charring in the chlorinated

public bath,

she is plunging in the water

letting it mold her flab


Pubic hair prowling from

a haggard bikini line.

A smashed daddy long leg.

Young vulva, soft

school of sardines,

fetid and unopened.

Eyes of pool patrons

make her flesh

feel naked and aware

of the draft.

She craves

to feel the cool

water under the security

of a quilt, or the

bliss of blindness.

To enjoy the water

transparent as a sonar

wave in the sea.

Feet pounding the concrete

shore around the pool

as boys are chased

and hunted for companionship.

A rape of handshakes.

The hunted wary of the

embarrassing composure

of a figure from

the dairy department.

A torso like a

dozen eggs and

stretch marks that

glisten from a

pool so many pissed in.

Hair dried from


standing coarse as

a Brillo pad.

Sun smiting the

flab of the girl thing

as she observes

the firm and suppleness

of her peers;

the boys’ and men’s

eyes alike enjoying

their sweetness like

hanging meat advertised in  

a butcher’s window.

Men lapping their moustaches

clean of cheap beer

and the scandal of

minor penetration.

Standing five

foot and eight inches she

keeps lunging and

pretending porpoise popularity.

The sun her only

rapt audience, cooking

her skin sour.

Baking her shoulders

raw, searing scabs like

scales. Her shell an

iguana’s hide, leaving

behind only deep

and dark freckles

to remember all this by.

Consummation Night

Serrated tortured
mons pubis
burns like
Embedded spurs.
And your heart
Is like a grocery bag of
broken glass
you still plan-
for that
vivisection of
you can’t

and Honey
you were stabbed
to death
in your wedding gown,
looking true
to the blushing bride
with florid
Mallow buds
opening slowly-
and spilling in the bath-
now flooded
with your
Your hymen
like a
and Roses
and Smears
of your
elegant gloved hand
once thrust
and imprinted
your rust
fingerprints on
the tiles
like a
wedding band.
A groom
of charcoal
as he clutches
your garnet
Just sleep
like a blind
china doll.