So You Wander

He tells you that everyone is in search for God

In search of peace


The man with the prostitute

The prostitute, an artist when it comes to falling in love

Love a holy too earthly
An earthly too heavenly

Its always a step ahead

You can see her strutting the room

He sees you flinch
he tells you of glasses full

You think of her
                                                    lips you can’t get out of mind

Imagine her spilling over in your glass

There are thresholds for a reason he says

You still see her
So she thinks
So you think

So you are.

He says he used to be able to read people a mile away

You are closer than a mile

you ask him what he sees in you

He tells you he stopped reading
it never got him holy with people

People aren’t for reading he says

                                                                 It’s cheating

                              Whats the point of knowing before you know?

                                       So you try and put down your glasses

Reading doesn’t get you anywhere

Knowledge for the sake of knowledge

For the sake of safety


Is not where you want to be going

You walk outside to the man playing with fire

Give the fire some spin

Dangerous is the most calm you ever feel

                            Calm feels laced

Arsenic in the glasses

Filled with water wanting to spill

you know it will get you
When it gets you

You can see it

I used to stay away from storms he said

You never believed in that

                                                                                                 You always thought you’d find the holy after being struck by lightening

You’ve stood in a lot of open in fields

                                       It’s the walls that make you feel unsafe

                                                                                                                     Walls can come down

He sees you flinch again

Walls or fields

      Just put the glasses down

It ain’t gonna get you holy.


Group Piece: Alberto, Bring Me a Sandwich with Cucumbers

I want cute kisses
cute kisses when I get excited about cucumbers
and you think im silly
but I cant stop making you smile
cuz that’s fucking cuter than trite shit like rain
and street lamps
or Paris
fuck Paris!
Fuck Paris
Or better yet,
fuck in Paris.

Some serious shit.

On February 1st, 2012
On Asbury
Between Evans and High St.

The hot dog man
Handed me my turkey dog
With the works
And told me
“Don’t fall in love today.”

It was probably a joke about the grilled onions
But I took that shit so seriously
I went home
And boarded up all the walls
With caution tape.

It’s been almost a year of following his advice so closely.

That when you looked me in the eyes
And told me I was stunning
I threw out my thighs to distract you
From asking about all the tape.

A part of me prayed against your hips
To ask me
to slow down.

The other
Is so good with her tongue in cheek
She spun you out
Long enough to forget.

They say
easy girls are trouble.
I say
Are those that think so easy.

It’s complex work to nail yourself in this tight.

As you slept
I crawled out of bed
To ask the corner store clerk
How to love again?

He stared at me blankly
Asked for my ID
And handed me
My camel cigarettes.

We smoked them
As I couldn’t brake
My tongue long enough
For you
To catch your breath
To ask about the peeling tape.

You left exhausted.

I’ve been


But today,
the homeless man on Broadway
held up a sign saying,
“shitty advice for a $1”
and he told me
to stop taking strangers’

Three Vignettes of the Same Vignette

I.          She was petals unfolding before me. Soft sand at my fingertips. I wanted to engulf her and be engulfed.  Be water upon her. I examined every fold of her. How moist she appeared. How she could be water upon me. With every breath I exhaled, she appeared to pulsate darker and wider for me. Writhing in lust. I was a mere man. A poet basking before L’Origine Du Monde.

II.        They set their books down long enough to interlock glances from their tables. He rose up from his table and walked over to her. She giggled and shook her head, extending her hand towards the empty chair. They read lines out loud from their books. His bookmark fell on the ground—a postcard of a painting he saw at Musée d’Orsay. A French painting translated to: The Origin of the World. After hours of exchanging poetry and laughter they walked to his apartment where whispers turned to kisses. She laid at the edge of the bed as he sat frozen before her. 

III.       He kissed in French syllables writing out l‘origine du monde with his tongue down to my hips. He pulled me by thighs to the edge of the bed. He sat in front of me. When I tried to raise my body up, he signaled me to lay back down.  I peered between my legs.  He was locked in thought. My lust turned nervous ache as he stared into me. I felt like a giant rabbit hole before him, like he was contemplating diving in after Alice.Image


Someone once asked me what I thought jellyfish dreamt about.  He told me that some jellyfish have 8 brains and when they sleep, 7 shut down while one brain kept them moving.  He wanted to know if I thought each brain dreamt the same thing or if they had their own dreams.

I told him I wanted to believe that jellyfish are actually the center for old people’s thoughts. Kind of like satellites for life to be processed and sent back to us in new codes. Each brain taking on different memories—playing around with them, trying to paste things together. Dreaming of people’s memories. Working like an assembly line. Basically I imagine jellyfish as creating the film The Tree of Life for old people to find some peace about their exsistence.

Every time I see pictures of jellyfish I think of them piecing together the good of my life.  The love, the laughter, the intimate.  I imagine the lust turned affection of a different boy who shared with me the numbness he felt after a father lost.  A tumultuous relationship I could never pretend to understand.  In passing, he told me he grew up thinking he was a mistake.  I knew more about that subject.  After cradling him in my thighs I told him that I hoped he didn’t still see himself as a mistake.  ”You may have come here unplanned like I did.  But I see purpose in your smile.”   He kissed me thank you and embraced me.  We slept on and off that night never letting go just mangled in sheets.  I think of jellyfish piecing this for me now.  And I hope they peace him something great.


A part of me wants to call you
and ask you
to meet me in Guatemala.

I can already hear you smiling at the absurdity of my proposition.

But I’m battling sleep deprivation, term papers, and a wandering soul.
So just go with me here.

I want us to go.

So shut your eyes and meet me there.

I’ll bring my combat boots for the rain forests
And dryer sheets to keep the mosquitoes at bay.

I just ask you to bring a floor length maxi dress
to blow in the breeze
for when I ask you to dance on the beach with me.

This is where you laugh at me and say you don’t know what cut will match your beard.

Yes dear, you have a gorgeous beard.

Though, I think you need to be more concerned about what cut will flatter your shoulders…
But really, I’m less concerned about dresses
and more concerned about being in the breeze with you.

Can you feel it?

Will you?

Will you meet me in Guatemala tonight?


Sometimes I picture myself locked in a white room with words I wrote repeatedly on the walls— ceiling to floor.

Then I wonder if that is a fear or a goal of mine…

Luckily,  I’m too lazy to ever buy the ladder to do such work, so I think I’m safe.

For now.