Original Sin


Dreaming of the day

The current takes me away.

Freedom on the littered floor

Of the stream bed.


I grovel into the night,

Pleading that I’ll forget god,

But in the morning I’ll be confronted

With the same dull reality.

It’s just the way it is.

It’s just the way it has been

The Demons of Privilege


God helps the ones that

Help themselves

Go helps those that

Are white

Male wealthy

God helps the ones

That take and destroy

His creations for profit.

God helps America

Conquer inhabited lands

God helps: genocide

                   Corporate buy outs



God only helps the ones

Who need it least.

God is the world’s largest


Patting our oligarchy

And tyranny

On the back

God helps

Intolerance, insensitivity


Symbolizing profit

And power

More than the mighty



My all mighty dollar


Dependable Faith

Mary watches over a street of pimps and whores
Jesus would remember
Would help all of us
But he’s too busy with a needle
In his arm

I carry a pocket sized Bible
Hollowed out
Everyone needs a place
To keep their coke

Back Packing

Bowed branches
And the forever shifting ground beneath my feet
Saturated pine needles
And the sweat staining the shirt under my pack
No sacrifice is too great,
No offer is too esteemed
For purity is green
Not with jealousy
But overwhelmed with life
And God’s creation
If you want to belittle it
to their three lettered word

Cancerous Crucifix

Walk out the door, bleeding nose, he’s tangled to you like ear buds
It’s never felt so good to be so alone

I’ve never loved you the way the children at the podium do
For my sins I atone.

Preaching pedophiles, naked behind their screen, married to the lord
Can my body be the down payment on my loan?

Parasitic leeches feeding from the last quart of blood I have
And the marrow from my bones

A book of fiction that could file the world down to its five corners
Christ you aren’t the only one who sees a cross and moans

Put communist and head of the underworld on my resume
I refuse to be slave to the unknown

Golden crucifix rubbed against raw clitoris
Like hammering on wooden nails they groan

Someday, I’ll be captive in the crusades, more creature than man
while I can still choke on their gas I won’t be another drone

If they could I’d be tied to their cross, set on fire
I’d lose the lottery, I’d be stoned

Through all of the holes burrowed in my head
The brain damaged deformities, I’ve seen the light, I’ve grown


I thought of a new book title
“I Piss Mountain Dew”
“Men Load Semen in My Ass Like Pipe Tobacco”
“I Fucked the Pope’s Extended Family”
“It’s the Children that Will Shoot You Down in the Night”
“The First Lady has a Halo of Herpes Around her Woo Hoo”
“Poetry is nutrition for the Post Mortem”
“The Glimmers of Human Suffering is Found After the Temple is Hollow”
“Grey Skies Are Meant to Be Filled With Ink Like Empty Notebooks”
“The Church Rapes more than it Redeems”
“Repent with the last Bit of Blood in Your Menstruation”
“Everytime I Write a Poem it’s Like Losing My Virginity Again.”
“Vodka is the Only Place I was Able to be a Saint”
“Gangrene and My Cock Falls to the Floor”
“I Would Like To sTRangle EACH of MY EX-LOVERS And String Their head like Chinese lanterns.”
“This Book Won’t Make The Money to Pay for The Toilet Paper I Used Writing it.”
“I Masturbate To a Picture of Johnny Depp for 73 Days straight”
“To weep for you is wrapping paper after Christmas”

The Sermon of Christ

I have something to say
Words to flow from the lips
Like red wine in the gullet
The blood of Christ

I have new lands to conquer
Achievements to conspire
The boldest of moves to make
The manifest destiny
Of poetry

Tearing down the house
And building a new foundation
Raping the earth and God’s creation
In His holy name

The children beaten, maimed
The bull brandished, bruised
Can never be tamed
The indecency inspired by name

Masking Tapes Are the Kicks for Walking on Water

We’re all the plaque
On the inside of teeth
Residing in hiding

The pretty smile off
Your face

We’re all fated to
A strict diet of gutter roaches
And the queen’s
Used maxi pads

But masking tape kicks
Match the blue in her eyes
The scabs on her face
and grinning gash
grieves for something

I dream of a merciful God
One who smiles
At meth heads and stray cats

Can you condemn
For the sin
You gave us?

Can you cast us aside
To a fate of eternal damnation

Is the image in which
You designed us in
So flawed?

I can hear the siren song from lisping garlic breath

We all sink
restrained in pot holes
of sinking mud

under my heel
I can feel the sorrow of the last writer
He wasn’t so fortunate
it’s far easier
To sit

The blood of Christ
And the sermon
We used
to roll this joint

rush towards the end
There’s a road
Off of Sammish way
Where you can see the writers sinking
On each corner

There are some small craters
Where the greats used to be
I can see Kerouac crater
Right between
Steinbeck and Poe