I don’t really use the word as often as I should.

Stick with scrawny, sickly,

or stick-like.

I used to mind looking like Iggy Pop or

Hunching  like Huncke.

Though looked more like Degrassi.

Give in

to the hyperbole

of the mirror.

I refused to shower publicly.

It got pretty increasingly uncomfortable.

Until I found my dance steps (and

the proper constituents

upon which to prop myself into

their fractal-like groove. )

What bothered me wasn’t shame

or a feeling of inferiority because.

I am either far too crazy or intelligent

to never think it was either.

I think I just hated the idea of buying into

this neo-gym lifestyle that’s since come

into its own like some new Reich

I have drank myself a lizard king

(Oliver Stone)

proud Irish belly,

It’s a small pot.

But it gives me a strange,

and unsettling sense of joy.

I haven’t been in too many

Situations yet

I couldn’t squeeze myself

Outta, given time and some

Extra credit. If you haven’t seen it well,

that’s just that I haven’t written it


It’s like being in a tug of war with your inner Christ.

Better yet, Your inner-Christian Troy.

It’s like forcing the lids to flicker as fast as they can.



Because you could always christian2

just be an animal like the rest.

And that’s what scares you most.

That was when I was young. All in the past now.

Got fat on tricks and Tuolumne,

Radio late night tunes that

wound a wire up over my head.

Left the shaking markings of a laser point,

took the balance to the wind,

and went,

like something out of a movie.

Something good and real.

Like the 49th poem bestowed

With the millionth listen to Davis’

Silent way


Like the speeches I made on

Beaches and oceans, howl-ready like

The old Wolf himself was.

Out on some mescal.

Out on some whiskey binge.

Been out in every kind of weather.

Whether and for the better or not,

Its still, its right, its just,


Eating Kubla Khan for breakfast.

Im a fucking Champ now.

Gonna get a big degree,

Smash the insecurity

Right out of the ugly coliseum,

back into a green exhumation,

out into the vacuum of my dreams.

Where hari-kari, it will riminate,

likely start some kind of fire.

Something to keep my frail

ass warm when the time

finally comes.