I put poems on the Internet.
You can read them if you want.
A Bird Flew By My Window (this poem was brought to you by Wendy's)
A Botanist's Love Poem
A Crush I Had In High School
A Few Steps
A Neglected Geometry Textbook Speaks
A New Bookshelf
A Plea For Humility
A Reading Recommendation
A Stupid Dove
A Thursday In April 2017
A White Stone
A Wish Before Going To Sleep
All I Wanted Was A Snack
Ambition Ambition Ambition
And To Teach Them Their Proper Places, I Put Smiles Upon Their Faces
Another Monday, Driving To Work
Another Poem About My Health Problems
Approaching Another Birthday
Back When I Was First Learning How to Drive A Truck
Beyond the Jurisdiction Of The HOA
Big O Tires, May 12th, 2018
Blast Off!!! R U a Honey-Cruncher Kid?!
blue out there
Boy Scout Camp, 1993
Bulbasaur, Pokemon # 1
Chomp Goosh Ka-pow!
Don't Fear The Thunder
Eating Bagels and Strawberry-Flavored Cream Cheese
Enter The Musician
Entry From My Writing Journal
Fight And Sprint
Flowers In The Gardens Of The Spirit World
Food For The Soil
Fredrick And His Yummy Snacks, Live At The Transient Ballroom, May 17th, 2015
Hey... I Remember Algebra...
Ho Hum, Humdrum, Yum Yum
How Many Movie Screens Have We All Made?
How to Make Tuna Salad
I Also Like Clams
I Behold The Grass: The Monologue Of A Liberal Hippie I Saw In The Park
I Like My Front Yard
I Like People A Little Bit Crazy
I Talked With A Star!
I Think It's Really Over This Time
I Think I'll Stick With Christianity
I Wanna Kill Your Queen
I Wanna Name My Son Falcor
I Wanna Live In One Of Those Age-restricted Housing Places
I Want to be Alone
I Was The First. Hipster. Ever.
I Wish I Had a Stalker
I'm Like A Professor
"I'm Spiritual, But Not Religious"
In Sunday School
In the Eyes Of Your Children
Instructions For Housewives: Plans A, B & C
Ironwood And Ocotillo
It Must Be Love
It's Alright To Be White
Jablork Is The Name Of The Troll
Jerome The Gnome Bludgeons A Pretty Kitty
Joy And Jackrabbit
Last Time I Went To Tire Planet
Leaves In General
Lessons From Little Red Riding Hood
Lines On My Very Private Infinite Moroseness Within My Own Introspective Depressing Musings
Location Location Location
Lots of Cars
Lugia, Pokemon # 249
Lunch Break, Eating Bread with Butter
Magmar, Pokemon # 126
Monkeys Headed to Mars
Most of Your Midlife
My Brother's a Liar!
My Daughter Said Hi To A Bird Today
My Health Problems
My Name Is Matt
Oh Yeah, I Remember!
On A Cereal Box For Children
On Being Given A New Notebook For My Birthday
On The Modern Literary Elite, Of Which I Am Chief
On The Serving Line
On Viewing "Robots with Tater Tots"
Overheard At Circle K
Photographs on College Brochures
Poem For Jesse And Miki, On Their Wedding Day
Poem For Veteran's Day
Prime-Time TV Programming
Psyduck, Pokemon # 054
Redundancy Is Everywhere
Rhyming Poem # 5
Silly Emotional Teenagers
Sitting on the Bench In My Front Yard
Something Anything Nowhere Forever
SOS 501: Introduction To The Study Of Studies
Thank You for Purchasing Killz Real Good Ant Eliminator
The Agnostic's Nightmare
The Best Naps
The Butterfly Fairy Princess
The Dullest Carpet
The Fall of Icky Norf (an extract from the Book of Yath)
The Following Words
The Grand Merzazzabam
The Immensity Of Operations
The Improper Disposal Of Chewed Gum
The Lady On The Bag Of Raisins
The Middle-Aged Woman Writes A Mailing Address
The Movie I Thought Up Last Night
The Rest Of Your Life
The Right Amount Of Pity
The Thing I Like About Poetry Is
There Is A Sadness
There Ought To Be Words
Things That Wake Me Up In The Middle Of The Night
Time For A Burrito
To A Six-Armed Hindu Idol, On Display At The Phoenix Art Museum, Sculpted By An Unknown Artist, circa 900 AD
To A Young Protestor
To My Daughter
To My Love, Who Hates Feeding Ducks
To Pearl, From Edgar
To The Person Who Gave Me A Scholarship Nine Years Ago
To Those Who Bury Their Talents
up, up, up, up
U R My Cuddles
Walden Pond, Condensed
Walking Through A Desert, Stopping To Admire A Saguaro
Wanna See My Splyzote?
Ways I've Lost Friends
We Go To Our Car
What I Have To Offer You
What's On the Bag
When College Professors Laugh
When I Don't Sleep Well
When I Get Away From The Suburban Street
When The Muse Doth Strike
Where I'm From
Where, When I Languish, Where Can I Run?
Why Should I Care If The Art Class Gets Cut?
Windshield Wiper Replacement
Yee-haw! It's Rodeo Time!
You Wanna Hear About My Shampoo?
Blink it’s my Mother
Blink it’s my Dad
Blink it’s a teacher cuz my kid was bad
Blink it’s a salesman
Blink it’s my job
Blink it’s Ed Larry and Phil, Kevin and Bob
Blink it’s the preacher
Blink it’s the wife
Blink it’s the undercover people who control my life
Smash that’s the hammer
Zzzzz that’s the drill
Sparkle crack pow fizz- now tell us machine- how does that feel?
I’m going to a cabin
I’m going to the woods
Escape now flee from suburbia- set fire to all your goods.
And drive to a place
that is full of toys.
There's so much space
and birds that make a happy noise.
and puzzles and games and trees
and if you want a treat
there are crackers and cheese
for free, for anyone to eat.
And there's one special spot
on the top of a hill.
If you climb climb climb a lot,
be quiet, and stand really still,
that's when you can see
every part of the sky.
Some people don't believe this place is real.
I don't understand why.
Today, in this room, when I look at the shelf
with my collection of journals, now numbering seventeen,
a set of books I’ve filled with ramblings about myself,
from 2001 all the way to 2017,
The thought strikes me: no one will read it.
Not in its entirety, anyway. Even I
won’t read it. It’s too long. Oh, perhaps a misfit
grandson may sneak away with my ramblings while
his cousins play outside, but he’ll only skim,
skipping from scene to scene, looking for sex.
But when I sit in the pew with Steve Elliot, or Kim,
or you, or you, or you, and sing, we break the hex
of isolation, of irrelevance, of obscurity, and we're happy.
All we have to do is sing Upon the Cross of Calvary
once to expose the absurdity, the outright lie, that the
author is the of sole owner of any intellectual property.
The way I sing it, that song is my song too.
This hymnbook is the best I can offer to you.
I behold the grass... grass... grass... I slobber.
The chipmunks in this park are just like me and you,
when you get right down to the essence of things,
like the pure essence of the universe,
stardust, hydrogen, our souls, you know?
Chipmunks know what's really going on. They see it.
Follow the money trail all the way to Wall Street
the money trail lined with human skulls, it goes
to the businessmen, to the modern-day colonizers,
they're slaughtering the lower-classes
just like they slaughtered Tonto, Sitting Bull, Geronimo,
the California Condor, the coal miners of every nation.
Look at the chipmunks
and you'll see what I'm saying.
You can't escape from the Economy of Actuality.
It's everywhere, man, but they keep it all hidden.
Everything is coming together, man, all the elements,
we're gonna show everyone that the people are
waking up to the new reality, but in actuality
the new reality is just the old reality
but this time it's got knives, and fangs.
You know how reality is just like, reality, you know?
But they can't see the reality because of The Man, man.
They got their hate boots strapped on tight
and their heel is coming for you man
they got your number and they got my number
we're nothing but numbers to these number-men.
Sniff. This grass has a particular life, a calming effect
that grows through the beat of the bongo drums.
I'm passive now... but now I'm aggressive!
Give me that sandwich! Punch!
I go belly down on this warm warm ground
and look at the ground. Hello ground.
Ha ha ha you are a funny ground. My friend.
Do you know where I can get some juice? Organic?
Such wonder! Munching, munching.
My name is Marginalia no longer!
My name is now Centralia, the Pure,
Equality Ambassador to the Land of Inequality!
Oh the fruit I have plucked!
There's a meadow I walk around in,
and sit down in, a meadow in which I
take a stand. Well, that is, I stand up,
but not with conviction. I stand,
knowing that reclining soon will come.
I sleep, awake, fall asleep again, eat,
move a bit, drink, and it's only me.
I keep a lot of pillows around.
Me, going up, going down, going hop hop hop
on the meadow ground and going roll roll roll
on the meadow ground and then I rest
here or there, on the meadow ground,
sometimes here, sometimes there,
but it's all the Meadow.
The flowers are purple and the flowers are sweet,
The flowers are flowers! The flowers are flowers!
See, now here I am in another part of the meadow,
and now here I am in another part of the meadow.
Look! Here come the clouds that give me bedtime hugs!
Bye-bye. You can't live in the Meadow.
Only I can. Bye-bye.
Yummy snacks. I want the yummy snacks.
Nibbles the pen cap, taps it,
Draws a swirl, a butterfly,
A second swirl, more expansive.
Her mother's voice on the other end of the phone
Grows duller, cozier. "How about that?"
and "That's too bad," and "Yeah."
The art museum is a world away.
The theater is a world away.
Nice restaurants with charming people
And sensible portions are a world away.
The middle aged woman raises an
Iceberg arm to run her sausage fingers
Through her hair. The rest of the iceberg,
Hidden by sweat pants the color of fried chicken
And a t-shirt featuring kittens,
Crushes the couch beneath her.
Her mother's voice on the other end of the phone
Goes on and on, joining the tranquilizing
Voices of a daytime talk show.
The woman doodles another butterfly-
She was always good at drawing butterflies-
Leaves are so nice,
they wiggle and waggle and swiffle.
Bunch up, spread out, bunch up, spread out
(that's what swiffling means).
I'm eating nacho-cheese potato chips
in an empty room. Now I scratch myself.
Leaves lie there lazily like laying lavender leaves, softly,
leaves precisely like other leaves!
I inhale the scent of the leaves...
the leafy perfume of leaves intoxicates me...
Today is a wicked elixer with alcoholic leaves in it, literally.
My brain, which, being a sniffer, sniffing, sniffs the leaves,
sniffing in leaf-smelly-drunkeness!
I love the leaves forever...
Acorns probably fall on leaves.
I've seen acorns on leaves.
The tree in your yard, the brown ground,
little rocks, tire marks, look over here now,
an oil stain definitely
resembling something important,
a feeling you once had,
when you were young.
The slope of cement,
and the street meets the driveway.
Bright bright blue out there, up there.
Move your hand around.
Wave it, make circles in the air,
and look at your hand as it moves.
The sky responds to your motions,
just a little bit.
You are a marvelous force of action.
Are you buying or renting?
Have you met the new neighbors?
Trash comes on Saturdays.
And a lizard scuttles up the back yard gate.
You eat a burrito,
the same sort of burrito
you used to eat.
Remember? No? That's OK.
You drink some water.
The sun goes down.
If I wasn’t who I was,
if I was someone besides my current self,
(I am a person who stays inside too much
and can’t figure out how to replace
the windshield-wipers on my car
and I actually have very bad table manners.)
then there are two other things
that I most definitely would like to be.
(And I've given these two other things
a lot of thought, really a lot and a lot of thought,
so much thought that I don't want to tell you
About it because telling you
would, frankly, just, embarrass me,
and you too, probably, so, let's just avoid
the whole awkward situation, OK?
Suffice it to say that if thoughts had weight,
Then my thoughts on the matter would weigh
Much much more than a trash bag full of chicken fat.)
or a lion.