Dry Cough


Smoking, Cigarette, Smoke, Unhealthy, Cigar, Addiction

Charcoal lungs



on another’s


splitting spliffs

like decalcified pine bones

but the nausea overwhelms

and I rock to the breeze on my back porch

the cold shearing years

off my life,

carbon monoxide

turning my marrow brown

Like a Crooked Spliff

Like a crooked spliff
embers chase down to the filter
shrouded in layers of ash
sins taught by a book
With small declarations in gold embroidery

Bibles your family and friends flashed
Like Spanish vocab
Smoldering beneath layers of conventional guilt
Until ash is secreted in a series of grooves
In a never ending road top

Sometimes stogies
Are crushed into the pavement
Eager to burn
But chance has snuffed potential

In hell’s eternal flame
unable to find
The generosity
Of a 5 o’clock shadow
With a lighter


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”

Growling at Passing Hearses

Every time that lighter fires
a lurking

“that’s one for you
(arthritic finger
at the smoke stack
between my frigid lips)
and two for me”

the blade spins
the sting
up my legs

stomach spinning
grated cheese
spitting wood pulp
torso turned
to frayed edges
of shag carpet

I can feel it
cigarette starving
shaking under dim street light
I’m ready
the light waning
roaring laughter
to a malicious chuckle.

Freedom is from the same place of the mind as apathy

Leave the bra
Hanging from the headboard
Tap dance on scattered needles
Like it’s a red
To the trigger that you’ll never
have a handle of

Let the teeth stain
A seasoned brown
With tobacco juices
A healthy veneer

Drink stolen malt liquor
Like it’s a vital aspect
Of our composition

without it
For three days
You’ll die