Twat the Bard


" I can hear you, I just don’t want to"

My ears have been blasted to hellhammer and back,
tinnitus hides in my head when I climb into bed,
and when you mumble at me I cannot hear you.

I’m not deaf, far from it, but my attention plummets
every time I ignore the grayscale tales you tuck
between the legs of my timetables.
I’m able to hear you but I don’t.
I won’t feel what you emote
because you don’t.

Clouds of pale smoke dance around the room,
wrapping around this mundane monsoon
of monotone gloom like a secondhand cocoon.
I could spoon-feed attention to your ego’s guillotine
while you say something to the effect of “ME! ME! ME!”
but I’d rather ignore you willingly and stare at the TV screen.

"Hair of the Dog"

This morning my dog watched with his nose
while I walked beside him like a bipedal monolith.
We are an odd couple. We are a couple of odd fellows.

The hair of the dog is all encompassing,
and I’m not talking about hangovers or booze.
We don’t care about you, we were born to bellow.

There’s no telling
how hard we’ll smile
when we’re on the loose.

Jul 8


I am not the walrus or the bard, I am the bastard child.
I have found dirty little niches that shield me from failure
and hide me from success.

It’s as real as the wet dreams I never had,
or the food they feed you in jail,
or the last time I pissed my pants.

Every move I’ve made
is just one move closer to checkmate.
I’ll never get paid, but that’s okay because
the money tastes like paper anyway.

I am not running out of time,
I am running out the clock.

Adulthood is unconvincing.

"He Was"

He used to get drunk and sleep on our couch.
He was very rough around the edges,
he drank at least three 40’s of Bull Ice everyday,
and he watched his socks in our sink.

I grew up around a lot of people who weren’t perfect
but he really was perfect, although he didn’t look it.
His rough edges hid his symmetry and elegance.

He wore cowboy boots and watched westerns.
He used to help me hide from the stars
when they gave me anxiety attacks.
He was my oldest best friend.

I’ve written a lot of poems about him,
now I am writing this one because he was
and people often forget that he was.

He used to watch me grow up minute by minute,
he delighted in spending his time helping me smile.
He used to get drunk and sleep on our couch
but then he got dead.

They buried him a few miles away from our house.

"A Poem About Abortion"


Fuck yeah!

"Apart Already, Again"

I had a dream that I was in a place I’ll never see again
with a person who will never be my friend again
and I wasn’t me. Again, this was a dream.

I was walking down a road I’ve only seen in movies
while wearing my favorite pair of purple shoes
and the person with me kept acting like now was then
and we hadn’t fallen apart already.

"Where in the Hell?"

I am not ready
for anything
that is happening
these days.

Ugly faces
are dominating my
smile maker
and it’s horrid.

A wise man
once told me
that it’s always
sunny in hell,
but then where
in the hell am I?

"Holy Holes"

I’ve dug so many holes that sometimes
even I forget where I put them and it
becomes difficult to walk around without
falling into one from time to time.


Tonight I didn’t beat the teeth out of an ex-friend who really had it coming. I’m pretty proud of myself.

"Make Sure You Pack Sunscreen"

You can’t take away
something that neither
of us can ever possess.

You can’t rub my face
in the warm embrace
of somebody I don’t want.

You can’t win because
I am not playing games.

You can’t hurt me because
you already have.

Have fun in Arizona!

Flag Counter