Offensive Line

Cold February thrill
Allegheny dream
Traversing the sure kill
Under the El in Philthy stream

A city on fire
Burning hunk of brotherly love
Squeeze my Temples
The owls, the eagles. the doves?

An unbelievable play
The Philly special all day
From Wentz we came….
…..In Foles we trust

A victory beer. First mint won’t rust
Like Franklin I’m from Boston
Indentured. Imprisoned.
Held back, scorned and lost and

Came for Philadelphia freedom

From Chester to Trevose
Northeast to society hill
It’s good to be sustantivos.
In a city I don’t need to kill

The Itch

Losers racing home twilight highway
Hemis switching lanes dully occupied
Profits of all the knowing genocide
Blue collar heroes
The ones for which John Lennon died

A pizza parlor, 1970’s
And yellow green. Benches of
Ghosts apologies

A balding shipping clerk talks to the bar
Rocking in his head to Highway Star
For the 100 thousandth time he sings

“No one’s gonna steal my car”
He thinks

I want to kiss his highschool football ring
It’s a Monday thing

I just look at it all and sharpen my blade
It’s. So almost
Whispers in my drink





Holding my own in stab city Ireland
a raunchy rant a mysterious lore
a night shift jaunt on ole King’s Island
A sordid encounter with a dead whore

a timely Limerick it seems maybe crass
dear Shannon you silly young lass
Small not be your color or size
nor that stream between your thighs
but it’s better that than it be from your ass

a stagger back from Southhill
came the Dubliners sly
For them a night out for the kill
brothers Mcool and O’Bligh
My wrong place and time to chill
out and alone tho was I
This I thought til  I’d lay by you still
under the Sarsfield where we’d climbed

An hour or two would pass
as I slipped away by your side
when I left you alone well, alas
It’s not my choice that we should ‘ave died
so be comfy alone in the grass
I simply needed a quck place to hide
I often wonder what words would’ve  passed
had we met when we were alive

give it a name


A splendid hurricane
The high clouds racing to other borders newer days
Strange birds magnificent the color of tourists fly sideways
A bug I’ve never seen before pauses on my peonies
Innocent portents of the coming violence in the breeze
Motherless infants gifts from the stork’s beak
She swam from nightmares the unknown blackness in the sea
A question now, How strong are my trees?
This time around how brutal the wind may be
How soft the ground, your demise too many leaves.

Every place is beautiful when I first arrive
Smell the flowers a new named color is in sight
More curious than afraid
ignoring the warnings on display
Til the poison that is in me starts to taint
a warm breeze a wind chime she will say…..

“Momma is coming child there is nothing can be done”
Too soon winds are howling it’s  allies on the front
The Foamy waves pushing pulling to and from
Feces tainted water pours into my lungs
The tentacles have stung
Sickly larvae feeding
on the bleeding
On the ankles stuck in mud

A blaring siren in my mind
A migraine in strobe lights
I’m pulled under once again
I can’t hear you in the din
The bees are swarming in the wind
My cries unheard cross my chin

In the wreckage they’ll chase blame pointing fingers
New profile pic, “Someplace strong” bumper stickers
Move on to tomorrow remember my storm by name
It’s always there, whether it’s sunny, Weather it reigns.



singing Wonderwall in the rain
hoisting up our heffeweiss
we stangers made a pact in pain
clouds hide the moon’s first quarter slice

you could have taken the train
would not have paid the winter river’s price
before the bridge I’d blame the weather
it must be so cold under Neckar’s ice
you can’t warm your bones with Hasenpfeffer
after the Eiswein pulled the wheel to the right

wrapped up like maultaschen another runner in the night

Thinking there is a point to find is as pointless as to find life

your crowd only wanting each other
ways to fill voids in their own hollow lives
singing away memories smothered
waking up a new day and old Schwabian housewives

the pre-chorus naive and so full of trust
I envy you who leave before jaded by lust

into the black forest a boar
looks back over his snout
digs it up in the mud
by the river to the south
a backstage pass on his tusks
mystery of this poem in his mouth

you could have taken the train
you’d not be wrapped now in the hearse
it was beautiful to sing in the rain
The Backbeat starts, second verse

Smoked Meat

in the shadows of Elliot Trudeau
grafitti dumpster a cliche routine
I was trying to understand the CFL
with my Molson, Tots and Poutine

but you had to come in take the stool by my side
an empty bar so many choices
but belly up to me you’d decide
than with your scarf and brainy voice
you would scoff and you. you had to chide
how is it that I bothered you
when it wasn’t I who came from outside?

As if the Sun is to be blamed for extinguishing the night

when you slinked back out to grab a smoke
no cameras around and you didn’t have a phone
looking up from the trash see the airbus has flown
in the cold still winter air hear the highway moan
I am the island in the city of Mary
and I should have been left alone

I have found things for which I am loyal
my precision. my love. my kills
looking down from up on Mount Royal
the seagulls circle your landfills

you can have a brother or a wife
and not know them til their funeral day
it’s easy not to notice in life
it’s easy not to hear what they’d say
they will know you now friend by my knife
pass the Schwartz’s, S’il vous plaît?

Average white friends


How many empty cans have I left behind – pyramids of brandnames
I was your sister                                                                                            sorority troll
I was drunk peeing in the corner plagiarizing bandaids
of Xanax blisters                                                                                           Philly superbowl
How many empty bottles have I left behind – average white friends
whose lies I swallowed to ease the pain
the whole is torn in the stomach the headache never ends
I’ve played the song to the last refrain.

How many empty souls have I left behind – addicted to their loss
I’m beyond
I can travel to your empty places for me it has no cost
across the pond
they say I’m lucky to see you but you are desolate – you are frost
attractions gone
you have died you have spoke to me in your tongue I am deaf I am  lost
countdown to none
How many ounces,
how many pills,
how many stories,
how many kills?