She is punchy
so punchy
and she punches you
because she is punchy
so don’t despair
my pet
just roll with the punchy
and accept
that sometimes
punching happens
and then everyone
goes out
for punch

Face Punchy

You are very
face punchy today
with your suit
and your briefcase
and your vanilla chai latte
and the condescending way
you talk to the barista
as you text somebody
to prove to us all
how busy and important you are
My fist longs
to punch your face
which is calling to it
begging for the sweetness of that punch
and the thunderous applause
that would follow it
you are leaving
and I am left
with my dreams
of punching your face
not with the reality
of having done so


Very little in this world
is so profound
as a box full of tenants
angry that the broken elevator
has chosen not to go to the
fourteenth, sixteenth, or seventeenth

Punch destiny in the face, tenants!
Rage against the dysfunctionality
of a device meant to make life easier
and its completely broken twin next door

The landlady’s cavalier declaration
that the elevator is working fine
is probably going to get her yelled at
one of these days


Porcupine of terror
why do you burrow into
the folds of my brain
and nest there
all day
every day
until I am ready
to stomp on your evil little head
with steel-toed boots?

No song deserves this
no brain deserves this
no brain deserves this song
damn song
I say

You are punching me in the cerebral cortex with music
and I cannot approve

Time Flies

Will you please slow down, July?
I would like this summer to last forever
but it is going crazy fast
and soon it will be September
and the marking will begin again,
the terrible terrible marking.

July, I need to punch you in the face with Time
so you will become afraid of it
and go hide under a bench somewhere.
And then I need to do something productive
instead of sitting around
wishing it wasn’t mid-July already.

stay the hell out of my life
and let July last for a little bit longer.
I am not ready
to let it go.

Empty Brain

The howling void
inside my head
is howling
and echoing
but mostly howling
with delicious ineptitude

I would like to punch
the void
with the fists of metaphor
and kick it
with the feet of synecdoche

But no
and lo
my feet are alone
in the wilderness of desire
and I cannot reach them
I can never reach them

Punish me
my feet
punish me
and at long last
be fulfilled