Category Archives: Old Releases

You were keeping on the sunny side today, singing that the world is just a grass bouquet

The porn that taught you the word “demure”The Facebook comment that revived that slur What difference is there Between the Internet and the Air?

You could be stretching your calves but you’re clicking yourself to space one Google Street View increment at a time

Bell heather beckons the sheep closer What is there to see that isn’t Just chalk for the wind to smearAnd eraseAs water runs laps in four dimensions My outstretched hand seems to cast the sheep away

My hair has never picked a side to part…and a freshly cleaned bathroom looks cleaner even in the dark

Older scene brothers return As iffy scene uncles. Unclism spares none.

Door guy fumbles his wrist bands, a drunk kid with downtown responsibility. We’ve all taken a turn defending what they let us defend.

Wake to fall’s first full breeze and an inbox full of service fees

Magpie wielding a polished sword At once adored and misinformed

Nation of stern parents spoils world- ‘s oldest brat

Another show from another singer a decade past their NPR notoriety    at least    and another crowd of sweet and loud    old hippies these are your showmates and this is the cost of falling in love with Bob Dylan at age 15 in 2004 but, hey, you’ve always been a lower-maintenance teacher’s pet and we allContinue reading “The Cut Ups – The Nerves”

There’s always a crack to slip through: a Punisher tank top, a breast cancer ribbon tattoo

Who’s the richest person that thinks I’m their friend?

robins huddleabove stoned housepainterquoting stoned homeowner

I guess I’d never questioned it until now, my proximity to the path of totality

Bottom-shelf sweetened condensed milk… Bottom-shelf cognac… Top-shelf thermos… Shake!!!

Riverbank. Beach.Rest and let the water dothe running.

Of course everything will be just fine– you started a new notebook and bought another bin.

the d-beat singer at the outdoor show has to know

The disease passes As if it were nothing more major than hunger And your sweeter self returns

I’m a bar without a ledge to lean on, a splash of vodka on your lemon

I had been so lucky, and, I thought, as grateful as I could possibly be; But what is gratitude to The Bottomless Mystery?

You may not share my dream of a government-issued editor for each citizen, but your wrong.

Craving burgers and alone time. Just me. And the burgermaker.

heat advisory once more, my hair a shade of brown called Wookie Restored

Like a bouquet, I’m dead in the drag of the living.

closed my eyes and lost all my unsaved changes

I’m a table in a kung Fu movie and you’re the 50th take. Can a spiderweb of splinters even break?

rain sure sounds invincible when it’s hitting on that tin but give it a couple hours and that roof’ll win again

We leave you to the farm and will meet again when the blueberries return.

Did I reenact the teenage years of some schmuck from whatever town is the Coral Springs of San Marino?

Low toilet, loud fan. Why was there a red lightbulb in the bathroom of my grandma’s townhouse?

The takeout noodles travel better than me. Small sneaker, worried toe.

It’s starting to sink in that not everyone has the temperament of my honors student friends and I finishing a group project so we could play basketball in the driveway.

The external hard drive full of MP3s Taking up an entire drawer May not be the jewel for posterity I’d hoped it would be

Your first trip to the beach You fell asleep in the car on the way there And woke up to a blustery parfait of gale, sand, and surf And it must’ve seemed familiar only to birth

Unlike me, you could relax with the stolen wine.

The landfills of love are overflowing, and my heart ain’t decomposing.

the fog out-blooms the azaleas on our way to school

Every time I remember you Specks of resentment settle Like the thinnest snow, though thickly wet, At the fact that it’s only a memory

All books should have a mirror on the inside back cover, as many baby books do, so you can glimpse yourself get lonelier.

It doesn’t seem to be working out for you — using a violin to bow a cello — but I wasn’t around to see what else you tried

you squeezed by me in the kitchen, beer imposing via your belly and your breath

you’d like to think it would take more than one punch to knock you out

Does numbness often arrive with guilt — like two new parents you never asked for?

Clutching the water bottle you didn’t get to finish, hoping it was over before you had a chance to be scared

The night we realized our cat was dying,  We made a stir-fry of zucchini, tomatoes, corn, and lima beans.  It was a suffering succotash.

Reading in bed, weCrack our knuckles simultaneously —A jinx that earns one of us a soft punch to the gut

I only ever found Lone Star beer in New England / I was lonely and paying double rent for the privilege

White noise, blinds drawn, rocked to sleep to a Leonard Cohen song

In hell, phone screens never dim

like Ponce de Leon searching for lifelong coffee

racecar with a short muffler, handgun with a long silencer: a menu of American kindnesses

Leave the office and walk from street food vendor to street food vendor throwing in an errand now and then

To avoid plagiarism, you changed all your essay’s references to Lady Macbeth to Woman Macbeth.

Most of the 90s actually happened in the 80s or the 2000s, like the New York you see in movies now mostly being Atlanta or Toronto.

What’s the longest 2 fish in an fish tank will pretend to not notice each other?

I want to live long enough to seeThe president read a speech off their phoneLike an open mic poet without a printer

Rolling the credits on your life, unsure if this has been the cold open or the whole feature.

I nickname you pupik,which the internet says means bellybutton.But the internet is no Bubbie.

At least this year our magnolia fought back a fungus, blossoms intermittent like patient fireworks

You were wearing that grease all over town, I guess, and my shoulder was, for your slick brow, just the latest stop.

vacation was over before it began, schedule is short one long weekend

Never felt more neckless than under threat of your necklace.

Dead frog, tiara of flies, this heat will make crackers of us all

Oyster cracker. Clams casino. Every moment is a handshake between us coming in and us going out.

Left alone so long that I’m the city’s problem — an invasive tree, some shade, no personality.

Take your turkey sandwich to the only room where the dog is outlawed.

Not the songs, but the giftshop; the memorabilia I want displayed at my funeral.

Things are still coming ashore, staining the sands of your lake-sized tummy.

I remember waiting to pick you up from tennis camp, but I would’ve been in tennis camp myself

Soul stays with body, not like moving out of your childhood home or relocating the bar from midtown to downtown

hit the campaign hard with a wife hot enough to turn Florida blue

What’s now a lullaby I memorized by screaming along in my first car at an age you’re closer to than me.

The local noose-maker’s is now a vape shop and the big-box noosery is vacant. My readers get 10% off at noosenow.com with discount code HAIKU.

Blueberry bush presents the palette to which sea and sky aspire

I learned no shelf space was safe, growing up in in the age of the CD box set

Probably, that layer of paint deep in the walls of that apartment dining room still clenches that strand of your hair

I didn’t drive to visit my relatives In Montauk just to hear them wonder How I could possibly live in Boca

No sleep, again Blame it on your irritable diaphragm

Midwinter, and your first summer storm cuts our walk short before the house with the cat we like

Finger-feed up to the wrist Until you learn to return a kiss

Set the record for rabbits spotted, twenty-two point five

Glass on glass chimes when I take out the trash. The past is not the past.

Do we smell as good to death when he strikes us down as a chard stem split?

I’m a few barons shy of an industry, so no one minds my blight.

No clue about C.O.D., just that it wasn’t good enough to order Elastic Plastic from the TV.

bent over the tub until the Mr. Bubbles washcloth renders us sore and immaculate

The ash tray, an heirloom, draws half the aunts to the porch, leaving the others with dishes.

it’s gotten away from us / I dust the baseboard with a socked foot

I try to read your face, but it’s just a map of unattended neighborhood citrus

By my child’s third birthday, I’ll be able to tell them with certainty whether daylights savings makes it darker earlier or later at least at first.

German shepherd guards the persimmon tree whose fruit the owners seem oblivious of

We met in my Khaki Adonis phase, and by Bootcut Botticelli, you were gone.

No rest when you’re both horse and rider, straw and breeze. At least the new neighborhood mural is shaping up to be less lame than the one across town.

a gust of swallows swirls above the plaza of muhly and scrub, part thundercloud, part lung

bike past what was once a punk house, a living room rumored to be hosting a Lifetime reunion every weekend

forty soldiers trapped in a cave and only Phlavius Josephus knows how he silenced their colic

the fear that I spent more hours making your mixtape than you’ll spend listening is fucking with our parity

Rummy and ham hock; bowed over picnic table spooning sides of each other’s breath

Envelop me, autumn, and Suck the ants through my floorboards Back to the underworld

I didn’t crawl my way out the gulf just to blow my knee standing up

my mother tongue reduced to “mangia” sunlight to sugar to syrup

mom juices carrots singing the same half of a cowboy junkies chorus

Shell of a second Beer at the fray of my jorts Nodding and swaying

This blog is sponsored by the Plymouth Dealers of America, who sell the car the pilgrims discovered America for.

dude flirting at the vape shop has his own standards he thinks he’s nailing

jumpshot hits front rim must have forgotten my legs now I have to fetch

Hornet at the stone table, more angry at my ears than worried about its nest.

What’s so threatening to God about me wanting to live forever? I just have more love to give.

No stains on the sports page, I take my coffee hoping for updates to the blogs of my idols‘ middle age

At what point did I start dreaming in decimals

Nobody can think like me. Not even my phone’s auto-fill, that dumb duck.

Gulls about the cliff casting shadows I thought were darker birds. Gone on the same gust.

the only note of my dad’s fashion I want to play is grabbing an  unassuming cap on my way to get bagels

You know Alexa is racist when she won’t even dig deep enough to play Hendrix on her 60s rock channel

Relieved Proust never knew the rufous sfumato at the heart of the first U.S.-edition Rapidash card

so far between — like a squirrel descending a tree  to burrow  into a mountain

Beetle over blade Crow under cloud How did I once spend my afternoons? 

I’ve been in fewer hands than this used CD in this harbor town

with the courage of a room; traveled west breaking flowers; mending laurel swords| *words from “Bob Dylan’s Dream” and “Changing of the Guard” by Bob Dylan

we poured out of high school into cars into homes back into cars like sharks with only fungus to hunt

Kim Shattuck died tonight and you want your trophic integrity tested?

The old suspense of ruler bent away from young wrist spared not my mom

I’m a delicacy; may God drown me in Armagnac ‘fore He barbecues me.

Co-pain. HR protect th’company from you. Ache are from you.

our film’s two settings: shore of my backyard canal driveway, you reverse

alright make it quick the mayor is breathing down my ass on this one

On the walk back the sky re-hues from salmon to whale belly

you’re the smell of fresh yogurt cake I want to fold warm into ice cream

The fleas stormed our yard and got caught in our leg hair. Baby, peace is coming.

You arrived first at double-digit sneaker size and testified to us the grace of T-Macs.

though in Providence the pond was still frozen, and I tread it ’til sunrise when the train returned to Boston

dead giveaway proves tips from omaha legend probably prettiest woman in the world

Too hot for corduroy but I must dress like a 70s boy

Place is in boxes, so I ash in the wok that scrambled my eggs.

Back when Lucy, enduring that first dark night of predatorsound, cursed her ears

your stoned face framed by my foggy rear windshield the cop asks me what’s up with you

Something discouraged the heron and shielded the clam in the current.

Stuffed in a Burdines dressing room, distresssed that my pants never seemed to fall effortlessly, like a cartoon’s.

On balance, are more voids closed than left open? I hope we hug again.

sand pine lacks the aroma of Fraser fir, plus it’s got that trash accent.

the cat’s now suspicious of folds in the blanket it’s slept on since breakfast

Our love has been blessed by the magic that tore the Dakotas apart.

I’m chewing on serviettes. I, the landlord who can evict death.

incoming, cleats up not so much a boy as a cassowary

Reunion at the mall  we ditched high school for. Enter  any sweepstakes lately? 

do you really want this man with his finger on the button of the Keurig?

your voice echoed with the thwack of  a tarot card turn