The Main Vein

it’s time for draining the main vein of my brain. First things first, get the shit out if you wanna play the game.

And sometimes I get embarrassed by the rhymes that at first i think i cherish, but I don’t really give a feck so light a fire under your arse and take a hike.

Because this chiquita only eats bananas that are slathered with almond butter, not hydrogenated Monsanto blather.

I’m so fucking sick and fatigued of turning on the news and listening to Trump and Kim Jong’s greed, lust for annihilation and self-aggrandizing manipulation.

I just wanna go and hide my face in a bowl of childhood innocence and grace and forget that I live in a world with which I can’t keep pace.



I finally feel free.

The wind is lightly blowing, the air smells sweet—


The clouds are dotted and smeared across the sky—

I think the reason that poetry is so often about nature


Is because when your mind is finally free

then you can tune in and NOTICE beauty again.


I learned how to breathe today.

I saw my therapist. That helped.


I learned that it’s ok to be me. No need to define myself

in relation to anyone else, except my kids. Even they will grow up, and soon it will be just me.


Letting go of expectations, extrapolations, permutations

Letting go of the need to be needed.

Letting go of the need to need.




And letting a calmer mind lead me through the muck

And learn to see the muck as a beautiful thing in its own way.

I’m free.

BP #3

I refuse to not get enough sleep anymore.

It’s just not worth it.

It’s not worth the grumpy ass attitude in the morning from me which then radiates out to the rest of the world.

I don’t care if I’m not being productive enough O’ world that demands I keep producing so much…?

I’m just fucking done with it.

I’m fucking done trying to be perfect.

I’m fucking done biting my nails because of it.

I’m fucking done living my life to please somebody else’s conception of what makes a good life.

Fuck it if we don’t all sit at the same time around the dinner table. Hell, at least we’re not eating out all the time.

Fuck it if I’m not making $75K/year which apparently is the amount you’re supposed to make in Washington state in order to achieve relative happiness.

Fuck it if I’m not doing enough to keep all balls juggling in the air, parenting duties upheld, self duties maintained, exercise regimen, caffeine intake, bill payment, retirement outlook, online dating profile updated, fiscal budget trimmed of excess fat, yada yada phou phou crap.

Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuckity fuckity fuck fuck.

All I know and all I figured out today that truly makes me happy is art, is poetry, is being creative, is writing bad poetry. Poetry so bad that nobody would dare publish it, let alone read it. Poetry so bad that it makes you pee blood from your eyes. Permission to write crap just because you gotta get it out. Fuck it if it’s not perfect. Fuck it. I feel better and that’s a fact. Nobody can fuck with that.

random abandon

I am waiting for someone

Who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about doing things the right way

But who also knows what it means

To be there, unselfishly, for something larger than themselves.

I am waiting for someone

Who is concerned about more than money

More than fame

More than networking

More than namedropping

More than buttkissing

More than being cool

More than being anal retentive

More than being jealous

More than being controlling

More than serving themselves first.

Who prizes creativity over compliance.

Who values solitude over toxic relationships.

Who needs laughter more than dwelling.

And who craves random abandon over premeditated perfection.