1. My mom.


  2. The mantra of my mother

    I often feel like I should be well mannered
    and behaved, especially around forty and aboves
    make them say
    wow, what a boy he is, great things are sure to follow
    but like now, I want to throw my glass
    tonight is no night for water!
    kicking and dancing
    the novelty of youth

    Even though most say twenty five is not so young
    anymore, and at twenty five you should have
    yourself some future lined up
    but I don’t have those, though, I secretly
    kind of want them sometimes, I know! the blasphemy
    of my own life, I know, the contradiction
    of freedom and a nine to five, I know!
    I don’t want them, I think, and so, there
    it is all out really, I have no reason
    to hold back, no job to wake to
    no assurance of finical security other than
    what mom has said
    baby, money is just energy, it comes when called
    and my mom
    she’s fifty four



  4. Without dancing all I do is think…

    Oh Yea!
    I feel it around me
    happy saturated people
    drinking like the merry queers they are
    oh how a hipster I’ve become
    what would mother say
    seeing her only boy cut off
    from dancing at a Jazz bar
    how sad!
    Why do they line the fronts
    of stages with tables for
    people to talk at
    It’s rude!
    but I say let the rudeness prevail
    let something break inside the artists soul
    listen to the crack in the back
    of their exasperated throats
    Yell louder young ones!
    louder I say! I can’t hear you in the back
    I swear to god my thoughts are louder
    break me away from this notepad
    that shows my elegance to the rest of 
    the clapping room. Wait! Something happened
    Transpired! Is holy God descending?
    Shall we see the eyes of the destroyer
    How wonderful that would be
    to die in an agonizing truth about ourselves
    Yes! I include myself in the rag pile
    of this experience 
    livid with doubts and expectations
    Where are the greaser kids these days?
    There are no more outkasts 
    not even I, and how I long to be one
    even the Jazz kids look like they’ve been
    lurking through frat room with a belief
    in normalcy 
    "Don’t worry Jack" They’ll say
    "We’ll make it through! You’ll be a one of a kind
     divorce lawyer! Oh won’t your parents be proud!
     I’ll tell ya what Jack, they should have waited
    to hire you my boy, they should have hired you!”


  5. The Lele’s


  6. The science of aesthetics 

    I don’t know why it throws me off
    that the saxophone player is wearing
                  an Oregon Ducks jersey 
    Not that it symbolizes some school
    I have absolutely no care for
    even though somewhere in my Portland Soul
                    I guess I should be proud
    chanting Oregon, oh Oregon, I love you so
    but the material of it, all soccer thick
    and itchy looking, half collared 
    for some sporty elegance I know not of
    It’s like two worlds mixing


    insoluble, the jersey settles to the bottom
                       and the Jazz is up up up
    I’m not cool enough to sense the feeling of it
    without mixing in my own insoluble thoughts
    but I’m proud of the boy, I really am
    he’s up there, I’m not, he’s dreaming something great
    I know it, there is no other explanation
    something in him crawls like a wounded solider 
    aiming for home, philosophizing on the last
    moments of his life of what home really is
    I do not hate him for it, only wish he would loosen up
    the shirt, I swear it’s more than vanity, constricts him 
    Exposes him not for his music
                but for what he calls his mother
                           before he hangs up the phone


  7. Red


  8. Vests were made for Jazz, Suits.. for killers

    I swear to god the bartender looks more
    like a jazz player than these jazz players playing!
    And he’s just as white bred as them!
    but with an assassins fierceness

    no I have not met one
    but the movies told me it’s true
    and god damnit I believe them
    why not?
    It’s fun enough to pretend I understand
    a world that only took my father
    when I was still too young
    to understand forever
    but whatever! this poem is turning dark
    and it was only ment to marvel
    at the bartender


  9. Somewhere in Arizona, California, or New Mexico


  10. I could be a stay at home dad

    I feel more productive in a day
    when I write often
    as if this is what the world needs
    more so than working
    or doing dishes, though dishes
    are a close second I think
    cleaning a home and then
    lounging in it feels
    like a hundred tree’s being planted
    imagine how my day has been
    I’ve already written seven and a half poems                                              
    and I’m thinking of sponging the kitchen                                                  


  11. Portland Killingsworth & Rodney