mango

You like mango 
and so do I. 

And I laughed 
the first time I 
saw you naked.

I think people laugh 
when they’re naked 
for two reasons.

Sometimes, they’re 
uncomfortable with 
naked. With being naked, 
with being naked with 
another human being. 
Because, you know, 
it’s a pretty big commitment. 

there you are. All out there. 

Other times, people laugh
when they’re overcome 
by the situation. It’s so surreal 
you don’t know what to do 
but laugh. It’s just a pure 
involuntary action. 

I laughed with you for the 
second reason.

good ones

To me, you are all that is good 
and will ever be good in this world. 

How do I know this? 
Well, I’m still writing poems 
about you, and you’ve been out my life 
20 times longer than you were ever 
in it. 

How bout that for madness? 

But the good ones always 
drive us mad. They’re the only ones
worth the energy.

nothing

spent the night
too drunk to
horse around
with Lauren.

"why can’t you
do it like him?”
she asked.

"shut up you
whore. i do it my
way.”

and i rolled over
and swigged
some wine from
the bottle.

rolled
back over

teeth stained
purple,
scent of yeast
in the air.

it was gonna
be a good night’s
sleep.

who’s the artist?

I’m an artist even though 
no one ever reads this blog. 

I’m an artist even though 
I pay the bills through 
completely opposite means. 

I’m an artist even though 
I’m a nobody. 

And when I die, 
no one will ever heard of 
me. So no artistic community 
will mourn my loss. 

I’m an artist because 
I write, and I know
nobody will ever see 
read this.

Welcome to my insanity. 

things I’ve learned over time.

everyone speaks at the same time.
so it’s amazing what you can learn about people when you shut your mouth. 

everyone wonders who am I. 
and it baffles me how many never answer that question 
because they won’t be alone. 

everyone confuses why with how

so everyday is lost as it goes by. 
then moments don’t compute. 

I wish this poem had an end. 

trying

Sometimes I listen to 
Car Talk on NPR 
and it makes me homesick. 

Once I met a woman in a coffee shop
in Chicago  
and it changed my life. 

I never knew things 
like that could actually 
happen. 

But they do. 
if you don’t try. 

Much of my life 
I tried too hard, 
but now I mostly 
listen to NPR, 

and wonder 
if I should keep 
writing poems 

or if I should 
write the girl 
from the Chicago 
coffee shop. 

Shit—
there I go trying 
again. 

Forget it, guess I’ll just keep 
on writing poems.

Names

My name’s Michael,
but most people call me Mike 
even though I never introduce myself as Mike 
or sign off any email as Mike
or sign Mike at the end of a letter. 

People assume everyone 
wants to be like the majority— 
most Michaels go by Mike—
and I don’t like that.  

I go by Michael, 
pleased to meet you.
I’m not like other people.   

A poem of mine I read aloud. The background track is a song called Shenandoah by Goldmund. 

regrets

Yeah, sure, 
there are some things
I regret

like when that Latina 
came over and made me 
margaritas and I never 
fucked her. 

or when that big breasted brunette
came knocking on my door
in her aerobics instructor 
Halloween costume, and 
I didn’t let her in. 

Look, there are no 
second chances in life. 

I get that.

But now, each day I wake,
it’s more surreal than the 
the last. 

That’s how I know
I’m in paradise

so fuck 
regrets. 

and second
chances. 

I’ve arrived. 

Raining

It’s raining in São Paulo and you say,

"I love rainy nights. 
I wish you were here to cuddle with me.  
Well ‘cuddle’ isn’t really the word I want to use,
but English doesn’t allow me to express the concept I really mean.”

And then you tell me that

"It doesn’t matter, I just wish
you were here
so we could listen to the rain together.”

So I’m here now, ready to listen.
But it isn’t raining anymore.

live

If you aren’t doing exactly what you want to be doing
then what are you doing? and 
who are you doing it for? 

May 29, 2014 

I can’t believe after all the kindness and compassion I showed you, “how are you” is still too much for you to ask me. Has the whole world gone mad? Have we let our xanax, zoloft, high-anxiety, self-induced stress lifestyle destroy our last shred of sanity? The whole world has inverted on its giant, self-important, egotistical ass. People don’t have perspective anymore—as if we ever had perspective. We are doomed, and I’m here to chronicle it. 

tell me

"Here read these,"
I said as I stuck
out my hands,
fanning the sheets
of paper like a deck
of playing cards.

"These are my
writings,” I told her.

"i don’t want to know
if they’re good
because what is good?”

Tell me instead:
Do they make you roll your eyes?
Do they make you laugh?
Do they have no effect on you at all?
or, might they make you wonder
who I am?

Because what is good?
but a way to never
really know someone
at all.

the day I threw out all my things

i have nothing
left to
bring
along
and
nothing left
to
keep me
here
and all my
things
now
fit in a trunk—
just some
hiking gear,
a few
old poets, and
a guitar. 

and

there’s nothing
else
i need now
because
i have no prospects.

no
nothing on
the
horizon.
and
no paths to
follow,
none to
take
because
everything
that once
was
has now finished.
so
everything that
happens
is
from now
on.

and i have
no
connections
to
anywhere,
no
connections
to
anything

except to
whatever
i please
wherever
i please it.

so

here it
is:
my
second
chance.

i’ll
be
fine
if i
never
take
it.

i’d
rather stay
here,
anyway.

Oh Yes

there are worse things thanbeing alonebut it often takes decadesto realize thisand most often when you doit’s too lateand there’s nothing worsethan too late
—Charles Bukowski 

Oh Yes

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often 
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than 
too late

—Charles Bukowski