Orange harvest moon… Wednesday February 25, 2015 #Schwervonpoetry 

Last night’s show poem.


Nipples cut like diamonds
Across the stained glass

Heavenly hand-jobs
Between the pews

Old asses flat on the  wood
Dress trim brush strokes

Fluffy pubic hair clouds
Paint Darwinian heaven
On the backsides of
Lightening struck trees

Praying squirrels hiding their nuts
Vibration in my chest
Feel the coat pulling
With every step taken

Swamp-man memory
Santa clause coke bottle

Glasses full of
Wine and cheese

Shaving cream balloons
Orange harvest moon

Egg yolk perfect
Orange harvest moon

(This poem was recited for the first time on Wednesday, February 25, 2015 at miniBar in KC, MO)

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People pay for their slums

Fuck you children
Hate haters of life

I love hating life
The silent treatment

Not amazing you with my mind

The walks of shame
The bad catering

Songs about
Making things cheap

People pay for their slums
We see buildings

The fisting of brick walls
Student hookers
Proud parents

Small broken sticks
in the sidewalk

Flattened empty cigarette packages

Twinkle twinkle lucky star
I do not scream in bars

I do not talk up strangers
For uncomfortable
Amounts of time

I bow to lampshades
Seek the corners

They turn me on

What does the butterfly Know about its caterpillar life

There’s something
I’ll always remember

Some birds stay all winter
They know their place

The ether kicks in
Much slower in this town

What does the butterfly
Know about its caterpillar life

Pinkies numb
A pin hole into
The black box

Dark spot correcting serum

Tractors pull
All earth’s people

Paying for poison
Unpicking the locks
Protecting our ears

Cages of wood and nylon
Side ways obelisk

An island of pride
A desert of feeling
We are all the middle child

We see too much of the sky

David party of one

Bed in the center
Surrounded by trees
And fallen leaves

Half used pens in a coffee cup

Smelling is enough
David party of one

Dedicated to the art

The city is not a jungle
There is no clean well lighted place
No sauce making

My feet are snakes
My shoulder block of ice

Empty bleachers
Continent foot prints

All the pieces of fruit
The plastic clinging to
Edges of bowls

We don’t talk
We play music

Sleep is not death

Traps covered
Sleep is not death

The post office at The Front
Loading the customizer

Nuts and bolts
Cover the pavement

The snow keeps things warm
The middle is never defined.

A heart that pumps
squeeze cheese

The golden balls drop
We only steal what we deserve

A splinter, tooth pick
Drum stick

The contents of
A new taco

Street lamp
On a timer

A string and return
to the city
Your street
Your sidewalk

To shine all over again

Lucky duck… Friday February 13, 2015 #SchwervonPoetry

Last nights show poem.


UntitledPast Live have served me well

I hear the music
almost every day.

Lucky duck,
Lucky duck
Holy mother fucking fuck
What did I do to deserve
Being such a goddamn
lucky Duck

My brain
A passion field
Done up in marshmallow
And butterscotch

Bitter Ale flows from my stein?
I see my shirt
covered in glitter and cheese corn
My heart will stop some day
But my love will never end

A hard pea lodged
Beneath my mattress?
Twinkle Santa Claus eye
Rising from the middle
Of my forehead

The man on my tail?
I see that’s not gold
You lied for money

I look to the
Candy hearts and flowers
Dangling from my rear view mirror
Blood test okay
Balls okay

Crusty old man
Texting in his car
Screams at me from his
Open window
Get a job ya bum!

I scream back at him
Thank you…

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Paradise at the super market

Paradise at the super market
No longer my job to worry

All the blues and reds.
I can stand for hours

Cold air section

Kaleidoscope of
Plastic lids

So many words not to read
So much protection
So much life

Frozen fat
Chocolate heart

Smiling women
Choices carved in cheese

The war on salad
Sacrificing vegetables

A house of bread
You are everywhere

Lemons and

Decoding their message

Stay away from that
Can you help me?

I can do this myself

The collards are clean
They whisk through me
Like a wire brush

It’s so good to live
When you’re tired.

The store is like a painting

So cheap
So much to take in

Not to worry love of my life
We will be together soon

Making the rubble bounce

An endless adventure

Warmth escaped
By a thousand airport blankets

Journey inspired by
A well rehearsed outburst

Owl tree
By the side of the road

Making the rubble bounce
Learning the small moves


Magic wheel danger mouse
Sport war
safe trap

Twerking the dream

Guarding spaces Left for fire trucks

A closet in paradise.
Full of conviction
Spell check

Ignore the walkers
We all wake the same

All put on our reflective parts
One leg at a time

The cars line up

Cutting and baking
The content

Pinning butterflies
At the grocery store

Not solely speaking
To the
Masterbators and the

not just waving
At the walkers.

A mansion in hell
Sense of humor
Yoga position

Guarding spaces
Left for fire trucks

A training camp for guards.
A place safe to love

Beneath yellow paint
And chrome