Fueled by exhaust

Worshiping ourselves
In the reflections of stars

We praise the music
Curse the moment

Victims are easy to save

Is the last sane person
In the room still sane?

Are we prepared to sacrifice
Friends and family

What is the place
For this love machine

Fueled by exhaust?

Imperfect dance moves do not exist…Mon. April 21 / Kansas City / Vacant Farm #Schwervonpoetry

Schwervon! Show poem form April 21.


Breakfast crunch wrap
A dump in the oven
Pay no attention to the angry
Monkey sitting on my face
I love to give her pleasure so
There is a sadness stuck
Between layers
Fresh Logo designs and
Free napkins will not
Stop the bleeding
Discovery is not enough
Moment to moment is a way
There is a carpet
In front of the drink station
So no one slips and falls
The sky is a commode
Our mature lungs filter the pot air
We pop the cork on our own waste
Neglect is
There is a place for the lids
There’s is a place for the straws
There are crumbs under the table
There is still some water to drink
We enjoy learning new words
Imperfect dance moves  do not exist
We grab branches
Are branches

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Silence the inside words…Mon. April 20 / Shawnee, KS / Shawnee, Kansas #Schwervonpoetry


Suckle on
Coal coughing sugar tits

Silence the inside words

Hear to the scissory chirps
Of the nighttime sparrows

A good dog will always
Ruin a good tennis match

Stump emerges from the earth
Like a baby dinasaur from it’s egg

The hornets mourn
At my cars grill

Smoke fills the air
Softens the harsh light

Morning is my favorite
Time of sleep

Dream walking spoons
Light through the basement window

Before the breath moves
To the background

And eyes start talking smack

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A Gifted Curse

Drying my clothes 
On the hot rocks

Maybe it’s enough 
To keep the yard clean 

Why are you so hard? 

Dandy lion hair pulling 
Cracks in the chewing gum 

Most things sexy 
Are a flies life 

Old hanging skin 
Beatiful non divisions 
And long, long walks 
Deliver me from the tar pits

Tracks in mus
Fertilizing seeds 

Blissfully clutching my thumbs
Pounding my hooks 
Into the screen 

Opening warm sodas
On chain link fence

I’ve stopped stealing
From the teacher’s closet

The weight of old flowers
A gifted curse

Baseball diamonds in the rough… Sat. April 11 / Kirby’s Beer Store / Wichita, Kansas #Schwervonpoetry

This is the most recent Schwervon! show poem.


Paradise Lost virginity
In a church parking lot

I wasn’t worried about
Where to hide my gun

Baseball diamonds in the rough

Forgotten plots of genius
Dead things on the side of the road

Smoke through bullet holes
Snacks that don’t make you
Hate yourself

Golden hills burnt black
Billboard bushes
And fast food tumbleweeds

The birds returning
Bridge NO. 68.451

All caps, Helvetia, green background

Half of the sky is gray
And the other half is white

Beating things down
Blowing things up

At this moment
None hurt my head

(This poem was recited for the first time on Saturday, April 11, 2015 at Kirby’s Beer Store, in Wichita, KS)

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Leaf piles moving

Rabbit gravity
Curb equations

Humid night
Smoothing the rocks

Red dog and white woman
Street lamp lighting

The grass breathes
A dead beercan in the road
Leaf piles moving

Everything used to scare me
So much more

Mailman hands
It’s easy to forget about my teeth

If you live long enough
You taste the
Almonds and apples

Delicious mix

Pine needle syringe
Bird shit painting

God is a brownie No God is a brownie… Sun. April. 05 / Riot Room, KCMO #Schwervonpoetry

Sunday’s Schwervon! show poem.


photo by Rachel Sky

Buttered butter
Bacon wrapped bacon
Pizza flavored pizza bites

Guns in every orifice
Roads paved with hamburger buns

Twenty four hour memory foam
Full body zipper suits

Maybe is no
No is boring
Boring is ignoring

Old tv
A pile of wires
By the washing machine

Polka dot ties
Tears in my oatmeal

Repetition is remembering
Repetition is forgetting
Repetition is forgiving
Forever and ever

Always and never
Baked goods rising like
The son of God

Brownies for breakfast
Brownies for lunch
Making love to a brownie
Giving birth to a brownie

God is a brownie
No God is a brownie

(This poem was recited for the first time on Sunday, April 05, 2015 at Riot Room, in Kansas City, MO)

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Wings lay abandoned

Wings lay abandoned
by the side of the road

spine in tact

Tree stumps in the front yard

Legs from a distance
Look good

In a book
You will find no greater meaning
To these words

Ask me not the
Burning flowers say

The irrelevant rich
Growing hearts at the Cemetery

The importance of guns

The freedom to conceal
Our acne scars

We covet the sores

All share a place on the beach
In the sun

Anticipating the work

Praying on toilet seats

Learning the lazy prayer  For quiet mornings

Walking down
The sleep isle

Tears rolling off
A zombie sun

Pricks on the horizon
Fish bone shadow puppets

Reminding me to relax

Infinite multiplying screams
Saying: I can’t be heard.

Miles of doctors walking the plank
A sea of elective surgeries

Living long

Learning the lazy prayer
For quiet mornings

It takes more and less