Poem written in dejection

Tonight I'm streaming basketball illegally

Maybe I'll eat some grapes later

I want to be a famous painter with lots of money

I want to eat an entire pizza

Poem for a friend

I was on the wall 

And you were there 

Beside me 

Leaning against the wall 

You were sort of 

Leaning into my legs there 

And you 

Were drinking lean

Poem wherein good triumphs over evil

Spider-man aimed 

his wrist 

at Doctor Octopus' head. 

"Not today Doc Ock!" he screamed.


The web shot out 

of Spider-man's wrist.

There was a thin white line going from 

the end of Spider-man's wrist 

Across the dark night sky 

To Doctor Octopus' head.

Spider-man pulled.

A religious poem

When Mary Magdalene pried open the avocado

And grabbed up a knife to remove the pit

She found the pit already rolled away from the tomb

And when she entered

She did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Summer poem

I like the wind on me

I like the smell of the sun on me

I like this wind paging through my hair today

It's like a whole new way of thinking about the wind

So why you have to wind me up?

Let's go to the park and drink some more coffee

Let's go swimming 

Winter poem

The way the snow 

collected on the sofa 

outside your apartment

that winter

was snow music

and the sun was making sun music

The sun was making magic rays 

in the sky

I was on the sofa 

Twenty-six years old and I didn’t have a job 

so there wasn't a thing for me 

to do that winter 

but to care about the music

House music

Snowstorm music

Everywhere I went that winter

was your music

like a big dog 

biting at my heels

or my face

Poem after reading Don DeLillo's White Noise

Imagine a room full of people

All reading Don DeLillo novels

With tears stinging their eyes

Because before them stands 

Don DeLillo himself

Tossing sand into their faces

Bored by myself on a February Tuesday

I pour a pot of coffee down the sink

The steam creeps across my skin like the shadows of Toronto

Over frozen Lake Ontario

But now there's coffee in my sink

Love poem




on your


sour cream



on your





o give me 

a chip

with lots of

sour cream

on it

wish chip

one chip

two chip

i like the way 

you sing




[Spider-man was]

Spider-man was crying.

Batman was in the bathroom, he was crying.

The Human Torch was curled up on the floor.

Something had happened last night in the world of superheroes.

Nobody understood what had happened.

Poem about getting stabbed

He had a face 

Like Porky the Pig 

And so I called him Porky

He drew a knife

Said say it again

And so I did and he did

The death of Jean Cocteau (1889-1963)

the friends and lovers

of Jean Cocteau

on a Tuesday in May

you know what they did 

they draped a blanket 

over Jean Cocteau’s head 

and filled their socks to the brim 

with nickels 

then let Jean Cocteau know 

what they all thought 

about his latest novel 

Le Livre Blanc

this group included not only Picasso 

and Colette 

but also Stravinsky 

and Coco Chanel and Satie 

and Marlene Dietrich

she was there too  

Jean Genet was also there 

he stood there priest-like

in a yellow oxford shirt

buttoned to the navel 

a rosy kerchief 

knotted about his neck

I had always thought Genet 

too buttery

to be capable of such violence

but in fact it was Genet 

who had orchestrated 

the entire thing 

he stood there priest-like

alongside Raymond Radiguet 

and Panama Al Brown

a smile like Paris rainwater 

washing down the gutters of his mouth

the nickels rang loud 

against the cobblestones 

a singsong like mud

leaked out of Jean Cocteau’s mouth

three minutes later

he was dead

Short poem

Are you cold

Do you feel cold

Do you get a sort of cold feeling in the mornings

At night I don't sleep well in the city

Poem for Kurt Cobain

Kurt Cobain wrote the song Smells Like a Food Court

One night when he was passed out in his tour bus

The smell of all the rotting garbage in the tour bus

Had put Kurt Cobain in mind of a food court

Poem written in dejection

I am very funny.

I am like a tree that is very funny-looking.

Maybe it looks like a person or something.

I don't know.

Damn it’s cold out.


Poem for Deborah Eisenberg

That year I ate plain rice every day

And every day I read Deborah Eisenberg in bed

Because she didn't publish 

A single story until she was thirty-nine years old 

And I loved her for doing it that way

I was twenty-four 

But I was always tired

All I had 

Was a single copy of The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg

Just some dimpled-looking paper in my hands

Twenty-seven stories and I read every single one 

I read them like a prayer

I read them in my bed with some Liz 

Phair playing on my crappy 

Laptop speakers

It was fun for a while I suppose

But I was very lonely

And starving all the time

I never went outside

It hailed every day

I cut my own hair

Using a pair of craft scissors

Sweeping up all the pieces with my hands

And shoving them down the sink

Or the garbage can


At the koi pond

The koi all poke their mouths out of the water

because they think I’m here to feed them.

Sometimes the koi accidentally swim into each other 

with their mouths open and kiss each other.

There’s like a dozen orange and silver koi

poking their mouths up at me right now.

I want to throw myself into the koi.