doctor, i don’t have the mopes

i really don’t know what
the cat is thinking, or what
the dogs are thinking, or
even what the chickens are
thinking. i pretend i do. i
think they know what i’m
thinking. a lot of people
don’t care. i don’t care. he
asked have you ever had
suicidal thoughts. “doesn’t
everybody?” i asked. “do you
like the rain?” he asked with
a broken tongue. i looked
past his lazy eye to the peter
paul rubens’ painting, “the
drunken hercules,” hanging
on the wall. he asked if i enjoy
writing poetry of a sunless night
or a lucent day. i said i enjoy
playing parachute roulette.


who is knocking at my door?
knocking, knocking and knocking!
stop your rhythmic knocking.
knock, knock a knock knock, knock.
i am not here.
are you a stranger, my neighbor,
a compassionate crony concerned
with my carcinogenic thoughts?
a disciple with a presbyterian spirit.
a pirate to steal my gold, a contemptuous
love here again to exhaust my heart.
why are you wrapping on my window?
i am not here. i am ignoring you.
leave me alone. i have no pocket
change for your bastards. i have
not asked for your visit, or asked
for you to bear the iniquities of my
ways. i cannot look into the eyes of
your german shepherd face. your
monogamous life is boring. you are
trespassing against my will. your
boldness does not frighten me.
take leave from my door, you mongrel.

1st degree psychoanalysis of a poet

in the ghetto of anticipation,
my expectations are dissolved.
i am happy to drift in the direction
the wind bends. somewhere
between here and there i fill my
pockets with some of this and
some of that. my freedom is
my prison. i have no reason to
escape my seasons, no desire
to be satisfied. i can justify the
moon executing the sun. my
scars are not obscured behind
tattoos of tranquility. i do not
seek protection for myself from
myself. this is an expedition of
my bohemian blood. every
word is precisely as it’s meant
to be. there is no remorse for
immaculate purity or profound
deceit. i am a mongrel that
sleeps with the enemy and the
divine messenger. tomorrow i
may be an outlaw virgin mary.