Archive for September, 2013

Showing Teeth

23 Sep



electric chair


the sons always defend the mothers

smoke gets in the eyes

the killer says goodnight

and pays the bill

smoke gets in the eyes

a murmur spreads the rumor

that we’re all going to survive

like a dawn remembered by a metalmark

as her wings begin to wither

smoke gets in the eyes

the voicemail tells me

that they shot Ronnie

because he was unwilling to give it up

the stash was worth a couple o’ grand

a belly wound and three-to-five

a second strike while out on bail

smoke gets in the eyes

the sons defend the mothers

the fathers just leave a trace

some stoicism and facial ticks

a twitch, a trick, another life lived in

sweatpants and TV dinners

smoke gets in the eyes

a familiar face beaming

because we haven’t seen each other in oh so long

it will take time and new resentments

to bring us back around

I’ll help her with her bags

and take her back to my apartment

and there we’ll sit and reminisce

on memories that time’s corrected

to be what they should have always been

but then just like routine

smoke gets in the eyes

the killer says goodbye

apologizes for being born

as though he had a choice

smiles weakly, meek, sedated

last meal of biscuits a lead weight

the hair begins to burn, the mercy seat

the temples thunder, the light flickers

smoke gets in the eyes


Skittles and Caribou Meat (Update)

18 Sep



I’ve finally found time to update the Official Material (Crack and Vinegar) Page to encompass all of the new work of the last few months. Enjoy it, over and over again.


Also, I would like to announce that we’ve finally wrapped our second short film, Waking Up, and are in talks for a public screening after it’s done being cut and edited some months from now. Stay tuned for further news regarding this tumultuous event.


In more-topical news, please support the confirmation of Nina Pillard to the D.C. Circuit Court, currently being roadblocked by the far-right demagogues in congress. For those on twitter, use the hash-tag #ConfirmPillard to show your support – others, slap the nearest asshole you see who claims membership or sponsorship of hate mongering, idiocy-propagandist groups like the Family Research Council.





somewhere under the rainbow

16 Sep



short relationships as cheap consumerism


love as a paranoid twitch

a fresh bit of skin in the proud and purple dimmet

a new discovery like cartoon nightshade




drinking, pills, hopelessness

a seductive poison in lines of poetry

lost in venal gloaming and writhing anatomy

a childish tantrum

a cooled temperament

too many lies to drown whole

the body floats

they all float

a synchronized promenade in the water  

and then it grows freshly dull

like a belly full of some fast-food number five

then there are no more phonecalls made

no new dates to shy through

no cute underwear to find kicked off to the bottom of the bed

a tall cup of black coffee

two soft-boiled eggs

salt, pepper, an underpaid vocation


skin care, vitamins

deep thoughts like:

‘the poor love fireworks; shiny, glittering, ephemeral things’

and that right there

seem like the entire truth

of all of it

naked, easy and sold cheap


my poetic version of pulp

01 Sep



we caught the next race. she bet hers, I bet mine. we both lost.


her presence

crowned me with new life

along my skin, not touching

like the opening bassoon line

of a baroque concerto


despite the ink having dried

on its creation

so many centuries ago


and now

I’m getting drunk

on the airglow intimacy of her

despite the fact

that she knows full well

that I drink too much


a soft obsession held in a damping palm

the early race at the race track


it was always


but the payout was


worth it

and now her legs

compose a lemniscate

around my chest

barely humming its fragile music



it stalls the weight of time

the horses all hastily leave their gates

a wave of coarse black hair blanketing their past

they sputter out at different paces

we smile humbly

fondling tickets insecurely

and then I notice that her coat is off

a strap of slate-colored lingerie hangs off a shoulder

the left one like a new enslavement

or a sweet tooth realized

and then a shiver of the autumn wind

makes the small hairs of her arms


as the allegro molto of RV 497

quiets Vivaldi for a brief pause


by just a nose


Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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