on the subject of love and creation

20 Sep




what if god just happened
like the man from earth
what if the stars led me to you
those mysterious dead travelers
they told me how you were created
like god
you just occurred
they merely opened up their nomad’s wings
made of an endless migratory light
and there you were
for me and for the world


sound from the wall

02 Sep





only in america
creflo dollar, mothafuck malachi
money over god
but if you dig the print
even big cloud homey endorses it


there’s always something on the news
the scales of justice
tend to tilt
with the winds of prejudice
and i
napping, midday, in the shadow
of timelessness
consider the future like the past
like repetition, trying to make it work better
considering the further
death is like an aching tooth
bothersome only until it’s pulled
and nothing remains
but empty space
and bank accounts


yet there shouldn’t be this severity
and i should just write another poem
about your lips
i like them when you pout


Gary Marinoff

29 Aug



I had known you for a few years in our activist/political circles prior to seeing you perform, and boy, I couldn’t predict your set. As someone who’s rarely surprised, I was immensely impressed by how you – this sweet, endlessly optimistic man – could be so goddamn dirty and politically incorrect in your performance. I loved it immediately.


You were gone too soon, but I bet you’re getting a kick out of all of us who are going to screen old episodes of 30 Rock just to catch a glimpse of you, all of us who spent the last few days reminiscing on our favorite “Gawwy” stories. I know you and I never shared a drink (we had different ways of dealing with the world, and you were probably right in your approach), but my next one is going to be for you. Hope you’re kicking it with RFK somewhere in the ether, waiting to talk to Carter…


Hope you knew how much you were loved.

Rest well, Gary. We’ll meet again.




a little love in it…

16 Aug





Donald Trumbo used to write in the bath
full texts, screenplays, addendum notes, letters
oh, nobody writes letters anymore
I wish we did though
I wish a lot of things
I conjure lines, battle bars, fleeting ideas, in the shower
I forget them before I dry off
in fact, forget them immediately following
thoughts of you, and my hand creeps southward
I miss you
and I miss letters
and true rebellion
principles over prices
poets have become paupers
the playwrights have pawned off their typewriters and passions
to a quickly self-forgetting history
I miss you
and I think that I’ll write you a letter soon
composed in wet rhapsody
on a water-damaged moveable table of thin oak
attached to the sides of my bathtub


The End of Zen

06 Aug



Tonight, at 11pm EST, I will be turning off the FOX News GOP Primary Debate, changing my expression that for the past two hours had been oscillating between horror and some sort of demented watching-a-car-crash-in-slow-motion hypnosis to one of wistful mourning and surrender at the loss of seeing Jon Stewart, whom I’ve watching for the past 17 years since the time I was a sensitive pre-radical preteen four nights a week (most weeks), leave my late-night television screen. So long, Jon. Hope you get to leave New Jersey for long enough in the future to interview me when my book comes out.


shorties for the shorties

31 Jul



L-shaped seasonal allergies caused me to spend $56 at the bar last night


I’ve been so
perpetually unimpressed for so
that now it’s stuck
and I’ve been
apathetic about it
as the time becomes
I grow a little crazy
lazy like a spoon
cradling something smiling
in the sky


law & order

28 Jul



jury nullification


I hear it constantly

obstreperously, all the time

usually from prolix nudniks

free country

this is a free country

well, you show me what you see here free

and I, for my part, will find you a bill


now, on to the next


don’t take the blonde girl out

she’ll be obsolete in a few centuries I hear

the New York Times told me that

and all the rest of you

stop buying empty rooms

paradise is a studio apartment

with the dark-haired girl

chestnut eyes with space inside to fit your madness


now, the only lie between us

the one that I just testified about

is our refusal to acknowledge how lonely we both are

just like the rest of the members of the court

the time it takes to unabstract the motion (or lack thereof)

a kiss, as evidenced eventually,

in the middle of a street losing its own name

outside the safety of our respective neighborhoods

which will allow us to recognize how we accord inside each other

admit how to abate this loyal loneliness previously mentioned

run past it, running to this block

which will become our shared alibi forever


now, on to another freedom

before you hear the gavel banging

before they try to save us

like the rest of the fools condemned

to love

and other such crimes against society



24 Jul



The Five Spot Open Mic


just let me know

22 Jul



just let me know


just let me know

when you think it’s coming

the time when

everyone says

we’re supposed to turn mean

to one another

instead of simply working

with a delightful ardency, if I might add

on turning each other on

and I’ll start practicing

now though let’s just dig this, at it is

some cruelties, I’m sure, are coming

they’ve always found a way to scowl unto the scene before

jocosely causing their pointless chaos

just let me know

when you see them coming, hear them

they stomp real loud when on approach

each boot rude and minatory bombast


as rueful

as calculating and contrite

as a bomb blanketing a child’s bed

yes, they will be our enemies

just let me know when to expect them

ask your girlfriends, if you must

even the plutocratic and plutonian ones, the ones that hate the art in you

or ask your dead daughters when you dream

they serenade you, I’ve seen you listen as you sleep

I’ll take the help of anyone willing to offer it

because you know I am afraid

even nameless things

they need to speak

that’s all I can do, accept them at their word

as for you, when you see those malignities with open ears converging

baby, then, just let me know

I’ll take them all on, fuck it



19 Jul





am I correct then, in assuming

that you don’t believe in miracles, good sir?!

I disagree, somewhat,

and counter then,

does not a beast deserve his wail?


one onion

one little onion

to get you out of hell

but two dollars and a few more cents

to buy a drink

to drown out this lack of dinner


the sun never mattered much

unless it was just the two of you

sedulous and alarmed

sweating out your shared lineage into that divine mortar

to break open those other stars that borne her


and now again, with vigor, I ask you,

am I correct in assuming, sir

that you still do not believe in miracles?

why then not follow me along

not too far at all

to that window over there by which money never lay

so I can show you love carrying the firmament

although simply for a lark



17 Jul



The Official Material (Crack & Vinegar) section of the site has been updated with all pieces chosen for inclusion up to this point.

Two Shows (back to back) coming up on Sunday, July 26th – further details forthcoming next week, although the Family Day flier can be accessed in the Upcoming Events (News) section of the site. 

New piece, “adversaries”, will be here at 12:12 am on Sunday. Cheers.


For the Russophiles… COTD 02

12 Jul



resin hit for kot matroskin (c.o.t.d. 02)


Why do I see soldiers marching with their heads tilted to the right on TV tonight
shouldn’t you be facing ahead if you’re holding an automatic weapon
perhaps be slightly concerned with poking someone in the back with your barrel
seems terribly uncouth
but it should be as of no surprise
people hardly make sense anymore
and I’m drowning in their stygian inanity
My former nation, the one of dancing bears
struggles with a populace that loves to suffer
especially with empty, silentious words
hovering in the atmosphere around their lips
(the bottom ones always swelling from the samagon
until they resemble saucers, like my homey Fedya
once described his cold Samsonov)
“it can always be worse” as it quite honestly has been in the past
and they use their history of being mutts
as excuse to despotize over any other Slavs within throwing distance
My new nation, the one of idealism and comic books
struggles with a populace that refuses suffering
and instead decides ignobly to ignore
that their oligarchs dressed as legislators
have decided around twenty-five years ago or so
that the profit-over-people stratagem
is the right one for a republic ambiguously screeching freedom
they’ve been waiting to give up on us a while
trust me, I’ve been around
none of it, nobody makes sense
So I sit here, jotting
thoughts, fragmentary but densely thrown unto the white
and pack my bowl for a resin hit
because I ran out of weed
and I’m trying not to drink as much
but still I can’t manage to lilt in full sobriety
things tend to spuriously reintroduce themselves as serious
and exceedingly more somber than they are
they keep me concerned more than they should
because in all, it doesn’t really matter
the ending was written long ago
(as was that cliché)
but for me to keep from raging against it all
I get high
put on a record by this Jersey City underground MC named Viro
who died a couple of months after they thought the world would end in 2012
and I’ll be fine, though slightly dumb
imagining beautiful, compassionate and of course naked women
who touch themselves after reading sonnets
then cry themselves to sleep
and eventually I’ll finish the book I always claim to be working on
and it’ll be good and briefly well-regarded
and in forty years, a young man resembling me
both in perspective and whiskey breath
will buy a copy of it for a dollar seventy-five
from a street vendor of secondhand paperbacks
plying his mothy wares in front of some privately funded university
run by a spectacled, stocky grumbler resembling a tweed-skinned Escobar
that everyone secretly resents
and this kid will read my book
and maybe he’ll be inspired
and he’ll begin with a few confessing verses of his own
and eventually the craft will become his own cherry-picked damnation
while the air grows thin
and people continue getting stranger
and less and less worthwhile
and more and more pointlessly provocative
and the kid will remain jotting, so very alone
like I once was
but I’ll be in my kitchen by this time
hoary as Silenus
eating my final sandwich
making sure to remember how good it tasted
when I flipped it upside down


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Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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