Lay on, MacDuff

Born on the 13th day of this month

I was northbound toward misfortune

But like MacDuff I was never born at all

which means I’m destined to be

a pain in the ass for murderous kings

and bound to duty of my sword


I hold my sword between my fingers

and combat the blank pages

that fought so hard to say nothing

But as the Three Witches commanded:

this page will fucking bleed before I’m through

Fall victim to my words like stab wounds

Lacerating lines beyond recognition

And through their bleeding show my truth

Through their bleeding show my love

Through their bleeding show my hate


Any tragedy that may bruise my soul,

I must press on for the Greater Good.

But I must also feel it as a man

Take it out on the blank page

I will hold my sword against it once more

And through their bleeding show my truth

Through their bleeding show my love

Through their bleeding show my hate

Proof of Love

Proof of love is in the long lines

that reach around your photographic memories

to the end of your casket where your family stands

An island of misfit toys saying goodbye to a dear friend

I’m starting to feel the effects of the parking lot

flask that my uncle keeps in his coat pocket

I knew my brain cells were dying for no earthly purpose

and I think the paintings of Jesus Christ know

that I’m buzzed lying in this church pew

Maybe all those Irish jokes are true after all


Proof of love is breaking fire codes

in a house that raised six children

“Bring more chairs up from the basement”

A house of books and tools feels empty

without its patriarch to join hands with

And thank God for a family that even through all their flaws

are together at the table

To discuss their racist coworker

or the new band your cousin found

It took four months to clean

50 years of memories out of this house

But, memory is beyond material


It is held in the heart of your loved ones

That miss you

North Broad

The green and blue doesn’t want you

To know where you are

They cover up the gray and copper

That tells you you’re not worth it

The black and green remind you

You are only who you want to be

The spray paint smells but

At least it’s better than regret

The Man doesn’t understand

That the buildings he’s left behind

Look better than they way he left them

He sees rapists and murderers

a ketchup stain on his tie


I see misrepresented steel and wood

Silent power


Where are all friends?

They’re off on a posthumous adventure

While you wait for your train

When it arrives you won’t know where it is going

That’s for the Creator to decide

I’ll never understand why the train was so late

But conveniently on time

We’re all just a sucker for the long train ride

So we see our grandkids or something

“We’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time”

Is written on the wall

Do you think Walt Whitman would like me?

Or Sylvia Plath for that matter?

They say she ended her life too soon.

No, she just hijacked the controls

Do you think anyone on Flight 11 knew Sylvia Plath?

No, their story was different.

Their controls were taken by miscalculated holiness and fear

Where I am From

I am from wet streets and coal mines

From potato farms and landmines

“No Irish Need Apply” signs


I am from court mandated sobriety

From problems with authority

Unapologetic loyalty


I am from Sears and Roebuck debt

From smoking the last cigarette

Matrimonial regret


I am from sonic record stores

And country wide tours

Opening doors

1961 Chevy Impala

I find normalcy in the chaos

In the bloody backseats

The unpredictable twilight

I do not thirst for the rigid laws of man

Because comfort is weakness

Although I do not seek confrontation

She tempts me with a lapdance

And I’m back in her bed  

I want every smooth ride to be interrupted

By sodium nitrate combustion

Do you

Let me rest for I am wicked

And the Lord will not let me rest when I am through

A life of sin is exhausting when your nights are long

And your mornings are short

But I’ll get to the point

A girl I knew stopped talking to me today

Now she is a ghost only I’ll remember

But my hard drive will forget

Which is a good thing

Because I’d hate to see my hard drive get hurt


When you get stood up you have the best damn dessert

Of your life

Fuck yeah I’m gonna order the fudge brownie with ice cream

Sounds like the American Dream


When you drive home from the heartbreaking brownie adventure

You listen to George Jones

Because he has enough pain for the 18 mile drive home