. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Monday, July 16, 2018


You asked me here for what?
for this
and him and the sunken dead tunes of your lonely tomb
alone again where the red weather invites hypothetical doom
say it better
say it better between my legs than she did
so I can forget she's there and get her out of my head
pleasure tethered by a thin thread
well-read men with mannerisms dance catechisms while you orgasm
in bed
without me
you'd rather be with your pink dildo instead.


Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Ted's Confession

I am enormous,
like Ted Nugent's self-righteous ego,
like the taste of your tongue the taste of apple pie on the window,
like Apple poised to take over during the dot com crescendo,
Stevie Jobs shaking hands with men in suits
so used to fucking high dollar bimbos,

break yo neck, nigga,
break yo neck, nigga,
break yo neck, nigga,
while you do the limbo,

see the bearded lady crush my balls in the side show,
I am Cool Hand Luke's hand slow-jerking his greasy pepperoni pizza
until it starts to slowly grow,
and I'd know,
though I'd likely not say,

it's probably better that way,
Ted Nugent picking up the pieces of his shattered day dreams
off the side of the interstate.


Monday, July 9, 2018

My Shit Prince

Come dance with me,
you shit prince,
cast in the stark dark bowels of last year's
twirl me around the fish eye lens
until I spin
and spin
and spin
there and back again,
a grin from the devil inside of me
defying me
to close my eyes and be,
be pushed into someone's open arms,
be left standing on the porch in the dark,
be left in the storm,
be broken with a broken heart,
you told me from the start
that this wouldn't work
but I can't dance without my
shit prince,
long days spent stepping in circles
bent to the scent you left behind,
your hard hands along my stegosaurus spine,
all that I am is yours
and nothing that I am
is mine.


Monday, July 2, 2018

Sibling Rivalry

"Allow me to reveal to you my cruelty, brother"
my sister crooned,
she acting like a little girl gentleman
standing with one foot on our mother's head,
her dead smile ivory in the full moon,
"Give me this chance to prove to you that your ugly twin sis
is no sullied grownup's

"Be patient, little love," I barked in my most sincerest
southern admonition,
"Though you felt no fondness for this bitch - listen:
not everyone wished her tits up
succumbed to total demolition,
some glitch in your misguided system has steered you
into rough waters and ultimately into
the tomes of insufficient women daughters"

"Both of you be damned," cried the one father we knew we had
but had never met,
"Take this axe and with its wet blade
cleave the delicate bones
and the long empty chambers
of your mother's alabaster neck,
I have had no greater gloom nor known greater glory,
but shall carry with me her head
reminding me always of the greatest woman
ever to walk this rotten earth on two legs."


Thursday, June 28, 2018


Charge the hill steep as it is
bayonets and all
calling loud to be the last tall tin soldier shouldering a legacy of swamp peoples
peopling the old wood dance floors of our cajun nation's historical lore
carry Father Francois' flag proud and the bastards later handed down
two-step march to war time tunes
high-stepping to hounds braying bloodlust 'cause they treed a doomed raccoon
Paw-Paw got a pair of them alligator skin boots
Maw-Maw in a moo-moo checking the trot-line at the prow of the canoe
a big blue slippery catfish barking at her like a rottweiler behind a chain-link fence
maw full of drool
Lou cussin' Gertrude
Gertrude cussin' the bullhead
not quite in English, not quite in French

Maybe I'm meant to carry this delicate legacy
but not actually live here in this muddy trench
sitting on my fists on the bench waiting my turn to make a play
seems silly
when half the team is simply walking away
is the fight worth the grit
do I keep my head down, throw mortars over the ditch
wondering should I go
wondering why stay