Category Archives:  poetry

benji the dog

i can still remember the day i called you
on the phone but you didn’t pick up
any bread from the store on your way
to the ball with your now ex-boyfriand

i claimed him to be a jerk from the beginning
of the first episode of lost
when he said the show wouldn’t make it
off the island we knew it would

come on. just play it off
this thing you have going on
we had a few laughs
you really weren’t that funny.

so here i am with your memory
it ties into my other memories
and causes a cluster that i have to sift
through and through to find others

you challenged me that day
the day that i called you on the phone
you said to find a girl who wouldn’t forget
the bread.

luke 18:22 isn’t literal tbh

luke 18:22 isn’t literal

bible belt norf merica,
w/e town he’s in, doesn’t
matter b/c no friands. notta
single one cares he’s thare

he walks up and down tha
street w/ a black eye and
scar tissue the hottie chili
peps wish they saw yall

tummy pushed in like tha
neighbor’s aluminum trash
can, asking for water and theuh
pastor says ‘get a job mane’

sorta looks jesus-ish like
all the other train jumpin
hobo folk, nobody really
gives a poop though b/c

as pastor garth always say
holes in the man’s pants
dont hold ten persants

We swore I would always keep You first

We swore I would always keep You first
by Uncle Farkus

You have nice hair
I speak under my breath
What did you mumble? You ask
that new shampoo smells good

You lie on my bed
with me
A leg under, one
over the covers

You wear a tank top
Pink bra straps too
Me, a white v neck
And white briefs

You ask me to change
the song to our favorite
Ben Gibbard sings in
the background

You look at me and
say, old Death Cab
is better than old
Modest Mouse. I agree

You poke my side, I
grab your hand and
smile, ~8 minutes we
dream into our contact lens

You insist I tell you a story
about a ‘killing rampage’
Cho Seung-Hui killed a
Bunch of people, I think

I never felt sorry for
Kurt Vonnegut I say with
a neutral facial expression
Our love is a Tao Lin novel

I ask if you might let
me touch your thighs, you
Say I feel like that
Would be ok for now

I display a shit eating grin
The lower lip on your face
gets covered by your buck teeth
My hand on your thigh

I wonder if the laptop is
on shuffle or if I will
have to change the song
to something you like

I take my hand off your
thigh. Scratch above my
butt. Put it back on you,
you say to keep it off

I always try to respect you
My dad said women deserve that
at the least. That time my hand nearly
touched one of your boobs

I made it seem accidental
when I saw you hesitate
So I ran fingers in your hair
instead. I respect you.

We always try to hold back
So far you don’t have my son
If marriage happens, we can save
it for then I guess

We are sort of starting to
fall asleep in my bed, which
if we’re asleep nothing bad
can happen I feel

We aren’t like our friends
They already had kids
and broke up
Your eyes open and look at me

We aren’t going to regret
anything from tonight
That’s my hope to God, at least
My hand moves on top of yours

We kiss on the lips and back away
Your hand lifts mine up, and
moves it closer to you
Right on your left boob

We smile, you did this
Not me
You wanted it, I feel
This can’t be wrong

We won’t go any further, we say
I squeeze a little and
the tank top fabric is nice—cotton
all I can think about is your hair

3 years ago
We were on myspace
I sent you a friend request, thinking
You have nice hair

4:42 @ Denny’s Bar and Grill

4:42 @ Denny’s Bar and Grill

My uncle has a thing for groping
the mannequins at Victoria’s Secret
I have found myself tempted to touch
spandex-covered plastic too; I don’t

created to fail via the vaginal exit,
science says it’s in my genes
no escape to what I already will be
I still attempt to avoid destiny anyway

Grandma Farkus left for Libya
claimed she would join rebel forces
airport security denied her ‘passport’
(Bilo Bonus Card member since 1997)

overweight man feels her crotch for
knives, all he found was a mouth
full of vomit. ‘Adultery!’ the old woman
screams like a pop tart from mars

Wanda Sykes calls me to take G-ma
home. I walk her to the car and she
calls me the wrong name; grabs my ass
‘Grandma, don’t take your clothes off’

mother to my mother takes her top off
(they look nothing like the ones at VS)
I stare at them and try to find the beauty
none. ‘Get in the back seat and lie down’

heading towards home. 20 miles away.
man on radio wants to impeach Obama
‘what do you think about that gammy?’
response: zero ; inhale: false ; exhale: false

my personal foot stops the station wagon
‘Grandma are you deaf?’ response: zero
tinker into the back, hand on her heart
her boobs [unintentionally] felt good

doubt she cared to be honest. Her soul—
gone to heaven. Said a prayer, tears
run down my face. Good night Gan-Gan
twitter: ‘only 56 years old, so young, tbh L’

buckled dead lady in my back seat. Where
should we go to now? First person I’ve
been responsible for death. invigorating.
‘the morgue’ pops in my head as destination

‘what would Grandma Farkus do?’ I speak
to the lifeless body. The clock: 4:30 pm
bet she would dine for early bird + senior
citizen’s discount and leave without paying

‘at least I’m not stealing full priced items
she’d reason with God. I don’t want to be like
her or anybody else in my family—but—
one small, tiny memorial isn’t such a big deal

RIP GRANDMA FARKUS 1956 – 2009