“Cousins” and Other Poems

“You Got It, Dude”

Give me a thumbs up, baby
Don’t be shy
Raise your little thumb up high
Tell the world
You’re my girl
Make me proud
With those Four Fingers down
The clown died on his birthday
Red nose in the casket
An old crumbly wharf rat
With muck on his mind
Why you do dat, clown?
I asked, with his nose twisted around
No answer of course
No sound from the source
For a clown with a heart
More rare than good art
So put that thumb up, babe
And save the clown your grave


Two cousins with their clothes on
Gesturing sad signs for lost lives
And it was supposed to be easy
For me
To not love something
But it hurts like dirt in flip flops
With socks
Make me cry
You already tried
A dirty bird with two few words
Forsake me father, and cast out mother
And uncle, or son, or brother
Leave me in a field of cousins
Forever making fun, but unable to run

“It’s a Party”

Think about a fun time
Let it sit up there
What was the deal with it?
You doin’ fun stuff?
I’ve got no time
Panda bear puss boots zoo-stompin’
Waffles without any syrup
Toast without toasting
Kisses on the cheek
and a dark roast butt
That’s not the fun!
She cried in her sleep
A horse apple’ing near her
Neighing with bubbled lips
That’s not the fun!
He cried with the kid on his back
A buffet of crème brûlée
And no guests are allowed to stay
That’s not the fun!
Black Santa screamed with not one toy
A butter ball in the bathroom stall
Screaming for fun
But ending with none
Be it santa, man, old garbage can
God’s Butt told them no
And Hercules, the king of fun, had to make it so


“Dreams Money Can Buy” and Other Poems

“Dreams Money Can Buy”

A fun time for bees
A fun time for me
The swallows
The nest
The sweat of your breast
A big butt
One small
Two big bumps for us all
One mess
Enough stress
That makes life the best
Enough for me
In a tree
Until Death do we see


Pocahontas was hot
Don’t ever say her name
Where did Colin Farrell go?
No like John Rolfe
He has nice things
But nothing for me
I am the chief of a tribe
The leader of men
Her nice T and little A
I will always be on one
Ecstacy, weed, whatever you need
“Stop talking,” I blurt
It is bro before hoe
Ending with me getting throwed
If you see me in the morning
A fat deuce with a frown
Don’t ask any questions
I’ve laid down my crown



A big wet kiss for me, Sally?
Why I never even thought you could
The sweaty kissing
It makes me froth, you know
She was a Kansas kisser
With winged floppies
Giving off-hand shots for blessings
Thrifting fists forever shrinking
And she stopped listening
Forever gone was our sifting
To separate the two for me
Was all I asked of that
And it was the one thing that couldn’t begat

Party Puppies

“Party Puppies” is 30 pages of a screenplay that Peter Salmon and I wrote back in April of 2010 when life was a little bit more carefree and our best days were ahead of us. It was written under the influence of sodas, doggie kisses, and encouragement from our loved ones. (Pete’s mom sent cookies twice a week for two straight weeks!) We want to see if it’s worth it to write the other 130 pages that this script requires by judging how my audience feels about it. SO IF YOU WANT TO SEE A MOVIE MADE ABOUT A GROUP OF PARTYING PUPPIES, THEN SPREAD THIS PAGE LIKE WILDFIRE!

“Flower at Starbucks” and Other Poems


“Flower at Starbucks”

The flower sat
In a chair
As I was
The flower sat sexy
In a skirt of leaves
Thick vines
Rising on me
The stem was thick
To shed it of its petals
Moaning like death
Bouncing, blonde fur
She planted one on me
Sex with a flower

“Death of a Bee”

Bzzzz he said as he died
Wings pattering like shit
Where is my queen?
With everything else gone
Thick honey kept dripping
Go to the doctor

“Marc Maron”

Old and sad with stylish facial hair
Old jokes from a dusty mouth
Bring me more honey
Ten to twenty years from death
Gross old bones and balls
Glasses for dead eyes
Old and loud
With death as a cloud


Dostoevsky kissing you
Could you imagine?
He had a beard you know
And probably sad
Imagine him dancing
With ragged clothes and loose butt
Can you see him kissing you?
Buying you chocolates but moaning about death
Buy him Gap clothes
And imagine his bush
I don’t mind all that she says
Bring him to your parents
On the Internet with an AIM name
Kisses black and smelly and icky
Getting notes from his underground
“I would still love him”
Imagine the bush

mp3: Rick Ross – “Devil In A New Dress”

“Devil In A New Dress” minus the Kanye West. Just 100% Ross.

mp3: Rick Ross – “Devil In A New Dress”

Puppy Kisses

This is a new, experimental short film I worked on over the past couple of months. It’s a docu-drama about death.

A Mustache Town Artwork

Illustration by Andy J. Scott