Monthly Archives: June 2014

Knock knock, outside

your window now.

Open your eyes, open the blinds,

knock knock. Is that your headache pounding out? Knock knock,

the cat pats, glaring down, a siren screaming loud,

a broken muffler rattles by, a wife yells, a dog barks at the clouds,

while a door slams down the hall.

Knock knock, it’s getting brighter now,

the day is happening, knock knock,

your pillow stiffening and blankets burning sweaty now,

knock knock, the fan spins, cars swish past, the world is whispering.

It’s way too bright outside. Too many snoozes now.

Your alarm is stuck in your head. It isn’t Saturday.

Knock Knock!


You’re looking down at the sky above. The clouds are winking

in the current. A face stares back you barely recognize:

clean chin, wild hair, scars yet to be drawn, memories

nothing but a distant dream. This kid is skinny

enough to be starving. His shorts drip wet but shoulders

shine with ruddy glow. Warm in the blanket of summer,

he leans over the lake, clenches fists, and leans back.

Not yet ready to plunge. A sparrow circles above.

He takes a breath, a step, and stops.

Knock knock, a tap on his shoulder, looks back

at John’s toothy grin, one quick shove.



“You’ve got Balls.”
Cajones. A show of Testicular Fortitude.
How can something so squishy-soft be taken as a symbol of courage?
They’re practically handing out medals (pendulous ones, I’m sure)
for the dude with the biggest balls. Sometimes to ladies.
But, let’s be honest, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.
It’s also just a wee bit (100%) gender specific.
Even beyond the casual sexism, what the fuck?
The metaphor is lost on me.
I have balls (shocking!) and they are hardly the source
of my… balls – when I’m feeling ballsy.
They sort of need protecting, like
scared little twins playing head-buttsies all day without helmets.
Probably would be brain damaged.
At the first sign of danger they huddle together and try to hide.
When it’s cold or they’re too long in the water they cuddle for warmth,
and they shrink. They actually get smaller. Or at least tuck themselves in.
Not the dudes I’d vote for to lead an arctic expedition,
or even pick first to play ball.
Is having balls (metaphorically), brave because guys
do stupid shit despite their weak-spot dangling freely below?
Am I some kind of bad guy from Legend of Zelda?
That’s fucking stupid.
I worry about my balls, as I’m sure many of my testicled brethren do.
They aren’t brave. They don’t inspire me with their valor.
They’re actually kind of weird-looking.
If something happens to them, they HURT, and I
become far less likely to be ballsy for some time.
The word works much better as an expletive
when something shitty happens
like being kicked in the balls.
Can’t we come up with something better?

Is supposed to be unbiased, right?
Like, some kind of universal judge
To test every thought or theory we
(Naturally) sun-worshipping beings
Can conceive. Yet how many readers
Can remember an anecdote sounding
Right enough to reinforce its truth
So much it blocks evidence against?
How many “skeptics” see correlation
Alone and dismiss it? Is absence of one
proof of another? Science is written
By the winners once they’ve done
enough losing. Maybe we learn
The truth first and build from there.
Maybe we chase a gleam and prove
Something we thought impossible.
Maybe it’s the money or the politics,
But once I meet an alien, or an accurate
Astrologer, or someone who truly
Changes their mind…
I know I’ll never prove it.

III. The Empress

Start with her eyes for they sad-see
autumn’s leaf-hues waiting in the green.

Her scepter slips a bit as she wraps
her arms in a green shawl for warmth.

She accepts the breeze; her body needs
more warmth now than in her Spring.

The Fall is not down, but a bench
to rest and peer back at heights

once climbed. She knows to take
seasons like tides, storms and blue skies.

Beauty can’t be trapped by a moment,
so it hides in everything.

The process through which a neighborhood becomes more friendly to bro culture (brosified). Similar to gentrification, but more laid back. Common indicators of brosification include increased frequency of high-fives, shirtless men, and an inexplicable growth in the popularity of singer-songwriters with acoustic guitars. Brosification of an area generally occurs following long-term hipster infestation. Once an area has been suitably deemed “hip” long enough for the general population to notice, ordinary people and college students will begin to visit the area more frequently to consume its culture. Though they are often considered slower than the rest of the pack, bros have an innate sense of where the party at. It is unclear whether hipsters depart brosified districts because they are no longer cool, or are pushed out by the overt demonstrations of affection and popular culture preferred by the bros, but hipster populations decline in direct correlation to brosification. There is no known method to reverse the effects of brosification. Once there are enough bars and other venues to satisfy a tour of bros, they will not leave the area except for occasional trips to the beach and/or outdoor music festivals. Further study of this phenomenon is highly recommended in order to understand the larger implications to society.

This definition is a placeholder. A more detailed description and usage examples will be provided in the future.