Lowered Inhibitions

i wasn’t planning on drinking a six pack tonight
but this poem wasn’t about to write itself
you know, the one about lowering inhibitions
and finding myself at the bottom of a bottle
the one where I write a few lines
find some lightning
and blow my own mind
then wake up with a headache
and the need to piss my very soul out
then try to return to the angel wings of sleep
and beep beep beep — start all over again
you know, the one about being a punctual peter

Paper Plates

I write poems
on paper plates
& serve them up
at high-class functions

but in reality
it’s just that
my iPhone is charging
& my laptop is charging

really, my best thoughts come
when I am tucking
my children in to bed

that’s when my life is at its most lucid

I Am Not Sorry

This house is my house
I take full responsibility
for the mess
the dirty laundry
the dishes in the sink
the cat turds on the floor
the leaky faucets
the unflushed toilets
the unfinished basement
and the blood on the walls
the paint chipping
the fences leaning
the pets buried in the backyard
the rusted nails sticking out,
drawing the blood of
the unsuspecting,
the cobwebs
and water damage
the creaks in the awnings
the magazines in the attic
and the demon underneath the bed
the loaded gun
the locked doors
and oh god that smell
the fucked-up food-stained carpet
the car up on blocks on the chipped apart driveway
the blown apart mailbox
the air creeping through the gaps in the windows
and what lurks outside at night
the heart beneath the floorboards, still beating.

the ghosts of everyone who’s lived here before.

I am not sorry.