rain poems

If the rain thinks

that this is an emergency,

can we organize it

into something like speech?


Never a mountain wanted

over rain;

its formlessness is a

repetition tho

of what no one is quite



Nothing can sleep like the

rain, whose irony is never

quite far behind.

Each drop an

erasure of what

comes before.


If the rain is an abstraction,

then each of its bodies

rise, perilously, in black and



The rain is a door

that opens and closes

like an eyelid straining

to watch,

against sleep,

its first opening.


Each drop

a revelation

to the roof.


Driving through it:

each line passes

into then becomes

an other.

The spaces in-between

are filled with something

like rain.


The rain at five o’clock

is what it is. The rain

at mid-night is something

else entirely.



How You got here

Fevered asshole, I don’t know what it is, or what it refers to (other than the literal obviously–which sounds rather uncomfortable) but it was a search term that someone used to land here, at this very blog.  My innate sense of human curiosity has me intrigued; is it a condition? a sexual practice? a band? an insult? some internet lingo that I am unaware of? (if you have any notions feel free to send them along)…regardless I hope to work this new phrase into somewhere.  It is kind of fun to say: fevered asshole, like, you know Chuck when he gets going on something you can’t stop him, he’s got a fevered asshole or something.  Or, I was out the other night and I caught the last set of this band “The Fevered Asshole” you should really seek them out.  Or, Listen Doc,  it’s like I got a fevered asshole or something, and Preparation H just ain’t cutting it any more…


The Onion

25% Of Teen Girls Infected With STD

In a new study, the Centers for Disease Control found that at least one in four teenage girls nationwide has a sexually transmitted disease. What do you think?

Asian ManAaron Feit,
“Let’s look on the bright side: At least they are gaining the respect of their male peers.”
Old ManPeter Hoeksema,
Paint Truck Operator
“Or in the case of Northside High School, four out of four teenage girls. Northside sucks! Go Warriors!”
Old WomanMaria Isaacs,
“I had no idea that three-fourths of teen girls were so ugly.”


from part 4 of: Return to the Island of Used Miss Americas

The fire raged for days before anyone noticed. Body by body house by house the entire town burned to ash. When old man Hutchins was burnt he left behind a map for his children to use. “There is nothing better in this world than a lucky map,” his ghost kept saying, until it too was consumed.

Finally the townspeople gathered together and raised the ghost of Napoleon Bonaparte to wage war on the fire. The poor were the first to go; their bodies stacked like sandbags to hold back the flames. Soon the townspeople became very tired of this and threw Napoleon into the fire.


I’m sorry if you came here looking for poems, but they all have been replaced by Folgers Crystals. The Management hopes to soon rectify this lapse in judgment. Please be assured that this oversight is not the result of any hostile take-over attempt by outside influences, a Northern Syndicate, or a consortium. We have it all under control. The authorities have been notified, there is no reason for you to get up from your chair to make a phone call; all the lines are dead. Soon there will be a wind at your door. Soon there will be a mob, but please be assured that we have no part in that, and that we did all we could. We promise that things will soon be back to normal. We appreciate your understanding in this difficult time, and we remind you to duck.