Part 1 of a.m. creme review from Spring 2015
Part 1 of a.m. creme review from Spring 2015
part 2 of a.m. creme review
part 2 of a.m. creme review
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From the book: a.m. creme
From the book: a.m. creme

You never know.



Maybe one day I can reach between my toes and pull out dew stained grass

Maybe one day I won’t be so fat

Maybe one day my “stop to smell the roses” won’t make me sneeze and regret.

Maybe one day I’ll spin a yarn so great the world fall off its axis one degree

Maybe one day I’ll have a father again

Maybe one day the love won’t call in sick again

Maybe one day I’ll find comfortable shoes that will last longer than nine months


Maybe one day that mirror won’t look so bad

Maybe one day we can all take an hour out of our day think of all the good stuff

Maybe one day the “my missile is more destructive than yours” will end

Maybe one day my mom will find love she truly deserves

Maybe one day I grow up to be king

Maybe one day things won’t seem that bad


Maybe one day all that I can give is accepted as enough.

Maybe one day I’ll realize what “magically delicious” really means.

Maybe one day I leave something memorable behind for my family

Maybe that day is sooner that expected?

Well maybe one day I’ll ride a dragon back to my floating castle in the sky

Maybe one-day baby ignorance and baby jesus will realize that there time here is up and go play someplace else

Maybe one day I can write jesus in word without a little red squiggle underneath

Maybe capitalization is a trick.

Maybe I just don’t give a fuck.



Maybe one day my sister will ruler as our president

Maybe one day my brother will give birth

Maybe one day my feet will grow smaller.

Yeah, maybe


Maybe one day I will huff and puff and blow down this got damn mutherfucker

Maybe the pollen will get me before that.

It’s springtime you know

Maybe, maybe, maybe

Maybe some days it’s just good to stay in bed

Maybe one day one plus two won’t equal three but a big yellow grin


Maybe one day my Vader will peel back his face and tell me that he’s secretly been involved in some big black ops mission these past 32 years that has caused him to distant himself from his wife and kids who did have the potential to love him, once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away.

Maybe I should stop dreaming so much.


Maybe, maybe, maybe, with salt please, no onions I didn’t bring a frisk.

Maybe I’m being redundant.

Maybe love does last forever.

Maybe one-day chivalry will come back in style.

Maybe one day I will understand it all.

Maybe “knowing is half the battle” is all there is.

Maybe I’m full of shit.

Kdfjdk lkfe ie jldkfa;le ioeoij;oiejolijaoier iejaroi jiejaoi maybe one day you will understand what I just said.



Maybe one day I will fall asleep with my arms around you, your butterfly berets sticking me in the eye you make up still on my lips.


Maybe one day I’ll speak without sound

Maybe one day I’ll wind down.

Maybe one day I will spin on a top with a hat and a bat and swing at that cat that clawed my heart.

Maybe one day I’ll give it up, for her for me.

Maybe one day Turbo and Ozone will get back together and make BREAKING 3: THE CARDBOARD RETURNS

Maybe I live too vicariously


Ah lass, maybe it is my time

Maybe one-day u and I and some dew stained grass can have a great time removing ourselves out of tight places.


You never know you never know.


Stir-fry tumbleweed prepared daily. Insufficient nutrients, illogical residents, and human regression. My breakfast.


I ride into this town low key and changed. Dropped my hat a little to keep the light of ignorance out of my eyes. My horse is tired from grazing off of southern grass. With quickness I gun down two men who spoke from their asshole. Gotdamn frat boys. I see the salon of everywhere, no name and incomplete built here to remind all that their lives are tethered to this soil, this way of life; this way of thinking; this way of dieing. It’s sad really. That’s why the town mayor hired me. I’m the gunslinger of incompetence, of buried dreams once at the surface; I’m the gunslinger of the world outside the box. Entering the salon I walk around the island bar, hands on my iron, thoughts on my future (maybe it was my past). A stranger put a small hand on my shoulder and in a flash I saw her death, my hot iron still smoking. But her tongue was quicker than my hands, a rarity I assure you. I was shot with a thank you. That’s when I recognized her. I gunned her down two years ago in town that thinks once more.  She now lives above the box, reaching down to pull others up.


In a past life I was a gunslinger, I shot down procrastination, I blew away hypocrisy, I empty all six chambers of truth into people who refuse to think; here’s my card. I bust a cap in imbecility.  Dusk is coming soon, time for me to go to work. One on the stairs (Bam!), two at the door (ka-plow!), one at the bar (boom!), and one trying to creep (silly rabbit!). I save the last one for the nameless majority, eyes closed, minds locked, a consumer in full bloom, life bonded to a laughing white train whose track is the letter O. One spin of the chamber, a random click, you won’t know when your time is near. Smile, drink your lite domestic beer, it will be just a flash and a gentle burn.


In a past life I was a gunslinger.

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Sorry doesn’t quite define the moments passed. Wrapped in the deepest of slumber, I sprang to with the birth of one of the few sounds that will ever wake me. 1200 miles felt same room hysteria with an indestructible wall made of balsa wood between us. Realization and admittance are here and present, sir! At ease baby, it’s okay to sell out your secrets at 3:01 in the morning. I will bear witness to our own desires in this moment. Oh but the clee-shays are endless, the cinematic references too many to put in order, and the music. Lordy, lordy, don’t get me started. I sometimes curse those first few seconds, those moments when heart, brain, and body are lined up for chase. Bugs Bunny playing the Harlot, luring old dogs who know no better than to rush after. First one who catches that damn wabbit has control; separation or submission. Back to the moment, where we can bask in ancient memories and write recipes of future adventures. Unhealthy might be an outsiders’ view, but we know better. In unspoken locations we share secrets that only the realized can understand. Years have birthed answers to questions dared not asked. And yes, in here, I do too. Tomorrow I will build a shrine to AT&T for exhilarating this method from smoke signals. But I would gladly pay for pony express on high-grade peyote to communicate in these slumber assigned times. Lay on your back underneath the fan and understand that it lives. You are the Amazing Fantasy #15, in mint condition, bagged and boarded, under halogen lights that I never had. Yes it’s like that, even I have to laugh a little. Maps and paths are formed early on. Decisions and outcomes are to an extent pre-destined. And EVEN NOW I LONG TO STAND IN MOUNDS OF BRIE AND BELT OUT A LYRIC or two, somebody stop me. And now the case goes to trail and fuck me if i don’t see past the obvious and back around into the verdict. It is 4:04 am now and the declarations have begun to nestle in the mind, the light again goes dark, and we both know that we will awake with emotional hangovers.


you thought that was funny


In a Wild Hare afternoon, it will forever ring true, at least until I bring home a box of chocolates. She said that in there, “White girls get eaten up like vegetables...”

Will my fans make first contact or did they just catch the first ship back home?

The truth is in my pants.

What else can we repackage and sell to ourselves?

Wasn’t I born Irish? The whiskey seems to think so, shit...

And I wish I could share my cheap bag of ethnic chips with you at 11:43pm before we start it up all over again. I can’t even spell it correctly SOLITUDE oh wait, it’s on my shirt. Upside down alcohol eyes are con men of the highest degree. You fool yourself more times than not. Pick a card any... and my future ran my ass over and I said got damn! Hot salt can be the most reliable lover...




Shot it in my hands, skills fading

post-orgasm, I will wash it off.

And I’m handing out nonsense




like i was saying to him

grab it and run

run away, run like there was no yesterday, run among the dead

you’re only got eight inches, eight inches to the surface

do a little shimmy shake

aaahhhhh, you’ve arrived in the land of retail



feel it again!

then he stopped and looked at me

he said, “i think i ran the wrong way.”

au contraire my friend

you look so sexy in your blue oxford shirt, khaki pants, and that seductive apron covered in quarterly flair!

“but i’m not supposed to be here! i’m an artist!,” he said

you’re an asshole! i said

servitude is in your jeans, didn’t they tell you?

“butt, butt, butt...” he stuttered

big ones?

ah yes, i love them too, but your problem at hand is that you stopped running you dumb fuck! lured onto the sidelines because it was cooler and had a great dental plan

you were bamboozled, hoodwinked, lead astray


that’s when he turned around to face me and i slapped him

remember when you wanted to be_____________________?

i left the blank wide open

the rumbling began

tight fists were born, some long lost spark found its way home to sleep with the wick that was surrounded by four years of dust and his smile broke free!

and i rejoiced!

oh, did i praise his name once more

i rushed to hug him and cut myself in the process


conversations with my full-length mirror