How to break a block

My brother brought me Bhiman on a December
evening through his phone. Some video with

only seven thousand views, but he was big by now.
Maybe I can be like him. His songs hit so hard
like a smooth rock against a car window. Maybe

I can namedrop more and place picture perfect
similes in and stop rhyming; I’ll use alliteration for
a punch up.

***

People are beautiful to us when everything seems
to come easy for them. Even the pain. We think,
“look how hard, and still they go on,” and we admire.

Okay, I should bean a poor person’s fender
with a bat, see how they suffer so they can be beautiful
to me. But real songwriters don’t have to hurt someone
to produce. I spin ‘Moving to Brussels’ again.

How does one get inspiration to shake loose?

January 12, 2015

‘deep down he’s a sweetheart’ she sighs, as if.
hah, as if that’s supposed to excuse the cruel,
stupid surface. not to be harsh or anything, but,

yes, he’s a waste of space and air; in sperm form
he shoulda been spit into a sock. good gawd, what

a base emotion, hate. I feel like if I’ve loved enough
the meanness can be forgone. then I catch a glimpse

of that entitled profile he sports so well, and, swear to
whatever, I’m a pacifist, but a bat to his face and knuckles
and genitals seems too soft a punishment. okay.

have a nice day, sir.

January 10, 2015

Where’s the call? Hands are up in the air,
there’s a curious look in the eye,

and goddammit, of course I care. We are all
accustomed to being ignored. It’s old hat by now

dear, but still, when there’s a sting of cold,
and the sun sets, a little choice ignorance goes

a long way. Uh huh, sure I know; you’re used to
it, and I live the scenario. Were you aware there’s
a train in my backyard? Have you ever even seen my
dog? Why do I even try to give you the time of day?

Riddle me this, man: a slut in the east, a stud
in the west, and a bitch in the bed.
When all is said and done, think who led:
I think we could all stand to see a little blood.