Chronic Fatigue

To earn a living you have to quit dreaming. To fall in love you have to get over yourself. Working and dating: two chores I have no energy for.


Don’t Be A Dick

I have developed a simple philosophy of life: Don’t be a dick. If you can’t help others, at least don’t be mean to them. Think whatever you will about other people, but don’t belittle them to build yourself up. Some folks have a hard time following this principle. If more of us did, there would be fewer dicks in the world to bring us down.

Shovel Her Stoop

Forget snowstorms
And wind chills

I want Summer
In my hemisphere
This Valentine’s

A flirty girl
With strappy shoes
And silver toe rings
To boot

Soft soles
At the foot
Of a warm bed
To soothe

A see-through
To remove

Before I shovel
Her stoop

Breakup Song

Tell me everything is alright.
Tell me everything is all right.
Tell me everything is alt-right.
Tell me I don’t look fat in these jeans.
Tell me I’m the one that got away.

Tell me I was your thirst.
Tell me you think of me when you hum.
Tell me I sweat the small stuff.
Tell me to grow a pair.
Tell me we are never ever getting back together.

Tell me you bought my book and the shipping was free.
Tell me I’m a white boy from the suburbs what do I know about “suffering.”
Tell me everything will be OK.
Tell me everything will be okay.
Tell me size more or less matters.

Tell me God is binge-watching us.
Tell me you never faked the news.
Tell me I’m more than a hound dog.
Tell me my poem is lovelier than a tree.
Tell me no man is a peninsula.

Tell me the meaning of strife.
Tell me everybody dies in the end.
Tell me there’s someone for everyone to disappoint.
Tell me it’s “lie down” not “lay down.”
Tell me nice guys let the girl finish first.

Tell me what will be will be no more.
Tell me if I liked it then I should’ve put a ring on it.
Tell me he doesn’t taste like me.
Tell me your name.

Universe All

Universe All

your mind is a universe all
to itself
a vast ineffable
bundle of stars

incandescent thoughts
illuminate the moons
of your imagination

you wonder if
Newton floated
the idea of gravity
to keep the masses down

I remind you
love is not a theory
or practice exercise

let me kiss you
in the suburbs of our youth
like no one’s home
to catch us with
our hormones exposed

I remember the sweet spot
on your scientific blue jeans
your homeroom Shakespeare
algebra blue jeans
the flip flops dangling
from the honor roll
of your extracurricular blue jeans

I remember how
to trace your curves
to hold your life
for a moment in mine

love is not a theory
or practice exercise

c b snoad
draft 2-17-03
edit 1-24-17

Just The Tip

Just the Tip

Fucking is easy
As free verse
She says
Try falling in love

Mouths aren’t lips
I’ve read

Just the tip
Of a tongue

She’s all diaphragm
Swallows nesting
In an iron lung

Other than words
I repeat
Nothing rhymes
With love

c b snoad