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Showing posts from 2015


Loss Two fucking years ago A month or two after Citibike fucking started up I was like, fucking hell, I hardly ever ride the fucking subway anymore So I stopped getting the monthly fucking unlimited fucking Metrocard And got a pay per fucking ride And I hardly ever fucking paid for a fucking subway ride: For fucking months I'd get on a fucking bike each morning And I'd be like, hey I'm fucking saving money And after a couple of months, Let me fucking tell you, I was the fastest motherfucking Citbike riding motherfucker On the motherfucking bike path Along the fucking Hudson Going south in the morning. Not the fastest fucking bike rider -- There were always some fucking Lycrafucks Who would pass my ass (see " Bike "; the second to last Motherfucking poem I wrote on August 30th of last fucking year; Or hear "Bike,"  here ; I think it's the second fucking track). But never fucking ever did a motherfucker on another Citibike Ever f

"118" and "Book": This Fuckin' Guy has been at it for a year!

118 A year ago today, This Fucking Guy Wrote his first fucking poem Called " Dragonfly " Whoop-de-fucking- Motherfucking-whoop-de-fucking-do Fucking "Dachshund" and Fucking "Daisy" Were written that day too I just fucking counted How many there have been 117 motherfuckers A motherfucking sin A few are pretty fucking good And a few are fucking not But regardless, 117's A motherfucking lot I posted one motherfucker twice Because it was rewritten But it only counts as one Otherwise, that would be bullshitting And there's a fucking poem called "Cake" Inside another poem I figured, fuck it, that one counts Leave me the fuck alone Anyway, it's been a year a this shit Whoop-de-fucking-dee Happy fucking birthday To motherfucking me 8/5/2015 Book I've been thinking, Fuck me, there are a fuckload Of This Fuckin' Guy poems. Shouldn't there be a fucking book? " Owls " has already be

"Explanation" and "Picture": This Fuckin' Guy Follows up on Yesterday's Poem.

Explanation I'm not fucking sure If I explained How my toe got so fucked up. You see, when you go on a fucking long ass motherfucking hike, Particularly when you're hiking downhill, It's very fucking easy To stub your fucking toes On motherfucking rocks. And I did this repeatedly. And if you haven't cut your fucking toenails recently, The motherfucking toenail Will jam down into your toe When you stub that shit on a rock. And the longer the fucking toenail The more that shit hurts. And that toenail, On the right big toe, That shit was long. This Fuckin' Guy Forgets to clip his motherfucking toenails Sometimes. So, my solution (Rather than just fucking remembering To clip those motherfuckers On a regular fucking basis) Is, the next time I plan to go On a motherfucking hike, I'll put a note in my fucking calendar Two days before the hike That says "Clip your fucking toenails." 8/2/2015 Picture Oh, and I already fuck

"Toe": This Fuckin' Guy Contemplates an Appendage.

Toe Damn my toe got fucked up from that hike last weekend. That shit is black and fucking disgusting. I'm not one to wear sandals, normally, but I was just out walking with some mothefucking sandals on, and motherfuck me, that toe looks like shit. I only first noticed it a couple of days ago. I don't look at my feet a lot. I'm not into feet, like I heard Quentin Tarrantino is really fucking into feet, But I'm not, and even if I fucking was, I wouldn't be into my feet And even if I was into my own fucking feet, I would be like, yo, motherfucking foot over there, I'll see you in a couple of fucking weeks, because that motherfucking toe over there is fucked up. I could take a photograph of it, and maybe I will, but I don't know if I would want anyone to see that shit. It's fucked. I'm not trying to be coy. I'm not trying to play it like, oh, if you talk me into it, I will show you my fucked up fucking toe. Because I won't. This mot

"Hike": This Fuckin' Guy Spends a Weekend Hiking.

  Hike   Prologue : First, to expose a fucking artifice for what it fucking is: This is not an actual fucking diary I wrote all of this on the same fucking day (July 27). So, even though I fucking wrote it to make it look like a diary I am not fucking interested in convincing you That this is a fucking diary. Rather, I want to make it crystal fucking clear That this is not, in fucking fact, an actual fucking diary, So as not to be fucking misleading. So let's get fucking started.   Thursday, July 24, 5:30 PM : I'm in the fucking hardware store Having a fucking set of keys made, And the music that is playing Is "Dueling Fucking Banjo's" -- The fucking theme song from fucking Deliverance . The motherfucker making the fucking keys Is talking to me about How the banjos are driving him fucking crazy and he can't fucking think, But I'm thinking about how in two days, I'm supposed to go on a fucking hike On the Appalachian Fucking Tra

"Gym": This Fuckin' Guy Posts Twice in One Day.

Gym At the fucking gym (Yes, I fucking know. I don't seem like the type to go to fucking gym. I know I certainly don't fucking look like I go to the fucking gym), At the motherfucking climbing gym, (I know, I fucking know), The guy I was climbing with, Asked me about the fucking show At Shea Fucking Stadium, Which is a nightclub in fucking Bushwick. Where I'll be doing Some fucking poems With King Fucking Missile, On June 27th, And Schwervon is fucking playing too. So he says, "I've been climbing with a motherfucking rock star," And I say, "I prefer the term 'has-been.'" And then I said, "Better a has-been than a never was, I guess," In an effort to make myself feel a little fucking better. An effort which fucking failed, Because I don't even fucking know If I'm a fucking has-been Or a motherfucking never was. Oh, fuck me. I'm just in a motherfucking mood today. It will fucking pass, Jus

"IRT" and "NBC": This Fuckin' Guy Hears Some Mariachi Music and Sees a Fucking Clown--Or Does He?

IRT On the IRT express going downtown this morning, A motherfucking Mariachi trio sang Besame Mucho And I noticed that I wasn't fucking pissed off at all. They were right fucking next to me And really fucking loud But they sounded great. Or maybe I was just in a good fucking mood. Anyway, I gave them a fucking dollar, because, Why the fuck not? Then, when I changed for the local at Chambers, There's this fucking clown, An actual clown, With a fucking red clown nose, and a big fucking bag full of clown shit. So, I was like, fuck me, I've got write this shit down right now. And I pulled out my motherfucking phone And wrote it down before we got to South Ferry. Fuck yes. 5/21/2015 NBC Then, on the way to the fucking office, I pass the fucking Walgreens, And there's a poster for "Red Nose Day," Some fucking thing that NBC is sponsoring, And I look at the date and it's fucking today. So I'm like, Maybe that fucking clown on the 1 train

"Rude" and "Class": This Fuckin' Guy Disses Some People and Gets Schooled

Rude It's really fucking rude of me To be sitting here, watching Fin Divilly And writing this fucking poem Instead of giving him my undivided attention. I mean, I'm giving him some attention, But it's fucking divided: My time is divided between the lovely fucking performance Fin is giving right now, And this stupid fucking poem I'm writing. I mean, Fin came all the fuck from Ireland, And he's singing some really lovely motherfucking songs, And I'm writing this shit. And that's really motherfucking rude. But what's even fucking ruder Is that after Fin finishes his performance, I'm going to go on next, And read this poem, And maybe one more, And then I'm going to have to leave, And probably not watch any of the other performers. I mean, that's really fucking rude. I'm really fucking sorry. It's just I've got this class in less than an hour, And I've got to get over there. I'm really fucking sorry, I really shouldn't b

"Back?," "Beck?," "Winter," "Spring," "Snow," "Penske," "Pepsi," "Why?," and "Thanks": This Fuckin' Guy Wonders if he's Back, Writes a Bunch of Poems, Gives Thanks, and Still Wonders.

Back? It's been almost five fucking months, and a shitload of shit has happened, But I  haven't fucking felt like fucking writing. That's not exactly fucking true--now and then, I've fucking felt like it. But I fucking didn't. Like, when Winter went on and on and on and fucking on, I thought I'd write a poem about that, But then I fucking didn't. I just fucking didn't. And when Spring finally fucking came, I wanted to write some shit about that as well: I had a couple of fucking epiphanies While looking at some motherfucking trees, And I thought to myself, I'm a motherfucking nature poet, It would be the most natural fucking thing in the world For me to write about this shit. But I fucking didn't. I kept fucking telling myself, Maybe I will, But I fucking didn't. This morning, I was going to get on a motherfucking Citibike, And ride into work like I fucking used to do, But I saw some motherfucker Taking the las