23 May 2017

[breeding plumage]

This poem, written entirely in quatrains, began by thinking about a single word: “mook”—Italian-American slang meaning 'idiot' (gendered male) that, by the late 90's-early 00's, began to refer to a style of music called 'nu-metal' and 'rap rock'. Loosely investigating this unsuspecting transformation of that word, I’ve weaved in media that I’ve found resembling/commenting on/recycling (sometimes unawares, sometimes full-well knowing) an ambiguous subtext—the vague embrace of ignorant and toxic masculinity, and, further, artistic attempts to define oneself through a kind of subcultural whiteness.

EXCERPT — read the rest at

Entropy Magazine by

clicking on the egret 

bill-board swording
culture cutting
grit guzzling

great, little, cattle, snowy, reddish
can’t remove
the wanton moon
of forgotten regrets

by crooning
this is the chatter of youth
this is a matter of nookie-nation
going limp

attesting tumescent
paranoia & evanescence

huckish cauldron stirring
heron heron
it’s not gone
it’s all hawked up

& fed to feathered young
like a chorus of re-versed verbs
tired codas fishing
for birds


2017 — Frogtown, Los Angeles