The Adventures of Logo-Go Boy.

I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity for this next contest: I have the chance to design a t-shirt for Queen! Bohemian Rhapsody, Killer Queen, We Will Rock You...Yes, THAT Queen.

Only four days left to vote! Visit the link and vote using facebook and/or twitter on the right-hand side:

http://www.talenthouse.com/creativeinvites/preview/ae7f1a185b1d5c4c42676d07c3669875/180

Vote for me & I promise to take you killer queens on a seaside rendezvous. Not really, but I'd be grateful! You're an opera of support.

Flyer I did for the Loserslam crew. July 2nd, in Asbury Park. It's gonna be a great show!!!



Click here to RSVP. All the cool kids are doing it.

CD cover I did for The louderARTS Project. I tried channeling my inner Mark Weaver.

A few weeks ago, Writebloody Publishing held an open call for manuscript submissions. I entered, and although you won't be seeing a full-length book of poetry from me anytime soon, you can check out a couple of my poems in Writebloody's latest anthology, Learn Then Burn. Check it out! Buy a copy (especially if you're a teacher)!

Here at the People Like Me office, we're getting ready to unveil a batch of brand new videos for your eyes to feast on. Here are just a few of the graphics I cooked up for them.





Keep your eyes peeled! And join the People Like Me mailing list to find out as soon as these videos are pulled out of the oven!

Flyer commissioned by DJ Limelight from Indianapolis.

Well, the website launched a week or so ago, but it's new if you haven't checked it out yet! I designed this one for poet Jacob Victorine in New York. Now go! Click!

I confess: I loved you once. It was only for a little while.
It was the night we went to the drive-in theater.
We saw The Creature From the Black Lagoon.
You rested your hand in mine
like you already owned the spaces between my fingers.
We ate popcorn and cheese fries while admiring
the world when it was still in black and white.

I wore my lucky pair of shoes that night.
They were two sizes too large,
but they were my father’s shoes
and he told me they were lucky.
He said, "Son, these are my lucky shoes."

When we started making out, our clumsy bodies
knocked against the dashboard, limbs sticking out
at deliberate angles like a cartoon brawl.
I didn’t notice that my drink spilled all over my shoes
until you started to drive home.

When we got to your place
and you told me to wait in the car,
I thought nothing of it. When you walked
out holding all of your father’s shoes, I blushed.
But it was when we heard him wake up,
screaming and rattling the house, that I loved you.
I can’t remember another time when I felt so flammable.

24 Hours in the Downfall of Love

Maybe the men who kidnapped your grandmother
knew she had family in America that loved her.
Maybe they were faceless. Abstract and shifting.
The ghosts that haunt your hands.

Even though she was milk legs and spine
arched like cathedral, maybe she fought back;
Balled up her wrinkled fists into the faces of bulldogs,
lunging for every soft spot
their mothers ever gave them,

Or maybe she thought violence was easy,
and instead told them stories about round tables
and men in far away places, stories about love,
about water, about wine, about the last king
in a country that no longer exists.
Maybe she told them a feast.

Maybe after dinner she tucked in her kidnappers,
the way she tucked you in. Maybe she sang them
the ocean. This frightened them, a mother’s strength.
How thick it was, the muscle of it throbbing
in her smile, in her cupped hands
she held your picture. Maybe they had pictures
of their own. And reasons. And love. Maybe
they had the same hands. Maybe she knew
this was the end. That they were a gang of sons.
That their love was not an animal
that could be bargained with.

Maybe she understood
even as they threw stones at her, even as bruises
spilled onto her skin and tore open like wet paper.
Maybe it wasn’t the rocks that killed her.
Maybe this is why she died
before they ever asked for a ransom.

I Can’t Come Into Work This Week

Yesterday morning I woke up seven
minutes before my alarm did.
I showered and had an everything
bagel with cream cheese.

There were only two seats left
when I boarded the train.
The first was next to a woman
with hair thick as a hockey puck.

The second was next to a boy.
He was beautiful. I sat down.

After two stops, his eyes started
to flutter like bat wings,
his mouth an unhinged door.
When the train turned left, his head,
heavy with gorgeous things, found my shoulder.
My heart did a broadway boogie-woogie.
I didn’t blink for ten minutes.
His hair smelled like church.
His breathing was constant. Warm.
Magic and exhale.

I am still on that train.
I don’t plan on waking him any time soon.

-Sent from my iPhone