Before I was a comedian, I was a poet

i even published a book with Pioneer Works in 2018.

Before I was a comedian, I was a poet.

It is quite possible that poetry led me into the world of comedy. I remember writing serious poems, and when performing at readings, I’d make funny little jokes and asides between each poem to break the awkward silence.

That’s when I realized that LAUGHTER is what I was after.

Progressively, my poems became more and more rooted in humor. Eventually, I wrote a collection of poems called We Were Promised Flying Cars, which was published by Brooklyn-based Pioneer Works in 2018.

And that’s when I decided that my poetry journey had come to a logical conclusion!

I wanted to share a few little poems from the archives. If you like this kind of letter, I‘ll publish more poems from the archives and maybe even some new ones :)

Cutting The Belly

I took all of the ambition I had left
and slammed it down
onto the table,
like the outlaws do in the movies.

The ambition smelled faded 
and familiar,
like my father
who I have not seen in 11 years.

There wasn’t much left,
it was a lousy, pitiful pile 
not even enough for a toddler
         and to tell you the truth   
         I hated carrying it around.
        
It burned a hole in my pocket
like cocaine
or money 
does to some people.

I want freedom.
      And I want what’s mine.
And I want sleep and love 
and truth and respect and time.
I want you to remember me.

I swept the crumbs 
into my hand 
and put them back 
into my pocket
where I knew 
they would be 
kept safe for later.

Three Hundred Miles To Empty 
 
At eternity's gate, I wait 
for you

Seven hundred miles from home 

The airport is filled with people like me,
waiting for the departed to arrive

A moment of realization buzzes near my face 
and I swat it away like a fly

I hate the truth

The everlasting love song playing over the speakers is interrupted by a British woman's voice...she says it's time to go.

You never arrive and I never know

4380

You came and went,
like a dream I can’t remember but also can’t forget 

or a moment of déjà vu 
lingering too long on an already strange day

When you were here 
I didn’t understand what it meant
– that you were here. But now I know 

because you aren’t
and the absence of your soul is the absence of new memories

Inching forward; bit by bit, day by day, year by year
on the smell of your smell on my shirt 

and I wonder if you're still here 
or if it's just me