"Every Man For A Woman: A Limerick"

"Every Man For A Woman: A Limerick"
written with all things considered by jake kilroy.

She kept every word that he wrote,
somewhere near the tears in her throat;
then she goes about,
really thinking it out,
"Every man is a sinking boat."

"Black Coffee: A Limerick"

"Black Coffee: A Limerick"
a poem for the darkest saint by jake kilroy.

Black coffee, you keep me tethered,
grinding me so worn and weathered;
you're the darkest dream
as I don't take cream,
and I feel so tarred and feathered.

Fuck You, Carol

I just made a page for an adoption center called...Adoption Center. I feel like this sheer laziness in business namery will cause problems down the line.

"So what adoption center did you go through?"

"Adoption Center."

"No, I mean, which adoption center?"

"Adoption Center."

"Right. I know you went through an adoption center, but I was asking which one. I'm curious."

"Adoption Center."

"Fuck you, Carol."

Once Hot, Now Fat

There's a sick, but curious and extraordinary, mixture of euphoria and anguish when you find out that hot girls you used to go to school with, used to work with, etc got fat later. It's such a tragedy, but it's also a really, really good punchline.

All I Have Are Jelly Beans

I found out today that the creative division of my company is moving to another building 10 minutes away come Monday morning. I got an e-mail today that said I should start packing up my personal belongings and decorations at my desk. I looked around my desk.

And, honestly, all I have to pack up from my desk is a notepad and Hello Kitty jelly beans. I feel like this reflects upon my character in a certain way, but I'm not sure how exactly.

A Wonderful Rainy Evening With No Rain

I sat at my desk all day. It was difficult, as I knew it was raining outside (because then all I want to do is crawl back in bed and listen). Then I went to lunch, when it turns out that it wasn't just raining. It was fucking pouring. I looked like a very traditional pathetic character when I returned, after having sprinted across the parking lot. My hair was soaked, my jacket was soaked, my briefcase was soaked. I sat at my desk for a few more hours, looking like a cartoon character of grief.

But, then I came home, and there was no rain. And, I have to tell you, even in my mid-twenties, there is rarely a better night for me than a quiet evening indoors while it is raining or pouring outside. I just it did without the most important ingredient (rain), and, with that, I've learned that all the other ingredients without the rain make up a pretty good evening too.

I cooked myself a grand meal, took a long hot shower, watched an old movie and read a good book by the fireplace with flames flickering against the family room. And then, as I've done with so very many rainy evenings my entire life, I'll read Australia: Land Of Contrast as I fall asleep.

I'll wake up tomorrow morning with my heart feeling like a fireplace. Oh, to feel the great depth of warmth on cold days...

Life Is Complicated...But Hilarious...And Some Other Adjective...

"My life's an enigma wrapped in a riddle that's being read to a guy that's way too high to know the difference between the two in the first place." - Keith Hernandez

"The Old Typewriter Blues"

"The Old Typewriter Blues"
written like a techno-fiend bad friend by jake kilroy.

You sit up high on a rafter,
perched to see
the magnificent laughter
of poor me
sitting blue at a computer,
drunkenly,
with tired arms of a looter.
Savagely,
I try to write American,
[poetry?]
sure, yes, but it's Bohemian,
[no marquee?]
with only the sound of the rain,
so pretty,
as I say what I can't explain,
so sadly.

"Greyhound Buses"

"Greyhound Buses"
a feverish poem in winter by jake kilroy.

As you sit in the balcony of an east coast theater,
you watch the dancer moving to a song you hear,
but you weren't listening too well then,
and you wouldn't for the entire weekend.

You'd sit on the greyhound bus,
keep your face to the window,
give up rhyme, give up reason,
and only ever hear that piano.

All structure would be lost and the lines would show in your face like cracks in an old book depository. Sure, there's knowledge in there somewhere, but it looks like ruins built by strong poets. You feel like a rambling mess. The sound of the piano plays your nerves like the keys you knew would pluck your heartstrings like an orchestra in another simile from your education as a youth. It was so long ago, those memories. Well, send them home. Oh God, send them home, you think. Don't let me listen to another song, see another dancer or write another poem as long as I live, you beg, as you struggle even to put your head in your hands. The sky is too blue, the trees are too green and the closer this all seems to a dream, the more impossible everything appears, which only makes you find it more real, which only shakes you more uncontrollably, which only makes you want to hear music, watch artists and write down every thought you've ever had. But this is not the time, nor the place. You need a bed to love, you need a desk to write, but you need a bus to give up or reinforce. Greyhound buses were designed for people like you. Greyhound buses were designed for long drives where you wonder about everything, from your childhood to your last birthday, from your first toy to your last job, from your first love to your last lover. Greyhound buses were designed so that you would always think that a movie camera was on you. Greyhound buses were designed to be a last resort. Greyhound buses were designed for wayward or romantic travelers. Greyhound buses were designed for you to wonder how you'd do it all if you could do it all over again. They were designed for hours and daydreams and you just have to sit back and let yourself fall apart beautifully.

My Brother's Rules to Owning a Dog #2

My father told a story as if our dog was a fisherman, showing him throw out the reel and talk about how big the fish was that he caught.

"Dogs can't fish! He's just a stupid dog! He can't fish!" - my brother

"Will you please stop calling him stupid?" - my mother

"Oh, I'm sorry! That's right. I forgot that he was a genius. He's such a genius dog. He shits in the house, Mom!" - my brother