sorry, nicey nice neighbors

polite society's not really my thing.

lost on my own paper trail

now adolescence looks even more awkward.

i'm not much of a writer

here, i'm not much of anything.

the ghost of christmas present says hello

shopping malls will strangle your soul!

off-season suburban dream vacation

charmingly calorific are your deserted streets.

a life lived in boxes

suburban memoirs: just scars without war.

93, north of boston

all the exits are booby traps.

wholesomely educated, i

learned to fear my own ideas.

this sprawling disease

the traffic grows like a cancer.

hiding under the covers

(in this bed, memories of august.)

mcmansion mummies

life wrapped in carbon and formaldehyde.