Author Archives: jeremybgg

wood stove burning

wood stove burning

and sawdust heat brings warmth

to children too exhausted to finish

their own sentences

either on paper or through their mouths


and once i figured out how much

kindling it might require in order

to keep the fire going on through

the bitter and relentless night

i was able to put myself at ease

able to put myself to sleep

able to let a little something go


satisfaction comes in many forms

and in the unlikeliest of ways

at the strangest and most unexpected

of times

this time is no exception

comfort is established through all this chill

wood stove burning

Generic alternative pop rock song

D A Bm G
Generic alternative pop rock song
I wrote it while I sat there alone
In my room and strumming on my guitar
I sometimes bleed oh yeah

I’ll play it now and then
On the sidewalk outside your house at 3am
The police have a special cell for me
I sometimes bleed oh yeah


Here’s the chorus (Here’s the chorus)
Here’s the chorus (Oh yeah)
A simple progression (Not exciting at all)
Like your love (But I wouldn’t know)

D A Bm G
You should learn to talk to me
Then I wouldn’t act like such a creep
I’m really proud of how I turned that around
I sometimes bleed oh yeah


Here’s the chorus (Here’s the chorus)
Yeah here’s the chorus (Oh yeah)
Just three chords (I’m not so inventive)
Like your love (But how would I know?)

Here comes the bridge so I’ll play real fast
Like a broken down iconoclast
I scream I cry I’ve gone insane
Thank you for this dose of pain
That’s what happens when you can’t let go

When you can’t let go

D A Bm G
Generic alternative pop rock song
I sing it to myself all alone
Don’t take anything I say too seriously
I like to bleed

Here’s the chorus (The final chorus)
Yeah here’s the chorus (Last time)
Thank God it’s over (I think it’s catching)
Like your love (That was a cheap joke)

Here’s the chorus (break it down now)
Here’s the chorus (Like rock bands do)
Here’s the chorus (Final chorus)
Screw your love

for elder hampton, a mormon i met on the 87 bus in 2002, and whose first name i actually thought was “elder.”

“just remember,” elder hampton solemnly said,

“god loves you. and so do i,”

a sentiment he emphasized by gently

placing his paw on my hand resting on the

bar top.

“why elder,” i said, “i had no idea.”

as I flipped my hand

over, curling

my fingers around the kid’s knuckles

letting my mischeivous and only slightly

insincere smile

speak for itself.

sole mates

i don’t believe in soulmates
’cause i don’t believe in souls
and it’s always getting tougher
as i’m growing ever old
so when i tell you plainly
there’s nothing once you die
you should take it close to heart:
there’s no meet up in the sky
but i don’t intend this bleakly
or as fatal, dismal, dark
use the inspiration
make it light a burning spark

yet leave me stranded, crawling,
lost distraughtly on all fours
if i do not care for mine
how could i ever care for yours?

dirty rimes on bathroom walls

there is nothing worse than stress
which makes my head and heart a mess
but something else lies in the murk
there is nothing worse than work


i’ll have time to get some sleep
when i am dead and dying
aching back and breaking bones
the signs of my declining

i’ve traveled ’round the globe, you see
there’s nothing left to save
so i’m begging you, sweet jesus
bring me promptly to my grave


a moon is just a rocky thing
with craters, dirt and dust
and i will try to fly there soon
to quench my wanderlust


swimming in the murky brown
piece of poo that won’t go down
i flush again, you spin around
piece of poo that won’t go down


i worry for beanie. i really do.

not because beanie isn’t a bad-ass. holy fuck, she sure is. she’s got ink all up and down her arms and her neck and her tits and fuck you, because there are skulls and runes and shit beanie believes in, up to and including the pair of ratty red stockings that symbolize our own beloved history. she’s got death marks. she’s got the weird W/V conglomeration that signifies her car for some reason. and somewhere on her skin you could probably find the names of her three best friends.

but the ink isn’t a safeguard against dicks. in fact, it works against her favor.

Imagebeanie drove up from biloxi 6 weeks ago. “why?” i asked. “because,” she said, and i figured the unspoken next works were “fuck” and “you” and in that order. and i respect that.

but i worry for beanie nonetheless.

oh, beanie can take care of herself. after all, she’s lived in croatia. and hawaii. and, i think, detroit? it was all rather hazy after the Xth jameson rocks. but in any case beanie picked boston. and god knows why and even he doesn’t know why and i begged beanie for an explanation but all she told me was she loves graphic novels.

she loves morrissey.

she owns 15 classic arcade machines and doesn’t yet own skeeball.

she has 3 dogs, one is tallulah, a chihuahua. 

oh, and she owns a human fetus. right, yeah.

but why were they all so mean to beanie? it got so ugly after she left ostensibly for a smoke. and then for good. they talked shit about beanie. “that bitch is psycho,” they said, and all of a sudden i was zapped back to what it’s like and what they’re like and what it’s like.

even the girl who wasn’t born in malden. the one who seemed to have been beanie’s friend, who clinked her glass and said “fuck yeah morrissey!” when beanie was happy to see her — even that girl nodded her head and said “fuck, that bitch has a human fetus at home.” that cut the worst of all.

i worry for beanie, who for some reason, not the least explainable, loved the red sox, though she grew up in mississippi and had the accent to somewhat prove it.

i worry for beanie, who will encounter thick necked men who claim they’re from southie but are really from malden and either way they have small dicks.

i worry for beanie, a girl who won’t shut up about how much she wants to hear morrissey in this bar, right the fuck now. 

i worry for beanie, even the bartender started talking shit after she left. something about late night food and doesn’t she know better and of course she doesn’t you fucking idiot because she just moved here.

i worry for beanie, a girl i do not want to fuck.

i want to hug her and tell her that even the baddest girls with ink and fetuses at home will have it hard here and by the way it is cold and quiet and dark here and beanie is small and warm and twang and smile.


[GOD is sitting alone.]

[JESUS enters, glares at GOD.]

[There is a long, uncomfortable, judgmental pause.]

Well, I’m back. Are you satisfied now? Am I finished being your guinea pig? And now that it’s over, would you mind telling me what was the fucking point?

Fine. Just sit there. You just sit back and enjoy. Laugh it up. Because I suppose you can. I guess the whole thing’s just a larf-a-minute with you, knowing what you must know while the rest of us have to spend our entire lives in the dark, speculating like goddamned idiots.

No pun intended.

So, should we check it out? See if there’s anything interesting on the tube, here?

[JESUS picks up a remote control and begins channel surfing through an unseen TV.]

Would you just look at that. Flesh-eating lions, oooooooh! How exciting! Hey, look, oppression, poverty, and — now there we go! Holy war! Good work. Nicely played! Where was that in your prospectus? Let’s fast-forward here — war, war, war — famine and plague, smart touch — war, war, ethnic cleansing, war, The Bomb, way-fucking-scarier-war — don’t blink, or we’ll miss something.

[He is caught by surprise.]

Oh for crying out loud! Do you see this? Are you even paying attention?! Look at that, will you?! A designated hitter. What’s next, inter-league play?!

[double-take at the TV, agitated]

Oh fuck! I was just kidding about that!

Are you happy now?!

This is what it was all for?

This was your great master plan!

Some plan. Some experiment. Why’d you do it, really? Just for shits and giggles? Because you had an extra two-by-four lying around, collecting dust? How about “just because you could?” Hm? Well that’s a pretty shitty reason, don’t you think?

[One last look before he clicks the monitor off in disgust.]

And there it is. The pièce de résistance. Reality TV.

[slow clap]

I’ll be in my room if you feel like offering any kind of explanation, you pompous dickbag.

[Before he exits, JESUS stops and turns around, rubs his wrists, massaging them in pain.]

And I don’t care if you are omnipresent, you have no idea how fucking itchy I was up there.

[JESUS exits.]

[GOD sits quietly.]