poetry/prose by Calvero.
Hey guys. I have a few extra copies of my book lying around, so if anyone wants a free copy reblog this post and by Friday afternoon and I’ll pick three or four people or so at random, depending on how many partake in this, and then mail you a copy (continental US only. Sorry…). I figure this is better than them sitting around.
And if you’ve already bought a copy, thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me.
Thanks for all the support, my lovely sluts.
Much love, Calvero

Hey guys. I have a few extra copies of my book lying around, so if anyone wants a free copy reblog this post and by Friday afternoon and I’ll pick three or four people or so at random, depending on how many partake in this, and then mail you a copy (continental US only. Sorry…). I figure this is better than them sitting around.

And if you’ve already bought a copy, thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me.

Thanks for all the support, my lovely sluts.

Much love,
Calvero

However, whatever your own path is, wherever it takes you, there is one instruction you should protect and always carry with you: never give up on anyone. Even if you can’t help someone now, don’t abandon him or her mentally or close the door to your heart. This is the direct word of the Buddha, our ancient revolutionary friend, and if you forget it, you’ll hear it again from the mouth of the rebel buddha you’re living with right now.
Dzogchen Ponlop

"Dear Author,

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your work. Unfortunately, we did not feel your project was a right fit for our agency. But we do wish you the best of luck.

Please forgive the form letter, but the enormous volume of inquiries we receive obliges us to respond in this manner. Thank you, and again, best wishes in your future endeavors.”

I’m gonna get this tattooed on my forehead.

if this poem were a dude’s chest it would have a total of zero chest hairs on it


She wore Roman-looking
sandals
and her toenails were painted
bright pink
but it was the delicacy
of her bone structure
that I fell in love with.

It was like when you gently
roll outta bed to go pee
late at night,
    trying not to wake
    the person you love
    sleeping beside you,
but then,
    despite your best efforts,
the person sorta, kinda
wakes up anyway
but only for, like,
    a minute or so,
because by the time you come back from peeing
you can already see
they’re fast asleep
again.

Her bone structure
that I fell in love with
looked like that…

When I walked past her
to get off of the train
that we momentarily shared,
I wanted to tap her on her shoulder
and say,
    “Thank you for making me feel like
I wasn’t wearing a metal garbage can
over my head
for the past forty-five minutes.

I really appreciate it.

You have no idea.”

I got off of the train
and she stayed on the train.

    Even though I was surrounded
    by concrete
    and was far, far away
    from any kinda nature
    at all,
I heard lots of birds chipping
from somewhere.

Looking back at it all
now,

I’m pretty sure the chirping
came from the ghost
of her bone structure.

© Calvero 2014

Thank you to anyone who has bought my book or told a friend about me or shared my work in some way or even published me. I sincerely appreciate it more than you know.

I hope you’re all doing well today.

Much love,
Calvero

"The Sex Pistols" has got to be one of the greatest band names in rock n’ roll history.

On a semi-serious side note, anyone wanna start a band called “The Fuck Magnums?”

(steal my band name and I’ll kill you a million times)

Youre really good at writing. And i bet you wont even get this because every person i say things to never seems to want to reply. But your writing is beautiful.

Thank you so much. You’re a very sweet person. And people should really stop ignoring and or not replying to you because you are such a sweet person.

Thank you again for the kind words.

Much love,
Calvero

(so incredibly turned on that you just explode)

(so incredibly turned on that you just explode)

i’d love her even if she dressed in a chicken costume for the rest of her life


Sometimes
when I really miss her
I say to myself,
    Self,
        just picture her in a chicken costume.

        Think about it…

    You’ll totally miss her less
if you imagine her as a chicken
rather than the beautiful girl
you knew her to be.

        Seriously, dude,
    who misses chickens?

        Nobody!

So I try it…

I picture her showering
and rubbing that rose-shaped bar of soap
that she liked to use so much
all over herself
while dressed in a chicken costume

or I picture her
sitting across from me
and reading a menu at The Olive Garden
while dressed in a chicken costume

or I picture her
lying on a blanket out on the grass
and reading a book
while dressed in a chicken costume

or I picture her
in-between my legs
and giving me head on her bed
while dressed in a chicken costume

or I picture her
leaning over her kitchen table
and pressing her face into a vase
of fresh roses
and inhaling deeply
and smelling them deeply
while dressed in a chicken costume

or I picture her
pecking up some chicken feed
that I’ve scattered across her driveway
while she’s dressed in a chicken costume
(she’s never done this
while not dressed in a chicken costume
but,
    regardless,
I still enjoy imagining it.
She would make a good chicken
I think).

I picture her doing
all of these things
while dressed in a chicken costume
but, somehow,
    it always seems to backfire.

It only seems to make me
miss her more.

Tomorrow
it will get dark out
again.

And the day after that,
it will get dark out
again’er

and like my childhood teddy bear
who sits on my printer
like a fluffy, stuffed, one-faced
Mt. Rushmore

and like my oldest cat
who can never aim his asshole
properly enough
to shit inside his litter box,

some things in life
are constants,

some things in life
will never change,

and this pain of hers
that does laps inside of me,
    that swims around my innards
    like some kinda dolphin with no fins,

it never stops,

it never disappears.

It only changes form
on occasion.

Or,
    on nights like these,

grows feathers.


© Calvero 2014