"..." and "Everyday"


my poems


the life

out of the pain

depression and hatred

that has-been

buried deep inside

for so long

my poems suck

the life

the injustice

that patient annihilation


my poems      


the pits

of my belly

internalized, my politics

drowning with sky

to make a mouth

that swallows

my poems


the nausea the adage

that comes from being


the nuance

it takes


to breed


my poems

suck extraordinarily

they suck magnificently

the ocean

out of the drowning

I find myself



to swim in

this burial

is waiting for me

to die, my life sucks

death from out of my palms

and into




I wake up
is a new

There once was a time
when we only had 9 words
to communicate. 9 impulses
to decree doctrine. My dad
had me on the same payment
plan in regards to frequency,
9 words were uttered and
only 9 moods were altered.
Parents expect you to take
accountability for your actions
while they take none. I unmade
my bed and lied   in it. The truth, 
I was accepting of those 9 words
because I had even less to give.
Time is real   frustrating. I keep
coming back to a place that makes
no sense. My beard makes me feel
more maternal. My father's hands
make me forget.



Thomas Fucaloro

Thomas Fucaloro is the author of two books of poetry published by Three Rooms Press, most recently It Starts from the Belly and Blooms. The winner of a performance grant from the Staten Island Council of the Arts and the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs, he has been on five national slam teams. He holds an MFA in creative writing from the New School and is a cofounding editor of Great Weather for Media and NYSAI press. He is a writing coordinator at the Harlem Children’s Zone and lives in Staten Island. Has 3 chapbooks: Mistakes Disguised as Stars (Tired Hearts Press) and Depression Cupcakes (Yes, Poetry) and forthcoming There is Always Tomorrow (Madgleam Press) .


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Thursday, February 8, 2018 - 09:21