to have every person
who has helped shape my form
throughout and over the years,
each a thread in the fabric sewn
creating the intricate colorful quilt that has been my life,
meet in one place at one time if only for once in their lives.
Because they are all truly priceless rare and exquisite essential parts of myself, of this life.
And for all the greatness and amazing love I have seen in each one and shown by all of them,
my wish, if for only once... is that they'd all exist in the same room and learn each other, see one another, as i have seen them, in light and dark, beautifully flawed, extraordinarily.
My only wish... please god, grant it.
With or without me.
A wedding or a funeral.
...and I laugh, wondering if they'd all get along, or tear one another apart by the end of it. :-)
Monday, April 23, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
A sweet little story poem s'all, nothing intense or profound. It's like a love note passed in class caught by the teacher and read out loud...
While he's out there banging away fiddling with his tooth all amphetamines and nicotine stained hummingbird wings he thinks of her at home making poems. He gets sad and dies in her arms. He gets strong and takes on too much. He gets drunk and slaps the streets, any street, gum booze and piss, with his rough weathered hands trembling. He's made of motion like Neal... rambling, methodically sifting though the files in his mind, behind the blue of his eyes an insanity reserved only for those who can afford it...for those who can truly love him. At home, she does not worry. She cares not for the reassurance of faith or hope...She needs no guide in this love. She is like lamp oil and he a match sparked. As one they make light, for that is all there is when you peel away the hummingbird madness his drumming fingers her heart on fire and smokescreen sadness. Each rock has a name they've tied 'round their ankles to weigh them down crumbling now there is more light for the world in virtue of love however it's born. He takes her hand in his. That's all she needs to know.
It's all she needs to keep her going.
awake, it's raining
the only thing to be thankful for
the sound of the rain
in a haze
in the kitchen
kettle on the burner
numb Xanax cloud
standing in the rain
Each drop a freezing tear
from my eyes as they are the sky
in the night
under the biting cold, very cold, rain
A harm I cause myself
to distract my wrenching heart
from what is lost
the sound of falling drops
fading my soul
The fish in the Gulf are mutated.
It's raining on me, a painful release that hurts on purpose, that helps the deep terminal sadness...breathe.
The tea is too hot
burns the mouth,
A pain to fade the pain in, to out
For what is lost.
The fish no longer have eyes
or the sockets to put them in
the universe cries with me, as me
Fade out into black
It rains in Canada too.
I know because Renie is there and hasn't called.
it won't last
or the only thing that's kept me here
And I don't see the beauty in any of it anymore, only the bleak
And this life, I'm tired, and I don't want it anymore. Any part of it. Save for the rain right now on my face and in my tea...
I'll be committed
and fade to black.
A fish without eyes
my heart, my will, deformed.
I won't come back from this one
from what is lost
Fade to black
and burry me there
Nathan's wool blanket
The way it scratches
Slippers on our feet
The cold concrete
The bathroom pictures
The smell of smoke and electric heaters
The dry air
My chapped lips
The dirty windows
Let little light in
Our morning kiss
The sky winters grey
My breath in the air
The frozen hitch
His first attempt
at homemade soup
The dogs and my cat
All laying about
Mending his coat
from old penthouses
The hardwood and my teacup
His coffee always
Weather we wanted it or not.
4:59am- Camomile tea I didn't drink cold on the nightstand next to me
It's smells drifting me to dream
But the light is on and the birds are gossiping up a storm
Feathers ruffled outside my window
A baby wakes and cries in a house across the way -6:36am
There are crickets.
This is not the city.
I can hear every creak in the floor, in the walls, as the house settles in on it's self
shifting, mattress springs
far away dogs
the seconds ticking the clock
my pen on the paper
my thoughts out loud-
We're still out here.
Making the night.
Hiding the morning.
We're still drunk when we can be, and when we'd rather maybe not be.... anything at all.
We're beat up, we sweat it out, we still let the coffee drip down the back of our throats.
We fall off our chairs and flick out our cigarettes.
We still kick dirt and fumble through each others beauty and madness.
We still love unconditionally and unrequitedly. We eat apple pie and rest against trees on hot days.
We still believe we will be saved.
Jack the moon still comes up with wine in his eyes.
And in some places Jack, they still Jazz. The slow Jazz. Not the mess of tumbling smart Jazz. Jazz you can dance to, the real stuff. The heart before it grew a head.
Hey Neal! Hey Charlie, and Judy,
We're still high as kites out here.
We're all prescribed Prozac personalities or Ritalin kids these days. Hook em while they're young that's what they thought one more perfectly functioning cog in the mind of the great machine.
Good luck America.
That shit never worked in the first place.
Hey Neal, you can't smoke that inside buddy. No one even smokes anymore anyway. That shit'll give you cancer. So will that corn on the cob or that soda pop. So will worrying about any of it.
We're still high as kites though.
All the kids, the eccentric ones, they're all hopped up hyper focused chemists now, making new drugs like you wouldn't believe! With all the letters of the alphabet. Well lubricated cogs, mad scientist shaman, long hairs in business suits. Building whole knew worlds of consciousness and fuzzier fuzzy feelings.
We're still high as kites out here.
Still speeding down the American vein.
With a headlight out.
In the desert.
Picking up hitchhikers.....and praying.
Hey Robert, Allen.... Will and Patti,
We're still out here. Black sheep. With our art and our poetry, our sins and saints, our sexuality our mental states, food not or on our plates. We're still hungry. We're still out here hustling and dreaming... hustling dreams...day dreaming, drifting in and out of here....
We're still here!
Lost and found in America.
Making noise, making waves, belly laughing snickering smiling rolling our eyes, bleeding and sick and fucked and humbled and drunk and in love, with each other with nothing with everything with God and the goat, with ashes and music, with the piss in the street, with the stains on the sheets and our clothes, with the road, with locks of hair with the bottle with the gun with the pen with the laces in our boots and the shit on the bottom of them... We're still lonely and confused and absurd and completely devoted...maybe, in the end, to nothing other than the fact that we. are. still. here.....
Sunday, April 01, 2012
and when he looks out the window each morning,
he will see gray sky scrapers that block direct sunlight
from seeping through the room.
looks at the blank stares from souls draped in coats
on daily subway rides,
spilling coffee from tripping on cracked sidewalks.
They danced once.
the room was hot and muggy;
smiling, wine-stained lips.
and wrapped each other in their arms
holding on to the night.
she sits in Jersey traffic smiling mildly to the man
collecting her toll.
morning weather reports play on her radio,
exploring new routes,
giving a new face a buck fifty for her coffee.
her shoes are worn out and she will never slip on icy streets.
I used to look like
Jack Black with a beard.
Now I look like
John Belushi without a beard
And Jason “George” Alexander,
Oliver “3 Musketeers” Platt,
And one time Charlie Sheen.
I have never once
I don’t mind not being the bright
Fireworks exploding, the ones
Everyone goes “ooh” and
“Aah” over. I’d much
Rather be the glowing cinders,
The ones they warn could
Burn if they fall on you, the
Ones you stare at intently, saying
Nothing at all, all the way
Down until they burn out
Love happens in seconds
Between hours of waiting
It’s the lion that sleeps
Slothfully in the sun
While flies bite at its ears
And hyenas scorn its idleness
It rolls over, waiting
It yawns, waiting
Even fucking the lionesses
Nothing but more waiting
Until an eye opens and
Targets a sleek gazelle
And it happens in seconds
Like a coiled spring exploding
And all that passionate flesh
Intertwined with beating blood
Starts in seconds
Ends in seconds
Leaving only that moment
Fading quickly from memory
Love happens in seconds
The rest is just waiting.
This is my apology to all those
Ignored stars burning infinite at night,
To all the ones who don’t burn quite as bright
As Polaris or Orion’s Belt, whose
Fires often hide behind smokestack fumes,
Smoggy haze, or sky-scraping city lights.
And even when gazing into clear skies
I usually mistake Venus’ soft hues
And give her undue credit for your glow.
Here is my apology for your lost
Glory, when your fiery zeal across
Cold blackening horizons once imposed
Fear in ancient primates; their shallow thoughts
Never knew your bright flares were dying slow.
Insecurities run down my
Spine, stick around there
Like LSD, and every so
Often a flashback occurs
Reminding me of past
The time I tried a joke in
Class and heard silence, or
When I had such a witty
Retort that I laughed telling
It, only to see contemptuous
These memories build up
Until my spine cracks. I
Can’t walk quite right, I
Can’t talk quite right, I’m
Not quite right in my own
These memories drown me
In the past, while in the
Present I stumble, stutter,
Try to find the right line or
Right step and miss every
Sometimes, when I’m not
Looking for it, a good line
Breaks through, a
Moment that’s as
Fragile as Dandelion
Some composure is regained.
I’m a baby learning to walk
And talk right again, and
Hope that, this time,
Maybe something will
[ | | | | | ]
And sixty-two miles separate our bodies.
Our words are fingers, our voices are facial expressions,
And all that distance crackles like thunder over the
Phone when all subject matter has been exhausted.
[ | | | | ]
“How was your day today?”
We ask for the third time. It’s not the answer we’re
Searching for but rather some semblance of human
Connection that’s dissipated as the weeks
Turned to months turned to years.
[ | | | ]
“Oh, it was okay,” and you can see their eyes
Welling up thru their tone. Our stomachs drop from
Knowing that our day wasn’t okay, that not a whole
Lot has been okay. “I love you” we say, still
Reaching for that connection.
[ | | ]
We promised each other we’d never overuse the phrase
“I love you”, for fear that such redundancy would wear
Out those words. Now those words carry more weight
Than either of us can be burdened with. We are very
Tired and our voices are getting scratchy.
[ | ]
Eight-hundred and sixty-two miles between
Us, the battery’s dying, it’s getting harder
To hear you, and I just don’t know
What to say anymore.
i want to wrestle a bear, two beings
combating over Something
bigger than both of us
for the bear, a Morsel of life-
sustaining Food, either from my
backpack of fruits, granola, and mineral
water, or from my very own
flesh and marrow
for me, the Bear itself, a small
chance to overcome
Nature outside of my own
nature, to show the culmination of
what evolution has given me
for a chance to regale my fellow
combatants that i survived Something
bigger than all of us, and that,
after it all, my backpack was
empty, and that somewhere in the
forest lay a bear full in the Belly.