don't get carried away with the labeling people
...seriously

Only My Name as a Title

I put my number in the pocket
of your coat with only
my name as a title.

And tonight was the first night
in a while that I listened to the Keith Jarrett Trio.

Sometimes it's what's not in a poem
that makes it sound so sweet.




*Winner of The NJ Poetry Society Contest*

Spiders

She said "I love spiders" more than she said
"I love you"
But that was okay because
She was my first love and
That was enough

And when I helped her
Bring the Christmas Tree home
From the woods,
She brought the spiders
In with her

Scolding her
Parents for trying to
Keep them out
As they moved from the tree
Onto the railing, the walls, the ceiling

I suppose they’re safer than I am,
Shielding you with their webbing,
Appreciating your
Beauty with a thousand lusting eyes,
Suffocating you from the rest of the world

And from me
With Eight
Million
Caresses.

A Poem About You

You asked me to write a poem about you
But I couldn’t because we were talking about
Me writing a poem about you.

Ten years and two phone numbers later,
The page is empty and the pen is still
As I sit here thinking about you,
Wondering if you’re still waiting for
Me to write a poem about you.

So Much Depends Upon

I
Brush my teeth with cement toothpaste
On a bristle-less toothbrush

I scrape, spit the blood out
Look at myself in disgust
In the mirror spackling with spit
So old it reminds me of
How much inactivity I’m capable of

From the corner office we
See an accident on 18th and Cross St
Where an old man in a grey sweat jacket
Is professionally re-directing traffic
We can’t hear emergency vehicles for miles

As the traffic depends
upon

A grey old
man

Glazed with rain
water

Besides the white
wreckage

I'll Give You My Sun If You Give Me Your Rain

I'll give you my sun if you give me your rain
Drops of tears and smiles could only be so sweet
The black clouds amidst the white day.

Give me your days existing in vane
When life is blacker than it seems
I'll give you my sun if you give me your rain

And accompanied with foolish grin
I’ll lend Maddening laughs far more upbeat
To the black clouds amidst the white day.

My glass is half full, yours half drained
Earthly realities clashing with skyward dreams
I'll give you my sun if you give me your rain.

The typical yin to my typical yang
Only the Gods would kindly beseech
These black clouds amidst my white day.

You're the fishhook to my open eye
A queer union of love and peace
But I'll give you my sun if you give me your rain
The black clouds amidst the white day.

"Before I die I want to swim with sharks"

Of course she meant

Inside one of those diver cages where

Sharks can only glare sideways,

Like a Weight Watcher's consumer

Glaring into a bakery,

With black hollow eyes that

Need their promises to be

Broken

For one single meal.

Can't break your diet though,

Doctor's orders, your

Hearts are in bad enough

Condition, you stop moving and

That's the end. No,

No red meat needed with that

Hanging over your dorsal fins.

Yet they continue to stare,

Hoping to resurrect some

Ancestral Megalodonian strength to

Manhandle the thick bars of the

Cage to get to the soft

Chewy Center.

You can see evolution in its most

Sincerest form as you witness the

Same frenzy a little kid has

Ripping a cereal box

Apart to get to the prize inside.

Before I die, I want to swim with sharks.

Ripe

she's crying on your shoulder
begging the ceiling to make it stop
and you're the one who has to answer
you have to stop the world
from the everyday things she does
days keep coming
deadlines get closer
problems get bigger
this
woman
is no special case
but for now she's all
the room and the town
and even the air
and why is she with him or her
or him or them
or me or him
or him or him or him...
nobody's free once she's graced them
with an empty brooding smile
and me here with her head
on my shoulder,
I'm the newest toy

My New Year Revolution (resolution)

if your life isn't a movie



make it feel like one

Neilson likes to pick locks
but he doesn't like getting in
behind doors
he likes tumblers
and moving them
and he can draw them
from memory

mechanical, like
clockwork
Copernican universe
movements,
planets in orbit,
epicycles in fine detail

Neilson and the universe,
all musicboxes moving
tumblers and gears,
all heretics,
all for the sights of beauty
in
pure movement

weak seams

an observation of your mind unraveling
contemplating taking over the morning
what is this disco
galactic limo
booze and bumps
dip and thoughts of breakfast
before the sun rises

picking up lucky pennies by the dozen
we're a rock show
from the east coast
and sometimes
finding ourselves caught in a net
of disillusionment
out of the corner of my eye
I see the machine of your mind
spin and snap, threatening

there I catch myself wondering
why do we humans
continue to exceed sin
to replace lost innocence?

who in their adult life
full of deadlines, dating, and procreating
finds the time
of their own free will
to roll around in the grass
and laugh?

when did the simple things stop cutting it
and when did misery become so attractive?

you break
I watch it happen

flying from the sun
sequestered in the great belly of an east bound bird
are one hundred hungry mouths
on one hundred hungry heads
discussing their hungry lives
feeding their hungry minds
in between time heading into darkness
all facing away from the sun in earnest

cigarettes on the west
burn faster
due to the airs
lack of moisture

that couch felt better on my back
but i'd take sharing cross-words
and the softness of your skin
on a lumpy pull out mattress
over a good nights' sleep
anytime

when I think about those
veins of roads out there
and all that metal
screaming like blood
down and through 'em
with all those lost wanderin kids
hollerin' at the night
just waiting
for the night to holler back

when I think about all those
anywheres in USA
all those street lights comin' on
and all those teenagers turnin' on
behind mini malls
and gas stations
sneakin' cigarettes
and sippin' whiskey

when I think about all those
highways in darkness
or in afternoons
rain blurred tail lights
and foggy mountain roads

when I think about all those
stretches of suburbia
and long
farm scattered
country lanes

when I think about all those
veins of roads out there
with those wanderin' wonderin' kids
takin' metal and screamin'
down and through 'em in the night

I just can't wait to get out there

when I think about you, baby

synapses fire off in my brain

chemicals combine and react

but I just wanna know, darlin'

when ya think about me

do your synapses fire back?

Your House

your mother never looking
up from her book
your aunt laughing
lighting cigarettes
repeating our words
with a chuckle
your sister and I
avoiding eachother
exchanging only a few
awkward glances
your father
cursing us all
with his head
deep inside the refrigerator
all those stories
and couches
squeezed into just
one little room
and you
doing your best to smile
and always having fun
but that's all
I really know
'bout your house

My Dead Friend

I see you in dreams sometimes
riding in the backseat of a car
like we're going on some trip
maybe to the beach
or a cabin we rented with our friends
and you crawl on into the front seat
slide into my arms
and I kiss your head
'cause I know you're not really there
and as the first tears
make rivers of my cheeks
you slip into the backseat
'cause you know
that nothing is allright

At The Bottom of Pandora's Box

somewhere
planes are touching down
bringing bodies home
somewhere
children are crying
somewhere
a man stands outside
squeezing on his hands
and trying to find words
somewhere
a woman is crying
and somewhere
lies a mother dead
somewhere
there may be angels singin'
and devils laughin'
or nothing at all
somewhere
something is born
somewhere
people are praying
somewhere
a small child
is sleeping on his father's chest
somewhere
a man just threw his dinner
across the floor
somewhere
there is happiness
everywhere
there is hope

The Night with Sex and Cigarettes

formaldehyde
I promise I'll preserve you
long after all that I love
is gone
swim in me
air born Christmas
raped in the night
by swear word benediction
velvet whisper
under your skirt
'unclench your thighs'
that street light that blinds us
even through the window
the ash in the red sea sheets
the hollow slam
of head board to drywall
and that stinging wail
of your last bath in me
formaldehyde

Thump

there's vomit in here somewhere
I can smell it
which of these staggering
overzealous
warlocks
is our culprit
I get it, hallway
'beat the pussy up
beat the pussy up'
I get it
so quit it
with the floor shaking bass
already
Cuervo's had enough
and I think he wants out
so ease up
before some other
self righteous monster
comes looking for me

even a hobo
will stop
to notice
the beauty
of a motor oil rainbow

jesus
or Jesus
or hey suess
josh
or Joshua
or FINK

Where does the sky go
when I can't see it
Where do your smiles go
when my money isn't mine
I found a sweet little dungeon
It held in all my screams
Nothing fucks you up
like a perfect moment
Nothing makes you feel unwanted
like true love

come on

Hey baby
Whats’ say
You and I
Go disprove electromagnetism
By showin’
That two people
CAN
Really
Really
Touch

a broken bottle of wine and snow scattered inside a monte carlo

snowstorms
will always ignite the child within
no matter how old
the thrill of dodging snowballs
and swinging on snow covered swings
in full force
the warm glances of those close
the red wine running through veins
and sadly, how quickly the moment ends
like childhood
and the snow
which melted the next day
and all that is left
are the wet clothes
the sting of cold hands and feet
and the remnants of red wine stained on lips

count em'

These words
Dime a dozen
Good
Cause that’s all I got left

tacky charmer

He heaved
Into the room
With buckets full of cheesy charisma
And mopped the floor with all of us

His weedy smile
Somehow charming
That seedy style
Somehow beguiling

And then when he left

Though his saunter was ungainly

His feet
Never touched
The floor

dispatches

i listen for you tapping
i listen for the rhythm
and i shuffle my feet
i listen for your fingers
against the floor
light thumps
or barely brushing
and the rhythm

I'm just swayin here
from a branch
growin offa tree
or
if gravity works
the other way
it might be hangin
offa me

fact

life is an existential crises

hosana

saint peter
had told me
but she
moved
all rosary
heavenly holy
through the air
filled with
shafts of stale light
and the vibratin
dusts
so infinite

the world is an old church

of poets and mechanics

these women with their academic tone
and publishing credentials
and every syllable purposefully humbled
dress all deliberate and proper
tell that same story about
their oldest son and one bad decision
talk about their second trip to Greece
and the lovely hotel with the view
that their dead husband hated

but never fought a war
and made it feel like heaven
all dusty and silent and well lit
never slept on a floor all creaking
with the heavy breaths of inaudible poetry

my mechanic has tattoos that smear and bleed into one another all indistinguishable/owns four shirts all oil stained and torn like truths/named his daughter dharma/tells detailed stories of freight trains and hobo rolls that may not have existed but feel like concrete

as he perches on the hood of the '72 duster because he always seems ready to move

advice in stereo

The advice is to stare
5 feet in front of you
the street on one side
and a sidewalk on the other.
Stare 5 feet in front of you
and don't look down
at right where you are.
The sharks on either side
are dangerous but when you
fall off it doesn't take much
to get back on. This game
goes a lot further than the curb.

jordans thumb

jordan seemed all slack
as he hitched over the causeway bridge
and the sky washed grey and faded cold
his thumb also
seemed angelicly apathetic
to the problems
of this world
and his underdressed frame
and certainly his feet
cuz it stuck out limp
askin for a ride
with no noticable effort

i swung the car around
picked him up
and his feet
and his slackful thumb
he told me about an eclipse in seattle that he slept through
and dark haired womens couches in manhattan
and how its good to get out of the city
for a little while
sometimes

Jordan talked about wanderin the spinnin earth
and how women love firemen in the cities of the east
and asked honest questions
about motivation and decision and value
all the while his thumb said nothing
angellically indifferent to the ride i was giving
or the words we were exchanging
or the weight of the day
with problems and fortunes

and now
sometimes i feel better
thinking of jordan making it through the world
and experiencing women and missing eclipses
and
sometimes i feel better
thinking of his thumb angellicaly unconcerned and coasting
all slack and unaffected in the elements

While they play cards.

i watch
while they play cards
and I feel a few inches taller
with an i-phone in by hand

you follow me around
until i am again familiarized
until i have that sensation
until i recognize.
i give in,
turn around.
you were never there.

I'm posting this from my Iphone... And it...is....amazin

someones mother

In my mind, there is an old woman
of English decent
She's prude
washes her hands too much
powders her nose
noontime tea
throws Botche
and yells at the dog
has a sophisticated cigarette
sipping a water and scotch in the evening
She is reserved and shy about falling in love
and exposing herself
She is patient and delicate
She is properly inquisitive
and simply delightful

In her soul
there is a firefly
and a butterfly
and a howling
and an awaking hibernation
and an intense nature stirring
and swimming against the current
and jaws behind cages
there is animal frustration
there is reckless abandonment
and wide eyes blinking
and nomadic starlight
there is a throbbing
there is sex
there is heat lightning
there is music

In her heart
there is bleeding and beating
and balancing between
She is yearning and giving
and wearing it on her sleeve
under lock annd key
and holding your hand
and eye contact
and struggling up stairs
and falling to pieces
and breaking and mending
and smiling at strangers
and forgiveness
and hope

for a man I have much respect

When I think of you
I don't think of the finest wine or Zagets top ten restaurants,
I don't think of the connections you seem to have everywhere,
I don't think of extravagance, or affluence, or wearing the right shoes to impress...

I think of how you look so true back lit by street lamps, everything shines in the damp light. You, clutching a contraband bottle of sparkling water to your chest searching for any open bar on Fillmore to make a last stand, finishing strong then escaping home to turn the music way up and dance with me in your arms...

When I think of you I think in lyrics.

I may not know what it is, but i know what it isn't

it isn't this

and i'm over it


When was the last time
you really let it all out
and said exactly what was on your mind?

When was the last time
you slept next to a friend
without the whole town assuming you fucked them?

When was the last time
you held someones hand
and truly meant it?

When was the last time
you were part of a conversation
that was genuinely engaging?

When was the last time
you got back the same if not more
than you put in?

When was the last time
you fell in love
without reservations?

When was the last time
you looked around
and everything and everyone was beautiful?

When was the last time
you listened to yourself
and actually took your own advice?

When was the last time
you danced alone to the music
in a room full of people?

When was the last time
you did
exactly what you wanted to?

forecast west

I've been back and forth
spent many alone hours
at the mercy of airport music
sleeping sitting up, shades on
getting high off my own adrenaline
and the romance of traveling

After twenty four hours
of transfers and turbulence
jingling the dimes in my pockets
charging my phone in terminal sockets
I'm standing around baggage claim
while they attempt to locate
my lost luggage again

Now, in some rundown neighborhood
in some horror flick of an apartment
where the rent is so low
the walls might as well be
those of a casket
I'm dead waiting

For a few fools mingling about
a mall parking lot
who obviously have
communication problems
they keep ringing
demanding directions from me
to where I am
when some among them
have more of a clue
then I ever will

So now crammed in the back of a Mustang
with three kids who love ICP
and have no idea how to navigate
all on our way to take part in
some backwards backwoods affair
revolving around a rodent
that would rather be sleeping

I flew in for this
I keep telling myself
I flew in for all of you
to see you more time
before I don't fly back again

It's against the rules
to have expectations
you see, I've been awake now
for more than forty eight hours
from the clouds to touchdown
from storm front to coach light
making up for lost time
drinking wine like a fish
thinking of Bacchus
dancing and dosed
realizing this trip is my own

And I guess it could be the weather
or the hum you all create
the one that dreams of crescendo
the one that lusts in the direction of wander
that makes me smile wider
because I know where I belong
I know where I really am

why?

can't deny the obvious child
dancing barefoot in the living room
holding every hand from coast to coast
loving everyone with all of herself

well she may be just a sunspot
accelerating particles to higher energies
interfering in the plasma of our souls
causing magnetic sub-storms to explode

she can't deny the obvious
although many a time she's tried
you see the thing is simple love
she feels you all all day and night

she can hear every whisper
the ones you whisper to yourselves
she's hears you screaming
begging, she feels your misery child
she knows you lie to yourselves

and theres no cure for the obvious child
just hit repeat and play again
theres nothing more to know nothing left to discover
put yourself out into it
over and over and over

don't deny the obvious child
you know where you want to be
can't keep trying to deny the obvious child
only hope for eyes that see
and songs that sing along my friend
and friends that do the same
feet that dance you through the night,
and out way past 6am

only hope for souls that want to know you
only hope for arms that want to hold you
hold you up and hug you back
arms that aren't afraid of the obvious child
for we are only children anyway
afraid of each other
afraid of the obvious
denying each other
denying the obvious

just hit repeat play again
sit and listen it's obvious child
dance if it takes you there
we are all just obvious children
obvious children anyway

antronix

I lit a garbage cigarette
with a right angle match
and the evening was just begining

you should be able to think better
under that heated blanket

the old thirst

It’s not fair that I would have such an itch
To swim in February
And I need the water
Like I needed the drink
A warm ache

And when I close my eyes
I see summer
A sun dappled low tide
And my legs
As I’ve seen them a thousand times before
In the drink
I need the drink

beyond the black hole

wondering in this familiar bar
how can this be enough for them all
do they ever dream of something more
than what they've grown to know

or am i just some crazy chick
blown off into the wind
to travel miles of literature
against the spineless sinister

are we lost in angels territory
are you touched do you have ears
do you hear the restless sound awakening
children can you feel the whoosh of wings breathing

on weathered toes i perch above the crowd
i'm no more human than the rest
only more vividly driven
driven day by day back to the west

so i can aim to sew these pockets deep
accommodate a few of you at least
show you all the living dream i've been lost in
keep you vivid, keep you wondering

contemplating the progression of purple water through photos of a dog

Okay Jack! I'm missing you
and your forever loyal Gretchen
I miss the birds on your front lawn
pecking at the ground
I miss painting
water dripping
throughout your house
cigarettes and wine
thoughts exchanged
on your side porch
And when you'd come home from work Jack
pull in the driveway
lock up the gate
When you'd walk through the door
loyal Gretchen shakes her tail for you Jack
while awkwardly I fall in love
and I know there's no explaination needed
for it's not a love of lust
it's more like knowing in those moments
that remembering them will feel just
as intense and comfortable
as our time spent was, your influence
purple water on the brush

Okay Jack
I'm missing you
and your iron-on
Cheshire grin
I miss your honesty
your philosophies
your poetry
your art
I miss talking about everything
listening, taking all of it in
I miss our humble hillside friendship
I miss you Jack
I miss Gretchen

learning love

He kisses her goodbye
She lies topless in his bed
He rushes out the door
It rains outside again
She sleeps a little more
puts on a shirt, smokes a cigarette

She wants to wait for his return
She wants to fly so far away
so he has no chance to break her heart
She's manic in that way
She finds it hard to be
a butterfly these days

All she knows
are gypsies shoes
how to tumble with the wind
and moving when the music moves you
to look beyond the skin

She knows about the weather
especially the rain
She feels you standing next to her
both happiness and pain

So gypsy babe
grabs up her boots
ties them patiently
throws her bag over her left shoulder
and walks out the door into the day

Because after all
is said and done
She knows her heart
She knows her head
and that there are no mistakes made
only friends to teach and learn with

today I tied a red piece of flowery fabric around my neck
it made me, at one point, feel like a kitten
...I wanted to play with everything

The Andromeda Strain

get these old fingers
rotting their cold colors off into my room
get them out of my eyes
this observation leaves a colloidial guilt in my mouth
weighed heavy with the silver payment i recieved on my tounge
for delivering my saviour to his golgotha

oh dont bother to hang me now
me and my judas hands are payin visit
to pretty pontius' house
and my eyes, they are filling with water
and we're all going to wash with this waste

plastic shutters
plastic bus is
plastic plastics
and plastic fusses
give me the lakes of glass
so i can dance with the crass
oh andromeda
give me crystal blood
and ill turn in anyone you call heretic

brass skin-drops

i fear i'm drifting apart from my part
don't let me get too far from my hands
oh can you cast in your hands
i'm getting too close to the place
i was murdered
i shouldnt speak it
this spectre with this secret
a stolen whisper
i found it on the tounge of girl that i want dead
its all i can think of some days
she's taking my skin in sections
how much is enough
to cover it up
her secret
its in her war
iits in her lips
its in her dissolution

Ghost scabs

what is on the table was in my hands before
what is in my hands has been in my eyes for quite some time
what my eyes behold is on the table stricken from my hand
senses decieve and im giving in, i secede
i look down to a wondering warm belly
to the shock of a has-been shot
my wounds burn with scabs forming like cement
i shudder thinking of the spill
who gave away my position?
the train car remains attached but the door is locked
no one will be leaving us and we've all got serious injuries
i see pale skin everywhere
we're all becoming ghosts
or hosts

Harvest

im courting with a hooker
aint that a shame?
shes givinn me the things i need to get past makin the cut
i got the number that i need to get it through
i got the number i need to get down from here

ive been payin my way in small stolen change
im a desperate man
ive got a desperate plan
warning
warning you
you got to give me that liquid in your veins
i know its laced with hallucinations
its got all your nightmares written down
and categorized according to what level
itll leave you in hell

when i feel im getting free
ill be on the floor
writhing on my stomach
like a forming moon
when i feel im turning
ill be in your arms
with no where to hide
just leave me in the sun
i'll flush my skin down the rocks
and you'll see what i mean
when i say i fear i've caught the stalks

i dont need these legs
they're made for runnin
im not a coward anymore
as long as i keep cutting
the stalks from growing into the face of the moon
we will have harvest

hourglasseye

hearts at rest
feet facing west
dont cramp up with fear
i need to confess
a gas applause spread the plague
gyrating seeding the wheat spin scythe
we're in the way with our eyes
if i had it my way
we'd be offering sacrifice

dont look at my rings
their origin of alchemy is larceny
they're tied to me by inevitability
yours look just the same to me
your tied to the wing

we're all going down it's the same, same to me
i've been given poison
i'm a desperate man
under a magnifying hourglasseye

i can hear
all of you

all
of
you





it's not easy

paul wrote songs in his sleep

been walking a lot
just working it out
familiarizing myself
with myself

been peelin back layers
with some rough sandpaper
shreddin innocence
like a snake skin

been staring at the ceiling
memorizing each detail and thinking
about hands held sincerely
and heroin in the veins of january

been flickin the whip at my boot heels
been sleepin on a bed of nails
been holding back from something
been running running running

and "why deny the obvious child"

i say "I know what I know....We come and we go..."

the day after the day after

here i am
sitting on the bar
legs dangling off
sippin mimosas
the saintly bartender stirred up
with the champagne we brought

everything is green
your hand is on my stomach
and if it hadn't been suggested
that I sit and breathe a minute
uncontrollably,
I'd be all over you

this wasn't what i expected
not any bit of it
but i guess i could take refuge
in my own words
expect nothing
you'll be more surprised
and less disappointed

I met Sara Garmin at the Philadelphi Library

Her hair was blacker in the dream
but she had the same bangs
and was all innocense
and had the same storys
about travel.

I think she really did know
that when you go on route
nine north, you'll always
get to a diner. She did
know where the perfect
corner was to get coffee
and a cheesesteak
on either side of the street.

I still don't believe her
when she says to stay
on the turnpike
and follow it home.

Lust lookin' for Romance

I went searching for a song
on my FM radio last night
over highways and over hills
searching for that perfect note

I went searching for a song
Coulda been jazz...
just searching for that beat
to come drifting up off the road

I went searching for a song
I went looking for a dance
I went searching on the road
just Lust looking for Romance

I realize now
that I was just
something
to keep you from dieing
and feeling alone

you just wanted to feel
worthy
of breathing
all that precious air

so I became
obsolete
you didn't need me
not anymore

once you found
a few friends.

A Ghost in a Ghost Town

I thought about it again
tonight
that rush of red
pouring over my hands
and I tried
to put pressure on the wound
on that
self inflicted gashed throat

and I fantasized
about not waking up
not waking ever again
and I sighed
in relief
at the dark

but I opened my eyes
and I was still here
even though you
you were still gone

and my stomach still boiled
and my hands still shook
and I gave up right there

I gave up on suicide
on love. on you.

I'm not gonna tell you
that I've given up on love
but I wish you knew

And I'm not gonna tell you
'bout all those little pieces
that've sunken to my gut,
made my stomach bitter

I'm not gonna tell you
'bout how I can't eat
and have no use for sleep

I'm not gonna tell you
that I miss you
But I wish you knew

I wish you knew...

I wanted to feel loved
not tolerated

I wanted you to miss me

I wanted to be invited
even if I turned it down

I just wanted to know
that you wished I was there

O.K.
fine
you win
I'm broken
I'll let go
You run away

Go find it
Whatever you're looking for
And I'll continue my search
For what I thought I had found

hey wicker sunrise and snowshine

all these years i've been sittin here
wondering why
you never talk to me


then i realized
stumbling around
in early hours frigid
and frozen, raw
and rodents
and myths
singing weather predictions
for the next six weeks
and coming down easy

that really

i've nothing to say to you anyway

Poem About Poets Who Talk Too Much

I don't care about what you have to say
Nobody cares about what you have to say
You talk to loud, you talk to fast
Everything probably rhymes which is gay
it is gay. Do you hear what I say?
I say what I may
so go fuck yourself.

Nobody cares about what you have to say
You'll work your jobs
and nobody will care.
Nothing will change
and nobody will care.
Your five minutes of fame ended
in third grade
and I'm gonna break your heart
your teaching didn't care either.

Nobody cares about politics
or hippies
or your books
or your magazines
nobody cares about your environment
or your library
or your beards
nobody cares about your hip
nobody cares about your hop
but we should care about the weather
nobody cares about your literary blogs
or your photographs
or your rock and roll bands
nobody cares about what you have to say
and nobody ever will.

cats don't understand string theory

I throw the toy mouse attached
to the string and the cat always
thinks I'm getting rid of it,
but I'm not I pull it back it in
and he chases it and when I
get it again I just throw it
right back out there.
Girls don't understand it
either.

I dreamt I met Sara Garmin in a Dream

I dreamt I met Sara Garmin in a dream.
It began on a baseball field and all my friends
were there playing baseball. They weren't up
at bat or anything and sitting in the dugout.
I think I felt that they lost the game and things
were rapping up and they were all headed
to the diner.

I was in my car and using my Garmin
to find the diner. She said in a british
accent that I had programmed for her
to get on route 9 north and eventually
I would hit a diner. and she said it in
a way like it was obvious, that there
is always a diner with your friends
on route 9 north.

When I got there my friends were there,
on the far side of the diner against the wall.
But I was seated somewhere else
and I didn't object. And Sara Garmin
with that British accent asked me
for my order. (As if it should have
been obvious) I didn't know
what I wanted but stared at Sara
with her short black hair
and notebook waiting for
my next direction.

My Women

My world is a woman
a mother I call Earth
beautiful and strong
wise and calculating
She may be bitter at times
ever vengeful for our gluttony
Though her patience is immeasurable
and her hand is always open to hold us
My ship is a woman
Her lines steady and taught
to keep her in a safe motion
to take us to new and wild shores
She lets us believe we direct the voyage
while she turns us blind in storm
but she'll bring us in come daylight
My mind is a woman
pitting this against that
discriminating all and nothing
She teases me with dream and hope
and burns me with truth and fact
as a woman will do
As my sun is a woman
who will never stay
and my youth is a woman
destroying herself for temporary pleasure
My heart is a woman
who hates and aches for hating
And my art is a woman
who persistently tires of routine
My women are devious and cold
but comforting and loving
Taking all I have
as a woman will do
But their eyes disclose a secret
you can only see in desperate hours
My women are not my women
I am theirs to carry
and that is why I lose the fight

in sunsets
i'll remeber
(the way dew remebers
shifting states)
us as
butterflies and volcanoes
as a unity
of fragile simple natural grace
and the unimaginable power
of all that rock sliding
and torquing in violence and time

women and words

women like sex
or at least
women like sex
with poets
more
than poets
like sex with
women


and i'm scribblin
words
scrawlin syllables
constantly, obsessively
as some poor attempt
to make love to the dazzlin world
all out in front of me
constantly

where mortal hands weep at their limits
and women weep at their poets
and poets weep at their words
and words weep at the world

steel

steel
i think of steel
and holy cold detroit
with its winds
and cars glistenin commin offa lines
and jack ridin in em across rollin hills
and insanely flat and large spaces

steel
i think of steel
and how the west was won
by smith
and that house out in california
that his wife built
cuz all those ghosts just kept tellin her to keep buildin
and how that steel was pressed into
the shape of death
and how steel is beutiful
in the right light
and how death is beutiful
in the right light
and how we're all so beutiful
in the right light

steel
i think of steel
and buildings
so strong and tall
and straight as
the horizons
they erupt from
and all those saintly iron workers
building america
building america
girder by girder

and the bridges spanning
and the train tracks runnin off
silently
and Bethlehem rusting

steel
i think of steel
and history
and romance
and steel

(tribute to william s, i mean chris)

Ginsberg wrote about himself
as the universe and all the poets in the produce isles
in all the whirling samsara
Jack, about lost soot covered America and the souls strewn across
Faulkner, about the holy mud and dilapidated buildings of an Ancient south
and London wrote about dogs fogging in the cold
but Mac wrote that William wrote about cats

me, I write about women

and sometimes they move all smooth
and liquid silk
and occassionally they burn and swallow everything
when they bat their eyes or throw their hips

but sometimes they're sunsets, static and memory
and the moon rolling heavily across the vacuous night
and cars all cold and metal
with aggrevated headlights streaming through the streets
sometimes they're the streets and the tears
and the mysteries strung out on rosaries
wrapping whithered hands
and eyelashes and cement trucks and
travellin miles and loving and
all sorts of elements with wild properties

sometimes they're stars
and sometimes they're drunk sciences
or religions and faith and frenzied dance
or nine to fives in poor lighting

and sometimes they're the dry dust kickin up from the dry earth

but mostly
they're the nameless space between

me, I write about women

Telepathic Telephony

She's Prime

I fucked 'er
You fucked 'er
So who's gonna drive 'er home?
I'm low on gas
and the goddamn drinks
weren't cheap
They must charge extra
For the fuckin' umbrella thing
How many times does it take
'til we realize
that first they're just tits
but then it's a dilemma
Maybe it was worth it
just for the kinky shit she's into
until she copped my last smoke
So take her home
Grab me a pack
And when you drop her off
tell her I love her

Ugly Women

Ugly women
are not as lonely as you'd think
They know the right places
to find those hollow men
Men with no eyes
for the beauty we see
or think we see
Men who stir their thoughts
slowly up there
In that hard and ruptured block
with cheap water beer
Tired and heavy
Obsolete
Hoping for a strong women
beautiful or not
to help them lift their bones

don't think it needs one

Hello Melancholy
is it good to see you again
welcome friend
tired lover
where have you been
for it's been
quite a some time since
you've wandered you're way into my life

little blue
I've missed you
I've reached my limit
of pleasant moments
my cups overflowing
smiles wide and glowing
but you've come back
to meet me empty
at the bottom

and I know
even though
you drift in and out
crest and trough
you'll be back around
to flip me upside down
pull at my heart
and call the rain
make me want to die
so i can be reborn again

Hello Melancholy
I've missed you
my friend

Rattling Windows and Buckets of Hope

okay so here we go
feeble be it may

dreaming last night
your giant bed
drowning in the down comforter
and out the giant double windows
the city at night lit up and dreaming

strolling through vivid half awake semi-sleep hallucinations
and I am dreaming,
of a strange neighbor of yours
from across the hall
who keeps barging in
and milling about
in your apartment

then (in this dream)
you have to drive me
to the airport
to go back to Jersey

but that's completely irrelevent

now awake 11:30am
in your Russian Hill abode
on top of the world
you've left for a meeting
and golfing
and i'm on the balcony smoking

and someone starts knocking
and it's your landlord or something
and now there are all these people here
measuring the 80 million windows
in you living room
that provide the panoramic view
of our city San Francisco

and in the bedrooms
and accidentally in the bathroom
they're just milling about your apartment
with a tape measure

and i wouldn't have answered the door
if i hadn't thought it was you
forgetting something

and i wouldn't have let them in
but they seemed to be of authority
I mean, he was dressed like a Rabi

and lately i've been
contemplating religion

Points of indeterminable size

I was reclining on the loveseat
In the library in the sun
Not thinking about anything
And feeling the time standing still

But time started back up again
When I started to think
Of why sloth is considered by some a sin
And why some think time is an enemy

But I know time is just the dimension “above” me
In that dimension
There is a multitude of me-s
That exist on offshoots of moments
If you think of moments like points along a line
Or rather more like points along the lines making up some kind of crazy time ball

I like to imagine that mine is shaped like a sea Urchin

Now I recognize that those branches are influenced
By choice, chance, and transaction
So some where, some time, some how, in a transaction

I picked up some Quantum physics

That the subatomic particles
The ones that make up my world
Are collapsed from waves of probability
And that’s done by the mere act of observation

So now by my foolish thinking
I realize that I’m collapsing the indeterminate waves of my probable futures

And it bums me out

But it was really something else
When time stood still

Why I Loved Hershey Bars. (Unchanged since 1918 and again in 2007)

Everyday was Diner Day when I was in High School. Another Piece from Art Con. 2004-2005. The Original name for this was "Why I Love Hershey Bars." Even that has changed now.

That sweet smell of Nostalgia made its way into my nose and back into my brain as i made my way into the town where i was born. I made my way into the diner, where i had spent so many days and nights. When everyone knew my name. When everyone knew what i wanted. "Give me a coffee," thats what i muttered to the waitress at the counter. "Just give me a coffee and nothing else." I don't want to bore you with stories of the past, but the price of coffee had gone up in town since i'd been away. An additional 25 cents. And the Diner looked no good; Well, worse than it had years before. And the waitresses were all new and they had changed the menus and the managment had all left. I had no more friends in that dank place.
-Change is no good.-

A Flag Upside Down Means Distress

Another one from Art Con. Probably from 2004-2005.

Raise the flag upside down
Tell the world the fire is burning
in the heart of America
and it's growing
Families and buildings
burned and destroyed
Tell the world the fire is burning
in the heart of America
In the amber fields
and the purple mountains
whose majesty has turned his head
Raise the flag upside down
Call out distress for someone to help
Tell the world America is burning

Not With Me

I used to post my stuff (before I met you wonderful lads and lassies) on a site called Art Conspiracy. I figured I'd post some of the stuff that was on there to show alittle bit of contrast. We're all friends so you should all know where I come from. This is probably from 2003-2004.


The soft caress of my hand moving gracefully around the curve in your neck
quickly became a strangling embrace, forcing the life from your body.
As the light left your eyes, you looked so Beautiful.
Goodnight, my Darling.

And there's nothing I'd like more
than to put out cigarettes on your arms.
And there's nothing I'd like more
than to hear you scream and cry.

This seething anger quickly replaces my tears
of lonely frustration.
And as my hands fall from my face,
they harden into fists of rage.

-My cheeks are dry, dear. My eyes don't leak-

This was all written in a promise mailed to you 6 months ago.!!
I WONT COME BACK TO YOU!!
Take it out now and read it outloud.
You scream, You shout, but your words will just
go in one end And out the other
Just like they always did

And when you come to tell me that this poem was lame?
I'll shudder I'll Laugh And I'll spit in your face
It was always a game And i was just playing
And as for the new GUY thats come into YOUR life?
Baby, he's a boy.

And everytime his lips touch your face
You'll think of me
And everytime his hand holds yours
You'll think of me
And i hope everytime he makes you cry
You'll think of me
And everytime he hurts you
You'll think of me
Every slap across your face
You better think of me!

And when you die, baby girl?
You will think of me

-And my cheeks will be dry, dear. My eyes won't leak-

Because every mistake you make from here to the grave, will be...

Because you were not with me.

god damn thats a nice fridge

the orange juice is so...



...cold
i said god damn

football = poetry

when boxers are training
for a fight they can't fuck.
it weakens their performance.
(While boxing not fucking)
and their essentially the same
thing, boxing and sex
or boxing and poetry
or football and poetry
or anything and anything.
Hemingway hated himself
because he couldn't write
as well as Dostoyevsky.
He blamed it on his wife
and the drinking
and F. Scott.
But it was never
the bulls fault.
It's never
the bulls fault.

...

I missed the ashtray
And put it out on your forehead
And I didn’t think a thing of it

The ashtray
Your forehead

I couldn’t care less

after realizing it was full again

We all have
Within us
A paper cup

Filled with guilt
And resentment
And all the liquid sour feelings


You fill it up
The paper cup

In moments quick
Without remorse

Then you must either
sip it slowly
Or let it overflow


I’d like to let it
Evaporate
And see how bitter
The reside tastes

Puppeteer

Occasionally
I still find plastic eyes
In my sock drawer
And it reminds me
Of what I was supposed to be

cult for a few?

if you were here with me
in this beauty city
every Sunday
i'd take you to church
and on each new Sunday
we'd visit a different one
we'd sit in every pew
recite every hymn
admire all the ancient
stained-glass windows
and contemplate divine
untill we've spared
all religion
a momment of our time

Like You Have Anything Better To Do?

Today is Tuesday.

Which makes tonight Diner Night.

It starts at 10:10pm and doesn't end until atleast tomorrow.

Stacy Jones will be making buttons, I'm sure those guys with beards will show up, Brownstone will be doing his thing and I'm sure Mac will atleast try and make it.

Diner Night at the Toms River Diner. Poetry, Jokes, Questions, Conversations concerning the Cosmos and CAD drawings of Alto Shaams upon request.

For CAD drawings, please allow 5-8 business days. All other requests can expect instant gratification. Except for bonfires. those take alittle planning.

I expect to see you there.

Canada Dry, Sex, and Cocaine

There's a war inside my body
it tares at me every which way
from brain to heart to hips and toes love
circle 'round and back again
and it's you my friend who's fired
the first shot into my veins

Oh fuck! the rush
my god, the quake
I tremble, you brush by
the slight chill of your passivity
just simply drives me wild

Now love who bares no ego
well not one I've yet to find
your hair has broken free it's bounds
slipped forward, hides your eyes
and if I'm found bold enough to meet your gaze
through each strand fallen reflexively into place
my stomach twists up inside itself
goose-bumps assault my thighs
Oh fuck my love!
you're intensity electrified
I'm melted, paralyzed
and oh more than ever willing
to fill your glass along with mine

I want to seep into your skin love
I want to feel you when I breathe
I want your hands upon my wrists
I want to feel the squeeze
of my heart and brain and tingling hips love
waging war upon one another
for your eyes to drift in a direction
of most intimate consequences
I want these brutal wrenches of affection

Bring me to my knees love
hold my hair, draw up my eyes
to meet yours as you strip those strings
love SHOCK me left and right
take it slow
subtle one
I'm keen to anticipate
I can smell antiquity
flowing through your blood
you see for now love
I'm most content
just trying to catch
the lighting bolts
off of your eyes as they reflect
SHOCK ME!
I need it

my body's at war with itself and you're winning

I refuse to believe
that growing up means
you hafta stop acting
like a rockstar

Little boy
stomping his feet
smashing his fists
in the air
screaming like a
hell bat
wounded
balling out his eyes
cursing the stars
biting his lip
'cause we took
those scissors to his head
and all he could say was
'put it back'
'put my hair back'

I always worry
'bout gravity givin' up
and being sucked into
Black Nothing Space
But I wonder if
atleast to the stars
we would be beautiful
like a meteor shower

I used to see God in her eyes
especially when she cried
But I swear
I smelled Satan
on her breath tonight

she sits on the front steps
wearing his old t-shirt
which drapes over her legs
wrapping her up in his scent
she watches the rain fall
slow and steady
as the t-shirt
clings
to her body
like she clings
to his sepia memories
and his scent
slowly washes away
as the rain rolls
down
her
body

common courtesy

you talk too much
over dramatic lush
without the good grace
to bow your head
and it breaks my heart to feel this way
for I've loved you through all these years
but yes there's someone new I see
cause each time I see you
you're a child, ungrateful and self absorbed
and it's always the end of the world

a revision of friendship

somewhere in the heat of it all
we started making love
with the lights on
I guess it was about time,
we've known each other long enough

and somewhere in some dark sports bar
in some bitter cold dead town
just a ghost and a memory to us now
over drinks we didn't buy
cause seriously,
no barkeep in their right mind
charges the homecoming king and queen
for anything
we decide to make love for the rest of our lives

and it's ours
something unspoken
that single bar room moment
and you'll go home to your wife or lover
as I do the same
somewhere down the road
and we'll never bank on anything
I'll just find you
or you'll find me
if the mood is right
somewhere where the lights are on

What do you do with that??

So, I got a phone call from my mother this morning. A friend of mine had committed suicide last night. I used to work with this guy and I never saw this coming.

After I got off the phone, I sat down and just thought about what had happened for alittle while. The usual questions came up..."How did he do it?"; "maybe it was an accident."; "I wonder if his wife will sleep there, tonight."

the one that has stuck with me though is: "What do you do with that note?"

If it was Hunter S. Thompson's? I'd frame it! He had that sense of humor, it seems.

But what do you do with John Smith's suicide note? Do you throw that away? Do you burn it? Do you keep it in a box under your bed with all of your love letters and Valentine's Day cards?

What do you do with a suicide note?

Kite flying weather 1

I want to paint this place
Because everything’s better with color
And because then
I’ll have
An appropriate place
To wait for kite flying weather

Are We Locked In?

put down the bottle
and help me find my arms
because in all these warm layers
of tricks and secrets
they could be anywhere
somewhere in the folds
maybe we'll find a memory
you hoped never to see again
and you lift that bottle again
high and eager
trying to taste the bottom
the hot burn of bourbon
sets a flame under your tongue
so you can burn down
anything I come up with
and we stand here in the dark
unaware
that if we'd just screw the damned light bulbs in
we wouldn't keep falling down stairs