Friday, March 28, 2008

listenin to soft guitar driven
art rock
in parking lot desert
reading poems from america
one state at a time
in a suit jacket
before goin into
a bullshit job

thinkin about mans three choices
(staying with the pain
running to some eastern metaphor
riding the mechanical bull)

i feel the muscles in my jaw tighten
with stress and desire

i see
the new punk
standing tough
outside the cinemas
of america
on friday nights
in expensive and pristinely worn
skin tight denim

and i play a movie over in my head
the dead milkmen
walk up

and kick the ever livin shit outta

the whole lot of em

bloody fuckin wenkers

the way dancing
freezes the world as a picture
resting on the mantle
and leaves
you with the girl
through the baseline

she was tension
pulled tight
like force contained
and the snap
when it comes
will echo
angelic voices
steel twisting

metallic dreams
on me in my sleep
the light they catch and reflect
perfectly sharp
and clean

of convertibles and messiahs
and friday nights
late for curfew
and redemption

of swarths of light
smeared by mass and acceleration
and the uncatchable
wind, all holy

of murdered youth and innocence
by the clean sharp edges
of pleasure

of faith
lost AND found
of rebirths just as painful as the first

Thursday, March 27, 2008

these kids playing banjo music
dancing in doorways
right in front
where they throw cold coffee
and snuff out cigarettes

no slow heartbreak waltz
the street is a-glow
and trinkets roll down through
the drainage grates
i'm stumbling blind past taxis
and they don't even reflect
in the headlights

so the air gets kicked up
at their feet, and i'm
walking off a bottle of wine
whistling along, echoes
shaking into the future

DB Cooper
jumpin outta his plane
in the darkness
in the black beneath
in 1971
in the wind
closing his eyes
and clutching his chest

bandits may rob me
but I snatch their eyes

and keep the dust
outta my face,
peek out over
my eyes stinging

DB Cooper
in and above
the skyward forests
or Oregon
says "get away with it"
in the darkness
in the wind

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

speech leech

I have 4ooo feelings
welling inside me
and coughing
just don't see how writing
could do justice
these emotions

words are quick
and easy
we throw them around
in attempt to communicate
we complicate

but what of a smile?
where no arrangement of consonants
and vowels
parts it's lips
obscuring it's honesty
and innocence

I've lost them
those linguistic little instruments
lost the will to manipulate
my spirit
into grammatical framework
to justify my smiles
with reasons why they exist

may have been obvious
in the growing silence
I've been feeling anyway
that it's not how or what we say
it's what is never said
that leaves the deepest impression

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


as all this samsara
is beautiful and holy
all our footholds
will be worn down by time,
leaving the world and us
sheer and shimmering, beautiful and holy

sing me a song, beautiful and holy
ooh-ooh, la-la la-la
don't you see i gone too fa
just gonna stay at home with my ma
cain't see for the light coming off that sta
sheer and shimmering, beautiful and holy

as all that is in the universe
and all that isn't in the universe,
time lapping like waves
leaving us battered,
sheer and shimmering,
beautiful and holy

Thursday, March 20, 2008

too many days without a decent burrito
and i'm telling you darling i miss your smell.
i keep a lock of hair to remind me
of that time i almost dove out into traffic
in an effort to escape that song.
i'm trimming nails with my teeth and buying two dollar burgers on the beach
waiting for low tide.
just a man with a dream of nudity wealth and love.
brown toned skin from the all week sun and even on its bad days i find it so apealing.

living a rich lifestyle on a shoestring budget trying to remember that i'm only acting like i know what i'm doing.

Child Prophets

ive got my hand in the plate
will you deliver it unto the king?
my tongue is sharp, cutting through the collection
with shattered excerpts of prophecy
we babes are speaking do not turn away
we share a leaking
its dripping into a pool on a tile floor
where you'll all seed deceit
and it will flourish
like an infection

the orgasm of this wicked sowing
will chill you to your home
and the mountains refuse to give you comfort
and the oceans wont swallow you,
no, this station will not serve you
its not crippled its cocked for self destruct
its indifferent to the human plot
look out

shaking hands wet with the washing of hands
kept with the shivers of man in a place where light is in a great demand
ma'am i can't feel your fingers in my grip
the branches are slipping away slipping away
don't let the blockade of complacency stop you on your way
it's made up of wires soldered tight to the board
feeding their greedy little beadies greedy little fingers
great greedy arms of a great greedy bastard
beast is unarmed but LIVES like a weapon
beast is unarmed but lives like a weapon
throw us overboard
we're going to have to be the tribe of exception

Unmeasured Tides

for now its walking in the temple,
the cannonball through the mosque
paradise lost

christened with the toll
cremated at dusk
fire and rust
were his only parting gifts

but you can shake a hand
and feign to comprehend
we're full of failing dams
wither us, we rust
envision us as dust
its welling up inside me now

apply pressure release the puss
boils inside my throat
vomiting water
let the dogs come home and lap it up

i'm shivering shaking
we're a bomb without a casing
exploding little eyes to find the
carcass where she hides in this mosque
i'm quivering quaking
we're a litmus tounge into the acid changing
and when i think i'[ve got your hands
you'll be thinking about how long the fall is taking
we've reached the nexus
but it's just the vestibule
we've abandoned our dear friends
we've reached the next place
the unquestionable
its in our written end

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

turn off here,
the engine
may be on fire,
or there

may be an
electrical storm,
the sky ripped thru
with jagged fire

or maybe just a
beat up old field,
and we can build
a lean-to out of old
poems, radio
waves and opiates

I mean, the clock's
busted, so maybe we've
been on this road all day.
my eyes are starting
to reflect the pavement
in that way they do
before momentum
simply takes over

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

"Always remember, your focus determines your reality."

Monday, March 17, 2008

don't get carried away with the labeling people

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*

Friday, March 14, 2008


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

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

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

A grey old

Glazed with rain

Besides the white

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


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.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


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
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
Copernican universe
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
pure movement

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

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

Monday, March 10, 2008

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

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

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

Sunday, March 09, 2008

The Night with Sex and Cigarettes

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

Saturday, March 08, 2008


there's vomit in here somewhere
I can smell it
which of these staggering
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
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

or Jesus
or hey suess
or Joshua

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

Friday, March 07, 2008

come on

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

Thursday, March 06, 2008

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

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
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


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
if gravity works
the other way
it might be hangin
offa me

Wednesday, March 05, 2008


life is an existential crises


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

Sunday, March 02, 2008

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.