Friday, September 26, 2008

October, I love it.
The letters should be dripping and red.
The absolute best thing to do in October is to find a really spooky spot, somewhere the leaves are starting to drop, and remember all the ghosts.
Make it somewhere the trees are just starting to look like boney fingers that seem to claw desperate for the yellow moon.
Let your self get real scared, remembering all the ghosts.
The fear is still genuine even if the threat is imagined.

It’s just like masturbation.

Except you replace lust with fear and instead of an orgasm you receive adrenalin high, but really it’s just like masturbation.
I just like fear fucking my own ghosts,
So do you.

Modernity and its luxuries

I got up early to help with the children and drink coffee and bullshit with my sister.
Then I worked a day, a full day, but full of what I can’t really say.
It’s very average and very American
But it wasn’t bad because I feel alright about the weather,
And when I come home I have my own little place
Here in the world.
I’ve got a little place
And all the luxuries you would expect: beer, television, smoke, smokes.
It’s the same old thing
For sure,
But I would be greedy to want more, and delusional to think I deserve more.
All the luxuries you would expect: beer, television, smoke, smokes
And sometimes even time.

Modernity and its luxuries pt two

The time to drink the beer and watch the television,
Tonight is no different.
I watch comedy and enjoy it.
A well written and well acted sitcom, beautiful.
Good television is a luxury,
Choice is a luxury,
And I’m too tired from a work week to do much but enjoy the luxury.
Then there’s a science program about the beginning of the universe,
And there’s politics on the television too.

As I get drunker,
I get dumber
And I go from comedy to science and from science to politics,
And if someone was watching,
And no one ever does,
You could watch me, a human animal melt,
From the beauty and art of humor to chest beating punditry.
But all along I have that luxury.

Modernity and its luxuries pt three

All along I have the luxury
That amazing thing that comes after paved streets and plumbing.
When no one special,
Can have a moment to think,
Big grand thoughts,
And I do think them.
Those vast amazing thoughts
When you understand something that you’ve never understood before
And you get just big enough,
A little bigger than yourself.
For just a moment it’s all laid out before you
What’s illuminated in your puzzle and what’s not
What you know and what you don’t,
And in the darkest spots,
That’s where it’s really at!
If only we had the time.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008


Jenny likes to
smear red wine
across her lips
at birthdays
friday nights
getting her world
out into yours
tellin you all about
the best pizza in town
or dirty jokes

she likes the way the world looks
all distorted
and green
or blue-ish
and a touch of red
through wine glasses and bottles

she likes to be elegant
loves to smile
through blood lips
and teeth
knows abuse
and love
and cocaine
the horrors
and the truths
of all three

Have You Seen Ugly Casanova?

as I'm wanderin Brownstone's holy interstate
crossin unnamed
and I'm wonderin bout a man
that stands seven feet tall
blood streaming down his arms
like rain
or a movie
and he's handing you
a stack of green papers
with drawings
you can hear his feet
grind and
on the broken glass
and he staggers
to the shattered window
and out
giving one last look
before disappearing again
into the mad night

Saturday, September 20, 2008

her soul is still her soul
my rib inside her
my skin chokes

She ambles at dusk
beside the hours
She has one color,
they have nothing

She spins hours into lace
She rages and grays

she walks against panic
shoulders back

murmur of the earth
is hers

projectile joy
inertia and just forms

violence of hours
she fires and invites

she mangles sacrament
a perpetual beginning

Friday, September 19, 2008

"So I did sit down, and everywhere I looked I saw customers of every description being received with love. To the waitress everybody was "honeybunch" and "darling" and "dear." It was like an emergency ward after a great catastrophe. It did not matter what race or class the victims belonged to. They were all given the same miracle drug, which was coffee. The catastrophe in this case, of course, was that the sun had come up again."

- from Jailbird, Kurt Vonnegut

The Waitress

Tanya was folding napkins, preparing for the night's dinner rush at the little diner she was working at. She stopped for a moment to light a cigarette, watching the blue smoke dance with the light pouring through the large windows that lined the walls. She thought about a life in California. She thought about walking out of work tonight, getting in her car and just driving west until she saw the ocean.

Just then, the bell on the door rang as it swung open, snapping Tanya out of her half-dream. Roy walked in and sat at the counter.

"What can I get ya', Roy?"
"Allright! How's everything, Roy?"

Tanya grabbed a cup, a saucer and the coffee pot. She placed the cup on the saucer in front of Roy and filled his cup. Then, she grabbed a handful of creamers and tossed them next to his cup. They fell sloppily across the counter.

"Ahh, not bad Tanya. Not great but not bad. Same ol' shit, ya' know?"
"I know."

Tanya put the coffee pot back on the burner and returned to her cigarette and napkin folding duties. She heard the double doors to the kitchen swing open behind her. A hand slid across her stomach from behind, down her side and then down to squeeze her ass. Mich whispered in her ear, "Hey, baby." She could feel his breath on her ear, his hand still resting on her ass. She slapped it away.

"Not now, Mich."

Mich walked back into the kitchen with a huff, like a little boy who hadn't gotten a cookie.

Tanya went about folding her napkins and smoking her cigarettes, refilling coffee cups and smacking away Mich's grabbing hands. At the end of her shift, she stopped at the gas station to fill up her tank.

"Going on vacation, Tanya?" Joe asked, pointing at the suitcases in her backseat.

Joe was always working when she stopped for gas. He was a sweet old man, always wearing the same, beat up, old cardigan; always smoking the same cigarette; the cherry always at the edge of his fingers, nearly at the filter, so close she didn't understand how his fingertips didn't get burned.

"Yeah, just takin' a little trip, Joe."
"Well, have a good time. See you in a few days."

She thought about Joe. Him walking into his house and kissing his wife's sleeping forehead at the end of the night. She'd like to have that some day.

"See you around, Joe."

She pulled out onto the road and rubbed a tear away from her eye. Everything was about to get better.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

i've been thinkin bout
that moment
that stretches and bulges
as its seen through a water droplet

the one that didnt happen

the one where
you and i walk all night
down damp city streets, glistening
the flesh of our palms
pressing together
the slow strobe
of yr skin, the cheekbones
washing over with every
well placed street lamp

the moment where the city empties
and nothing ever happens
'cept footsteps
and syllables
and occassionally silence
in wet eyes and completely

ive been thinkin bout
that moment

we sit
heavey in the fog
as laden tankers in morning
breaths mingle
make love
with all the infinite
so temporarily

and the scene
has me thinkin
if my breath can be
the air and its moisture
and the fog can be hers
then John was right and
"i am she
and she is we
and we are all together"
tankers and estuaries
and breaths
and lovers
and dancing barefoot
toes mingling amongst
mud and themselves
and breaths

dark on the sheapshead bay

and the swans stand out
only as
holy question mark necks

he was singin Leadbelly
(the one Nirvana covered in the unplugged)
as the rain was commin down

and i never trusted brenden
still never will
except in that
moment of storm
cuz he sounded
like 100 recruits
all chanting
and infallable
in number

we are all fragments
of the One perfect thing
exploring the perfection
of itself


the universe sucks its thumb with wonderment


the tattoos crawl on his arms
and his hair draws back
in his eyes, a sleeping mad laugh

i think of Ernest
well lit in the bomb blast
and early mornin
wheelin his ambulance
around the corners
god crafted in the Alps
the dust and the blood
that shook from his boots
and the words that shook
from his tongue

the city is strange
and god damn fast
with all its horns
blaring and twisting
so god damn fast
the cars barely move
on the highway
crosswalks spillin out
every way
so fast

and a small dark skinned man
plays a flute
all still
on a patch of grass

i threw i ching coins
in delirium
to show you
that i wasn't evil
but the travelin stranger
and the mountain
always thought otherwise

and we tried soft kisses
for the first time
i can remember
in yr curling hair
but yr wrists ended up bruised
again by morning

so i guess thats just how we go

thinkin of the really important ones

maybe existance is not a prerequisite
for changing the world

the only songs worth singin
are the bad ones

eulogy for the midnight smooth

i named you
but then
you became mythic
catching cold sun
on the backside of the continental divide
in angelic coast
raw and brave
holding road
beside countless cliffes
all over
all over
AMERICA (a woman you loved fast)

straight never mistaken
when i couldnt drive a true arrow
just 8 cylinder power
in jet black faith
against enemies arrayed
in battle
that hydrant, snow bank, mail box, chevy blazer
never stood a chance

yr detroit metal
or yr romantic soul

went out to the lot tonight
saw all the exhaust foggin
an' engines howlin love songs at the apathetic moon
headlights blurrin the world in halos
catchin water droplets suspended
in the air

now i been to college
an' these boys aint
an' they poor paychecks under car hoods
an' hours on the grease stained floors of
dim lit garages
till the oil gets in their poors and denim
mixin with their blood

now i been to college
an' i dont know a god damn thing
bout ignition timing
cam shafts
drive trains
overhead cams
wheel wells
fuel injection
turbo chargers...

but i aint never been able to lay ahand
on a metal body glistenin starlight
purrin heavy and feel it
finish myself

i saw you
fall in love last night
like aplot unravelling
with a strong jawed man

he was to drunk to dance
but thats okay
cuz so were you

and i love to let
my eyes catch things like that
the times that taste
of that first sip

of acclaimed red wine


the way you move
through barroom night
self conscious glass
craving eyes

but on beaches
free limbs
awkward smile
the greek letters runnin the length of yr side
"mean somethin to you"

early mornin and
baseball cap
worn and hiding
sleepless eyes

i prayed to the gods shining for a new set of imagery
my old one was worn and thready

jack kerouac is a god
no one understands
what its like to hop freight trains, lost in america
or go 40 days without food, tempted by satan
but his name is always riding lips

i want to write a great poem and walk on water
i want all of you to write a great poem
so nobody will understand our footsteps
and loaves and fishes and where it all came from
and why it goes
and no one will read
the 573 holy verses
but then
we will

only bodies whither

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

recurring dream

the long, narrow hallway
leads to small, crowded rooms
all with red walls
doors, wide open


our lives move
like perpendicular lines;
coming from different directions.
we meet, intersect,
make a point-
then move along,
going our separate ways.

i want to die owning nothing
but a smile
that i give away

the ones that hurt the most
are the ones that deny themselves
the truth
the only truth
of who they really are
of what we all really are

still and present

pardon please
my obscenities
but here's a mind i have
and i'll speak it free
so FUCK the job I'll wake up for
and pray for the dream
i buried deep in sleep the night before

i stopped aiming for the ashtray
smoking only where you can't see
smiling cause i've learned too well
how you choose what to see in me

I'm the ugly rape through broken window pains
I'm the light that leaves you blind,
the one you see in stars above
I've only the hope you'll live to find
the one beyond yourself

yes I will suck you dry
yes i will appease
yes you think you'll come to believe
in what you think is best for me
but know
oh know
i know what's me
I know what right from wrong
I know the song sung by butterflies wing
I know where I belong

so take that cage
you were taught to create
around yourself
and splinter in in rage
next time you aim blame my way
throw yourself off heights unsafe
and slam a smidgen of life back into
the hole you call your self

cause life is wicked RAW you see
and the ones that know of TRUE beauty
can acknowledge ALL from A to Z
and lead no one into the deep
lies of blind security

be the animal

that's the only way I'll see you
It's in that light I will not leave you

so yummy

all you NEED in life
is a late late night
tuna melt
in your belly
no questions asked
no aftermath
other than
head to pillow
and shitty
mourning after
fish breath
fuck off
wake up
with a smile
some drool
and a lot
to look forward to

I, do.

I will never forget those who wander tormented...
I will aways HOPE for an eye lit with child-like wonderment
I will see the best in everyone always
I will never doubt the truth of heart
I will always forgive
I will aim for betterment
I will believe in the tenderness of your touch
I will love you always
even after it's too much...

I will love you always.

all i can be
is me
whether it be good enough
for you
your standards
your idea
of the perfect
all i can be is me
all i can hope to be
is better then
ideal society
the standard
drone or clone
I stand

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Terse gems
Like a wedge

Monday, September 08, 2008

woman in the kitchen (revision)

her body hovers over
the sink full of dishes
hands red and raw,
saturated in soapy water
gray hairs fall on her face,
covering her tired eyes
and the apron drapes
over her body
just bearly revealing her
slow swayin' hips
movin' to the soft sounds of
playin' in the background

Summer is an insult.

My hand grave
with drowning,
I am western
and disregard all
that is fleshless

I could rest.
In solemn grass I
take heaven and don
the shape of centuries,
a seamless mystery

I am foreign

Sunday, September 07, 2008

autumn curls the spirit
leaves us squirming infants
crying for beginnings

Honey bees are swarming through the open windows
and as one would SWAT and FUMBLE,
i alone and humble, have patience enough
not to get stung

a red sun inside a mother
buttons awaiting love

Saturday, September 06, 2008

present and not present
my city is falling
my reds are asleep

Thursday, September 04, 2008

my hands full of drinks
and other things
you fill hands with

we move on

the days bleed into
weeks, months,
a year

walls bare, covered with art, bare again

we box up the art, memories, emotion
place it aside
make space
and find new walls to cover

a job transfer would be nice...

daily routine,
weight of stress,
the need to break

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

"Some things see by not having eyes. It works better that way."

Ryan, age 6

"Earth is heaven, whether heaven is heaven or not."

Emily Dickinson

"There is no salvation, I think, for most,
but every system is subverted by someone, someone
breaks through, becomes what he wanted to be."

Eugenio Montale