Friday, January 30, 2009

time's at fault again

That handsome man is nearer to death I know
Thrilled by an old lecture
On the tee vee

Like dancers with extravagant costumes
And porcelain skin
In old musicals

All dead now

How cruel
That I should fall
In love with ghosts

Screaming blasphemy naked at a fete champetre (garden party)

I’ve shouted obscenities
Into books
That wait to be read

By enemies and friends

I’ve left myself naked
For the sunlight

To make clear all my faults

I’ve jumped
Off the transom
Into the garden party

I could hardly expect to be caught
But I also know that I bounce

forget the toys and playground pleasantries
forget me in your growing
forget the long sweet summer dream
river swimming and cool starry redemption
for your new classics
your favorite brand news
I'm a phone call now
I'm a voice with no new history
I won't age for you
I'll never die in a photograph
Kiss a picture or a drawing I gave
to remind you that I am somewhere
and we'll find each other
in the time between our new living

I wish everyday was Sunday so I would never have to see you again

To begin, they wrote, "To whom it may concern", "My Dearest", "Dear Sir or Madman", and official titles of all types that don't belong strapped to my name. Somewhere at the bottom were things like, "Sincerely", and "All the best", even RSVP information, at times. Scattered haphazardly about the midregion were jumbled messes of nonsensical words, climbing each others stench like a mountain of dung. All of this anarchy laid captive in folds, locked down by an oppressive envelope, until that same relentless army , that band of men and women wound like turn-key toys, dropped these foreign opto-lingual bombs into my mailbox. What will happen to us?

Thoughts on the East

The characters of Middle Eastern written languages look like the wispy loop de loops of smoke that permeates their airspace from the little sticks and cones of incense, and it seems the music of the people accompanies a room shrouded in those fumes.

Their lives and land
are veiled in sand
oh what a mysterious people

Daydream #32

Deicing salt seasoned the frozen streets, crushed to a fine white powder, dirty with the day. I imagined to myself, as I looked at my car in the forefront of this nearly-blank-canvas-colored picture, I could be in the post-apocalypse right now, life after the Great War, a survivor, another chance. It's so cold outside when the sun is screened by nuclear ash, I thought to myself.

we are the birth of a catastrophic festival of innocent dreams and mischievous idealism. slaughter the pigs to feed the crowds gathering at the animal rights protest. double braced re-enforced cynics carry plastic smiles and love cowards. hey darling dig this, if eveything in the world that you fought for got its head on forward and shit up and got fixed you'd be begging for a slap on the ass around the water cooler. it aint your fault, we're born fighting, its the whole point, if this were perfect you'd be bored, wishing for pain and hatred. if the world didn't have the ugly the beautiful would seem so piss poor useless.

replays like vivid cricket synphony every time you stop to help

every girl you meet on the road in a floral dress and sandals holding a tye-dyed hemp bag is the girl of your dreams, she is so consistent and reoccurs through out your many journeys to the heart of nowhere fucking special. she speaks elegantly, but spits and smokes cigarettes listens to marley and has written in this journal every day for the past 10 years. shes charismatic and fun, complicated and pouts when the sun stays too long. adventurous she excites you into some child like rage of fantastic possibilities till you realize, you just dropped her off in a bus station in chicago, only to pick her up in new mexico with darker hair and southern acent.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Triumphant the epiphany, now i can see, the entire world is as clueless as me

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Old Poem I Found in a Bag

we were graspin' at darkness
tryin' to find beauty under
parking lot lights
or half moons

shivering in eery silence
surrounded by evergreens
and cold

and I was watchin' you dress
in the afterglow

Monday, January 26, 2009

The Scalding Noon

The onion soup
isn't as good as
I remember

but now the salt has
crusted on
the sides
with the melted cheese
and bits of onion

bring me back
to those days
of dim smokey diners
hot coffee
scrambled eggs

when such things
were worth ordering

and I was nicotine stained
blearily taking in
the moments
reading coffee news
telling Pete
better days
and nights
with women
waking up
smelling of their hair
and staring
bleary eyed

Now these
nicotine eyes
are banned, replaced
by caffine
strains of red
and the pressure against
my corneas
feels like i'm still
straining to be
one with the universe

*Compiled by Keith, Erin, Joe, Mark, and Mac at the Toms River Diner 1/26/2009 11:28PM


I remember vividly
those nervous nights of youth
clutching hands as we
made our way from
movie theatre to diner
or to coffee house
treading on rain soaked pavement
breathing in summer nights
and cool autumn air

I remember all those
late night phone calls
and hiding places
I remember that night
you were in my bed
or the time stealing kisses
while making left hand turns
and all the bad decisions
that don't really matter anymore

I remember drunken rants
made from living room floors
when we were fifteen
I remember your
warm skin on
cool nights
and being tangled
in your hair

I always remember your birthday
the christmas party
the fourth of July
nights I made you cry
walking past your house and
later on driving there
when your parents were out of town

I remember all of our
mutual friends
the songs I would
sing to you
I remember every time
I wasn't around
the things I might have missed
the words unspoken
the promises unkept

I remember you
always being there
over months and years
and many miles
I remember the day
when I introduced you
to my ex-fiance'
I remember the dinner plans

I remember the last ten years
I remember last week
and the way you smell
I just don't want
to be a memory
or a ghost

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Twenty Ounces

I googled you tonight
felt my heart sinking faster
and my eyes growing sadder
in the glow of computer screen

it made me miss you more

I made a
mental case history
on your accomplishments
throughout the day today
I found myself proud
to be a part of that life and
even just to know you

I read the article on
Big Sexy Hair
and laughed at your
tongue in your cheek
knowing it was there
as you typed quietly
giggling maybe
only to yourself

I read about an
open-mic in Chinatown
something you'd written
in those years when
I was no where to be found

I googled you tonight
checked the weather in Portugal
searched tiredly for orchids
and missed you more
more than 20 ounces

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

restaurant review

Blaspheming perverts
And intellectuals
And romantic men
Like the dim lights
In the restaurant
With its door in an alleyway
Classic lines
Red headed women
And demons


Laws protect the ones that know them.
Laws are like friends that way.
Laws are only words on paper.
Laws are like imaginary friends that way.

Some laws are not like that,
Some laws cannot be broken.

No, you cannot break the Law of Gravity,
But you can work within the laws of aerodynamics.
Loopholes are everywhere.

you say I'm fulfilled
at least artistically
but I'd never write another word
if you'd merely ask

sadness isn't anything
when you have nothing
to compare it to

the same
could be said
about loneliness

NK268 out of Ft. Lauderdale

waiting on 8pm flight
four hours early
I escape outside
from crying children
and sober drunks
to face warm floridian breeze
and smoke half hour cigarette

taxis fly underneath
steel birds soar above
every thing

and I wish
I was one of the drunks inside
but on a good night
sipping on bourbon
in the glow of bad T.V.
I wish I was
anyone but me
here and now
leaving my warm woman
for the snowy season
north bound

Captain of the Airboat Captains

old men jump on airboats
tell the dockmaster to piss off
and cowboy outta' there
searchin' for gators
sliding sideways into
cattail forest
or muck
or any other bayou debris
they work on tips
and happiness
and a little luck
they drink whiskey
talk outta' the sides
of their crooked mouths
filled with crooked teeth
send their kids to great schools
and spend their nights
rocking in southern glory
on big wrap-around porches
on big rocking chairs
hand in hand
with their highschool sweetheart
gone grey

Furrowed Brow

fuck the calendar
I'm tired of counting
days and hours
or months
until seeing home

I'm tired of waiting
fuck misery
it's just a reason to
count calendar days

and fuck waiting
get here
the lines on my face
are only getting deeper
I'm getting older
and so

she says I smoke too much
that I'm
a complainer
she worries about my
any cough
"are you allright?"
I love her attention

she likes to hold hands
anytime a hand's free
she likes to
in crowded bars
she wants me to close my eyes
I oblige
or atleast I try to

I hate these things
all of these
when they're standing alone
but it all fades
standing there with her

a week spent in sun
and I don't care
or hurricane season
I want nothing
but soft skin
and kisses softer
forget whiskey
forget the phone
forget the ride
remember this
five days of
actually feeling happy
I find myself
not overdrinking
not being a fool
not drowning
or flailing about

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

i heard you twice the fourth time

it's a full moon out tonight
and you wouldn't know it
but there's cougars amidst
so watch your back
they'll sneak up behind you
and take what is supposed to be yours
slatterns in sheep's clothing
pretending to be sisters

Friday, January 09, 2009

"however. the good man at the restaurant and beer provider across the street sent someone to procure my omnipresent order of two pbr forties. a young man who looked exactly like someone i knew in the sense that i knew who they were in terms of what they did, but not as a human being, was talking to the guy running the show about some pamphlets he had. i was casually observing the dude, but became a little more intrigued when the man behind the counter smiled and accepted the stack of proffered booklets. turned out they were issues of some sort of poetic compilation. when my beers arrived, the man/manager enthusiastically informed me i was free to take one, free of charge (i don't think anyone was paying, but he was happy to tell me i could have it). i took it home with the beer, and decided to try and pair them in experience as they held together in acquisition. worked out rather well. the booklet was something called the idiom. i found it to be rather engaging and the content to be surprisingly by-and-large worthwhile. i immediately thought of my preferred originator of grotesque parody, who produces work in keeping with but notably superior to things of this nature. actually, a lot of the content was in the same league, a lot better than i expected it to be, with an excellent variety and some strikingly compelling imagery. a few heavy hitters in the tangible paper product. however, the progenitor of some content was named as this blog, which contains an inordinate amount of drivel compared with the publication i received. this mostly serves the notion that whoever is editing knows what they are up to, and i find that comforting. " -some guys blog entry-

WE should leave some comments on this guys blog. Any pictures of penises would probably be something he would appreciate. Walking English should not stand for these types of comments. I thought when you said butterfiles were volcanoes you meant it....

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Lost in the Electric

you set fires
in the lines you write
in the computer universe light
breaking through the boundaries
of simple human thought
your notebook checks the spelling
and finds the perfect font
you're punching at your memories
pounding at the keys
point and click and you're a genius
your friends list will agree
forward me your yearning
send me a link to your loss
blog about your learning
in the electric you are lost
lock me in your network
I'm the icon you regret
one more page lost in the billions
a soul caught in the net
your fire's just a flicker
the screen, your eyes and head
quoted throughout the wire world
with things you never said

I'm writing the next perfection
the one all the hipster kids know
and show to each other
just give me twenty perc. tens
and a bottle of something
and this will be legendary
a bedroom made of carbon monoxide
a really shitty will
some broken glass and a bloodstained bathroom
and we'll see who's underground
they won't say, "I saw it coming."
they won't even say, "I knew him well."
they'll say, "What the fuck"
and, "Was there anything left in the bottle?"
My documentary would be twenty some-odd writers
promoting their projects and themselves
and, "oh yeah...yeah he was great."
'Way before his time'
Before his time?!
keep reading that statement
that shit can be my legacy

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

when she says she's more of a greatful dead kind of girl
she just means she sleeps around
and when she says she stole her friend's ipod with all the emo music
she just means she meticulously downloaded each song

far off in salt water wind
in another breathless story all together
with three hitchhikers all distinct
one named Juliet says,
"I really like yer soundtrack"

but its just the radio
sometimes its perfect
sometimes a ghost

i wandered over the east and the west
not knowing where i was
following the moon
lost in god

wise men still seek Him
-bible quote on a church
(strange how its completely different when u stress different words)

Monday, January 05, 2009

The World Will Laugh When You Find God

Clarity is an orgasm
pump, pump, pump
you can feel every vein swelling, surging
you could look God in the eye,
were it not for your instituted shame.

Tuesdays and Sundays

we spend nights as huddled youth
crowding at booths and tables
or countertop
this is our church
we come here for cleansing and confession
we come here to watch the dead rise
and the righteous
fall from grace
or just too drunk to stand up
this is our church
this is our religion
we discuss our lives and our salvation
the road to hell and bad intentions
under fluorescent chandeliers
with breath stinking
of cigarettes, coffee and the days wear
this is our church
we discuss our religion
openly and free
constantly spreading the good word
inviting others in
from the cold world waiting outside
this is our church

Hope For Goodbye

maybe the best thing woulda' been
for me to quit drinkin'
all those years back
when ya' told me ta take it easy

maybe the best thing coulda' been
going to fancy art school
making the big money
takin' pictures or as an ad exec

maybe the best thing woulda' been
keeping any number of promises
that I spit through yellow teeth
like moving or that job

maybe the best thing coula been
listening to your grandfather
when he told me to become a cop

maybe the best thing was
you not calling
and me
writin' ya' off

Sunday, January 04, 2009


In a tireless search for the ocean,
i never find the time to sleep in my own riverbed.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

"How was your trip?"

The fun started the second we got off the tiny airplane. A little man in an ugly uniform rolled the stairs up to the door way locked them in place and just walked off. I watched Leena's done up face closely. I looked behind me up the mobile staircase as she took her first steps squinting into the tropic light. The heavy air visibly undoing all the laborious work that was her hair. Dora behind her. Leena kept squinting using her one hand as a shield, The other held the railing and she smiled mindlessly as she walked down the small stairs. On the ground I watched her eyes un-squint and I watched her prom queen smile slide slowly into a look of mild disgust. I loved that moment, I looked to Dora to see her looking unconcerned and actually rather bored. So that pissed me off and I went back to watching Leena. I suppose Leena is good looking. She tries and often succeeds, but none of it held up to the weather now. Her hair was drooping and she looked as if she was melting a bit. It was just the right level of gruesome. Just staring into jungle blankly when she had clearly expected a manicured palm paradise. I watched so closely, I watched muscles under the makeup turn her face from mild disgust to outright fury. It was wonderful. She was dressed in some gaudy shit, and melting as she was she looked a bit like a tropical Barbie left out in the sun.

"Oh, Darling!" she said sweetly. I felt the weight in my back pocket. "Darling! I hope the limo thats taking us to the resort isn't late." I'd said nothing about a limo. Ever. Then she just stood there, looking stupidly disappointed in ruffles. I surveyed the land behind her as she waited for me to reply.I just wanted to make her wait. It went from red pressed dirt that reminded me just a bit of baseball diamond to lurid nasty jungle in a jump. It was terrifying. I was so excited I quite nearly pissed my pants. 'There's no limo Lee, no limo.' I said flatly after a while. Her mouth hung open just a bit while Dora moved closer next to her.I wanted to laugh at Dora. She was dressed perfectly for this third world atmosphere, right out of the "Save the Kids" commercials. I just couldn't wait to be rid her, she gave me the creeps. It was like Lees' shadow had come apart from her up a wall in bad light, and now it could wander. That was fucking Dora. Oh, and now she had this look on her face like she was fucking pleased about something.

"There's no limo and there's no resort." she said like a know it all teenager. Leena was just catching up to what was going on. Now she was melted and furious and it really seem at that moment to be going my way. I started giggling a little, like I was about to pull a prank, I wasn't loony, I was totally barking fucking mad. I had been unsound for months but now I was out in the jungle and for some reason I felt the madness was my very best friend. I took quick shallow crazy person breaths.

My back pocket felt so heavy.

I just shook a bit and tried to get a grip on what to do next. I hadn't really thought it that far out. I guess I thought I would run back to the plane and leave them there. In a logging town in the South American rainforest. If they tried to get at me, I'd just brandish the gun. Maybe like that. Like it would be that easy. I won't lie though, the thought had fleetingly cross my mind to kill them. I just wasn't sure I could actually do it. I'm not a tough guy really, I'm just a bit adventurous. Dora had a smug smile that I just absolutely wanted to smack off of her god damned face, but I was actually pretty scared of her. The slight smile made me feel out of my league for some reason. Maybe it was her shitty smile or maybe the rum sweat that was dripping in buckets off of us. No it was because I was absolutely out of my league. If I had to say what the weather was like I would say it was sunny but like standing in breath. It smelled a bit like diesel fuel too. I realized that I had no fucking clue what I was doing here, I didn't really have a plan and I didn't actually think I could get away with anything. I had slowly been going mad and decided to bring shit to a head. I decided to do that in the jungle. My eyes glazed over and I stood.
Dora continued: "There's no limo, there's no resort, and you're going to try and kill us." Leena twitched with fear, her makeup now all sweat off and suddenly looked much more human. Dora moved quickly down and I was paralyzed with fear. My shoulders were lax and was was standing like a shit brick. Suddenly I could see very clearly and cleanly everything that was going down. It was like I was being forced to see what was going on because my fucking journey was ending and I wasn't allowed to miss this part. Lee, went shy behind her sister in a quick ballet step and Dora dropped down and pulled a gun from under her too big shirt. It was well worn and I think it said something about a library picnic in New Jersey, the shirt lifted a bit as she fell and betrayed that she was actually very slim. She was dropping to a crouch calculated and quick and drawing her weapon, the look on her face was all work...

a breeze could have knocked me down, but it was a bullet.

A bullet in the dumb shoulder. I fell back exactly as you might expect a shit brick would. Leena had already started running toward the plane and Dora was rising straight up out of the crouch, she didn't need to use her hands. I noticed then that Dora had great legs, more athletic than Lees'. Dora was a shadow with great athletic legs and she had just shot me in the shoulder. It hurt like hell, I had never been shot before.

They must have made it to the plane in the time it took me to shake off the shock and stand back up. It taxied and took off. I imagined Dora with that gun to the pilots head and I knew I had picked the wrong sister. My ass hurt. I had fallen on my back pocket and the gun. I felt like laughing but before I could a swarm of ugly brown uniforms and third world police hats had me circled. It all happened in twenty minutes time. We got there I got shot the authorities came.

My dad bribed the hell out of some people and sent someone to pick me up and thats it really.

Friday, January 02, 2009

the cold numbs me,
makes me slip on muddy ice.

i want the warmth of the Earth to return.

a mistake

i chose the green marker, instead of blue pen
because i thought it was bold.
the green marker seeped through the page
and made blot spots,
which distracted the reader
and made it hard to read.
it took away
the simplicity and meaning of
words written in blue pen.

My fingers grip the round keys tightly. The sterling silver, weighing down on my hands, reminds me of the challenge. My breath enters its long, slender body, seeping out through the holes and soft notes in the key of C flow through the room. The sweet sounds soothe my aching hands.

a man and his mechanical mistress, fulfilling each other across countless spider legged county lines, exchanging forbidden vows for better and for worst in ditches and in hilly parks, in the air of the desert that you can't breathe, in the burn of new england cold that snaps bones clean, in the backseat, behind the wheel, shine.

They say we're united, but we bend down so low, keep our heads bowed from the cold, don't look up from the cellular phone, forget about the revolution cuz you got too old, standing united as the bought and the sold, just to keep ourselves warm in the cold,just a line to get in to get your cattle soles.