Saturday, July 30, 2011

Joshua's Father

another woman has left my life
she took my boy
while I was riding through deserts and deltas
painting the story with a pen
hidden in my leather
I kept everything on a page back then
I wept at the western sky
hallucinating under still thin clouds
with a man I never thought I'd lose

I found my boy and taught him quickly
early tests and violent evenings
in the room we called a home
I begged my brother for sanctuary
I found a moment I'd hold on to
in these precious years
we were learning each other
and teaching each other
I didn't even see it then
I think maybe he did

another woman left my life
when everything was tying up nicely
when everyone was proud
she walked off the mesa
she dragged me around
and cut the string when the boy finally spoke
we were back out in the cold
we were throwing dice every minute
landed in a box full of roaches
with a lot of literature at the bed side
and I force fed him
the chemical plant had me bleeding
any time I'd open my mouth
but there were basketballs and rayguns
gluing us together
even after midnight
the pipes burst and the room was sour
and our clothing
always musty
but we could laugh
at all six channels
and the sharp young things he'd say

another woman left my life
and I found the wet floor of a bottle
I'd been swimming in for five years
she took my boy with her
and I breathed hard for every inhale
sitting at my window
in a cold and lonely loft
I had an Irish flag outside
to signal him home
but he never came
everything bled back onto paper
everything bled back to the night
and I sat cold and wrong and drunk
my fore head against a window pane
my eyes so closed and tight
my boy was dead last year
and I'd have never known
if I hadn't crossed the railroad tracks
that would wake him every night
when the cars banged past our home
in those early hours
when we had forever
to kick at each other
just to get some rest

I know my boy is out there starving
I know my boy is hard and wise
If he remembers me anymore
if he sees me in his mirrors
maybe I'll have a real moment again
when he finally finds my porch
when he finally calls my name
all the blood I've breathed
all the glass I've put my hands through
will shape into a message
that even I can get back home

Friday, July 22, 2011

Where has he Been

I've danced with the worst of them
I drank fire from the glass
I spoke with mystics and vagabonds
and found futures in their pasts

I sold ketamine cigarettes
to fiends hiding 'neath the crowd
I took the show from the showmen
and gave it back to the loud

I saw Renaissance killers dying
I saw new wave glisteners rise
I saw young rich boys practice politics
and fed them brand new lies

I threw stones at a street messiah
I've worn a razor wire crown
I've poisoned my genetic mother
and took another family dinner down

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Another Thanksgiving with Arlo Guthrie

my father sat down on the edge of the bed
I was on the other side
trying to get my tie right
before he noticed I'd forgotten again
we had a "portable stereo"
back when a portable stereo
looked like a cinder block
he pulled a cassette from his jacket
slid it in
and pressed play
back when you'd have to actually press it
and soon we were once again
having our ritual
'Alice's Restaurant' had to play
in our bedroom
(we shared a bedroom in a tenement building)
before dinner with the family
I'm on my ninth try with this neck tie
my father broke out a homemade pipe
gave me a quick trust wink
and filled it from baggie at his side
my silk tie
now full of wrinkles and awkward folds
is being aggressively spun around my neck
quick and angry
stylishly violent
my father's gulping from a glass of bourbon
smiling at his favorite lines
between puffs from his pipe
Arlo's almost done
my tie now looks like a ball of used duct tape
my father exhales his last from the pipe
he looks back at me
and says
"We have matching Irish sweaters in the closet"

Monday, July 11, 2011

Things I Know and Don't

The economy
is a tad-bit dreary
and separated
from our common manifestos:

Call everyone a jerk
and fuck off
to the whole notion
that love is
really all we need

you’ll see when you get there.

Break away.
Travel far beyond
your wildest nightmares.
Dream dreams upon dreams
upon dreams,

of early twilight,
rising in the cold wood
of the oak,

and count all the moments
of freedom
as they drop in.

Watch all the rains

as they leave
me breathless
and you...

well, and you,

to that which I will never know.

Say la vi,
I guess.

My Poem About Music

My Poem About Music

my poem about music
simply because
words cannot be
what music does

the delicate state of things
wound up and unwound
till temporary eternity
returns as real eternity
for just a moment