truck stops
pepper the landscape here
along with factories
deserted buildings
turn of the century
warehouses and
storage facilities

all this industrial beauty
from when America
belonged to the working man
all these
degraded shipyards
speak of simpler times
speak of turning the dime
speak of America
when it still belonged to us

North Jersey Song

the planes align
like stars
over Newark
not sure if they're
pointing me ahead
or away
the skies stink
of the afterburn
and we're all just
waiting for the flames
to wash us away
and carry us home

Springgarden Park

it's rank
and dank
mold and mildew
a festering moment
that you can't live through
that's why it's mine
maybe I can take it
I'll crack apart your strength
before you drop and break it
I find you in the starlight
you hug yourself and shiver
you never had the foresight
to guess what I'll deliver
and though the winter burns our fingers
we cheers two frosted beers
and your fears come out with frantic tears
but this could last for years

devil sun
and demon moon
the bulkhead of sense
that I plan to crash through

you're my pin-up girl
and I'm your 50's greaser
our film will go on
this is just the teaser

the double helix
the shot of Irish whiskey
same thing
the first drop of rain
on the back of your neck
your first handshake
with someone like me
same thing

you are the world
and I am the words
that make you seem beautiful

The snow melted off the hood of my car... glacially.

Hey Wait You're Gorgeous

she had eyes
that reminded me of explosions in the sky
hits me like a blow to the chest

a hidden smile
and soft curves
she takes my breath away at the end

What may be now be in idioms

I'm not clear that I think
in the way that you think
because I hear you speak
and that's all we can be now

is language in bodies
ghost in the machine

it's as if I'm poorly subtitled,
and you'll never understand my idioms

Do you hear me?
whistling in the dark
abundance of albatross
hung round my neck

but I am true blue
I am the real Mccoy

and all I want is some truth,
or to be understood

The Mind Immortal

we're all just
looking at the past
'cause it still takes fractions of seconds
for light to reflect and
our brain to interpret
what the hell is going on here

we're like stars
burning all infinite
'cause there's no way to tell
if we're dead
or if we're living

in the time that it takes
for the light to reflect
and your brain
to interpret what exactly is happening
the heart ceases
the blood goes cold
the eyes are already glass
and you had no idea
you had no clue

I'm creating a hell
with women and distances
or proximities
like mines they wait
out there in the night
just looking to get off
taking the whole damned ship
in a flash then
nothing but cold
and the winds of change
are blowing hard on this
new jersey morning
and I fear whats coming
because i can
no longer see the horizon

fuck it

the whole worlds goin' to hell
and I'm just here
to enjoy the show

The Unheard Song of the Wall Heater

Whispering sweetly, ringing, singing a song that can barely be heard over the vent fan.

Made of Sand

I built myself a castle
as I walked across the water
it melted in the wash again
made of sand and bound to falter

I was robbed of all my faith today
I lost hope in what I prayed for
I promised you I'd bring a sunrise
and give you what you stayed for

all your sins have brought you here
your beliefs are there to weave them
and all your demons hunt you now
but I can help you leave them

bring me to your resting ground
let my spirit be your martyr
frail and weak and loose and meek
made of sand and bound to falter

they will tell you not to think
and tell me not to feel
I can find the things in you
that make your conscience reel

the bindings keep you on the mark
the leaders keep you in line
the rules keep you in the dark
and blind you from the signs

'hail Mary full of grace'
we'll save you from the slaughter
this house of cards built of lies
made of sand and bound to falter

- by Joshua Fink and Michael Pascarelli

Weed Segue

you ever get so high you decide you'll be the first person ever to get out of the shower and invent new animals
and in case you don't know how to invent new animals
it's when you stand in front of the mirror, naked, and mimic one
with yoga poses and barn yard sounds
barn yard sounds that rattle like a dinosaur, Amazonian jungle, and whales humping
(emulate an animal squeal)
" that was the orange bandied snow viper"
although it was more of a band than a viper
yet still, the band was actually called, "Snow Vipers"

_ By Michael Pascarelli

tell me when to lie

I walk through waves and waves
Of information everyday
And I’d claim to feel it
If you’ll believe
With flexible language
Comes flexible reality

It’s freak flag is roflishly high

Wearing the hive mind on its sleeve
Marching out of step
More like goofy dancing really
In a coyote costume
Wiley without direct purpose
Into the future
With contradicting intention
But great whooping joy
Hiding hard dark bird shots of malice
Spit with appalling aim
A toddler a teenager an angry mob and a dance troupe
OH ERIS! I do so love the internet

It's funny how things move
in and out of my life
like the garbage that's lying on the sidewalk;
the wind blowing it all towards me.
Englishtown never had any garbage on its sidewalks
even on the windiest of days.
But here, in this new town,
it's scattered all over the place;
the town's imperfections-
and that's alright with me

the drink ain't what I need
it's all I've got

John Cusak

I walk alone in the rain
maybe a scene from
your favorite movie in the 80's
I only wish I knew my way
across town to your house
'cause I'd raise my boom-box up
over my head with two hands
and proclaim my love for you

I walk alone in the day
writing it off as excercise
but I'm really just running
from my notebook
from thoughts of you
from bad television
and happiness surrounding me

I see only you
when staring into cups of coffee
and pancakes
forget about pancakes
you're there, too
you're in the butter
it fucking kills me

I am walking across campus
to my 8 o'clock class when
I stop halfway to take in
the breeze in the trees
the light in the clocktower
and the smell of the place
knowing it will somehow
all be different
once you come 'round

the clouds paint serpents
across the sky
and the night is asking
for our blood
but I won't give in

it's an emptyness
in my stomach
begging for a heart
'cause it's hungry
and it's a heaviness
in my chest
asking for a soul

she asks if I'm
dreaming of her
but I don't even sleep
since she's gone from eyes
she asks if I'm still
waiting for her
but it's not waiting
when she's all I got

the wind's been
blowin' all day
clouds form and
disappear just as fast
it's all fleeting
and ominous

the nights are clear
and cold
and the moon's about to burst
while I feel my heart
is fearing it will do the same

the wind's been blowin'
all day and tonight
there's something in the air here
and it doesn't smell
like the safety
of home

Random stings of code

i can' t describe the ways i love you, they're buried underneath five years of pride, farce, chance, humanity. I can'l get close to you, you're more distant than concept, absolution, certainty. I starve to understand you. I ache when i consider you. Will i quench my desire or will i embrace the potency of fate. My will is to defy. my fear consumes me. the path is always silent, it seems.

pythons wreak of deception, or at least that's what i'm told

the house that time forgot, but mike and i remember

paint pealed and blown about a small room in a house no quite settled
theres a hint of sorrow floating cautious in the air
smells of old newsprint and sweat
the abandoned clothes and dishes scattered perfectly from room to room
giving it that lived in look

carpets rolled up like reposesed sod
the plywood floors soft and swollen
sag with age and experience

posters, faded torn and hanging
reminicent of some long forgotten concert hall
not much left in the fridge
just a box of baking soda no longer fit to do it it's job
i wonder if the light still works

the television turned on it's side ...in a room overflowing with old racing forms and fadded rambling on various note pads... gives the impression that whatever he had been watching was disapointing enough to leave without paking a dam thing

maybe he was pissed about the finale of dallas

who the fuck shot jr, i dont know, but he sure wasn't happy about it

Anubis

Anubis
has laid her down
made his preparations
and will stay with her
for three days

once ready
she will rise
and he will walk with her
to the shore

she will be given the instructions
she will not cry
but with one last look
she will continue on
never looking back

and we
will stay
looking forward
for the shore

Universal Beeswax by fLOT

I know now

The sky’s expansive pastures are forgiving and

Forgiving another forgives yourself

Inundated daily

By suffering of temporal existence

Which blows away like

The lightest and softest snow

On the very top

As gust greets morning on mountain

Same as we are thrust through space

Inside a primordial energetic seashell schwirl

Accepting the outcome

That informs each next moment

The softest snow blown off the top

Hits the cold atmosphere and

Becomes unfeeling and harder

Falling back to grounding at lower elevation

Having a snowflake epiphany

Melting into the warm dirt

Sunrays on brown earth

I know now I get it

Forgiving another forgives yourself

It’s universal beeswax

Not mine

Not yours

Ours

Blowing off the very top

The softest snow turns cold and hard

Then disintegrating falling melting evaporating

Back into the cycle again and

Here we go again!

Like A River

I wish I could flow
Like a river runs
Without stopping drips
Without dropping hints
About phrases long caught in stasis
Left to conclude with no basis
To form a foundation
No ground to indicate
Some forgotten absorption
Taken in and never released

I wish I could flow
Like a canyon crow
Flies high up on the air

Above the ridge and valley
Above the river’s many eddies
Above all the earthbound creatures
Dropping and lifting on currents

I wish I could flow
Like a saxophone blows
Not expressing opinion distinct
Gurgling or peeking out
From under the madness
Or slow, easy, languid
Or shrieking in glee
Easily mistaken for anger

I wish I could flow
Like a river flows
Like a pine cone or
A rock that knows
Whether it is naked or clothed
Whether it is caught or thrown
Skipping over the surface

I wish I could flow
Like a river flows

020209

Groundhog's Day is tomorrow...

I fear the weeks to come

The Bum

Paulie watched the harbor boats
every night before he'd sleep
under a sheet of cardboard
his wildest dreams would creep

come out to the dockyards
washing vessels before the launch
he only takes what he's offered
in mind and principle staunch

the night's cold offers no solace
the concrete harbors no hope
the moon is a constant reminder
of an ever downward slope

Paulie knows about a shelter
where the boys can go to get warm
a brand new shirt and a jacket
and a place to chase away harm

he walks into the cathedral
candle flicker lights up on the wall
there's a sign on the door where he enters
says'"welcome. come one. come all"

Paulie stands in line with the others
a nun hands him a spoon and a bowl
tucks a napkin into his collar
and says, "come warm your spirit and soul."

as the line glides into the kitchen
Paulie smells the broth in brew
and the priest waves the line along
"every one but...you"

"we've seen you around with the others
but you've never spoken a word
of life or strife or daughter or wife
or a single word of the Lord"

"and today you come here begging
asking for our meager offer
but you sleep away your hours
for which our own Messiah suffered"

Paulie leaves the church yard
knowing now he'll never win
and finds the hobos on the railroad tracks
with a plastic bottle of gin

he sips from the bottle neck
and pisses out his soul
and lies beside the train rail
breathing burning oil and coal

Another Last Night

Camel non-filters
and 92 proof rum
some one's screaming in the bedroom
sex or injury
I can't tell
bass is shaking the floor mats
vomit clings to the sink
belly shirts are lifting in the kitchen
drunk or easy
I can't tell
the kids are bleeding on the patio
the glitter queens are stuck in the mirror
pulling tasting wasted grace
dream or nightmare
I can't tell
frost on windows snaps the light inside
bouncing off the moment
blinding everyone from everything
death or glory
I can't tell

Product of Loss

the new child
the new child gone
the tearing moments between thoughts
the hope for what was
what isn't
what we need
who we needed when
the breaking tension of sterile walls
waiting room depression
it's damp out now
and dusk has merely passed
she comes out with tears dried
the procedure
'the excavation'
hollowing out our soul on paper sheets
sign away your child
swipe your card here
and nothing ever happened

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.

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

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

The Scalding Noon

The onion soup
isn't as good as
I remember
cold

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
eyes
blearily taking in
the moments
reading coffee news
telling Pete
about
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

415

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
you
to be a memory
or a ghost

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

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

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
defying
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
uglier

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

she likes to hold hands
anytime a hand's free
she likes to
kiss
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
raining
snowing
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
finally
I find myself
sleeping
not overdrinking
not being a fool
not drowning
or flailing about

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

"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.... http://do-me-a-favor.blogspot.com/2008/02/sunshine-snowstorm.html

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

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
-rumi

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

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
here
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
here
writin' ya' off

Rush

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

"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.

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.

Have you ever gotten to the bottom of a bottle of port and, at the last sip, tasted a thicker, creamier contentment than the entirety of the rest of the bottle all together? Mac knows, and now that i think about it over this last sip of ruby port, so do i.

A New Years Resolution

Contemplating 2008 (and why I should stop thinking about things way too much).

After all the excessive New Years drinking, I started the year clearheadedly.
It is ending shortly, and I am quite perplexed.

numb,
still...

like under water right before you surface
like ringing in your ears before the loss of consciousness
like the calm before the storm



my heart hurts like buckley

he said,

"a man only sees the big sky
bleed all sunrise
a finite
number of times"

before the bridge
swallows
him

he drug
a cigarette
cuz he was tired
in the morning

and when he believed in reincarnation
he claimed he wanted to come back

i'm done with beauty
done

i've stared to long
at human necks
and their skin
on new york bodies

and in the folds seen all the myth of it

the way beauty flows like injected fluid
from the gretta garbo eyes of the ghost
how it kills all razors and sparkle and iron on

how it jiggles in all the right places
like hollywood
but gets drunk and jiggles with all the wrong people
and then the places don't seem so right after all

how it evaporates

i've seen it in varied angles of light
i've seen it bottled and sealed and over priced
imported and crying
well off and aloof with the right curvature of the chin

in to many arcs on my sky
in to many silhouette lines
in to many cook book recipes and dime store novells
in chicago
in the sink

i'm done with beauty
done

confounded is a four letter word,
teetering

She said she loves the winter.
But me,
I have mixed feelings.
The cold wind always stings
my pink skin
and though the snow
looks pretty after the storm,
it always turns muddy
and I always slip on the ice.

Thoughts on the Movement (a conversation for Brownstone)

we've got one foot in the grave
and the other
it's on the outside
grasping at candles in the dark

we're unsure and stable
a thesaurus of
walking contradictions
spinning tangled webs of thought
and lies
that we weave
around and around
in Brooklyn pads
or diners
or karaoke bars

and I can't remember
what truth is
(like we ever began with truth in the first place)
but where did it go?
it changes from day to day
setting to setting
it's never the same

I love women
and faces
and poetry
and stories about bars or
strung out medicine men
spitting into cold springs
in hot jungles

sometimes
I like the quiet of morning
and burning cigarettes
like they're air in my lungs
(though I know it's poison)
but maybe I like poison
the burn of what is real
scratching against my throat
and the pain of what hurts
because I know it's real

I've got one foot in the grave
and I'm not ready
to take it out just yet

where are you?
you don't return calls
and I feel abit forgotten
I think maybe
you've moved on
like I was your muse
or something that
you knew
you could always come home to
and maybe I was the one that wasn't there this time

I feel bad about that

our entire history
is full of
miscommunication
false hope
bad timing

we're great lovers
terrible friends
and just bad for eachother
but I got a girl
that love the world
just as much as me
and I still almost wish
I could share that with you

Nice Meeting You

I met a girl with captivating eyes
but I don't do well with strangers
I noticed her smile
and I looked away
her art was plastered against walls
her card
neatly tucked into a corner
we talked about coffee
I kept my eyes elsewhere
afraid of that stare
and what it might see
dirty soul
crooked smile
truth maybe

we walked on
I was alone in the cold
hundreds of strangers rushing
past and with and against
I sat in mexican restraunt
(the one with homemade tortilla)
unable to come up with the cash
for a burrito

we came back to the store
still I was unable
to see those eyes
I rambled about books
and made uncomfortable jokes
to no one in particular

on birthdat occasion
we spoke briefly
easier on the telephone
but still fearful
that your eyes could
see through the receiver
so I played a part
(a character I liked from a movie)

maybe it was the truth
in your eyes
that made me tremble
or maybe
your eyes were like sirens
and I had wax in my ears
knowing just how many a man
had crashed their ships
against your shores

we're at this standstill
or stalemate maybe
I don't think I'm ready
to hang my hat up just yet
but I want to
I want to be all about you
and spend evenings chatting
over candle lit romance
I want you to dissolve
into the collective with me
I want you to understand
the Creepknick and the Casualty
you're too damned far away
and part of me is still
lieing on the floor
in another state

Diner Haiku #7

if i got no soul
this cigarette smoke's as good
a sub as any

Diner Haiku #6

this is a homeless
poem, wandrin' pages for
straight lines and edges

Diner Haiku #5

what else can i write
with too much caffeine, too few
syllables left, and

Diner Haiku #4

the storm clouds they are
a' brewin, and all we got
are umbrella dreams

Diner Haiku #3

she blows cigarette
smoke, like a volcano just
after lava bursts

Diner Haiku #2

eagles only soar
as high and noble as the
flag poles they rest on

Diner Haiku #1

orange is never
as innocent as yellow
or lusty as red

I never thanked you for holding me last night

You started talking about one thing,
The rent that was due and your roommate
Who once again couldn’t pay their share because
“Hey man, I covered you at last week’s Battle of the Bands, remember?”

You then realized that you would have to
Tell your father about the rent, which
He would yell at you for hours about
Responsibility, about standing up for yourself,

About not letting people take advantage of you
Even though sometimes the only way
To really know that is to take those chances.

The night ended with you crying
About how all this reminds you
That your mom isn’t there anymore
And that you really are alone. I held
Onto you, kissing you intermittently

Between tears to let you know that
It would all be okay, without actually
Saying “It will all be okay,”
Because no one wants to hear that
When it just isn’t okay.

You called me today, two days after that night,
Thanking me for holding you as you cried,
Not knowing that this morning I woke up
Feeling unsure about myself,
Because last night we drove in silence

And had to resort to static radio for solace.
I started to wonder if I was treating you right,
Or treating any relationship with any person right, or
If I’m leading the life I’m supposed to lead
And not just mucking through dead air

Waiting in despair and desperation
Until your phone call,
Thanking me,
And letting me know
That I got something right.

Tennessee Dusk

Nights were filled with
Liquor-fueled drives
Careening across that
Tennessean landscape
Whose charming sun and
Stars at dusk were normally
Hidden behind the clouds
Of Jersey City skylines.

Mornings were filled with
Passionate hangovers
And the lust for what that
Day could bring us;
We would just shut our
Eyes off long enough
To forget that such a
Word as regret existed.

We took many chances
Throughout those rock n
Roll Tennessean nights,
Hoping the gods would
Invoke good luck on us
And getting a little bit of it
When we least expected it.

It was only a matter of time,

Even the gods run out of luck,

And we are left to pick up the

Pieces of what we won and lost,

Hoping to even out in the end.

Youth Laced Courage

bring me back

to the Highland

Grove community pool
where Aunt Rosie
would take us,
where the rocks

jutted out just

below the sand
that we dove

through to hit
the volley ball

for one more

chance to win,
where we would
sink below the
water and brave
the very limits
of Life Itself

just to see

which of us

could do it,
where we never
dreaded about cutting

our feet on

the dirt hills
and rusty fences

because the ice
cream truck’s striking

bells instilled courage

in our hearts.

bring me back

to when we

rode our bicycles

down Oakly Hill
without helmets so

we could actually

feel the wind

on our faces,

as the gods

watched and laughed
when we landed
hard.

personally, i love the shapes of poems
orbs revolving a great fiery truth

weightless and grave, they never quite touch it
if they did they'd incinerate

who can resist it?
who doesn't love physics?

the world caught fire and burned down here
the air, rich with white ash, ripens
the clean earth sears

We argued about words
you said that words
come from
dictionaries
that that is
what they mean,
that to be
"prejudice" was
worse than being
"racist"
That prejudice people
judge other people
and that racist people
are simply aware of
racial issues.

But I argued that words
don't come from dictionaries
but from people's mouths
and then they enter dictionaries
and to be a racist
was a lot worse
than being prejudice
maybe its that hard "st"
sound at the end
the sudden stop of the word
but being prejudice
flows and sounds
more official
like some political
position
or a religious movement
that woin't go away

I write in three places
my car
in class
and at readings
One when I'm
traveling at 60 mph
one when I'm
infecting minds
the third when my
mind gets infected

you always carried a pen
and that was really important to me
Thanks for carrying
pens for me
I don't think they
were for me
but thank you

Form doesn't matter
sonnets, freeverse
it doesn't matter at all
all that matters
is getting that
written word
from my brain
to some page
to my mouth
to your ears
to your brain
form doesn't matter
rhyme scheme doesn't
matter
iambic pentameter
doesn't matter
communication is
all that matters
in poetry
in music
in paintings
in anything really

Sometimes I wonder

when you storm out the door

out of control

steaming and screaming like a boiling tea pot

that you're getting your gun

do you really have one?

are you really going to get it

and are you frustrated enough

to place it between my eyes upon return

and tell me how much you love me

while your pulling the trigger?....

Art is an enduranace sport.
This far into autumn, the cherry tree still takes me apart.

I am warm, red tipped
Though the world thins, the birds too busy for metaphors.

I keep hurling devotions, crying holy cries
To the whitenening sky, the coming nothing.

on some bright morning
they'll find me
staring blank
and cold
finally at ease
finally smiling
off to happier times
waiting for the white stones
to pile higher than black ones
or seeing through the dream
and traveling on
down narrow path
through valley streams
and mountain steam

on some bright morning
I'll find you
gone from this world
on to the next
hoping those white stones
are piled high
prayin' you see through
the dream of that devil
death god
and leavin' you
two silver dollars
kiss your vessel
and see you once again
on the far shore

Sometimes, I don't get any sleep-
but I never stop dreaming.