sweet mardou
jack's sweet and brown footed
mardou

and every girl i ever saw
out on a damp car hood

and all the sunrises bittersweet

and the way
the sea is eternity
rolling up
to california
and new york

exgirl's ex

she was lonely freedom falling
leaning on that metal handrail
the winds fingers
grasping at the hope of her hair
always bandana'd
in tight pants
and a desperate hollow sadness
between drags
the words mixed with tequila
(but the tequila never mixed with
the sprite in the glass
only in her stomach)
about graffiti as the big art
and the size of a bigger canvas
and creation

she had gone down
on more girls
that i had wanted to
then i had

the sky is alive tonight

with energy

lightning roars and

thunder claps

it's hurt

it's angry

it's spitting pissed

but it's lonely and sad

and that's why it rains

sometimes it comes

in torrents

scratching mad

against my window

other times there's calm and

you can hear the crickets

singing softly

somewhere

and that's where I find sleep

someone can stop this

You're my new cue, my new spark of madness, a rabbit with the best of intentions, and a belly of worms. You're my new spring, to end my winter woes with the madness and fury of change. Fire burns like you to try to look good, but this is consuming me more like a disease. you are inspiring. you are THAT SCENT. I'll never get it off.

Don't bother

Sometimes people get all nobodied out, but i found that the things we use to do are even less. Sure, you can get upset, it's fine, but you won't like it. It'll make me uncomfortable, which will make me want to leave. And then you can't be seen. That's when you'll find somebody, with haste!

Try harder

I, crustacean, in my shell, watching families of tortoise go past. They offer me protection. They give me light where i had none.

Headphone drama

You lack definition. You are void of inflection. Even in your happiest state, you shock me and the anticipation of your contents terrify me. I haven't known what anyone has actually tried to say to me in 5 years. Convenient. Like a tool.

untitled

the zephyr was certainly titillating
better than any lovers' hands have been
was considerably more charming, even
i'll just take it on a date, instead

the people cling onto their coats as
they walk on by
windy spring day
sitting on the park bench,
the wind blows her thick hair
into her eyes
obscuring her view of the photograph
in her hands
the only left over evidence
and the wind gently
pushes away all the clouds,
blowing the picture
out of her hands
finally she is free

heroin addicts
lie
more than
other addicts
to help
ease you
just slightly
from the hard
world
they wave
goodbye
to

"can u write words for me"
he asked
all heroin
"cuz i been workin on somethin"

and the reggae chords
became neil young
and the damage done

as his boy ran and yelled
in union square

it was all sad
and human
johnny
with stumblin drunks
darin not to see
the horizon

and i loved
yr empty eyes
and songs

g'by purple, g'by girl, g'by time

that girl with purple
in her hair
read TIME magazine
on the 4 train
bound for uptown

captured me
in momentariness

in the flicker of subway
movement
i can see
the impermanence
of things

Short Fiction / Special Edition Idiom

As some of you may already know, I will be working on a possible special edition idiom to come out once a year (most likely the summertime).  I would really like to see everyone that posts on W.E. write and submit for this (especially people that don't normally write prose. Get outta yer comfort zone). Submissions will be open but for now it will only be advertised by word of mouth...and for anyone that doesn't post here but may be following us, I suppose.

Now, onto submission guidelines:

This is for short fiction/prose. No poitry.

Please limit submissions to no more than 700 words (target for just about 600).

Include a Title, so we know what to call it.

Include the name you want to be published under, so we know what to call you.

Submissions may be about any subject matter. In the future, we may look into themed issues or something of the sort, but for now it's your discretion.

Send all submissions to: idiomfiction@yahoo.com

Submissions deadline: July 17, 2009.

Thanks all,

Joe McCall

NJ Turnpike Poem

the Pulaski Skyway rises
in all its black steel glory
and Elizabeth Seaport
stinks on the horizon
as Newark Airport
passes by in a blur
of jet fuel and runway lights

I'm missing home, tonight.
I'm missing all my old haunts
the sounds of the city in my ears
lulling me to sleep at night

The road is all glass
reflecting headlights and taillights
shimmering red and white lights
on black pavement canvas

and it's here I realize
how beautiful all this ugly is
and it's here I realize
how perfect a bridge looks
through the night in the rain
and it's here I realize
I wanna be buried within view of
all these cargo ships and bridges
and the Pulaski Skyway
in all it's black steel and glory

Upon Spending Time With God

when you start looking at God
and I mean really looking at him
spending late nights discussing
planetary alignments and time travel
singing karaoke; talking about women

you start to see
he's just like anyone else
flawed
he's got fears
he tells great stories
and sometimes
he really gets under your skin

it's important to try
to see this being
in this light always
remember him not as a great fire
or as the source of the wind

but remember him
in holy bar room
struggling to keep time
fucking up the words to "Shout"
remember
he's just like anyone else
he's just like the rest of 'em

I Liked Congo Lights

people often forget that
poetry is an art form
I'm sure alot of critics
thought Pollack's paintings were chaos
they showed no artistic talent
but now they are revered
personally, I don't get it

but that's what I love about art
and so thats what I love about poetry
art is completely subjective
different people take away
different meanings

you might see this as
a poem about art
or a poem about
poetry as an art form
I might think this
as a love letter for
a dear friend
that just got a bad review

i was trying to paint a bad
abstract
painting of you
while you played
guitar
out of tune
late afternoon in June
and the sun beated down
on the blue walls
and you and i were burning
the paint splattered across the room
mixed in with the sweat
on our bodies
our movement
painted on the floor,
our bodies
sculpted into one another
and when we cooled down
we layed there,
lazy,
in the haze of summer

return to sender

it was the most beautiful sunrise
that i've ever seen, that morning
at the end, that minute - i slept
shame, it was the precise minute you died
sometimes i feel my decision
is what put you in the ground
i've finally found what i'd been looking for
those answers i'd been praying for
your father told me how you spoke of me
all those plans for us
i wish i knew, i probably wouldn't have been so..
so blushing
his chest clutched my tears,
my hair, his
it was on the tip of your tongue
and only i could taste it
i thought it'd be a dream to feel
but now it will haunt me forever.
i fucking miss you.

amongst the drunkeness and skanking ska kids

you were a familiar face in another time...

we shook hands awkwardly,
like strangers,
meeting for the first time.

the karaoke dying down,
I snuck out to bum a
cigarette off my Senator shouting
obsenities while the
last train pulled away
somewhere nearby

the old-dirt cowboy stood grinning
in his sharp pressed shirt and stetson,
which hid his gleaming white hair

he was somehow floating
slightly above the ground,
full of dharma, saying to me
"What's important is the Joy

That
Is
Why
We
Are
Here"

then he took a drag on his Marlboro, burning
it down to the filter, and inside
a whiskey drunk bodisattva
was singing for the lonely

You are
like the frost
dancing up
the window pane

delicate
and
intricate

The 15 Year Rule

Rolling Stone called it
"The 15 Year Rule",
that pop culture goes in
15 year cycles, once kids
have their own kids,
and those kids get older,
leaving their parents with
time and money
to get nostalgic

and now I'm stuck sitting
in a coffee house listing to
Hootie and the Blowfish
and remembering that a
wise man once said
"same as it ever was"

You Are Your Promised Land

we drank Black and Tans against
the old-forest night
like a lost tribe, without
toaster ovens or fix-a-flat
or the notion of instantaneous
and we moved slowly
on the down beat, and for
a moment I gave praise to
Jah who had delivered us
to Zion, looking down
from the mountain top,
the trees were towers and
the air was thin enough
that you could almost forget
it was even there

This Dream's on Me

you're there with pretty red ribbons
tied to your loss and needs
you smile from across the bar
and plant a conversation's seeds
you lift yourself from the hardness
and your dreadful spiteful deeds
and I whisper to the bartender,
"The next dream's on me"

you stare into your glass
focused on empty lust and greed
scanning down the path
for a young strong worthy steed
but your picture's just the past
and your tears are why you bleed
and as you scrape your dusty pockets
the next dream's on me

and he pours another Collins glass
says, "this one's free"
and your eyes find me finally
and then you see
that your worries are just boundaries
where your mind and spirit meet
and I lift my glass deliberately
"this dream's on me"

I Love You Like Brothers In Wartime

soldiers never lit three cigarettes
with one match
this was to keep the snipers
from drawing a bead on you and your brothers
taking you out softly
in the night

it's the same reason
behind packing your cigarettes
they light faster
keeping a soldier from
giving away his position
in the night

I never light three cigarettes
with the same match
it's bad luck
and I'm never sure
if there's a sniper waiting out there
in the night

35 West Chelsea

I miss my family tonight.

I remember driving home
after a full day's work at the supply yard
my whole body aching
my mind numb
my hair matted from the heat and
the soot from the warehouse
so black
I would sweat it out at night

I'd park the car in my driveway
and maybe have a smoke on the back porch
then I'd walk inside
to the chaos of a newborn
or the screaming
from the vacuum

somedays,
it was easy
it came naturally
wake up, work,
be happy
and there were hard days
there were arguments
but there was always
my bed and my woman
as my son slept sound
in the room we painted for him
in the crib that we bought and we built
in the home that we made there

I miss my family tonight.

as I carry my son to a new bed
that sits at the foot of
my new bed
without my woman
without the same sweet summer breeze
that smelled of the ocean

I miss my family tonight.

I miss domesticated life
I miss being asleep at midnight
I miss my 6 AM alarm clock
the snooze button
and eggs on Sunday morning

I miss my family tonight.

Soon, I'll buy a new bed
I'll have a woman to share it with
I'll paint my sons new room
build him another bed
fall asleep at midnight
hit the snooze on the 6 AM alarm
I'll eat eggs on Sunday morning
and it'll be OK
it's just tonight,

I miss my family tonight.

Three poems about the moon

Sapphic Lights

Reflecting light back to the moon
And broadcasting our girlish love
The moon and I

She can be so far away
And hold me with intimacy still
I swell as she swells and wane as well
With her and only her


Giants in the sky

The sun will burn and blister
And torture the sky with fire
But the moon is a milk sacrifice
Who cools and stirs the mystery



Unrefined is better

Shadows cast from moonlight
Hide the sweetest secrets

Only the truly curious
The naïve and raw
Have the power to unravel

“Damn the refined”
The shadows, they whisper
Just like their mother the moon

There is no need to be polished
You cannot out shine the moon

two beers some coffee and a few miles in

crazy, i dont think i've felt this way in a while, im sure that in any place it all keeps going on when your not looking or thinking or reading a book, lighting a match licking a stamp, the wonderful the beautiful the endless and the dream...i keep looking back at all of you thinking such treasures of sking and backbone and mind, my collection of intellect old new borrowed and often blue what with winter coming and going so freely these days...look at life and the passing of time and place and wind...wind... so i'm tragic and beautiful and a combonation of things we taught each other and promised never to remember, i dig all this future we might actually get to....woke up cold shaddow and sun whisper through cracked blinds and old familliar windows, steal a glimpse again of freedom to choose and to right and to left and to nowhere fast but often somewhere slow and steady i supose, got a dream and in it some players and pawns and crooks rooks and fiends with perfect tales and ombiance and maybe in a nother but this ones got a full dance card ...sample night and day and coffee stain and swirling little disco lights for some other traveler, got a steak knife carving names in the back of my mind for stories you tell the grand kids where you leave in the blood and guts and take out the sexual revolution...i know i know, its been done... so a little bit of what i'm sending out to spin the time is always it and nothing seems to trap this like the down hill in your skivies...can you tell me whats around the bend there baby, can you peer over the horizon and fortell the everything to come? we'll love, if thats the way you see things, do me a favor, keep it to yourself...

love,

a bottle of asprin and a ship setting sail for asphalt seas



'

I'm in line, watching people order meats. A gentleman paler than paper asks for an italian dish or concoction and includes a string of overpronounced italian condiments. The deli worker is not italian. He does not understand this man's accent.

my home looked like
a mass of votives,
some, lit in prayer,
some, burnt out in silence,

it sits in an empty space
while the world collapses
around it
like Joe said
we're waiting for the flames
and I can feel my skin
slowly singe

sometimes all there is
is yellow and black,
fire and not fire,
everything that is pure in the world
and not everything that is not pure

Somehow the ocean
keeps lapping at the shore

somehow these pills
don't work the same anymore

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.