jackson browne
sings like
the salt in the air
of an off season
shore town

the piano is grey sky
seagulls arcing against
ambiguous clouds

this girl
her name already evaporated
vibrant
she nannys and runs pharmaceutical
grade marijuanna
to pay rent in little italy
but is moving to china town
cuz she needs a
bathtub again

bought her first air conditioner
on the 28th of the month
a daring move
in the city

looked spot on irish
all freckled and red hair
but was
lithuanian
and sat on the hard wood floors
listening
to 40's jazz and blues
in the dying light

as a
calico cat
mover over
the furniture
backs

i like her best
after 3 pints
in the afternoon
when she looks just to long
with half buzzed eyes
says things are "fantastic"
and laughs
like she was youth
and it was spring
for
only
that
moment

i roll over
i am thirty

in the last ten years
i have danced
wildly

witgenstein
thought
most poetry was bad

but some captured the mystical

precisely by
avoiding it
all together

morning
red city
they all are at this hour
the sun
and brake lights
sleepy

she wakes up in bushwick,
gloriously hood

i commuting and uniformed
am lonely on crowded highways
buying coffee at bodegas
lose the point
in the bustle of

morning

red city

anthropologists
will tell you
that the specialization of labor
could only have occurred
in cities
built on the sweat
of post agrarian
society

but the hard asphalt streets
of new york city
kill artists
silently
as they're dazzled
by the lights
as they stare upward
at the impossible
buildings

all caught up in the surviving

the girl
in love with
airstream
motor homes

loves to show off
the city
to
anyone new

coulda been an actress
coulda been a dancer
coulda been a model

her feet fall softly
on wet
brooklyn
asphalt

the lonely
in brooklyn
ride single speed
bicycles
through early summer night
full of bridges
flirting hard
with fat red moons

to dinner parties
where everyone
helps
cook

saw a photo
saw myself
next to a giant
plastic
cactus
at south of the boarder
thought of yr sad smile
thought of every
girl and boy
i drove far away with
thought of america
in the rain

there was a feeling
on a highway
in the freedom
of the wind
between points on a map

northern brooklyn
sad rain balcony
afternoon
bleeds into evening

hipsters and mexican mechanics
drink beer inside
from glass bottles

they meticulously
disect
kafka as if he
had changed
into the roach
analyzing
lines and names and
word order
assembling
critical essays
or end notes

performing
a romance-ectomy
of academics
as they say everything
left
un
said

and reaffirm
the line between writer and critic

under a
fat enough
moon
the world's calm
is unifying

we are all specs
drifting
in the hopeless
currents of sky

moving with
the worldly weight
of an artist
on her
uniformed
shoulders

she reminds
that destiny
is a sarcasm

One star, bright lights
below all but drowned out,
fixed watchfully in place

The Vacation

I was in Ft. Lauderdale
drinking in a cheap motel bar
the fans had misters
spraying damp air at the clientele
trying to beat the humidity
the bartender was a gorgeous blond
older than she looked
and as the night was ending she eyed me
so I lit her a smoke
and asked her name
'Grenadine'

so fake names and bullshit stories
brought her to my suite
ten beers and some pot she smoked
got us on the floor
at the bed side
I laid down a quilted blanket
and we got to it
she was scratchy/rough and pleading
for bite marks
I facilitated all requests
she dug her heels into my back upon climax
and we smoked
hours with wine on the floor
and as she smiled and took my hand
I had a fisherman's blade
and I put it in her neck

her pupils went wide and she got serious
her hands spelled words and thoughts
I was sparking up my last menthol
as she clutched at the spewing wound
I looked and smiled
told her she was beautiful
and killed a corona bottle quickly
she was burping blood
it matched her lipstick magically
and as the wound's gush lessend
she was clutching at the sheets on the bed
graffitto-tagging them with bloody hand prints
and I pressed my smoke into the pillow

the morning came as I sat poolside
with the finest singapore sling
check out's nearing but I'm all packed
all I need is a real feeling
as I enter the room the cleaning crew's leaving
Luis grabs my arm
says, "your chica's on cycle"
I mouth a 'yes' and yawn
the quilted blanket from the floor
crumpled in my luggage
I grab a cab and fix my shades
an hour at the air port bar
then take off has me saved

The Will and Testament

fry me up a last meal
let it be greasy, hot, and dripping
fix me up a last drink
make it a double; I'm not sipping
knock me down one time
'cause you got this one last chance
split my lip tonight
knock me loose of this trance
cut yourself and accuse me
break a bone and say my name
kill a loved one you don't love
put my prints on blades for blame
I'll take all the vices
I'll take all the sin
I'm walking off set finally
I don't really need the win
I've been dark, vague, and despserate
I've been one long bitter tale
so clean me up when I go still
but lay my epitaph out in brail

A Beautiful Thumping

this big funk sound
has us in dance seizure
flipping legs and bouncing elbows
and between sips we make time
to casually kiss
like it means nothing
maybe it doesn't
maybe my radar's fucked
but eye see you eyeing
I see the color in your cheeks
when I slide my fingers over yours
and your smile is high and giant
your an evolution on this floor
a higher being to which we must adapt
and the stragglers have our pity
but you're no top shelf elitist
you're no Coach bag hanger
you are eyes and mind
and words over words
and no one can pay enough
to buy a better trait

Diana

If I could find you now
I'd tell you that all we had
was just as precious to me
if I could bring you up
like out of a dream
or a thought
you'd be that first sight
like you were in the park
while I was drinking milk
writing on my porch
looking like a dick
you'd be new and undiscovered
I'd be curious and unbroken
by the cynicism of a man living
this short drag life
and I'd once again
offer you my hand
and we'd walk six more miles