Tuesday, August 12, 2014

3 a.m. rainstorm quiet
bad cut shirt
coffee cup liquor handle broke
window silence alley out
slow tree sway
late dinner gas
a missed connection
night of nothing done
three hours
internet etc
ok. so.
maybe two

Thursday, January 9, 2014

On The Table / Out To Sea

a lake of bleach
rising up
before collapsing
sinking in
saturating the soil
so that we could watch
a wither
and die
with set up camp
of blankets
take-out chinese
the world outside
buried in ice
front row seats
for inevitable demise
with ashtrays filling
and whiskey
self drinking
sunk in sinking
no coming back
from this
the end
clocks frozen
changing leaves
only a knowing
it was time
a floating out
and to sea
of sleep
to drift ashore
onto sands
of awake
imperceptible change
no change at all
a floating back
to sea
of sleep
to drift ashore
back to sea
no change at all
with morning light
we awoke
to green gone brown
the proof
sunken collapsing
of our own actions
to this
the withered
and died

Saturday, October 12, 2013

dark city
night sky
houses blocks
fear and death
slow dance
smoke and pine
end of a summer
but year still

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

So Now As I'm Leavin' / I'm Weary As Hell

sixteen days work
today hours thirteen
almost too much
when all around me
are passing
their insides
their hearts
their bodies
the flies have come
living among
the corners
i call home
this whole town
and i tell the foreman
i've got about
this much
left in me
and the foreman
he says
hold it
nearly there
and i believe
believe he knows
believe he cares
believe he is
the sole voice
can pull me through
and apron i pull on
of camarada
numero uno
of pinche guey
oxen yoked
of pulling through
till leventh hour struck
and we are arrived
pulled through
and despite
all signs
all sighs
all sigils
till demon cars
carry home
dodge and weave
horns in time
to pop song
dance anthem
take the turn
onto road home
to be stopped
and stopped
by dancing in street
in time
to pop song
dance anthem
kids drunk
kids high
kids both
kids neither
a fuck about traffic
not giv'n
but only
ass shakin
dance breakin
in street middle
fuck all
and else
you know
home is never
and don't matter
how much
for wanting
a neverthing
had nor found
but home
you are
and nothing
but poem
shit comes
brooklyn sun rising
new day
still alive
and breathing
exhausted tired
not sleeping
motor running
highest gear
here i am
pale skinlight shining
smoking drinking
waiting hoping
nothing doing
stamps on table writing
for only checks renting
never writing
not exactly liking
who i am having

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

For Kirsten Mae

this month
eighteen this september
i remember the year
by that first photograph
a trip past Chicago
the first World Cup
on American shores
and vinyl chair
hospital brown
near new mother's bed
placed in my arms
of destroying everything
all plump face
and mother's eyes
myself still young
but knowing one's name
before one knows herself
making me feel
impossibly adult
but life
and from nothing
into humble beginning
a baby
in cradle
while i played pirate
in park
down the street
and turning around
to refusals
of tuna salad
because dad
makes it different
and once again frightened
the destroying
the everything
but as if
in an instant
so very much more
her own force of nature
impossible to destroy
and from nowhere
that voice
impossibly adult
what had once
been red-faced wail
had since become
angelic song
and then letter on desk
unnecessary envelope
sun-drenched photograph
announcement official
on to new life
but all i can think
is vinyl chair
hospital brown
eighteen this september
myself more child
than she

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

So Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now

that first date challenge
romantic gauntlet
scares the hell
right out
but the excitement
even vicarious
sets my heart
racing on fire
the first exposure
of family secret
sexual proclivity
even pastime preference
all intimate opening
leading to touch
to lips
to skin
to maybe not
it is first date
after all
walk to door
or bus or train
put you in a cab
at very least
kiss goodnight
or all the way
do you have condoms?
contact solution?
spare toothbrush?
so much said
so much not
a negotiation
all over drinks
or perhaps
because really
just because i
can't remember
my last first sober
doesn't mean
that others
don't do different
but how they do
is far beyond me
because liquid lubrication
has always helped
loosen the gears
and always inevitable
and without fail
comes talk
of loves former lost
those other half
of memories formed
a life shaped
by opposite soul
and always met
with agreeable smile
accepting nod
knowing the same
true on both sides
behind opposite eyes
waiting to tell
each and one's own
because these lives
in this town
come so rarely
without baggage
and really
rarely means never
and the clothes
all casual best
just a little loose
can't try too hard
the goal
is to win
at least before loss
stringing along
with eyes wide
and back tense
holding out
for the moment
the relieve
where it all goes
one way
or another
it's getting late
another round?
why not