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
exploding
their hearts
leaving
their bodies
missing
the flies have come
living among
the corners
i call home
this whole town
empty
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
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
become

For Kirsten Mae

graduation
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
frightened
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
nameplate
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

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

not

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

wallet

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?

sure

why not

You Just Pretend That You Never Have Met

the beer was spicy

no seriously

spicy

but when the smoke had cleared

he knew that the problem was more than just a spicy beer

...not that a spicy beer was the problem

he actually rather enjoyed the interplay

between bitter and spicy

the cold and the burn

but still

the beer was spicy

and when one finds himself in a world that makes

if not too much sense

at the very least some

putting ones lips to what is

by all accounts

an aberration

leaves one feeling

...off

and combined with all the other problems

with the problem

it's easy to focus on the one thing that is so clearly, so unequivocally, so...

off

he'd been sitting

and drinking, sure,

but mostly

sitting

but also

there was a fair share of waiting

as well as staring

wondering

hoping

expecting

considering

planning

dreaming

sighing

not to mention

not knowing

but mostly

waiting

but really

sitting

and it was the sitting that he knew so well

and that...

he had that down

the problem was not so much grand in scope

and to be honest

they rarely are

but was rather one of simple human failure

like losing your way in a conversation

and knowing there was a point to be made

only to realize so far after the point of making that it is

in fact

too late to make such a point

not that you could remember it anyway

but a problem

no matter how small

is still

to be honest

problematic

it had always been the small things that had gotten him in trouble

and if not trouble exactly

it was that the big things had never done such

not even close

those big things

whether overwhelming

or unbelievable

or simply so absurd to his generally protected constitution

as to be simply nothing

had always been just that

nothing

or rather

a just enough of a something to be brushed away

and brushed away so completely as to be forgotten

but the small things

those were the ones that stuck

not a permanent stick

or not necessarily

but enough

to be stapled inside his chest

the kind of things that one carries

from one setting to another

throughout the day

despite the external

and on many occasions

because

he stopped and looked up at the clock on the wall

all twelve hands ticking away

at different intervals

but each with mechanical purpose

an almost holy inspiration

driving each forward to death

to sudden rebirth

and around again

strangers walked in

some left

but strangers all

each and everyone

and strangers are not the ones who stick

but it was always back to the sitting

the waiting

as well as the staring

the wondering

the hoping

the expecting

the considering

the planning

the dreaming

the sighing

not to mention

the not knowing

but mostly

the waiting

but really

the sitting

and it was the sitting that he knew so well

and that...

he had that down

he went back to that spicy beer

the interplay

between bitter and spicy

the cold and the burn

the smoke beginning to unclear itself

back to the problems

to the problem

and decided

unequivocally

to switch to whiskey

...not that a spicy beer was the problem

But I Was So Much Older Then

the hope

at least

i think

is to one day

a big if

make a living

of this

nonsense

the big city wanderings

the late nights

the too many cigarettes

the drinking

sweet jesus

the drinking

internal immolation

disguised

as culinary arcana

but eventually

yes

a self made life

of words

on a page

and that

well that's it

no invention

no discovery

no goods no services

no management of men

simply words

on a page

nothing more

just

it

but the question really

and the one on my mind

is how

publishing?

ha

and while we're at it

and did i mention

haha

The New Yorker?

The Atlantic?

Playboy?

i hear they still publish

words

among other things

but poems?

not the kind i write

lectures perhaps

readings

symposia?

all for college students

wide-eyed

and sore-assed

from nights out

and nights in

waiting for

the o'clock hour

the time meant

for moving on

to lesser subjects

of greater gain

computer science

economics

business class

basically

future titans

universe masters

nearly half my age

and twice the income

no i think i'll keep things

just as they are

quietly working

for a living

and late nights spent

with pen

with cigarette

with drink

my writing shoes on

pre-dawn scrawl

of words on a page

and that

the big if

well that's it

nothing more

just

it