can you imagine
the lady in the silk shirt says
if this passes there could be a
six to twelve month wait
for MRI's
the man with the bow-tie
across the table
comes to life
that's horrifying he says
where do they think this money comes from
and there has to be some accountability
a couple of sages share a nod
bankers you see
know about money and responsibility
unlike my cousin
a twenty year old with a three year old
no wedlock
a job at Wal-Mart
and asthma
raised in a declining series
from house to apartment
to trailer
told she was emotionally retarded
at the age of three
now in charge of her own family
her boyfriend couldn't drive
but he wasn't trying to leave
her or their daughter
this young couple
one night on the highway
trying to reach the hospital
the asthma so bad
she couldn't breathe
and he
couldn't drive
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Crystals for breakfast and angels for dinner
She dreamed of herself
as a fairy, tattooed it
on her back
a fairy
on a mushroom
blowing bubbles from a pipe.
She had a religious experience
with LSD
chanting on a table
an angel had whispered
angel language
in her ear
I know
I know.
I know
it's tempting
to want
to believe
in a divine language
delivered
amidst an ecstatic
electrical storm.
as a fairy, tattooed it
on her back
a fairy
on a mushroom
blowing bubbles from a pipe.
She had a religious experience
with LSD
chanting on a table
an angel had whispered
angel language
in her ear
I know
I know.
I know
it's tempting
to want
to believe
in a divine language
delivered
amidst an ecstatic
electrical storm.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Long form location
The Blues were
always
in the back
of my
mind. Waiting
for the
times when I
felt the
electric
sadness
that exists
under
Southern ground,
in the
Southern sky.
have you
noticed it?
the shock of
pain and
memory
that hangs
about us here.
we know
the devil is
lurking
waiting with
pitchfork
punishment,
know that
sin is just
next door,
or at home.
we know
salvation
is just
a gospel
song close,
a prayer
away.
the charge of
lightning
in the summer,
dancing
up above
in the
cathedral
of sky,
such blue sky...
always
in the back
of my
mind. Waiting
for the
times when I
felt the
electric
sadness
that exists
under
Southern ground,
in the
Southern sky.
have you
noticed it?
the shock of
pain and
memory
that hangs
about us here.
we know
the devil is
lurking
waiting with
pitchfork
punishment,
know that
sin is just
next door,
or at home.
we know
salvation
is just
a gospel
song close,
a prayer
away.
the charge of
lightning
in the summer,
dancing
up above
in the
cathedral
of sky,
such blue sky...
Never forget
she's gone crazy on me
working seventy-five hours this week
yelling at taxi-drivers at three in the morning
walking home in the rain
fighting with her mom about moving
crying insensible
more mad plans hatched in the morning
New York City sidewalks speaking
saying we should get married
in City Hall after bequeathing
the purity of our thing
to the emptiness of the World Trade Center feeling
that lies in her memories of what happened that day
and April 8th is Kurt's day
after fifteen years
all day Nevermind-fest with the new crazy chef
she recruited with her sparkle and sass
she's told me this five times already
being together yet apart is stressing our devotion to loneliness
working seventy-five hours this week
yelling at taxi-drivers at three in the morning
walking home in the rain
fighting with her mom about moving
crying insensible
more mad plans hatched in the morning
New York City sidewalks speaking
saying we should get married
in City Hall after bequeathing
the purity of our thing
to the emptiness of the World Trade Center feeling
that lies in her memories of what happened that day
and April 8th is Kurt's day
after fifteen years
all day Nevermind-fest with the new crazy chef
she recruited with her sparkle and sass
she's told me this five times already
being together yet apart is stressing our devotion to loneliness
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Another artless poem
Absence she says
makes the heart grow
fonder for others
she giggles
on the phone
right hand close
to her mouth
comforting a friend
who had found herself a lover
and been caught
and was now separated
and struggling
her husband lying to the world
wanting Christmas together
wanting to hide his shame
his humiliation his anger his pain
even though some may not admit to this
without our woman for a man
its all falling
apart
Men know
our woman makes us
great
in this World
its why we fight wars
and write poems
its why we go forth every morning
wanting to conquer
anyway I think
it doesn't surprise me
his lying
if he stops to consider
his loss he'll see
everything
crumbling
he'll have to admit
another man won
his wife
is gone
something/everything
irretrievably
lost
now
he will find it harder
to enter a room
head high
chest out
humility is for monks
not for lawyers
and tears
for when you admit to a broken heart
clearly
he is not ready
to forgive
or forget or move on
I don't think
she
heard me
thinking this
I don't think
her friend
is ready
either
makes the heart grow
fonder for others
she giggles
on the phone
right hand close
to her mouth
comforting a friend
who had found herself a lover
and been caught
and was now separated
and struggling
her husband lying to the world
wanting Christmas together
wanting to hide his shame
his humiliation his anger his pain
even though some may not admit to this
without our woman for a man
its all falling
apart
Men know
our woman makes us
great
in this World
its why we fight wars
and write poems
its why we go forth every morning
wanting to conquer
anyway I think
it doesn't surprise me
his lying
if he stops to consider
his loss he'll see
everything
crumbling
he'll have to admit
another man won
his wife
is gone
something/everything
irretrievably
lost
now
he will find it harder
to enter a room
head high
chest out
humility is for monks
not for lawyers
and tears
for when you admit to a broken heart
clearly
he is not ready
to forgive
or forget or move on
I don't think
she
heard me
thinking this
I don't think
her friend
is ready
either
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
2 kids and a mini-van seen with a squinty eye
She's detached. Sad faces surface.
She mostly ignores what
people say. Strawberry
blond. Big-eyed.
All the right
bones.
Two
martini smile.
Pale and glowing
skin. The kisses almost
like thanks. She doesn't like going home
on the rebound.
She mostly ignores what
people say. Strawberry
blond. Big-eyed.
All the right
bones.
Two
martini smile.
Pale and glowing
skin. The kisses almost
like thanks. She doesn't like going home
on the rebound.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Some faces pass you by, some don't
She has a face she depends upon
make-up to define
rouged lips
eyebrows drawn
hair dyed
no feature left to chance
maybe it looks good
(two-dimensionally)
in the mirror
that color
cheek
and that much black around
each
eye
blond
burnt into brown
now
wavy gray
overly white skin
trying to hide
her broken veins
after a while
she's come to think
this repetition
of color and form
outlines
her
meaning
rouged lips
eyebrows drawn
hair dyed
no feature left to chance
maybe it looks good
(two-dimensionally)
in the mirror
that color
cheek
and that much black around
each
eye
blond
burnt into brown
now
wavy gray
overly white skin
trying to hide
her broken veins
after a while
she's come to think
this repetition
of color and form
outlines
her
meaning
Sunday, October 23, 2011
In his imimicable way he left you all exhilirated and exhausted
trying to find balance
between anger
and whimsy
ain't easy
it feels like cheating from
the beginning
but here it is
exactly
when needed
"cruel to be kind
in the right
measure"
it is sad
to think of art
as dialectical or definite
while both
are best defined
simply
both at best
reflect
the infinite
I hate to say
"you look like"
because
I hate to hear it
Christ
the mundane
have fucked ears
which fake listening
most
have no
idea
what to say
except cliches
when faced
with someone
like me
the thing is
there is
no trick
to proper perspective
it is there
without need
for digging
or doctorates
in plain words
the human condition
is gorgeous
and disgusting
rich with longing
suffused with dread
deep and dark
and dreamless
"stars
are stars
and they shine
so hard"
well good night,
sleepless.
between anger
and whimsy
ain't easy
it feels like cheating from
the beginning
but here it is
exactly
when needed
"cruel to be kind
in the right
measure"
it is sad
to think of art
as dialectical or definite
while both
are best defined
simply
both at best
reflect
the infinite
I hate to say
"you look like"
because
I hate to hear it
Christ
the mundane
have fucked ears
which fake listening
most
have no
idea
what to say
except cliches
when faced
with someone
like me
the thing is
there is
no trick
to proper perspective
it is there
without need
for digging
or doctorates
in plain words
the human condition
is gorgeous
and disgusting
rich with longing
suffused with dread
deep and dark
and dreamless
"stars
are stars
and they shine
so hard"
well good night,
sleepless.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The Lord Types On Skeleton Keys
handless bones on your face in the morning
waxy skin cracked by the dawn
after the blessing of an angel's presence
there is always a curse
a countdown
a clicking ticking sound
as flesh tightens and crumbles
and becomes subject to counting
dust gathers about you
and beckons
earthen words on plastic keyboards
won't save you
racing hearts find the finish faster
after all
sometimes a blessing
is the end
waxy skin cracked by the dawn
after the blessing of an angel's presence
there is always a curse
a countdown
a clicking ticking sound
as flesh tightens and crumbles
and becomes subject to counting
dust gathers about you
and beckons
earthen words on plastic keyboards
won't save you
racing hearts find the finish faster
after all
sometimes a blessing
is the end
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
34 four year truth
we spent every weekend night
driving
my dad's red Taurus
company
gas
credit card
looking to get lost
hoping to end up somewhere
surprising
or at least
alive
but it never happened
we always ended up
back home
disappointed by ourselves
and our options
being young and untraveled
I thought
everywhere was this mediocre
happily I report to you
I was wrong
but fuck
this town tried to swallow
us
did it's best to make us
SUV driving bankers
right wing subtly racist suburbanites
Christian
zombie
vampires
for a long time
I thought
the whole world was lying to itself
it was one hopeless fucking cage
full of deluded imbeciles
living at different addresses
comforted by the same lies
it seemed
it was either the mini-van
or the ghetto
no hope
no hope
and no surprises
it took three thousand miles
and a few drugs
to realize
traveling
ain't
a fool's paradise
driving
my dad's red Taurus
company
gas
credit card
looking to get lost
hoping to end up somewhere
surprising
or at least
alive
but it never happened
we always ended up
back home
disappointed by ourselves
and our options
being young and untraveled
I thought
everywhere was this mediocre
happily I report to you
I was wrong
but fuck
this town tried to swallow
us
did it's best to make us
SUV driving bankers
right wing subtly racist suburbanites
Christian
zombie
vampires
for a long time
I thought
the whole world was lying to itself
it was one hopeless fucking cage
full of deluded imbeciles
living at different addresses
comforted by the same lies
it seemed
it was either the mini-van
or the ghetto
no hope
no hope
and no surprises
it took three thousand miles
and a few drugs
to realize
traveling
ain't
a fool's paradise
Pre-requiem
Cut between
French and Latin rhythms
the words crawling from the singer's...mouth
counting down
backwards
1...2...3...
she moves beneath me
we kiss
until 5 A.M. thinking
that...inside her
I feel like light
while wishing...
we were nearer
'til morning
comes.
then.
it's weird again.
French and Latin rhythms
the words crawling from the singer's...mouth
counting down
backwards
1...2...3...
she moves beneath me
we kiss
until 5 A.M. thinking
that...inside her
I feel like light
while wishing...
we were nearer
'til morning
comes.
then.
it's weird again.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I might listen if you were beautiful
Incipient, they say it's incipient,
like it's about to happen.
Boom! Biff! Pow! It's no
longer coming it's
here it's you it's your
identity it's your cloak
it's a sigil you have hung
about your neck it's the analysis
given to you by some
Oprah fucking reject
An insipid machine-eyed retread
A flash-forward happenstance
No matter, no chance
it's almost never tied to
(never never never)
tied to
you
is it?
like it's about to happen.
Boom! Biff! Pow! It's no
longer coming it's
here it's you it's your
identity it's your cloak
it's a sigil you have hung
about your neck it's the analysis
given to you by some
Oprah fucking reject
An insipid machine-eyed retread
A flash-forward happenstance
No matter, no chance
it's almost never tied to
(never never never)
tied to
you
is it?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Some sort of swan song
It's called a studio bed
Even though
Not much happens upon it
I think of it
More
As a monk's
As it
Is meant for one
Making our sharing
That much more
Intimate
And uncomfortable.
Even though
Not much happens upon it
I think of it
More
As a monk's
As it
Is meant for one
Making our sharing
That much more
Intimate
And uncomfortable.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
two X's two X's two
I long to know the velocity of you
she says she
says
with a lisp dripping
spit on her
dress
downward turned head
too many
days and pills
and strange pillows that smelled
of lilacs and sweat
she says she
is
attentive to every inch
of him she
texts
with pictures and promises
a visit and sex
like
porn
stars fuck
but without dialogue
close while
touching from a distance
she says she
says
with a lisp dripping
spit on her
dress
downward turned head
too many
days and pills
and strange pillows that smelled
of lilacs and sweat
she says she
is
attentive to every inch
of him she
texts
with pictures and promises
a visit and sex
like
porn
stars fuck
but without dialogue
close while
touching from a distance
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Left
Then,
Morning,
She'll make him breakfast.
She's been buying groceries for two,
He knows,
And he loves her desperately.
Then,
Evening,
He types words for her.
He has yet to lose this habit.
Three thousand miles,
And eight months apart,
Still remembering:
a rooftop
by the river
a cloudy night
cold
huddling together
under a vent
high
and hidden
and warm
this is the where and that is the when...
Later,
He still dreams of her,
And wakes
Knowing that the truth
That buzzed between them,
Was felt by everyone.
It pulled those others in,
But in a way,
It set them apart,
Two lonely people
With hands kept carefully
Across their hearts.
Morning,
She'll make him breakfast.
She's been buying groceries for two,
He knows,
And he loves her desperately.
Then,
Evening,
He types words for her.
He has yet to lose this habit.
Three thousand miles,
And eight months apart,
Still remembering:
a rooftop
by the river
a cloudy night
cold
huddling together
under a vent
high
and hidden
and warm
this is the where and that is the when...
Later,
He still dreams of her,
And wakes
Knowing that the truth
That buzzed between them,
Was felt by everyone.
It pulled those others in,
But in a way,
It set them apart,
Two lonely people
With hands kept carefully
Across their hearts.
Twice you asked, twice you know
she
flutters
being alone
suits her
in notes
secrets related
she sings
daily
it's
okay
I kept count
for a while
now
I don't know
the seasons for
this broken bird
flutters
being alone
suits her
in notes
secrets related
she sings
daily
it's
okay
I kept count
for a while
now
I don't know
the seasons for
this broken bird
Friday, October 7, 2011
'Could you find me, would you kiss-a my eyes...'
Love often feels
like lost-at-sea,
drunkenly afloat.
They don't tell you that.
They fool you using
moldy movies
and suck ass songs.
Well here's some truth
and don't worry
this ends well...
loving someone
involves working
at maintaining levity
like a ballerina
landing
with a sense of humour.
You have to sneak
secret glances
and watch
when she has no idea.
like lost-at-sea,
drunkenly afloat.
They don't tell you that.
They fool you using
moldy movies
and suck ass songs.
Well here's some truth
and don't worry
this ends well...
loving someone
involves working
at maintaining levity
like a ballerina
landing
with a sense of humour.
You have to sneak
secret glances
and watch
when she has no idea.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Old haunts, nothing new
The sadness sits on my shoulders tonight.
It feels sweet and heavy and there is a fucked up romance to it, a bit like singing a song in the rain.
I walked home from the usual, head down, slowing my breath to hear my thoughts, missing drink and hating my need to imbibe and my inability to stop no matter how dark, how far, how fucked it got.
Most of the night has been spent waiting for the Word to arrive.
"It's not a religion
it's just a technique..."
The romance of the bottle, I have pursued and cultivated.
I have pruned friendships and loves accordingly.
I have decorated my apartment as a church to its holy fucking thrills while knowing it was nothing more than a stilted romanticizing of self destruction.
There is only God he says
eyes not looking for mine
the Devils are all
inside
with that he asks
for a few dollars
then wanders off
singing
some of the bottles held candles
which lit drunken meanderings
across each body
I brought home
no matter how many times I asked
in the morning
they would never tell me what happened
I was left with stains and shame
and faked remembrance of names
was I brilliant or limp
only the bottles knew
and those mute totems
weren't offering
It feels sweet and heavy and there is a fucked up romance to it, a bit like singing a song in the rain.
I walked home from the usual, head down, slowing my breath to hear my thoughts, missing drink and hating my need to imbibe and my inability to stop no matter how dark, how far, how fucked it got.
Most of the night has been spent waiting for the Word to arrive.
"It's not a religion
it's just a technique..."
The romance of the bottle, I have pursued and cultivated.
I have pruned friendships and loves accordingly.
I have decorated my apartment as a church to its holy fucking thrills while knowing it was nothing more than a stilted romanticizing of self destruction.
There is only God he says
eyes not looking for mine
the Devils are all
inside
with that he asks
for a few dollars
then wanders off
singing
some of the bottles held candles
which lit drunken meanderings
across each body
I brought home
no matter how many times I asked
in the morning
they would never tell me what happened
I was left with stains and shame
and faked remembrance of names
was I brilliant or limp
only the bottles knew
and those mute totems
weren't offering
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Being out of the trees seeing that it was really a bunch of Goddamned weeds
this morning when
she texted HATE YOU
I returned with AWWW POOR THING
last night she called the cops
(not on me)
she cried shook
drank screamed
when she left at midnight
the relief lasted
until morning this time
I don't believe
hope or meditation
or fucking prayers
will help
us
everyone will tell you
they will
be there
forever
they will raise your dawn
with promises and arms
drawn across
hearts
already
aching
for
the next one.
she texted YOU ARE THE MEANEST MAN I HAVE EVER MET
and I don't doubt it.
she texted HATE YOU
I returned with AWWW POOR THING
last night she called the cops
(not on me)
she cried shook
drank screamed
when she left at midnight
the relief lasted
until morning this time
I don't believe
hope or meditation
or fucking prayers
will help
us
everyone will tell you
they will
be there
forever
they will raise your dawn
with promises and arms
drawn across
hearts
already
aching
for
the next one.
she texted YOU ARE THE MEANEST MAN I HAVE EVER MET
and I don't doubt it.
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