there are no stupid questions
only stupid answers
simple answers to complex questions
immigration?
torpedo the invaders
school shootings?
arm the gym the teacher
very satisfying ***** solutions
they'll get you elected

a pretzel is 100% better than an empty stomach
ten minutes of sleep is better than no sleep
one kiss is better than no kisses
100% better
what the hell, 500%
you see where this is going
a little is a lot more than none
since you can’t have it all
a sip of water is a fountain to a parched throat
one listener an audience to a singer
a flicker of light to a blind man
a small breeze in the desert
warm breath on a frozen night
is 100% better than zero
however
a chuckle to a comedian in a crowded club doesn’t cut it
maybe none of these things do
a touch of lucidity to the insane only makes it worse
he sees the **** he’s lying in

it’s father’s day and everybody has one
even if you can’t put your finger on him
we have a tradition in our house
on father’s day i ditch the kids
and if i want a white russian
that could happen
and if i want to dig a tinkling
percussionist from new york city
that’s up to me
because it’s father’s day
and i’m the #1 dad

when i was a kid
i wondered what it would be like to be 40
now i can't remember being 40
i STILL don't know what it's like

i could give him ten breathing treatments
he’s still 84 years old
struggling to breathe at 4:45 in the morning
i could give him twenty treatments
he still has CHF
jamming the right chamber of his heart
flooding his lungs
he’s not drowning in it, not yet
but every breath is a squat ******
i sit with him at 4:45 in the morning
administering useless medicine
watching ice truckers, shooting the ****
it’s not lasix, which is what he needs to flush the fluid
but i’m good company and so is he
and that will have to be therapy enough
at 4:45 in the morning

greetings from the neurotrauma ICU

BED 1
morbidly obese female arrest
brain death protocol tomorrow

BED 2
drugged out assault victim
intubated for combativeness
to get the breathing tube in his mouth
we had to pry a bag of *******
out of his mouth

BED 3
21 year old arrest
80 pounds, looks like spinabifuda
claw hands, twisted feet
but no
autistic but no birth defects
just starved to death
by his caretaker brother

BED 5
50 year old woman
potential locked-in syndrome
cause unknown
possible she sees and hears everything
but completely unresponsive
can’t even blink an eye
to signal i’m here

BED 6
51 year old CORE patient
2 day protocol
for ***** donation

BED 7
biker crash
seemed ok until his MRI
revealed a spine so compressed
he spent 10 hours in the OR

BED 9
30 year old car crash
trached, quadrapalegic
buckets of secretions
chugging a wide-eyed
40 breaths a minute

BED 10
man fell out of a tree
huffing cleaning spray
we found a **** ring in the trauma bay
and upon intubation
his ******* fell out

you think anyone was looking
out the window of the World Trade Center
9/11, 9:03 am?
she’d see a mammoth jet
zooming directly at her
becoming colossal in a split second
and she wouldn’t believe it
until she did

the top shelf at stingrays
isn’t like the top shelf at another bar
it’s more like there’s no room on this shelf
so let’s stash it somewhere up above
but i figured i’d give it a shot
so to speak
"i’ll take that abners up there
the bourbon"
petey the bartender nodded
bent down and produced a bottle of abners
it wasn’t even bottom shelf
it was on the floor
but it got me messed up

a sad racial incident
i’m at a sidewalk cafe
i take my phone off the table and put it in my pocket
i look up and a black teen is passing my table
i didn’t even notice him and he’s staring at me
"i ain’t interested in your phone, man"
then he walks on
accused

a covid patient arrests
unvaccinated
hovering between here and gone
leaning towards death
her daughter comes in the room as we’re scrambling
to keep her heart beating and oxygen saturation viable
"i know you guys are thinking she’s gonna die
we need her alive
we NEED you to believe that she’s going to live"
a sad rush of emotion
a vaccine might have been more effective
than my happy thoughts
but that’s how it works on my planet
on her planet, who knows?

my father died when i was 14
presenting me with an unsolvable calculation
and a bleak though accurate view of reality
my wife and i didn’t die when the kids were kids
and that was a gift to the children
which we took back a bit by living
and the drinking, a mixed bag
but no divorce and no funerals
you’re welcome, kids

gnarly opinions from my algebra professor:

"about a year ago some idiot took pi
out to the ten thousandth place"

sometimes inexplicable (to me):

"i don’t like that Please Aunt Sally Stuff"

awesome litanies of cliche:

"you can’t see the forest for the trees
nobody comes out of the womb running
you have to crawl
i don’t say this because i have free time
or to hear myself talk—
rome wasn’t built in a day!"

sometimes he strikes gold
telling a tardy student:

"try being late for a ship
try standing on the dock
see if they sail back for you"

when the same kid asks the date:

"what does it matter?  you don’t know the time!"

a limited frame of reference
that’s why people are such morons
they’re not inherently stupid
just narrow and myopic
you’d think with tv, the internet
easy transport and open borders
eyes would be wide
nope

(obviously i wrote this poem before the borders closed)

rich folks can do whatever they want
and it’s illegal to be poor
that’s connotation, not denotation
but slap me if i’m wrong
all men are created equal
and women are free to jump off the boat
and find a dolphin to ride

the 85 year old man only fell down three steps
but he fractured everything and has a brain bleed
either he spends the rest of his life in pain and immobility
or there’s not much left of that life
either way
it all over for him

here on this perfect summer morning
i take my friday ny times to the Coffee Connection
to sit outside and enjoy my day off--
and the city is on lockdown again
sitting not allowed
i suppose i could give it a squat

i’m taping a poem to a lamp post in my tiny city
and a dude comes running – RUNNING!
across the street waiving a $20 bill
"i’ve been reading you for years
i wanna give you this"
i thank him and tell him to keep his money
"the transaction is i put up this poem
you read it, you like or hate it or shake your head
and if we meet we talk about it"
but come on
once again i beat t.s. eliot
you think anyone ever ran up to him
with 20 bucks for The Wasteland?
yeah right

it’s a common consolation
that we all share the same view
flush or broke, lucky or luckless
we all live under the same sky
pondering the same constellations
too bad it’s *******
the wealthy live on another planet
more water, less desert
more dessert
closer to the stars
and their constellations provide
luxurious consolation

i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional naked, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

yeah cops are just working guys doing a ***** job
and when you need one you need one
but man, they let themselves be molded into an army
at the drop of a top hat and overtime paycheck
the police are weapons and sometimes used accordingly
they see no problem dropping into invasion mode
against the unemployed, the underemployed
the darker population, freethinkers
and other americans who break no laws
except the law against resisting the harness
the cops accept their role as cattle **** to students
who are playing their role:  cross-examining the USA
it's simple but true--
wear a suit and you're the boss
dress funky and you're a creep.
deserving of the smug baton
i observed this at the G20 summit
where i strolled along a phalanx of cops
there to protect the inviolability of property
more sacrosanct than the citizens of the country
and now i watch them kick down the wallstreet settlements
serving and protecting the dollar almighty
(thanks to my fellow beatniks for the cliche last line)
(but tell me it’s not true)
if you’re a policeman reading this
thanks for getting my keys out of the car
but WAKE UP to the way you’re intermittently implemented

you go to her/him with something you gotta do
that you know is wrong in some way
and she/he presents a convincing argument
as to why it’s right and has to be done
by you

you can appreciate what you have
or weep for what you lack
you don't have much choice
you might weigh the balance intellectually
but emotions bear no calculation
emotions are a crying baby

the republican craving for fascist darkness
is a backlash to the beatles
they were that luminous a light
if you’re old enough
you can see the trajectory

i was chaining up my bike
when the woman approached

"excuse me, i don’t need food or money
do you have good eyes?"

"depends
what are we trying to see?"

"i dropped a bag of money down here
do you see it anywhere?"

"THAT i would see
and i don’t see it"

"oh dear
well i do need food and money"

"and when you find that bag
you’ll be all set
have a nice day"

you can’t come out ahead
not with death picking your pocket
on your way out the door
but maybe you can balance the equation
reconcile the molecular weight
of the positive and negative
like the moon tonight
it’s a perfect glowing circle
the moon is a balanced equation
your life can be the same
if the wind blows your way

by that measure
this year was a mindblower

if there’s a perfect segment of your life
put it on the wall
and charge yourself admission
like i’m doing right now
i straddle the planet
and scoff at my helpless emotion
i scrape up any tears i cried
spit them at passing airplanes
and balance the astonishing equation

it works

all the options compete
for a sliver of my attention
which is split thinner and thinner
but if i’m captured and amused
it’s cool, it’s a good deal
i come out ahead
it’s contended incessantly
that my attention is utterly monetized
subliminally
but i don’t care
i say it’s a bargain
it’s like selling your soul
when you know you don’t have one

was baudelaire right and everyone else wrong?
was baudelaire wrong and everyone else wrong?
when you’re fed up forwards and backwards
when you realize your life isn’t a game of chess

it’s simply checkers
almost preordained
in its lack of options
we all have embedded GPS systems
gallantly navigating through the days
some work brilliantly
some less so
we depend on them
and they’re undependable
they get us so far
but invariably lead us
to the end of the highway
going 90
everyone puts his best foot forward
only to stumble off the edge of the earth
you can’t win forever
you lose it all
but **** a duck
i’m going to redefine victory
one bottle at a time
like baudelaire

that’s a laugh
when it’s time to do the hard stuff
men are slipping out the back
looking for the exit
get me out of here
i need a beer
what’s on tv
while women roll up their sleeves and get to work

her life spliffs in a series of luminous crescendos
culminating in a bassinet and bottle for a porcupine
spewing tears and spittle while the man she married
commits ping-pong with the video and her friends
television around the world as the hours go drip drip drip

my god, the love for billy joel here
it’s touching
"is it billy joel night?"
"yes!"
"is every night billy joel night?"
"yes!"

he got a motorcycle for his birthday
got some whiskey too
he didn't get a helmet though

all the young fellas shot
languishing in the hospital
with families bedside
grieving and dealing with it

a young woman bedside
gets off the phone
"they just called me
they’re waiting for him to get out
so they can finish him off"

a  mother bedside
"that boy that just left?
that’s the one who shot him"

a family bedside
as i perform therapy
mom says
"you think we’re trash
don’t you"

while cause and effect is inviolable
there is no beginning
there was always before

being a poet is like being a king
but ******, it takes all my time
seducing the ladies
and corrupting the youth
it’s a full time job

gotta love the scientists
with the weak attention spans
who get the job done

baudelaire has ****** me over
all you drunken poets know what i mean
old alkies
laughing at young alkies
laughing at old alkies
baudelaire and bukowski snickering at the end of the bar
making me pay for the next million rounds
with a currency of meaningless hangovers
and silly stanzas
free beer and revelation
always tomorrow

sorry but
you gotta crash every once in a while
or you’re not really riding

the frustrations of biff are a technicolor epic
his bottomless thirst to be coronated king
of film, music, literature, performance
thought
when will the world recognize genius?
reward genius?
worship genius?
******* genius?
he’s the id for all us artsy types

as i told my kids all their lives
there are only two ages
living and dead
everything else is a construct
and death might be one too

when people make assumptions about you
you resent them when they get it wrong
and you resent them when they get it right

i say bite the bullet
appropriate the money
from the ten richest americans
give them all mustangs
and say thanks
no more poor people
we could all afford breakfast

as i told the boys at my favorite music store
“show me a tube amp for a thousand bucks
something i can plug my les paul into and let it rip
gotta be intense enough to play with drums in a bar unmiked
and i came here early so i can play loud”
walked out with a Blackstar

art, chix & wine are fine
but artchix & wine are divine!

just got a $1.11/hr raise
the rich get richer!

anthologized or unpublished
famous or failed
obscene or obscure
young or old
poets die with their boots on
boots of trochaic luster

boring, useless and impossible
i understand why these are not the first listings
in the job description
but they should be somewhere on the page

i interrupted my routine
brain level 1 said "something’s wrong"
it look a minute for brain level 2 to compute
"you interrupted the routine"

if you listen to music you actually enjoy
you win
it’s hard to nail the moment of pleasure
for things that are pleasurable
but a song is a bullseye

just burned my finger
thanks george foreman
not bad, but it stings
and you know what?
i’m glad for the distraction
in these dank days

just because something’s for sale
and you bought it
doesn’t mean you didn’t steal it
isn’t that why prostitution is illegal?
of course, stealing is fine
if you couldn’t purloin the life
of a sirloin or banana
you wouldn’t eat
BUT
just because you can buy a porkchop
doesn’t mean that the pig
placed himself on the market
not to sweat it though
when the earth digests you
it all evens out