Sleep deprived
Deranged just a little touch/just a little
Tip
Crack your
Knuckles work your bones
All around this town shaking
Shiver/moan
All the ways we get horizontal
We get down, always a little off
Always a half-second early, drop
Let it all fall off
Devolve your way the light, we're so god damned enlightened here
Stagger on my wayward friend
We get weird but
It ain't so strange
Tie your hair up in tangles like you've been had on the ground
Alley dirt on your ass
Dance your way to the front
Alternate between confident and terrified/cigarettes naked fall
Asleep alone
On a weird couch
While somewhere your best friend
Fucks your ex
Forgivable, forgivable
Can't be mad at the poet/drunk but it's okay just breathe
Your way to the next day sit and look at pictures be jealous
Of the you you used to be
Shower like you're poison
Fill your car and
Head South Head South Head South

Ineffable

---------------------------------------------
Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words:
Too sacred to be uttered.
-------------------------–-------—----------

The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think a whispery, silent
amen.

The first alive cries of new born lungs
in the stainless delivery room,
hear the babies pronouncing a blessing, Shecheyanu
to which we think a whispery, silent
amen.

The unspoken devotions of adoration
in the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt,
to which we think a whispery silent
amen.

Ineffable.

The disgusted silence of the God they pray to
in his holy places, when Jew spits upon Jew,
for forgetting in whose image they were created,
to which we cannot say nor think
anything.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
Master of the universe,
who has kept us alive and sustained us
and has brought us
to these special moments.

Ineffable,
too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these words,
know each tear in the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.

Instead of answerIng amen,
wipe my eyes with your fingertips,
silently.

4:31 in the morning, alone in the Bronx
Why do you do this to yourself?
You like danger and adventure and you're naive.
You need fuckin help.
If one night stands is the way you go
Then baby i say good riddance.
Cuz it's 4:33 in Chelsea,
You could be in your own bed in your own village.
But instead you're waiting
On the steps underground.
You give a whole new meaning to
"That girl gets around."  
Because you're here, you're there, you're every where
And now you're finally on the train
Heading away from then shitty apartment that belongs to a guy who can't pronounce your name.
It's 4:35 in the morning, and the trains not running express
You'll have to make every stop on this journey home,
Then you'll finally get to rest.
But you never learn your lesson, you'll be back at it again
Sharing secrets, chasing silhouettes with a guy who's "just your friend"
The time keeps moving, the clock keeps ticking, it's already 4:37
And you can keep checking, you can keep looking, but we're not even close to manhattan.
Cuz it's 4:38 on tremont avenue, and no one else is getting in this car
Because they all understand the consequences,
Sometimes you take things too far.
It's 4:39 on the train
And things have gotten dark
And it feels like you're not getting closer,
Just more torn apart.
It's 4:40 in the Bronx, come on just hold it together.
You were looking for some fun, a distraction or whatever.
And you found it, in the Bronx, at the other side of this journey.
God damn, keep your eyes open, this really fuckin sucks.
Now it's 4:42 and you don't know where you are,
You really fuck up to too much.

Your heaven has failed me
On the days when I felt loading up the dish washer was a
Personal assault on my psyche
Your god has-
Run me over with his fists too many times
And made me believe it was paternal pat’s on the back
All the-
Pain I was feeling,
You carry the gravel in your teeth
To make sure its full of grit,
When you speak,
I say;
“you’re full of shit”

You say im just weak for the things
That have made me unholy.
I am weak for the things that have unbroken me.
These words are shrapnel
You let them sink into our skin there is no more dirt to chew
I will spend my last moments
Holding onto the fucking noose
I’m going down swinging
And if that means I’ll hang
So be it
There are worst ways to die

I know
Because I’ve died before

Nothing special happens. Ya’ll can stop dreaming.

Kindness isn’t supposed to taste so bitter
Being saved
Isn’t supposed to hurt so much
You-
Never knew how much the night sky despised the daylight
Until you moved to a country where it gets longer every year
You never knew how kind
The sun was to your skin-
Ive got tan lines where my noose used to swing
It took me three years to untie myself
And I still have scars

Whether they will be there or not in a few more years
I guess ill stick around and see just
How much ive
lost

Cancel me to work the everyday,
gorgeous and made as if by money-
for money. My body glossing
for the lifestyle it represents
all its own.

The Curvature of my eye
shadowed behind the silk
of my hair. God
made the beautiful
for something else
than donning the same shirt and shoes
to grind another blue sky day
through to its ashy undertone.

They could call me madness
and I would rise up a dirt devil
over the scrub of the mundane-
all glimmering darkness
and suggestive dirt.

bitch please i will cut
you fuck the haiku
format oh my god

I am now a woman
I am because I say so
It doesn't matter who says I can't
It doesn't matter who says "no!"

I became a woman
Through caring for others
I sacrificed, and can
See how my future grows

I didn't give up anything
I didn't give up trust
I haven't given up my dignity
I didn't feed into man's lust

No, I did is on my own
Without a drop of falsehood
I became what I want known
And not what should hide in the wood

I gave up things for others
I prayed and spoke to God
I sacrificed for my sisters and brothers
I prayed, and held fast to my rod

My mom, when she comes home,
Will be so proud of me
She will see what I've become
And praise me for what I'll be

I can't await to hear her voice
And how much she will jump of joy
When she looks at my rejoice
And understands why I am no toy

Now, I am a woman,

Or at least, I think I am

She is equipped with sensitive nipples
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, rubbish removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no.  Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a shag?
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for  
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope  
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can hump it in the kitchen, who  can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, and who has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
even after all of this,
it would be dishonest of me to brag
that I know much
about women  at all
because I'm really a total ignoramus
and I'm just another work in progress.

Today is lonely as God cries over the earth with feverish passion. It would be a lie if I said I wasn't looking for Love on these days. Those leg kickin', back scratchin', tummy rubbin' days. Where the heat stretches for miles, and the storms flood for awhile. On those days I'm looking for Love. Walking down a road as long as time itself. Wind whippin' my hair, breeze kissing my cheeks, this is the time I remember you. The way you held my attention as close as you held my heart. I wonder where you are now, even when you are right in front of me.

fog transforms
careful wanderers into  wild wanton beasts
kindergartners follow them right off the ledge
clutching lunch pails & daddy’s ideas
about class warfare
prices of coal, oil, other things doomed for obsolescence
&  how not to love
just lie there without saying anything at all
& watch it all crumble back into squalling baby dinosaurs
it’s midnight & I’m with you
you’re learning about economics
hyperbole & statistics
the way my freckles move depending on my frown
& how not to trust
simply put
never bet on anything that talks
push your pencil close & mark me
my psychoses already knows what owns me
watch the pupils turn in the eyelids
hear me name the other thing that torments
move closer & pretend I called for you
cover my mouth with those utilitarian hands
remind me who I’m whipped by
take the throat
remind me who I stay by
& who I’m slain by
now
grab the blunt end & point the sharp one here
wipe the crust from your eyes

wake up! wake up!

God needs you.