You drew me out
when you called my name
then you drew me in,
into your flame.
I was just looking
for a place that's warm.
You gave me that,
and you gave me more.

The light on your face,
snow in my hair,
emeralds in your eyes,
you walked down the stairs
into my arms
where you belonged
both then and now
and ever long.

Were I to dive into your eyes
would surely be my cold demise.

A sea of green, but bottom black.
So deep no chance of coming back.

I thought misfortune not to meet,
that desire came without deceit.

Nevermore to chase the heart.
Doomed was I right from the start.

I got a hole in my pocket,
hole in my heart,
hole in the wall, man.
I'm falling apart.
They say that a woman
can ruin a man,
but he can ruin himself
fast as she can.

My head's been pounding,
my head's hung low,
my head's in the grinder.
It's all I know.
She's miles away,
but she's turning the wheel.
I'd write her a letter,
but she knows how I feel.

This other one calls me.
This other one shoves me.
Another one hates me
much as another one loves me.
But I won't have it,
need to love myself.
Take all these old pictures
off of my shelf,

Forget about women,
forget about money,
forget about love
eat my bread with some honey.
She might give me bad dreams,
but I believe I'll be fine.
Told her, "I'll be in your dream
if you'll be in mine."

I woke up on a Monday,
met her on a Tuesday,
we married on a Wednesday,
crossed it off the list.

Honeymoon on Thursday,
I got drunk on Friday,
she screamed at me on Saturday
and kissed me with a fist.

Sunday morning rolled around
and I thought I heard the sound
of footsteps on the floor:
she was walking out the door.

Perhaps I am yet unwise in most ways
and do not know the meaning of many slight symbols,
nor do I fully grasp the importance of free will.
But I have seen my share of death and life,
I have tasted the fruit and likewise spit it out
back into the palms of those who fed it to me.
I have heard one too many sermons desperately tempting me into salvation as it has been defined.
Short-sighted as I am, though, I have abandoned the house of the lord
to build my own here on earth.

When he died I was waiting
for my meal at a fast food restaurant thirty miles out.
My father called me and said,
without crying,
"Pap passed away."
I regret that I still kept waiting
for my food.

When I saw his body,
shorter than I remember,
in the casket lined with white,
I thought Am I man now?
I didn't say any words for him,
but laid a handed-down
golden cross necklace
over his cold fingers.
Part of me was buried, too.

The hate between men
in view of a prize -
the bitterness of their hearts, then.

Two wolves circle a fawn,
a trophy - the eyes.
A hush in the forest at dawn.

The fortune and the glory,
the blood spilled, the ecstasy -
to be laureled in a light
of gold.

They want us with our heads down,
hands tied, eyes closed.
They want us right where we are now,
their boots pressed to our throats.

Give until it starts to hurt.
Give until you like it.
Give until your coffin's built
and you gladly crawl inside it.

Having been brought up as Catholic,
I was always told that
God was a jealous god.
Jealous.
That there is no room
for other so-called "gods" in his churches,
and that there can be no room for another
in the hearts of his disciples, his children.
Children.
     Now, a man of twenty-six years,
I ask, I wonder,
why do we invest our faith in a God
who is jealous, when we ourselves
do all we can to abolish
the jealousy in our own hearts?
Is God so unsure of himself that,
were we to merely consider another,
he would reject us and hold us in contempt?
And yet, he is described as "perfect."
Perfect.
That he need not work to improve himself,
though we here on Earth
do all that we can to come close
to purity and perfection.
     As a man of only twenty-six years,
I can tell you with a certain conviction
that God is only a child -
a child in need of guidance, himself.
And I wonder still, more than ever, it seems,
why we look to God at all
and not to ourselves.

The human ego is as soft and dirigible
as a child's balloon.
The pride of a poet is no different.
Criticize him and suddenly a hole spilling hot air,
watch him zoom about
deflated, adrift.

So I'm talking to this girl.
We're sitting beside a fountain,
people walking past,
it's busy and loud, but we stay focused.
I'm trying to pick her brain,
find out if it'll be worth it
for us to stay together,
being that she's a little batshit crazy and all.
And then I hear this voice from
way up above my head say,
"Tyler, she is not the one,
for my name is God and I know and see all."
So I says to God, "God, with all due respect,
I'm trying to have a conversation with this lady, here.
**** out."
So the girl, hearing me talk
to this voice inside my head, thought
I was completely insane.
"Well," I says, " I guess that makes two of us. "
We're still together, mind you, six years later.
I think maybe God retired after that.
He hasn't spoken since.

Peering intensively through fog-marked mullioned glass
into a cool and conquering October sunrise
I am met with a profound and welcoming sudden awareness -
zephyrs breathing through each emerald green grass blade,
     brow of country hilltops, mountains materializing
with the passing of each era like wrinkles in a face,
clouds crawling the longitudes to reform over Pacific pools somewhere,
soil forcing upward making way for elm or oak or pine to tower,
rivers thundering wild down the backs of continents,
     cliff or crag breaking the maelstrom on occasion,
and all the while spinning, all of this and more, clinging to the frame of the earth
as it dances balanced on axis, pirouetting through the cosmos
in turbulent, beautiful, simply complex form just as I
back away from the window and extend an arm to brace myself.

A glass of wine at sunset
and a cigarette.
He's drinking for two,
though it's only he who's there.
Through the window glare
he's looking at the loveseat
where his love would sit unhappily
as devotion drove her quickly mad.
He had her - all of her - once.
Her eyes of emerald, chestnut hair,
fair skin paired with dark garments,
and the smell of sweet lavender,
like a smoke, clinging to a broken memory, a stale picture tucked into a drawer that doesn't open anymore.
Yes, he has his wine, his cigarettes,
his sunset to help him forget.
But tomorrow he will feel it all again. When the sun rises, the bottle is empty, the cigarette burns out, the heart relives its pains
and reaches for what is lost.

I'm writing you this poem
as I've done so many times.
I hope a word will reach you.
I hope, at least, it rhymes.
And when I play my guitar for you
and let ring all the strings,
between each rusty, broken bar,
I hope to hear you sing.

Old friends, dead friends,
all lined up like porcelain dolls,
smiling behind ***** glass.
I wrap them in paper and lament.

Times like these never
End without someone building
Or breaking a wall.

I can hear her singing,
that's how I know she's home.
'Hotel California' to her
man who's on the phone.
But when he hangs it up
she'll be all alone,
sitting pretty, feeling lonely,
drawing little pictures of him.

And she doesn't know it,
but I get lonely, too.
Each time I do I hide myself
inside and drink her perfume.
Then after it's all gone
I paint my ceiling blue,
light another cigarette and
sit there with the curtains pulled.

You knew it, I knew it,
I blew it all in front of you.

Don't do it. I'll do it.
Just ***** it up like I do.

It's true, it is true that
it's you, O how I wish I knew.

Light another cigarette and
sit behind these curtains, blue.

Dallas, November 1963
Fifty-seven years since they shot Kennedy
Everyone saw then live on T.V.
what happens when you challenge
secret society

Some say the mob or the CIA
Either black or white, but the truth is gray
and long since buried 'neath Texas clay
right next to good ol' LBJ

I ask not what my country can do for me
Blood on her hands, Lady Liberty
Let sleeping dogs lie, leave history be
The truth died in Dallas, 1963

Sunset colors drip down the walls.
Pools of sunlight splash.
Solitude is overwhelming
when you have no hash.

O come to me daughter of peace
The songs you sing so soft and sweet
Your vision clear and near complete
Stand proud with open arms to greet

Hair a mess from what she can tell
in the mirror.
Photographs lying face-flat
in their frames over the mantel
beside the urn.
She gets up, sits down -
"Oh, what's the point?" -
and dials for her sister who has experience in this.
After the grief they share a *** of coffee and make plans to do this again.

Biting my fingers
Watching the wall until the paint lifts
Legs twitch
Bass drum pulse in my ears
Smoke clears (now they see me)
Eyes red
Head floating in a cloud of worry
Hurry to lock the door
I’ve been here before
You live here
You lived here
Eight o’clock comes
I was supposed to meet someone
Hate written on the mirror
Eyes in pairs move past the window
Do they know?
Nine o’clock comes
Plans canceled
Deaf to silence
Television, yes
Sit down
Eat popcorn
Laughing while I witness
The death of my
Dreams

Look at your fathers.
            All dead men.
   And all you have in common
        is the blood.
      But, once that's spilled,
nothing.      
                      No truths.
  No lies.
                   Bury the thought.

June 19, 2019.
     CNN headline:
"Trump vows to cure cancer
and AIDS if elected to second term."
     Watching this on a television
     in a second floor hospital room,
     I ripped the IV and oxygen tubes
     from my body and danced
     into the elevator.

Nobody likes you when you're
down and out.
They'd rather see you smile.
Nobody talks to me when I'm
feelin' blue,
but baby, happy's goin' out of style.

I see the sun is grinnin'
in my face.
People just pass me by.
Nobody there to give
the time of day.
So tell me, why do I even try?

The phone is ringin', but it
ain't for me.
My doorbell must be broke.
Am I this lonely when
it comes down to it,
or is this just one big joke?

Nobody likes you when you're
down and out.
They'd rather see you smile.
Nobody talks to me when I'm
feelin' blue,
but baby, happy's goin' out of style.

I shut the windows and turn
off the light,
crawl into my bed.
I guess that I could call this
girl I know,
but she'd prob'ly rather sleep instead.

And in the mornin' pour
myself a cup.
Talkin' to the wall.
I think I'll curl up
beside my cat, read a book and
have myself a ball, 'cause

Nobody likes you when you're
down and out.
They'd rather see you smile.
Nobody talks to me when I'm
feelin' blue,
but baby, happy's goin' out of style.

Said, Nobody likes you when you're
down and out.
They'd rather see you smile.
Nobody talks to me when I'm
feelin' blue,
but baby, happy's goin' out of style.

When ice and snow does winter bring
I close my eyes and dream of spring
when flowers blush, where Sun is king
and wake to hear a bluebird sing

I think of you, friend,
as I make my way to Baltimore,
awake and aware of the
stillness in the backseat.
Used to be at least three
of us, sleepless and ******,
never alone except when we slept.
I think of you when the
sunlight finally hits my windshield
and refracts into rainbows
all over the dashboard.
I've always hated mornings,
but this one is calm and beautiful
and I can't wait to reach the shore.
I think of you once more
while I'm sitting on the docks
tossing rocks into the Patapsco,
watching the gulls go sleepily overhead. I dread the drive back home. But I'll be thinking of you
when I hit the highway laughing at
something you said when you were
alive.

There's something in the water
making everyone a fool,
reading doorsigns that say "push"
and yet, they still are trying to pull.

We walk together.
More people should know this.
We are brothers
to have been born of Earth,
built of salt and clay and bone.
You are not alone.

We beat different drums,
but the song is the same.
We are artists,
to be given a vision and voice.
Be both careless and dutiful.
Each is beautiful.

Eclipse me.
Keep me from view.
The whole world wants to see you.

I wonder if, when the sun rises,
it brings a little something
back from the east.
Do its golden rays have stories
it wishes to tell, or lessons or gifts
to give us when it gets back?
I guess what I want
is to know that it remembers
and thinks of all of us
while it is gone.
Or does it shed all memory
of its time spent with me?
Does the sun come up
out of duty or love?

For nothing now can ever
come to any good -
Words I lifted off the page,
popped in my mouth and
swished around til it all
made sense to me.

That line, by itself,
hanging at the end of
the stanza, now hanging
off the tip of my twisted tongue.
It touched me somehow, someplace,
by way of some terrible twist of fate.

W.H. Auden, it is
the end of autumn and I
ask you how you handle death.
For, though I write, a poem
does not suffice. Not me.
I am, by these falling leaves,
reminded of their faces and
when they touch the ground
I look down and weep.

I've been staring too long
at the setting sun
remembering where I've been.
I've been pricing a home
where I can live alone
and start over again.
But if a man can change
his foolish ways
(and I know I can),
will you keep me around
and help us get back
to where we began?

I'll forget my anger,
my worries, too,
I'll forget my shame -
I'll forget it all
if you will promise
to do the same.
I know sometimes
you wish you could
just forget my name.
But please take my hand
and follow me back
down the road we came.

The way I see it,
we can both give in
and call it a day.
And who knows, maybe
it'd all work out
and we'd be okay.
But like it or not
I'm tied to you
in so many ways.
So if you feel that too,
and I pray you do,
let's agree to stay.

It's too sad to think
our paths could cross
some far-off day -
to see you with
a stranger in
some cheap café,
or in a bar,
brand new dress,
dancing your night away.
I might catch your eye
hard-pressed to find
the words to say.

So I'll say it now,
best to hear it early
rather than too late.
'Cause if I say nothing
and seal my lips
then I seal my fate -
I love you, dear,
and I'm only hoping
you can relate.
Won't you please
meet me outside and
let me through your gate?
It's getting dark,
but that setting sun
will have to wait.

Looking out across a sea of green,
wond'ring where you are
and where you've been.
You should really see this view,
and the tea is set for two.
Where are you?

Is the sun just in my eyes,
or is this real?
Slowly turns the day upon its wheel.
My hope, I fear, will fade
like the light into the shade.
And so I pray:

Please,
won't you come back home to me?
Won't you please?
Set my weary mind at ease.
Is that you
I see moving through the trees,
or just another
cold and lonely breeze?

Looking out across a sea of green,
wond'ring what we are
and what we'll be.
O, how I wish I knew.
It would help me to get through.
Where are you?

Immeasurable ignorance,
you wear it like a golden crown.
Born without your innocence,
your only path will lead you down.

Standing like a rigid statue
before a crowd of hungry eyes,
hiding all your sins behind you,
feeding them your ugly lies.

Money makes you feel almost normal.
Without it you would turn to dust.
The whole world begs for just a morsel.
How dare you say you're fair and just?

Trusting in you is a blunder -
you and men who pull the strings.
Crumbling from the weight we're under.
Expecting us to kiss your rings.

You are just a ******* whisper.
Time will leave you far behind.
Soon your name will cease to matter.
Death will come and rob you blind.

You will suffer in the end, and
You will beg to die again.
You will reach out for a hand, and
this you will not comprehend:

You will find no peace or mercy.
No one to pull you from the grave.
You will be forever hungry.
Pleading on your knees, a slave.

Bring me your problems,
put 'em in a basket.
I can answer your question
before you even ask it.
I can't walk on water,
I ain't from Galilee,
but baby, just have
a little faith in me.

Well, tell your brothers,
     your sisters and misters
they dont need to
     hang around my door.
My hands and feet
     are covered with blisters -
just a product of our
     little war.

     And next time you
have half a mind
     to set fire to my
Cadillac,
     just remember that
kinda behavior
     is never gonna
bring me back.
     Know that.

Yes, I believe I received
     your last message,
but I didn't care to
     hear it through.
It's just my mind
     was preoccupied
with finding ways
     to rid myself of you.

Don't get me wrong,
     we sure had our fun,
but it was much too much
     to make it last.
Now my windows and
     doors are all locked,
I only open 'em to scream
     when you drive past.

I wrapped my coat
around your shoulders
and gave you a smack on the ***.
You liked that.
You laughed and we went walking
up Main Street, cars stopping
to stare at us (I mean you) as
if we (I mean you) were celebrities.
When we got back to the apartment
we cracked open a bottle of Cognac
and I smacked your *** again about
halfway through it.
You liked that one, too.
We laughed some more and you
told me a story about
when you were a girl, but
I wasn't listening on the count of
your perfect neckline, though
I nodded and laughed just the same.
Then came the rain and the thunder
turned you on - fast forward and
we were naked on the floor,
smoke pouring out of the ashtray
and I was happy. *******,
was I happy.
We ended the night smoking ****
in the bathtub like we were celebrities
(I mean you).

Fat *****, fat *****,
as far as the American
eye can see,
fondling over the fudge
and the cheese in aisle 3.
Gobbling up the sugar
like a crazy chimpanzee
who gambled away his nanners
and now all he's got's black tea.

Life is the continuous struggle
to preserve the first good
dream you ever had.

We follow the current
around each rock and
up each straight.
Some break free
and are forgotten,
some break free
and are remembered,
but only those who
swam fast away.
The rest of us are waiting
for that one great leap,
up and out and over
the banks -
the leap that we know
will be our last,
but the one we know
will show the others
we got out,
tasted the air,
glubbed our last glub
and did something
unequaled.

You're a caricature,
an exaggeration.
Yet, you fill the page
most irritably.
You cartoon-colored
cardboard cutout,
don't take yourself
so seriously.

Come a little closer.
I want to read what's in your palm.
Yes my fire's burning
and the air outside is calm.

Your eyes in the moonlight
remind me of my sweetest dream.
When you touch me like that,
sends me floating in a stream.

Yes, I feel like I'm swimming
and the water is just right.
So kick off your shoes now,
let's both sink into the night.

And do you remember
how I walked you home before?
Just a timid boy then,
standing outside your door.

But we're all grown up now
with desire on our tongues.
And my mind is swimming.
I want to breathe you in my lungs.

Yes, I feel like swimming
and the water is just right.
So forget your worries.
Let's both sink into the night.

A girl was selling flowers,
white orchids she had clipped.
I found them rather lovely
and placed one on your crypt.

Like a bygone love, it wilted.
Its petals dried and fell.
You're long gone, I know,
but I hope you're doing well.

I get up out of my lazy chair
daydream to stare out the window
and I'm looking for someone to dance with me.

I envision little footprints in snow,
two pairs pointed at one another,
made one with a cold kiss and
who'll ask me for my coat?

You'll say I'm drunk and ought to get some sleep. I'll say I'm happy and not afraid of winter. Now let's meet outside while my bones are still warm.

If you made a mistake,
     I would take you back.
I'd forgive you
     to spare you some shame.
     So can't you see past
     any judgment I lacked,
     and please, for love's sake,
do the same?