here, crawling
through blood and ****
of once brothers
too young and
too sober

deafened—
leaded
and known only by dog

for tradition
for man

absolute
obsolete
pure pride and purpose

dear ma,

death
is blind

and hell
is close to home

throw my poetry in the trash and
scream hallelujah
maybe
then
I'll do the dishes

I wish I could love you
but my timing is all wrong

I already know who you are
what you love
what you like
what you hate

but
he's still there
even though
he's not

wanting is irrelevant
waiting is irrelevant

and my timing is all wrong

what if
he wasn't there
what if he wasn't a friend

what if
you were happy
what if I could kiss you on the cheek

what if
I could hold your hand
and not feel guilty about it
and only let get so you could dance in the parking lot

what
if

except
my timing is all wrong
it's never been right

I love you

atop the mesa
cold flowers sleep
bathed in suns
long since gone
& the coyote sings
on purple wind
"all is empty"

once while driving a long stretch of road, I came across a field of dead colts. not mauled, but asleep. I spent the day arranging and rearranging them. first in a straight line. then a circle. then a cross. finally, I piled them up and lit them on fire. I waited for the fire to burn out. I waited through night. I waited for several days. I never slept. just sat there. waiting.

pn
dr
ng
th
pnt
f
t
ll

t
hll
wth
t

one day
the world will have enough of me
and burn me at the stake

they’ll sing and dance
in gasoline and smoke
         “the death of the last honest man”

and after they **** on the ashes
and return home
to their meat loaves and ******

i will rise from the ashes
as a pigeon

spending the rest of eternity
******* in their morning coffee
and on the windshields of their cars

I found a dead
dog today

so I took it home
and buried it

with the others
I have found

I found myself wandering around
the truck stops and trailer parks of
West Sacramento
hung over and thirsty, I found
the first place
I could get a drink —THE ***** BIRD
I sat down at the bar and ordered a Budweiser.
it was basically empty
usual for a Tuesday.

halfway through my beer the bartender slid me another,
“what’s this for?” I said. “the fella over there
bought it for you,” he said pointing to a blind man
and a German Shepherd sitting at a booth in the back.
“you allow dogs in here?”
“nah, but Red’s cool.”

I finished up my first Bud
and walked over to the booth, “hey
thanks for the beer.”
“you should be thanking me, not him
he can’t hear you anyway.”  I looked around.
A paw extended out. “the name’s Red,
nice to meet you.”
I shook the paw, “yeah, uh, Louis.
same.”
“have a seat, Lou.
so what brings you to this dump?” the dog asked.
“excuse me, Red you said? I don’t mean to be rude,
but you’re a talking dog.”
“you don’t say huh?”
“sorry, but this is— incredible .”
the German Shepherd grabbed a bottle of beer in his jaws, kicked back his head
and took a pull,
“yeah? so?
you humans do it all the time
and half of that time the only thing that comes out of your mouths is *******.”
“but why haven’t
I heard of you before? shouldn’t you be famous or
in some record book or —“
“ah, **** that noise” he said,
“I’m too old for that ****.
why do you think I’m hanging out at this **** hole anyway?
no one ever comes in here —“

“HEY ******* RED!” the bartender yelled.
“NO OFFENSE JOE, BUT YOU GOTTA ADMIT,
YOUR BAR IS PRETTY ******! HA HA.”

“so how do you know—“
“oh Frank? how rude of me, I didn’t
introduce you.” Red turned to the blind man in between us
and pawed his right hand, the man smiled and stuck out his hand.
“nice to meet you, Frank. you have one incredible —“
“I told you he can’t hear. he’s deaf.”
“oh, right. sorry.”
Red took another pull of his beer, “Frank and I are ex-West Sacramento PD.
we were partners. narcotics unit.
a few years back
we got a tip on a **** lab at one of the
trailer parks near here. Frank went inside to see if we had the right place. then
BOOOOM. the whole ******* thing blew. Frank went flying. it was
definitely the place. now he can’t see or hear ****.”
“jesus.”
he wagged his tail and laughed,
“yeah, poor *******, if he wasn’t ugly enough before burn marks.
nah I’m kidding. Frank’s like
a brother to me, that’s why I take care of him.” Red grabbed a cigarette out of the pack in Frank’s jacket pocket. Frank lit it for him.
he took a long drag, “you smoke?”


Red and I drank until the bar closed.
we smoked, *******,
played dice (1-4-24). it turned out
we had the same taste for classical music,
Chopin over Satie
and we both agreed
Willie Mays was the greatest
to ever swing a baseball bat.

my head
there is a tiny stone

that I sand
knowing

it will never
be smooth

I saw her hair
under
the mountain

like dead
roots

and the birds
forgot to sing

holy

holy
holy—

on mesa
high dune    and tooth

bats sing

     there was a golden
     burial

howl
loud

sun    of son

here, crawling
through blood and ****
of once brothers
too young &
too sober

deafened—
leaded
& known only by dog

for tradition
for man

absolute
obsolete
pure pride & purpose

but, I am scared—

death
has blue eyes
& hell
is in the hills

the herd     moaned
three legged
broken

& the shepherd spits
           blackgold
off
silver tongue

the mountain
            burns
while dogs and demons
trade souls for feather and bone

lapis lazuli
face down
             on all fours

inspired by Gertrude Stein*


Wood turns hard and shows its spaces. This is less convincing. If it spoke more no one would listen. It is solid and we don’t fall through. It reminds there is no remembering.

The pieces don’t touch, just spaces and they are put together. This is what is done without thinking and we still remember. If something is seen and nothing more than that, it should seem normal and grey.

A flag is innocent and spreads. Its colors don’t move and are divided and smoke pulls off more. If it is done where the whole is partial, leave the tab.  

The grey, the color grey, needs nothing more and never asks of anything.

Overalls can be hard, where wool socks are underrated and tired. It stays this way.

How can something so gapped hold calmly? Not because there was a touching, but because of something less. The blanket is blue and grey and holds if nothing more than that.

If hands are obvious, if hands are obvious and touching and hard, still no one listens. If hands are obvious and so is wood, there is nothing more.

Blue is guaranteed. Blue is guaranteed and so static, but ready.

you’re standing on the front porch
with puke on your shoes
and wondering why you even went out
and where she is

you remember when you first made out
and how her mother loved you
and made you turkey sandwiches
but her dad always cleaned his guns in his tiger camo shorts

you move away for college
you have it all figured out
but she cries on the phone
and you can only hug her once a month

then after three years it all ends
because even when she visits she is still sad
the last thing you say is ‘I love you’
and you haven’t spoken ever since

and they're all kind of
broken anyway
she's nice
but I
just blow it out of proportion
most of the time
I sit in my room
trying to forget what I can remember
and settle

and it’s cold outside
on the dock
the dog is chasing mosquitoes
and I am drinking cheap wine

I wonder if my mother knew I’d be
as ugly as the world
black and blue and green
but mostly black
and I think back to high school
when I aced calculus
and made out with Ashley in the back of her Jetta
but I’ve always hated math
and Ashley died drunk driving her Jetta, I think

the dog and I head back up to the cabin
for another bottle of wine
as I walk up the steps
I can hear Hank Williams on the Silvertone
             “my bucket’s got a hole in in it
my bucket’s got a hole in it”

inspired by robert creeley*

as I look out my
window, I see the
world and the people

who walk it—
the homeless, the fat,
the blue, and lost

each with toes and
*******, teeth, and ear hair
everyone hell bent

on finding something
but what they
don’t know is, that

there is nothing
to find,— just
a line

that we all wait
in, and why not
be okay with this?

I remember the last time we talked
you called me on a Thursday afternoon
I asked how you’d been
         you were fine
and if you were still working
at that bakery in West Hollywood
         no, you had quit 5 months ago

we talked for twenty minutes
but all I could think about
was how we used smoke *** in your bedroom, watching
cartoons for hours
or when we’d walk to Aldaberto’s
for horchata and chicken burritos
and the days we skipped school and drove to Malibu
to smoke cigarettes at the beach and drink Mountain Dew
mixed with ***** we stole from your dad

you asked me
how I’d been
I lied and didn’t tell you
how I’ve been drinking more lately
and that I still sleep on
the same side of the bed
as if you were going to show up one night and crawl in next to me

and yes, the dog is good
we now go on walks every morning
and yes, my diet is still poor— I know, I smoke too much
but I’m glad you’re doing fine

we talked for twenty minutes
and I hated it
because I didn’t
everything felt like it used to
except no one said ‘I love you’
before hanging up

a friend of mine
invited me to a party
I decided I’d go
even though I hate parties
people make me uncomfortable
so I avoid them as much as they’ll let me

the house has a large porch with a couch
which is nice
because I’m able to sit out there
and smoke cigarettes
away from everyone else

a girl is dropped off in a car and goes inside
girls are people too
and too I avoid them
but some are different
this one is an exception

she has long brunette hair
parted down the middle
and long legs
her eyes are happy
but not too happy

you see
the happy ones haven’t figured it out
haven’t realized how this **** hole runs
the happy ones haven’t left the city
and seen the smog resting on it

but her eyes have a sadness in them
and I like that

I want to follow her inside and take her home
convince her  we can be happily
sad together
late nights of whiskey and cigarettes
laying in bed all day watching movies the proper way
not speaking until it’s over

I finally came

wiped off with a ***** sock
got dressed
grabbed a beer
and started walking to the party

he lied down in the parking lot
at the local Safeway
on a tuesday at 3:00 am

he thought
the tracks would have been better
how pathetic
to fail at dying

a homeless man approached
carrying garbage bags of empty water bottles
and offered him a beer

they sat there
drinking in silence
he lit a cigarette for the ***
     what is your secret

nothing replied his eyes

he sat on his porch
with a bottle of cheap gin
there was nothing to do,
but forget the little of him that was left

forty-six years
and still nothing made sense.
no one teaches a man (about real *******)
about humanity, its hypocrisies
and ego and greed.
death and the Devil.

in fact,
no one really teaches a man anything at all
check book balancing, dinner table manners,
how to properly shake a hand.
none of it's any use.

he took a pull of the gin
and looked up as it started to rain.
"I know you are there."


                            a moment passed.


the thunder replied.

this business

what
****

some live in a dream
believing
what they have
is really
real

other settle for
red carpets, Tiffany's,
beach front property and trust funds

and then there are those
who are found dead
with a bottle of whiskey in one hand
and lotion in the other

she gave up on me you know
five years and three quarters

we used to it around all day
smoking *** and
ignoring phone calls
only leaving the house for candy and cigarettes

but
she'd eventually grown tired of shortened nights
and un-walkable distances

I left my heart somewhere in that house
I imagine it's collecting dust in the closet
next to dried flower bouquets and
old birthday cards

too tired to retrieve it
too drunk to care

I'd rather sit here on this barstool
wasting away what's left

at the bar
the pub
to be specific

friends get

drunk


in celebration
of near


death

her ****
are heavy
and her heart is light

as she struts
around


like some naive

goddess



oh the men
she's slain

with the mere shake


of that

***

she

was afraid of
His touch


fearing

it would send her


into



the *******
of the universe

my father once told me
to be a leader
not a follower

what does that even mean
to a seven year old boy
with pizza stains on his shirt
and scabs on his knees

i thought nothing of it at the time
how could i have

so here i am
still thinking nothing of it
getting drunk
not following
anyone
and not leading
anyone either

the bartender
sops up the *****
tears and ash
left on the bar
after the usual wednesday
night
as he flips up the stools
he can feel the indentations
left by the *****
and empty wallets
of the broke souls
who spent their dollars
trying to forget
that tonight existed
and the **** tomorrow
was bound to throw
in their faces

he felt a deep sadness
for those ghosts
he knew all too well why
they spent their nights
in his bar
yet he thought of himself
as some sort of a hero
for it were not for his bar
their sanctuary
the pieces of skull and brains
their loved ones would
have to clean up
would be too much for
even this society to bear
but he wondered
if he really was
a hero
was he not an accomplice
in their slow deaths
allowing them to drown
in their whiskey and sorrows

no this cannot be right
if they aren’t already dead
then they are dying
just like he is
just like we all are


he knew tomorrow night would
be the same
as tonight
the same tears
the same *****
the same ash
i guess as long
as we are alive to forget
the bartender will be
a hero
and his sanctuary
will remain
open

far too nice outside
to be cooped up
in my cave
although
normally that’s where
you’d find me
the sun is out today
warming my face and
the bricks my bare feet
are resting on
it is spring time finally
and that means everything
is in heat
the squirrels are *******
the birds are *******
and i assume the reason
i hear so many dogs barking
is because they wish
they were *******
what a lovely season
spring is
with all it’s warmth and horniness
although i know
in good time
i will long for the cool weather
and warm colors of fall
as i always do
every year
if i could only just make up
my mind
that is
if i am able to find the **** thing

the pains
in my chest
from the
cigarettes and the
scotch
assure me of one thing
for certain
i am dying
as are you
and the fish
and the cows
and the trees
so shall we toast
to our knowledge
our ignorance
and our death
for tomorrow
may never come

i’ve realized that
i want nothing more
than what I have
or what i can obtain
but so far as i can tell
that isn’t a whole lot
i drink the same beer
smoke the same cigarettes
and wake up alone
with the same hangover
people say you are too young
to be sad
but isn’t that what life
is all about
our present condition
the tragedy that it is
to see it as a bad thing
would be more of a nightmare
than it would be denying it
the romanticism
oh
the ever hopeless
romanticism
that is
my life
gets the best of me
i try to drink it off
which works
but only for a short while
what’s sad is i know
this isn’t for me
or at least
what i want for me
there must be some place
i can run away to
there must be someone
who is as sad as i am
someone
who goes to bed
wishing for
that last piece to complete
the chaotic **** mess
of a puzzle
that is their life
perhaps that piece
does exist
or perhaps that piece
is just the beer
in front of me

“i’ve got the one on the right­—
you can have the one on the left.”
of course the one on the left is the size of two of me
when a wing man’s duty calls, one must oblige

“you’re cute” she tells me
“you gross me out” i say to myself
however, she is nice
and had what could be a pretty face
so we drank beers and smoked cigarettes out on the balcony
i do not remember what we talked about
she works with kids I think, but to be honest
i didn’t care

i wonder where my friend is
he better be getting some or at the very least,
making conversation
i don’t just go around jumping on grenades for
***** and giggles

finally, it is time to go
i ask the girl for her number, because i knew it would make her happy
“you better text me” she says
“of course i will”

i won’t

my friend surfaces­
unsuccessfully
i give him ****

he gives me the purple heart

has anyone
died on me
my relatives are all alive
i have always said
life is short
live it to the fullest
because **** happens

I knew
the day was bound to come

however
i never anticipated when
besides

eventually


it felt exactly how i thought
it would feel

sad
angry

and confusing

is what it is
as people
say
the grass isn’t
greener
on the other side
for even trees
are cut

down

at the corner
of the bar
grinning to myself
people yelling
singing
****** songs from the 90s
as i empty
my wallet
broke and drunk as usual
i sit in my busted
throne
watching
and laughing
at what is
and what is not
around me

is cold when i wake up
in the morning
still hungover
there isn’t a warm spot
or a glass of water
to be found
so i lay there
frozen and beat
listening
to yesterday
laugh at me

is something nice
about smoking late at night
in the darkness of your room
perhaps its the lack of senses
all you can do is
see and feel
the orange cherry
floating like a ghost in front of you
the sensation of smoke
filling up your lungs
my room is always warm at this of the night
most likely from the scotch
i don’t mind though
it gives me an excuse to open the window
and let the cool air chill me
while i smoke
it is interesting how
something as simple as smoking alone
can bring one so much contentment
at such a lonely hour of the night

isn’t something we plan for
it is just sort of
given to us
yes
we have some guidance along the way
but for the most part
it is left up to us to figure it out
we are thrown into this game
of what is
and what isn’t
just to find out
there isn’t that much at all
there is just us
being
living
getting on with ****
it’s almost comical
how something so precious to all of us
in the end
in the big scheme of things
amounts to nothing more
than what we make of it
isn’t that funny

we still be lonely
if we weren't reminded
everyday?
does no one
look up at the stars
and realize
how insignificant we really are?
just because we are capable
of having feelings
doesn't necessarily
give them any meaning
don't get me wrong
i do not believe
love is overrated
i am a hopeless romantic myself
however
i do not lay in bed at night
wondering of what could be
for i
right now
and always
am being
to die alone
sounds so tragic
but aren't we always alone?
even if we are
dating
married
in love
we are always trapped
inside ourselves
if only we could understand
the beauty of our own company
maybe then
our lives
wouldn't seem so tragic

there are times
to give a ****
and times
to give a ****
both of which
should just be
thrown out the window
if hank was alive today
he’d understand
what i’d have to say
and let me do
what i have to do
yet maybe i
am just a fool

how often
we unconsciously
take **** for granted
so happy at times
times so easily forgotten
until those times are long gone
with no hope of returning
then we remember
then we dwell
kicking ourselves
for not holding on to those times
as long as we could
listening to our saddest songs
knowing it’s unhealthy
trying to fall asleep
to escape the thoughts
that only late nights bring about
we tell ourselves
how dreadfully lonely we are
as we lie in bed
unable to sleep
then one day
the suffering is relieved
and we go back to taking
**** for granted
once again

and
vacant sheets
so i spend
my nights
full of drink

you need
to get over it
i’ve used this title
before
you forget
for too little
and it all comes
rushing back
give it some time
and you won’t remember
what it was like before
please
quite torturing
yourself
it is really not
that bad
yes
love it hurts
but haven’t you
felt that before
it will be okay
breathe in
move on
and fall again
with someone else
who really
matters

i see the world
and the people
who inhabit it:
the angry
the corrupted
the oblivious
the lost
everyone hell bent
to find their way
put on this spaceship
we call earth
with absolutely no say
in the matter
who are we to judge
how people go about
their lives?
aren't we all
just trying
to sort out
what we didn't ask for?

two years
of anticipation
was relieved
the perfume
still lingers
in the pillows
and the sheets
two years
of anticipation
laid out
in my bed

the destination
known, but not easy to find
because it finds you