you smelled fire in the suicide lane
the broken yellow line separated you from
you, street baking your carcass and filling passing cars
with that dank aroma of death

my pride in humanity is critical
in the pond there are
big fish who stroll around on legs
but never leave the water

tell me what you know
you mad Irish wall!
evoke the Liffey!
art runs through the streets,
the river lilts its writers unsteady,
with every pint more voluble.
quick to bleed!
quick to show wit in that blood!
you are sheep and shepherd in one!

the pigeon tries to stand and his right leg buckles.
he falls on his side, flapping at the ground with his wing.  
he keeps his head tucked and his feathers separated
to dry while the rain freezes to the sidewalks.
like a homeless man under the tall window he crouches  
quietly cooing they way the homeless coo
about whatever pigeons know of mortality.
fellow birds bob through the rain shimmering
like umbrellas as the water slides off their backs.
his every feather stands on end
resting his head against the brick he doesn't shiver
but watches, one eye on himself
in the reflection of the window the other on me.
i stand next to him as if hunching my shoulders could hold back the rain,
as if writing this poem could hold in his pain.

looking perchance to see out beyond the wing,
another plane as it sped through turbulence across the Eastern European sky.
and considering the distance we traveled, how close we came to touching over the clouds.
as if reaching out we may brush finger tips or absentmindedly we might collide shuffling off the awkwardness of fire and death to realize how lucky we were to be in the same bit of air.
and though seeing you pass at hundreds of miles per hour leaves the question of our destruction longing in each other's hearts, the fields of Europe are safe from our falling wreckage.
crops not spoiled by debris and bodies.
yet how lovely the sky would have looked for that moment
and how the smoke would have stood out among the clouds and the memories
of those on the ground who watched, made calls, and gasped.

i'm am in every bar drinking
and watching, dancing naked; every eye
looking inward
at her dancing,
shedding clothes, drinking, watching,
flexing like a garbage bag full of me.


i laugh swinging like a garbage bag, dancing,
drowning in the overwhelming sound;
brought back suddenly by hundreds of cigarettes
and the clicking of a bike tire spinning free from the ground.
the way i spin clicks like a bike tire. we spin clicking.


you spin clicking.
you are the smell in the air of marijuana, the smell of a sneeze.
you board the train like slamming a beer
after a cool 5 hr shift and you watch


her crying on the max, chapped lips chewing her jacket,
rubbing her eyes. i rub my eyes and chew her with earbuds in.


with dark circles i catch him staring
but he doesn't mind, he's writing a poem on his phone.
so i don't mind, looking out over the river from the bridge.

famous for being suddenly conscious
                         in the middle of the night
dehydrated

lucidity in the midsts of the absurd pries
                         fingers grasping ego, the fist
empty

different as the prayer palms together
                         are from the air of mind it enters makes unity
meaningless

ignorance is faithless, in the test of man
                         denying the reflection of heaven is denying
God

describing it only in words you may understand
                          for knowledge of God may be denial too
drink!