Genesis says
you will be forgotten

give up
you
temporary
nothings

dotting
a quarry of immense
emptiness

the drain on 42nd street has
rats in the tunnel
rats on the tracks
roaches on the rail
for all the nations let them have

a beautiful life
underneath the sun
like a vagabond
who has no where else to go

I am empty now
below the street
people gather
some push
some saunter
some push there belongings before them
some stare

at humanity
with a smile
with a sad smile
with anger
with rage

some people help
other people

more than once I witnessed a person who
dropped a glove or a hat or a phone or umbrella

and someone said, mister is that yours, or ma'am your glove

we on 42nd stand aloof
regarded as nobody's
and regarded as kings and queens
as natives
as the original dreamers

the first drainers
upon the earth

you say the universe is empty

that it did not choose us
not even once

you say the world is full

of empty hearts

but I too have a story of woe
though if it's in the Mayan language it's not composite,
or Corinthian,
or sequential,
or relevant

I'm just walking in circles here
devouring souls

like us,
our sister-worlds streak across a millennia
chasing her breath
heaving sighs,
leaving
interleaving trails of memory
waving goodbye

asserting oneself,
or
self effacement.

to be or not to be
the often quoted
dilemma.

does it count if I have dementia?
Alzheimer's will.

if God is the most important
answer to the most important question
then

I report

there is a gap
between
learning
and knowing

between
experiencing
and learning

between
reality
and

eternity.

Eternity?

isn't that

now?

we've come a long way (baby) before
midnight

when that clock strikes twelve
there is no way back

I live in the city but
I can't get the sound of sawmills
out of my head

what happens between now
and before (the next thing happens)?

that is a real concern.

lately, people have come up to me
in my face like,
and say, hey I like your poems, but
I can't understand why you have to be
so ...
and I fill in the words
... pregnant?

no, like a void.

oh, I say
in the past tense.

midnight whims

forever rushed

come follow me!

have you let go
without us  
noticing

without
noticing
us?

the stillness
of nights

above evergreens
atop a cranberry bush
a cedar or pine
broken apart
into
an eternal stream
of consciousness,
mine!

how
green
how eternal
she
was

and
when she comes back
-- we will again have and
be held

but with such dry air
are we able to
wait?

when she does come
it will be
an
undivided,
  winged,
     victory.

if one person
would write
a poem,
the poem
the poem of poems

the peoples poem
for the people of the earth
and it would include odes to the wealthy,
to royalty,
to the aristocracy too

and it would be written by a scholar,
a learned soul, who through his or her labors and connections
had come from the east and made a way to the west

the poor would be mentioned as
is proper
in due time, may it be added, for the poor shall be last, but in due time.

and this, so-called poem of poems shall be heralded, and spoken in the cities, on the park benches, quoted by politicians, priests and sung at temple.

and 100 years hence, this poem of poems will be found buried under a thousand foot mountain, burrowed in a cave in script that neither a man nor woman ever will read.

Everyone thinks I am high
and so I am

Everyone thinks I’m gay
And I’m not

Everyone thinks I’m soft
But I’m hard

Everything is old
And so too
I am

Everyone thinks they know best
And I don’t believe they do
except for that one guy
Where I think
I know
That he is wrong
And I
Am right

Everyone thinks that the end is near
And I know that it’s all about fear

I do wish I had control of my emotions
And didn’t have to hear my  neighbors commotions

But I do

Everyone thinks that I am angry
And I am angry

I am very angry

I am so angry that my head will explode
If I don’t stick it out the window and scream

And if the window should collapse upon my neck
And shut neatly on the windowsill…

…where often there are plants that are watered
I would like to think
That I may be watered too…

And if my shouts and screams should be heard
I would like to think
My lack of faith
Should not be replaced
By fear

++++++

And let the window
collapse upon my neck
And shut neatly on the windowsill

Where often enough
There are plants that are watered

first,

last.

for once can I be honest?

a man or say a woman
can't, won't, shall not
sleep walk in this world
without
hitting
something
to wake them

no, but eggs for breakfast,
fine.
but for
dinner?
c'mon.

I, or she can't sleep with me
because of the gap
between
what is
and
what
is
not.

heck,
oh shucks, no darling, this **** thing?
dear darling,
this thing
being big,
I mean bigger than time and space,
bigger than the cosmos,
gosh, bigger than the universe,
bigger than eternity.

boom, bang, clang,
clank.

shh, my solar plexus speaks --
I am here in Queens.

seems like a missed opportunity.

once in awhile
there seems to be enough
room
to settle
past debts.

someone got a sponge
bob
doll
thingy and
tried to mop up
the **** that's
on the kitchen
wall.

for God's sake.

is this what life's come to?

I don't know (about you)
but
its not the first time
(this has happened)

hey.
quit patronizing me.

what goes on behind,
or in front, and besides
who really gives a
****?

daily, yesterday, today and
most likely, tomorrow
it seems

how to say this,
the turn-around is
just around the corner.

then I ran into you.

ah,
at last a place to rest me head
on a stiff one

please no drinking jokes
or ****** stuff

just imagine if
our daily lives were filled
with images of *** and violence

what kind of people
would we be?

hey don't listen to me
just turn on the TV

I still like, like her
she mightn't be real

she may have once
though she will
never admit it

I think a woman knows
if a man
knows what women like

if, what women like
is ******
then I don't really know

she knows that,
but that's not what she wants
tonight

she knows I will be with her
during the darkest nights

the inconsolable,
seemingly endless,
empty
alone
and utterly despairing
nights
when no light
enters
a dark closed cell
forever locked
in the coldest
hell.

who are you?
what do you want?

you Paul Celon
searching
sucker.

the only karma you got
was given to you by someone else
don't even worry about it.

the tape skips
someone hit the turntable
my mom is crying because she thinks
she did everything she could
(for me?)
and yet

the one time when I have enough
clarity, compassion
tenderness

it gets flushed
down
the
toilet

I like warm bodies
but it's not a place to
be alone.

You try making a Haiku
with body parts
buddy

today is a watershed.

the weather is now a topic of conversation
last weeks big game is not discussed
mums the word.

people hate teaser's
people love...
well we are working on that

the reason I have come here
before you today
is to take up space
to breath air that
would normally
waft up into an
eternal vacuum

to keep it short (and sweet)
there are two ways
always
and never one way
but its not binary
or right
or wrong
it is,
for as
long as
I stand here.

personally
this kind of writing never
did anyone any good

those who lost everything
know it's BS

those who have anything left
know to walk away.