9/16/2017

i sat on the corner
and stared
until you woke up

in the car, later,
the sun dipping under
the trees

and painting the air
dark blue
i remembered the vermillion summer sun

frowned deeply, for some reason
i didn't say anything
you looked at me and smiled

i had to, too.
we sat by the woods
the car quiet and still

two hunters came out of the woods
and later, back out:
empty handed.

i looked over your side and over the seat:
saw your blue reflection, the moonlight sheer

and
objects seen in mirror
are closer than they appear

9/2/2017

Now johnny hartman
using the same excuse i do:
i just dropped by to say hello

oh but how destructive
a few words could
be!

two and a half at night
god should i be asleep?
should i drive into oblivion?

i'd like to disappear into the mountain
driving, turning into a ravine, melting into the night's rocky tiers

god
id rather be anywhere
but here:

East Maryland, or Narrangansett
you know, whatever it is i  want
i'm not sure this place has it

9/2/2017

my last september–
in princeton, that is
the late night talks

soon to be replaced
by the real business.
two am

i sit on hard floor!
phillip green and his orchestra
softly in my room's air

watching the door, weaving,
like penelope, my memories–
almost tangible.

i raise a finger follow the light
from the lamp, think:  

god!

someone should write a book about us

they  already have:
the beautiful
and the ******.

8/9/2017

the heat doesn't stop for anyone.
i learned this three- is it three now-
years ago,

the weeds crawling up my sticky ankles
laughing with the windows rolled down
years later, the smog hits my face

and i roll up the escalator,
now used to the sight of 34th street
hitting me in the face

head on like the freight trains
i used to graffiti-
i  used to contemplate jumping in front of

my life here is a terminal one
my days in my childhood home numbered
a new life filled with grey and steel

approaches me
and i do not flinch, i do not cower
nor do i tremble in anticipation

i simply wait
like i used to in the train tracks long ago
oh, but i always changed my mind then.

7/15/2017

A plank of wood,
sand mites bite our ankles
my ankles

One in the morning at the
Gated Beach Community
and the signs said

Without parental supervision,
No one under 16 allowed
but there I was, 15

Dealing with a bad lease on my brain, don't forget yours, too
parents nowhere to be found

Or maybe two buildings over
Years later, it's night
I step over puddles, drunk boys

Walk around the complex laughing
Trying to remember when I found that sort of thing fun,

Remembering never,
I sit on a ledge--
And you'd never guess the sea

Was several hundred feet away
with the way the sky bleeds black
congealing, together

The Atlantic and it.
Remembering my old obsession
With blood, my old poems

Speaking feverishly of it
adding meaningless symbols-
the flower the color of it,

or the sky in the morning in august
trying, selfishly, to make sense of my life.

I wish to run a fever-- forget this place ever existed
Or you, truthfully.