I am I am
just average,
just
just

if the world
was but average,
average
just

then the median
would be the message ,
the high and the low,
the uncommon just,
the common denominator

this circular world then,
just a plane
with no human stupid thickness,
neither halted or divided,
no above or below,
all of us
upon it
exactly the at the sane level,
possessing only
the wit of
width and depth
the promise of
of being just
just

just what a wonderful world this would be
11-1-14

did you take your meds?
remember you glasses?
forget the theater tickets, again?
why are you doing up,
poetry writing, you idiot at three am?
*** you didn't, did you,
vote Republican again!

since when are jeans and your
good sneakers
"dressing up,"
even in your absurd notions of fashion,
when you are taking me to the Opera?

any idea where the vanilla fudge pint went,
you-on-a-serious-diet-BS-not?

you lost a pound but forgot to mention,
you gained three immediately thereafter?

your wet towels to the hamper make it,
but your odiferous socks and disgusting underwear are just
too much for you to bear?

she's a pain in my side,
and other circular places unmentionable
but most of all,
most happily,
she's a pain always,
*on
and
by my side

Tragedy morphs into insanity for the living,
the living grow jealous of the
dead and dying,
envying their release,
softly, the confusion grows,
until crescendo
dreams screams merge
and confusion
is king
and
no answers
are the inky stained insoluble
residue

when together,
agreed this rule,
no devices
alighted,
no phones
incited

this is the rule of
us

lest we let the devices rule
us

thus interfering with our own
ignition*
interfering with our own
devices

Melted Words, Salted to Disappear*

salted to disappear,
not to taste,
aged love poems writ
before my eyes
drip drop from
bed to floor,
lightly screaming
no más no more

there is a raging quietude
in bed, in head,
without you
to write for,
without you,
write no more

for without
my audience
before my Queen,
I am uncommissioned,
dispurposed,
words not just blurred,
perishing,
lightly melting,

the colors of our conversation,
were the stuff of me,
magnetos of pinks
purple hues,
magenta
grooves
from which
spilled, flowed,
torrents des cris du cœur,
not color-blinded, blindsided,
words black on white, even worse
white on black look at this writ miserable and all stand

pronouncing

this is a lost man
who has lost his salt of the earth

Cold beer,
a long necked bottle held to my forehead
and in my throat,
to my lips,
so relief comes both ways,
glad for it,
the double of the cool,
helps the day of troubled nothingness,
and the long necked bottle makes it
worth the extra second of anticipated tasty wait

can't drink in the river park,
don't cotton to brown paper bags,
do it anyway cause the East River
tides me over on its way
thru the Verrazano Narrows,
bound for the Atlantic with me low rider spirit in tow,
a devil may care attitude en contrôle

this troubadour opened the store at 700am
but not a one came looking for a song,
but the mail came reliable,
with dues due,
promises that need keeping,
and other items,
what the grownups call responsibilities

June Monday early eve and the Moran tugboats
ply their trade like reliable ****** to the sailors,
and their larger than bathtub size toys,
turning containers, freighters, into docile boys
who do as they are told on their way to ports far

there are stick figures outlined on the hexagon
paving stones that are so nyc for me,
here pedestrian! follow your designated path
here pedestrian, you must walk to be safe arrived

but I take to the railing,
where  Isaac-bound and mesmerized,
I imagine surfing the churning wakes on the surface
of the riveting tides and wonderous wanderlust for
where we are bound...

no voice heard from the heavens,
saying Abraham put down that knife,
because I have not passed the test of true belief,
perhaps the river's invitation is my test,
if I should sing another song here,
perhaps it will tale the end of this tell...