the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Stuck between going through,
and going back;
stuck holding somebody else,
and wishing to hold his.
Wanting to love them again,
and wanting to be loved by
someone new;
it's a battle between meddling with
the past
or fighting for the future.

Happiness is like a chocolate cake -
When it's in front of you, there is no
Greater feeling or thrill.
When it's gone, there's just nothing.

They say suicide takes us to hell;
Well, I guess I'll be ******
'Cause your presence is fatal
And I am not going anywhere*

-fir.m

The waves of September crashing hard,
Onto the shore of deserted island,
Sculpting a sand sculpture of two lovers,
That promises forever but lasted a jiffy.

Still in blue from the bitter truth,
But what can I do, the choice is yours,
To stay or to leave.

Sensing the scent of yours,
Every night,
Smell like the open sea and cold cosy night breeze,
A little bit of dampen forest floor,
With wild black roses and daffodil.

In the night of middle September,
I thought I have deceased you from my thought,
But I am hiding you further and further inside my mind.

The waves are no longer violence now,
The moon is no longer blocked by dark clouds,
And I am no longer blinded by feelings.

I lied.

green, the water is blue
and green and cold
(the moon into blood)
freezes
me
(the sun shall be turned to darkness)
tangles
inward lethargy that will not melt again
but i do not know

the sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon into blood
before that great and terrible day of the lord

catharsis is not melting or boiling or freezing but it is
unfolding.
an inward lethargy that cannot melt or boil or freeze
catharsis is not melting or boiling or freezing but it is
(before that great and terrible day of the lord)