my head is filled to the brim

with other **** i have to do

like job applications
going to class
reading ******* textbooks
dress rehearsals laundry
writing papers that won't make any sense
drinking too much coffee




when all i want to do
is lay shirtless on your floor with you

and write poetry about the palms of your hands

you told me
     that you
had a ***** loose
     it took me a long
time to realize that
you keep most of them
     in jars,
lined up in the
garage, above the tool bench
sorted by size,
rather than
     function

I wish I could run to end of the cosmos
Just reach the reluctant intellectuals
Just so I could catch a glimpse of them ducking out of the limelight
I wouldn’t bother asking them
It wouldn’t do any good
They wouldn’t have much to say
They’d be a bit focused sticking to their morals
And criticizing the museums
Tell them to open up just a little bit
So that way everyone could rush in
Empty canvas in hand
Or typewriters
Or a marble slab waiting for them
They’d rush in
Bringing a beautiful fire to everything else
Explaining themselves to Matisse and Greco
Mona Lisa and Caravaggio would understand though
At least I think so
Van Gogh laughing in utter delight
The fire would burn all the glitz and convention
But all the passion
Emotion
Angst
Uncontemplated beauty would shine brighter than ever before

Some observers would go insane
Climbing up to the top of skyscrapers
Jumping off
Screaming, on their way down
DUCHAMP
Conning the police out of their guns
Putting it to their head
Walking into the middle of the street
Welcoming the buses with open arms
And I know you want to save those people
But it’s not up to you
We’ll see them again someday
Hopefully they’ll understand it then

Don’t cry for them, though
Look at all the others
Running through the streets
Naked
Without shame
Greeting their friends from so many years ago
As they stand in front of Rothko and he looks into both of their eyes
And they stare back trying to let themselves be encircled
With smiles
That shine like halos
As they look at their sisters
Without lust
And with compassion
While they express their enthusiasm for jazz
And sing as loud as trumpets
Dancing as fast as a piano

I’m finished crying for the dinosaurs
Or feeling guilty for Christ

I jump into the smile of the moon
I spread my arms wide open in front of the sun
Just to let him know that he’s welcome

A charred frame
of something
that may have never
**existed

Since the beginning he felt the emptiness

The prophet promised love would fill all the empty spaces

He'd be held in light, the answer to the unasked questions

Radiating like a torch

But love so often became the mundane

Buying milk, fixing the faucet,

Reviewing property values

Arguing about new tires.

Where was that path with every footstep

Limed in fire?

That melody that made every muscle

Strain with desire?

Still looking for Rumi somewhere on the road.

a penny is a penny
and i am a monk hawking birth control pills
without any shame or pride
disguised in flamboyant tinfoil.
i am an extra sensitive *** on my daily street corner
turning into a crumb of hunger
staring down a long alleyway and eating the flowers
that grew up in concrete.
there are shadows of jugglers on the wall
jumping into the sun, and i am a burning lampshade.
henry miller is in a wheelchair now
and i am a walrus with a backache
being forced among the proverb writers,
but i'm no prophet because i've seen the bubbling fire
and the swords on the doorway.
i am a lover with a guilty conscience
and i have too much on my mind.
i stole the bread from the riot squad and
i blow out these words from a keyhole,
pounding my fist on a book
while the mystics get drunk with skinny ******.
i don't go to birthday parties or funerals
instead i'd like to do something worthwhile
but i am your typical flunky, writing eccentric jokes about rich pimps
while my father lies dead on the hill.

Deer are walking
among the trees.
Hoof prints in the
   snow
tell of a restless
   night.
The god of the unseen,
   the unheard,
passed by here
in the night...
Startled, the deer
felt his presence
in the dark --
in the silence,
in the snow.