You know how when
You put a kettle on a stove,
Maybe for tea
Or something else maybe
You get the kettle
To put on the stove
And you put water in it
From the tap
Or if you're in
The inner city
Then maybe from
A jug
From cvs
Or rite aid
I don't know which is closer
To your kettle
That you're putting the
Water in
To put on the stove
But the tap smells funny
And tastes like minerals
And artificiality
So if you have a bit of money, Maybe an on-tap
Filter or brita
You turn the little
**** on the front
Of the oven
And you hear
The distressed, hurried
Sound of a component
Desperately trying
To do its job
It seems like forever
But it's just a couple
Seconds
The spark catches
The gas
And glorious blue
Energy leaps out
And causes
Instant condensation
On the side of the
Kettle you've filled
With water
And put on the stove
And then
Primordial chemistry
As old as old
Changes ****
Around inside
No time
For a chem lesson
Just listen
And then after a few minutes
A blast of
Piping hot
Shrill
Pure energy
Explodes out of the top
In an earsplitting
Harried call
To you to let you
Know the kettle
You put on the stove
Is now ready
For you.
All that pressure,
From so much activity,
Before you even
Turned the heat on
You walked around
Gathering materials
And moving about
And all the calories
You burn thinking
About it
And then the
Thermal activity
Which is breathtaking
In its simple
But ever so complicated
Perfect order
And predictability
And all of this simply
Amazing process
Culminates
In one constant,
High energy geyser
Of released pressure.
This is equivalent
To the results
Of one thought
About you.
What a life
As a kettle.
Yea.

You see, it's like this:

Every night, right around
Beer number 4,
With the beginning
Of the Daily Show
Airing on the tv
At the foot of my bed,
I look out my window
Diagonally to the left
Out onto the street that
Is dark because the city
Hasn't fixed the streetlight
Yet, even though it's
Summer and I'd like
To think that the kids
Walking the streets
With their hoods pulled
Up could be able
To have some light
To blow their smoke by.

Anyway, I look out my
Window diagonally
To the left
Every night
And I see a 1995
Rust spotted grey
Oldsmobile 88
Pull into the driveway
Of the green
Double level house
With the ugly
Maroon shutters
And then the same
Woman climbs out
In her scratched
Half inch heels
She bought at the savers
On route 44
And this night she's
Wearing her pale blue
Conservative skirt
And a delightful
Vertical striped
Button up
Office building secretary shirt
With the mix of cool colors
And her brown hair is
Pulled back in a tight
Bun that's been tugging
At her forehead for
The eight hours she sat
At her desk and the
Six hours she waited tables
At the ****** chain sports
Bar on Branch ave
For ****** tips
And ****** looks
From ****** drunk perverts
She has to smile at
And flirt with if
She wants to make rent
At the green double
Level house with the ugly
Maroon shutters.

She checks her mail box
And with weary eyes
Scans the envelopes
Of bills and spam and third notices
No letters from friends
Or family or old school suitemates
And she goes inside
To reheat her dinner for one
And I lay here in my boxers
Cracking open beer number
Four and listening
To Jon Stewart point out the
Obvious absurdities
In our ****** up system
That everyone seems not
To notice and take as
Just jokes on a fake
News program but are
Really symptoms
Of a ******* society
That puts value in all
The wrong places
And as I sip on
Rolling rock number five
And watch the woman across
The dark street fumble with
Her keys I think about
How lonely it is here in my
One bedroom apartment
And how lonely it is there
In her one bedroom apartment
And I wish oh I wish
One of these nights I could
Stand outside and smoke
A cig and wait
And when she gets home
Ask her how work
Was and laugh when
She jokes that it was terrible
And know its not a joke
Because it was terrible
And I'll ask her if she has any
Late night plans
Knowing she will tune into
The Colbert Report
And watch until she
Falls asleep in her full
Size bed
And if she smiles and says
No I'll ask her to come over
And have a drink and if
She says yes I'll give her
An Octoberfest because
Harpoon is classier
Than rolling rock
And then maybe she'll
Want another one
And maybe she'll see
Something in me.

As I open rock number six
Every night the same thought
Breaks through the cloud,
That if I could just do
What I want to do
Maybe this bed wouldn't be
So big and maybe
This heart wouldn't hang
So heavy and maybe
The tv would have an audience
Instead of a solitary observer.

I fall asleep again
Having never learned
Her name or which high
School she went to
Or what makes her laugh
Or what sad movies she
Loves to cry along with
Or which secluded areas
She likes to go to to think
Or what she thinks about me.

I try and I try
To avoid,
But I'm inundated
With that which
Is neither
Created or destroyed,
Being told what should
Matter to me
By people who know
Better than me,
Keeping me
Steadily annoyed
And readily brought
Right back to the void
In the back of the 'lac,
Like the goodfella boys,
Except I don't make noise
So they don't need to hack
Me up again.
But hack me up again,
I want to be the
Rough,
Gravely cough,
And the disgusting
Glob of
Post cigarette
Mucous
From your throat.
I want to be
The mold that
Spreads on the half
Bagel with cream
Cheese on it
That you forgot
In the back
Of your fridge
Two months ago.
I want to be the
Little puddle of
Fluid in the bottom
Of the trashcan
On the side of your place
That you've never cleaned
Out.
And then I want
You to clean me out.
Steal everything
I own, take
Until the load
Is too heavy for
Your arms, and then
Come back for more.
Break everything
That I love
And have owned
For years and years.
Take my money
Especially, it has
Spoiled my karma
For far too long.
Then we'll be even.
Then I can become
The rays of sunlight
That float in through
Your window every
Morning and catch
The floating dust in
Intricate, glowing patterns
And reach your closed
Eyelids, where I delicately
Dance until you awake,
Refreshed and thrilled
At the beautiful
Day that awaits you.
Then I can become
The buzz of your pumpkin
Spice coffee and the
Taste of your breakfast,
The wind in your hair,
The warmth of your bed,
The cool trickle
Of sweat down your hot neck
While we neck.
Then I can be your happiness
And it can be your turn
To be the slime
That coats my
Garbage disposal.
We can seesaw
Forever,
And feel complete.

This combination
of obligation
And common sense
Has got me pacing
And wringing
My hands,
And I've been
Doing the dance
Of the permanently
Tranced
For far too long
To ever advance,
Or act like I'm strong,
So I guess
I'll swing, I'll sway,
Wave my hand,
Kick my leg,
But it won't be to music,
No,
Cuz there's just no song
For the land of the dead,
No background
Orchestration
For us here,
We just swing, and we sway,
To prevent the fear
From washing us away
From the face
Of the cosmic disarray
And down the grimy
Bathroom sink drain
In a toxic rain
Upon the roofs
Of clouds,
Where we gather
In crowds
And condense,
Like the people on the ground
But without the fences,
Who're eventually
Drowned
By the flood
Of colors and
Invigorated senses
In a sea of god's blood,
Like their religious
Romances
Explained that they would,
For if god is everything,
Including us,
Our bodies and brains,
Then god is made of water,
So when it rains
I'll give myself praise,
And the tiny drops
That fall from god's veins
Will remind me to stop
Dreaming of days
That have already gone away,
That argue "Walk this way"
"No. Walk this way,"
And I've got to say,
I can't walk at all,
My feet have somehow
Been replaced
By decades of fault
That have rooted
Me to this big blue ball
That's really not big,
But infinitely small,
And these minutes
Keep tocking
And my knees keep locking
While my feet keep ******* stalling,
And I'm mocking myself
As I feel myself falling
But I can't ******* stop
Enjoying the way
Everyone's eyes are rolling
As they watch the display
Of me falling
Flat on my face,
Where I'll lay
And grow mold
And feed bugs
And eventually decay,
All the while caught
In the gaze
Of a society
That pays
To be told
It's ok,
While lying prostrate
Next to me,
Rotting away
Just the same,
Trying to explain
By vomiting excuses
That aren't even good,
And it's to no gain
Since my face is
Buried deep in the mud
And I don't give a ****
Where society puts its blame,
I wish this putz
Could just
Stop being so lame
And rattling off names
That don't mean a thing to me
So I could be at peace
Here in the dirt
Where I'm sinking,
To emerge come spring
And bloom in
Full shame.

Let the teeth rot from my skull,
And drop like culls
From a rack that's too old,
The house is cold
So failing, full
Of mold,
Let me go
Please,
It's just one request,
Only one
Chance to
Emulsify my best
Efforts
And fill your glass
With inadequate
Drops
Of a hard rain
That's difficult
To swallow,
Follow me outside,
Let's walk among
The silhouetted
Sunset trees,
The storms
Of gnats
And mosquitoes
That hover
Over gravel
Paths,
And remark,
As if we don't know,
"Unmarked graves
Where flowers grow."
And watch
As ghosts of
Shuffled feet
Fill the air
With clouds of dust,
Still glistening
With the heat of the day,
Please,
Just please stay,
Stay with me, marionette,
Till the wolves come and play,
They'll hide as we seek
And whisper
While we speak
Of whiskey dreams
And the reasons
We have to keep
Digging in sand,
Scooping handfulls
Of teeth,
Filling the gaps
In between
With phosphene
Screams.

The night falls swiftly,
And yellow flashes
Of northeastern
Fireflies mark
The edges
Of the
Hedge-lined path,
And gnats
Hang in the air
Like suspended gravel
While my flats
Slap the pavement
Like a ****** rap gavel,
In repetition so
Soothing I forget
My sentence
And all that I'm losing,
And everything makes sense,
I feel connected
To the heron
Gliding above
The river
Like messenger
Pigeons follow
The street grid,
Or like a charge down
The neural pathway
That makes me grin
When I realize
I'm not defined
By what's within,
No more
And no less
Than the wilderness
Can be constrained
To the way the wind
Sings its wearisome
Twilight refrain
As the air moves
And spins
Through the spaces
Between the wooden
Masses atop
Parnassus,
I feel the humidity
Flee,
And my breath quickens
As Corycian nymphs
And the nine
Sacred women
Of creation
By man's mind
Surround me and drive
Me to place one
Ancient foot
In front of its partner,
The images they conjure
Like a Reckoner diamond
Encasing me
In a cage of
Liquid iron
While beckoning
Me forward
With 72 hymens,
But I know it's a lie,
I know why
Men fight and die,
And it's not for any
Contrived diatribe
Promoting an
Unattainable
Ultimate prize,
It's to give rise
To the feeling
Of being alive,
That's all we want,
That's all we strive
To find,
And that's why
I'm approaching
Mile five,
And breathing
The life
Inherent in night
With the scent
Of the soundscape
Still burned in
My sight.

I bet her boyfriend
Of almost two years
Wouldn't care
For the flirting,
An open seat
On a bus to DC
Has got her skirting
The edge of
Polite conversation,
Threatening to fall
With insinuating smiles
Like private Pile,
If only he knew
How many miles
Have been spent
Laughing at jokes
And breathing the sweat
Ripe with pheromones
And flashing white teeth,
With a subtle groan
He'd pick up his phone
And give her a call
With his stomach
Feeling like a stone
Thrown in a well,
But he doesn't know,
And she won't tell,
So while he's waiting
At the bus station
For her to arrive,
She's necking with
A Haitian
And thinking of lies
To deny the fire
Between her thighs.

Sitting at a bar
In a palace built by
Nineteenth-century slaves,
And the back of my shirt
Is soaked from the
Hundred degree weather.
I rub my neck,
Wipe the hot perspiration
From it with my hand,
Only to pick up
My glass of beer
And get it's cold sweat
All over my palm.
I ask the bartender
About the nets
Obstructing my view
Of the gold-flaked,
Hundred foot ceilings,
But he doesn't know
Why they're there,
Or just doesn't care
Enough to humor me.
Happy hour prices
Segregate me and my soul
From the charcoal
Suits shuffling past
As they head to
The trains that will
Deliver them to
Their BMWs
So they can drive to
Their wine cellars
And plastic wives.
The history of this place
Is suffocating me,
It's thick in the air,
As are the dialects
Of dozens of states,
Shouting to each other
Or to themselves
Or to god.
I pay our tab
And dive into
A red line train
Like a CVS syringe
Into a ******'s arm,
And rush away from
the city's heart
With the other cells,
Through tunnels buried
Beneath the birth and death
Of the American scream.
If I fall asleep,
I'll never wake up,
The dream will replace
The reality I've created.
The steady thrum of
The train croons to me,
But the acidic stench
Of July humanity
Keeps me locked
In this scenario.
The darkness flees
As we breach the
Border of daylight.
Jetskis on the Potomac
Remind me of what
I don't know.
Dreaded beards
On weathered sacks
Of human decay
Perched on plastic seats
Remind me of what
I've painted as real
In my underexposed brain.
I'm exhausted,
All my water has
Evaporated, risen,
And I'm a Little drunk.
My eyelids are heavy,
And move like
Hurricane barriers.
Open:
Same scene,
Different passengers.
Closed:
Spiral staircases
Of neon fibres,
A religious maven
Spitting his canon,
Fleeting images of
Hardwired memories
I've grown old
Trying to erase.
Open:
He's staring right at us.
The man in the
Periwinkle shirt
And the bronze
Kmart tie.
His sweat shines
Like young paint
On an Oldsmobile,
His double chin
Is tanned to
The color of his tie,
And he knows too much.
He knows more than I do,
More than I can take.
His eyes shine
With the knowledge,
The stupid grin
Plastered on his
Greasy face
Knocks me out.
Closed:
The sky is vast,
And unscathed by jealous clouds.
The crystal clear water holds me up,
Its pressure on my back
Is as refreshing as it is comforting.
Max and Andy splash and laugh to my left.
The pond water in my ears
Distorts their sounds,
But the mushrooms in my blood
Explain them.
Jesse is coming,
Doing well at keeping his cigarette dry,
Swimming with one arm.
I feel something unlock inside me,
Forget it's June,
That I'm floating
In this lake
For the first
And last time,
That I'm still
In Rhode Island,
That the love
Of my life
Is in Virginia,
I forget my limbs,
My hair,
My skin,
My ****,
My heartbeat,
The stellar iron in my blood,
And as the water fills my lungs,
As the shouts commence
And sight fades,
I am reborn,
I am the microbes I am swallowing,
I am the glow of the nearest star
Glinting off the rippling surface,
I am the sand beneath me,
I am the air pushing the pine needles,
I am alive,
I am open:
I am still on a train
In Washington DC
And this ******* guy
Knows too much.
His lips are wet with it.
It's written in the part
Of his thinning hair,
In the way he's thumbing
the pages
Of the book he isn't reading.
I can't contain the shout,
The burst of wasted pride,
The "*******!"
The "What do you see that's so ******* interesting?!"
I can feel Ali's hand
And the eyes of
All the passengers in the car
Fall upon me,
And the pressure
Caves in my skull.
From my sunken face:
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."

Which one's optimistic?
Find him in phrases
That are just as cryptic
As Satan's phases,
Find him stewing
In septic patients,
Incepting flashes
Of dreamy fluid,
Spewing a Druid
Cadence, history
Ripe with cages
Rising,
Built and filled
By single-filed
Homosapiens,
Defiled by aliens
And dumped in
Pools of misery
And mindless failings
In perfect time,
Devising misgivings
And listening for
Censored chimes.
Find me explaining
To a ghost
The passageways of time,
The tunnels a comatose
Mind can dig to confine
Fragile frames
Of ****** bones.
Find a savior
Burning homes
And training Holmes,
Sentimental drivel
Pouring like
Greenland ice melt
Into an ocean
Of violence,
The spittle
Flying from the
Mouths of the smelt,
Hoping their notions
Will achieve timeless
Authority.
Find yourself,
Before your
Lifeless body
Is a gory
Reminder of what
Rotting
Does to the
Smelt esteem.
Find a pacifist
In a police state,
Passing judgements
And choosing who
To hate,
Leasing friendships
And losing weight
And feeling like their
Righteousness
Makes them fake;
Makes their fate seem
All too surreal,
Catacombs full
Of people,
Voicing choices
Between ways to feel.
Find the unfound
And unbound their
Hands, their tongues,
Fill their guts with
Sacrificed lamb, ****
Their haunts with
Spiritual guns,
Toast the rain
And sink their bodies
In beds of flames,
Watch them rise,
And equate the lies
With the actualities
In a cloud of shame.
Find freedom in
Everything.
Find obscurity
Inside a name.
Find anything
That stays the same.

You are not original
You are not unique
There is nothing special about you
You are every step taken
By every sole
Of every shoe
In the history of shoes
You are every vein
On every maple leaf
That has ever fallen
And every one that has
Grown as replacement
Everything
Everything
You are every joke
You are every stroke
Of every painbrush
Every pencil
Every pen
Every primitive crayon
Against a cave wall
You are every sightless
Creature in every cave
You are every speck of dust
Stuck to every speck of dust
In the cosmos
You are every diaphragm
Contraction
Of every laugh ever laughed
You are every
Perverted thought
In every brain,
You are every measurement
Of time
Of weight
Of temperature
Of character
You are every pressure wave
From every pair
Of clapped hands
You are every pigment
In every premature obituary
You are every hair follicle
On every bison
You are every decision
God or bad
Or wise or naive
You are every influence
Every force
Every imagined deity
Every word ever spoken
Every word you are reading
You are every sunset
On every satellite
Of every star
You are every villain
Every success story
Every tragedy
Every spark that has
Birthed a flame
You are every set
Of rolled eyes
Every kernel
On every ear of corn
Every oxidation
Every drop of alcohol
Ever consumed
You are heaven
You are every molecule of water
In every hot spring
Every strum
Of every guitar
Ever played
You are condensation
You are every witch trial
You are every frown
Every school of skipjacks
Every byte of data
On every hard drive
You are every meadowlark
You are every broken arm
From every fall
Off a bicycle
You are the way Autumn smells
The way he looks at you
The way she makes you smile
The way earthworms
Escape the mud
when it rains
You are every passing car
Every glimmer of hope
Every plane crash
Every time math fails
Every swift defeat
You are everything ugly
And everything beautiful
You are nothing
You are everything
Everything you've done
Has been done before you
You are every paradox
You are beautiful when you sleep
You are me
We are nothing.
Everything,
Everything.
We are everything
We're not.
We are nothing we are.
The snow has fallen,
Terrible is the sound.

It was easy,
The clumps and locks
Hit the floor
Like footfalls,
I stood behind you.
It had been two
Years almost to the day
Since you had stopped
Using shampoo,
And your hair was
The softest I'd ever felt.
The shrimp baking
In the oven
Overwhelmed the gentle
Scent of apple cider vinegar
I've grown accustomed to,
Snug behind you,
My nose near your scalp,
Falling asleep.
The night you let me
Cut your hair,
We fell asleep on the couch,
Watching reruns of an
Irrelevant sitcom,
And I awoke after you
Had already gone off
To work.
I rode past a cop
In shorts
On a bike
At Maryland & 9th
On my way to the office,
And he turned to ride
Behind me,
Pulling alongside
Me at Maryland & 8th.
"I just want to say thanks,
For stopping at red lights.
We're out here all the time,
And they see us go through
The lights, and
Think they can too."
"Yea, no problem.
Not trying to
Get my head knocked off."
"You tryin to be funny?"
"No, I said I'm not
Trying to get my
Head knocked off."
"Yea, I heard you,
I'm not stupid."
"I can see that.
You stopped at this red
Light, after all."
"Watch it, or
I'LL knock your
****** head off."
The light changed,
And I set off.
"Yea, get out of here,
Before I decide not
To let you."
Do you remember
How I came home?
Torn pants,
Torn shirt,
Torn skin,
Dragging my mangled
Steel frame
Up the stairs to our apartment?
You ran to me,
Dropped your plate
Of rice and beans all over
The brand new slip cover,
And grabbed my face,
Wetting your hands with my blood.
You got towels,
Got a chair,
Sat me in it,
Stood behind me,
And washed the grit
From my wounds.
My hair fell
Like raindrops
As you cut away
From the injury site.
The feel of your sewing needle
And nylon thread
Passing through
My thin, inflamed skin
Blackened my sight,
And I slipped away from consciousness.
Well,
I couldn't tell you then,
But I've never loved
You more.

The burn
that breaks
the clouded mind
the home
the love
the guilded shrine
the dove
the lines
the 
you are mines
the climb
the fall
(you once
were
mine)
[you once
burned
my cloudy
mind]
mind your 
mind
and
you'll be
fine,
you will
find
you will
prime
with 
time
sublime;
not I,
with my
denied
assigned
resigned
state of
slime.

"When the afternoon sun
Comes and wakes me up,
I will ask myself
'Have I slept enough?'"
And you know what, Mike?
That answer's tough
And usually no
Cuz its pretty rough
To always know
I'm always wrong,
It makes me tired
And makes me long
For bushes on fire
To sing their songs
Or whatever the ****
Else comes along,
And that's why I stay
In bed all day
In my sleeping attire
Feeling gone
And letting the sun
Rise and fall
While I hide under covers
And ignore it all,
The fun of others
And plastic lovers
Or even ones
Of porcelain,
Either way I guess I'd win
If I could make another
Come for a swim
In this sea
Of blankets
I've been trapped in.

"All we are is
Dust in the wind."
That's not true,
We're also sin
We're truth
And lies
And pain within
We laugh
We cry
We drink our
Gin
We think
We try
And hold it in
The wins
The loss
Your pretty eyes
Are more than
Dust
To such as I
There's
Grief
And lust
And genocide
There's birth
And rust
That rots
Inside
Your hollow
Bust
An ebbing
Tide
A heap
Of dust....
I've found I've lied.
I guess I must rescind
My pride,
accept that
We are in the wind
And will be  
Dust
For all of time.

You need light to see
She said to me
As I turned it off
To make this seem
A little less obscene
A little less just me
Making just another scene
And a little more a combination
Of ***** chores
And confirmation
Of spent canteens
Left in the street
For the city to sweep
Away in the morning
One day every week
Like I've been
Swept downstream
By these drips of mourning
I wept down cheeks
That are red
From the heat
That replaced the cold
Till I couldn't even eat
Or brush my teeth
No matter how many
Times the hatter
Told me your matter
Was really gold
Not just gore
And blood spatter
For the reaper to reap
And serve on a platter
To all the sheep.

The seats are aging
Orange leather with
Cracked faces the
Lines of wisdom
Of ninety
Thousand sitters.
Entire ecosystems
Live on the shining
Polished silver of
Handles dulled
By sweaty palms.
Sightline through
A window
A passing loco
Blurred brief
Images of
Unknown faces.
Sightline to the
Chamber behind
The metal snake
Winds down the track
A touch of vertigo
From uneven motion.
Sightline to
Cascades of light
Brown curls
Flowing over
Porcelain shoulders.
Smooth skin
Sweet as aspartame
Skii ***** neckline
Heavenly form
Yellow dress
Slight movement
To the heavenly forms
Pouring through
White earbuds.
Sightline to Sightline
Meet in the air
Muddy brown
Graced by
Kaleidoscope
Greens yellows hazels browns
Electric charge
No other passengers
Perceive.
The doubled thump
Wump
Picks up speed with a
Coy smile
A sunrise blossoming
Over Eden
The birth of an
Angel
The thirst of desert
Sands
Quenched.
Beauty erupts
From the shared gaze
Held 6 stops
Past hoyt-schermerhorn.
Immediate
Immaculate
Connection
Fire through the air
Static charge
Primal lust
Infinite joy
If I could just
Say hello
Hi
You've enraptured
My soul
The epitome of
Beauty.
I sit instead
Stuck
Deer in headlights
****
My twisting insides
The grey says
Such monstrous
Things to itself.
Her stop.
****.
Broken gaze,
Disconnected
From the maze
Of her eyes.
I lament.
Sightline back
To page:
"Those that have crossed paths are not memories
Nor is the yellowish dove that sleeps in oblivion..."
I lament some more
At the poignancy
And the loss of a stranger
Made just for me.
She probably would've
Broken my pumping
Gears anyway,
Sayonara, c'est la vie.

I was brought into this world
Against my will,
And I refuse to leave the same,
Even if you think my brain is ill
Or debate if I'm really sane,
The point of the matter is still
That this life's a ******* game
Full of cheap plastic thrills
And cheaper female names
That infiltrate your sense of peace
And without taking any blame
Tie you up with internal chains
And make you scream with quiet rage,
Passive aggressive forms of pain
That melt away
The tired bones
From your tired frame
Till all that's left
Is a stone
With a phrase
Engraved
That's supposed
To explain
What the world gained
And lost
From the compost
That replaced
The face
In the grave.

Do you remember the
First time I saw you?

Probably not,
Since you didn’t see me,
But I wasn’t being
A creep,

You were walking down
My street
With your little dog,
In a black and red
Hooded flannel
And a pair of ripped
Jeans

And I was standing at
My kitchen sink,
With the windows
Right above it
Drinking a glass of
Water and
Gazing outwards

And there you were,
Moving left to right
Across my sphere
Of sight
Texting and not paying
Attention to your
Dog taking a ****
At the foot of
My driveway.

You came by the
Next day,
And the day after that
And I made up
My mind
I’d talk to you.

I waited outside
On my porch
But you never
Came,
I didn’t see you
Again until that day
At my little
Brother’s baseball game
As you cheered on yours.

Now I’m yours.

The other morning,
As opposed to this one,
(There was indeed
Another morning)
As I walked the
10 1/2 blocks to work,
I passed by a playground
Full of post grad
Parents who dress
Real nice
Real fashionable
And all of their
Children who are
Dressed the same, in
Non gender specific
Garb, because it’s
2011 not last century
And they run and
Scream and get
Their thrift store
Clothes all *****,
They laugh and I
Hear crying
And reprimanding
And ‘good job!’
And I can’t help but
See the future in
These kids, with
Their well adjusted
Parents adjusting
Them well to the world
And making sure
They follow all the
Advice in the hip
Parenting and child
Psychology books they
Read, and I see
Among the smiling
Innocent faces
Yet to be
Drug addicts
Wife beaters
Alcoholics
Strippers
Drunk drivers
Liars
Cheaters
Thieves
Heartbreakers
And the occasional
College grad
Who will be well
Adjusted
And will adjust
The child they have
At 34
Very well to the
New society
So that
Child can become
A date ******
Or a car thief
Or a vagrant
Or maybe a college
Grad who
Will be well adjusted
And adjust their child well.
Our children are the future.
Go to school, kids.
Adjust.

I’ll take it as a lesson
Not to play games,
Cuz this ****’s got me guessin
Whether I am or not sane,
Or whether this mess is
Because of my brain
Or because those
Doing the messing
Aren’t true to their names,
Or maybe they are,
**** it, either way
I go to the bar
To slam scotch in my veins
And watch as the cars
Circle in the drain.
These people believe they’re driving forward
But they’re going in circles,
Forever toward
The singularity.

I want to react
But the act
Is getting too real
To enact my plan
To realize
My plan
The plan I have.
I have it.
Don’t believe me?
Me neither.

But that doesn’t
Make that ether
Disappear,
It doesn’t matter
If its clear
It’s still fuzzy
It’s still fuzzy
Where’re all the details?
You’re spinning tales
And I’m spinning
Towards fails,
Two more
Allowed before
The fall
It will come if they
All bring it about
If it comes around
Who am I to give
The go around
To the go
Ahead sound?
I’m not.

Neither are you,
So let that **** flow
And glue your ears shut
And trap itself in the
Negative space
And remember
Remember always
The face
That belted
The sounds
The notes
The subtle hints
At doubt
And expectations
That pass
Without
Fruition.

Lead me to perdition
Yellow canary
Fly fly fly
Out of the sunken
Black lung
And spread the
News when
You return
To confuse me
An olive branch
A laurel wreath
And an infant’s hand
Held in your beak,

I command you to speak
Of flying free
And color
And sun
And the hate that breeds
Within the youth
That believes in truth
But sees the vultures
Feed at the kissing
Booth
On young ladies
And beaus
And constant flowing
Prose
That’s just babble
Cuz no one knows
What that rabble
Really holds,
It’s not gold,
It’s not happiness
It’s cold
And happening less
Often than the
Human breast
Can use to soften
The hard day’s
Unrest.

Let’s
Build a coffin
Of wedding dresses
Cuz I’m coughing
And these dressings need
Changing
But the nurse isn’t coming
Even though
The alarm is clanging
Away above my door
But its so easy to ignore
A sack of flesh
Waiting to die
In their Sunday best
In a hospital bed,

With fluorescent
Lights
Illuminating
The dead
We gather in parlors
And iron our collars
And say how much we
Will miss
The missed,
But what will we miss?
The memory of a kiss?
It’s a memory
In the contemporary,
It takes time you see
For it to exist and
For my brain to be
Stimulated
By the bliss
In me
You instill
But still I’m in
Too deep
I don’t want to keep
Losing this much sleep,
It’s not good
For you

To see me
As you do now,
Towelless
In the bathroom
Powerless to
Escape the vacuum
Of the drain
In the middle
It’s dark when you look
Through
But you know where it
Goes?
A river of ****
That flies through pipes

Like this river of **** I
Write that
Flows in through
Your eyes
And out from
Your shoes
Into the sky.
Lol.

“****” she said
“that kid can shred”
I agree with her
And she sits back down
She slides her back
Back down the wall
And I follow her
And we both sit
And listen to this kid
As he ******* shreds
And we laugh
And we are blown
Away
And we are alien to
The crowd
But we move our
Heads anyway
We match the sway
Of the kid’s powerchords
And we are next to one
Another on
The needstobevacuumed
Carpet
In an olneyville
Apartment
And he
Is really really
Shredding
And I’m really
Weakly betting
That I’ll be getting
What she is betting
Really really
Gambling

On

It’s getting to me
I’m really getting
To me.

A gamble is fine
If you let me
Set me up
For you to knock down,
So knock it down.

(By the way,
Your boy’s
A clown)

But it’s ok,
Cuz there’s no
Frown upon
My face
As I sit with
You, back
To wall
In this *******
Place,
Listening to
This kid shred
All over the
******* place.
Luh yah babe.
Keep the pace.

Don’t stray from sidewalks,
Cuz the grass doesn’t
Slap the bottom
Of your flats with
The same firmness
Of paved furnace
Baking in an august
Heat,
Your feet might get wet
If you step off the curb
Because it rained
This morning,
And the good lord’s word
Said don’t stray from
The path of the righteous
And its hard to be righteous
With wet socks,
Don’t block the flow
Of people, keep walking
Or they’ll get really ******
And start talking ****
About how if you
Don’t walk faster
They’ll give you a kick
Swift to the ***
If it’ll make you go quick,
And you better stick to
The paved sidewalk,
No stepping off
To let them pass,
Keep with the flow
And keep their pace
And hope you’ll
Go someplace
Where all the
Conformity makes
You feel good
About yourself.

You’ve always been able
To project a stable
Appearance, to steer
My development
With gentle influence
But I fear its to
The detriment
Of your own progress,
Especially since
Each time I regress
You are right there
To set me back
On the track
To common sense,
Even when your own
Issues are far more
Important.
I thank you
Forever
While I
Try to find
Clever ways
To ease your mind,
But its so full
Of kindness
There’s
No room for
Flowers to bloom.

It’s the way the
Eleven a.m.
Sunlight comes in
Through the parallel
Spaces between the
Shingles of the
Blinds on my bedroom
Windows and buzzes
In glowing lines
That showcase the
Contours of your
Exposed back
While you sleep off
last night’s activities
On your stomach.

It’s the way the
Water runs down your
Forehead and around
Your nose
And through your hair
As you resurface
From underneath the
Cold water at the
Old preindustrial
Quarry in this
Postindustrial town
And the arc of the
Water drops
That sparkle in the October
Sunlight as you throw
Your head back to
Whip the hair
Out of your eyes
And the smile that
Blooms like marigolds
When you see that
Your beautiful hair
Has hit me square
In the face
And the laughter
That ensues.

It’s the way the
Back of your
Car makes me feel
When I watch
It driving
Away forever.

It’s about the American dream
To make more than you need
Through corporate greed
And pyramid schemes,
So I guess I’m not asleep
Since I eat rice and beans
In a crummy C.F.
Apartment,
Or what’s left of that
Ten by ten compartment
I can barely afford,
Like the ******
Degree that was supposed
To reward my hard effort
By leading me toward
A corner office
Or something
Like that
I should desire,
But **** it,
Let’s get higher,
I’m getting bored,
And my heart is heavy,
And I’ve been
Forsaken
By the country that
Bred me
Yet expects me
To slap on some flak
And attack
Fathers and sons and brothers
In Iraq
Over nothing
But ideological
Fluff
And political stuffing,
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s just not worth
The time or frustration
To engage in
This nation’s
Procreation
Of condemnation
Of logical reason,
Though reasoning
Lies not in the
Eye of the reasoner
Or that of the reasoned,
It’s gotta be easier
Than achieving
Appeasement
Through please
And leasing
Thank yous
To random
Strangers,
But if
You believe
They, like you,
Are human
Then the danger
Is fleeting,
Cuz they’re feeling
The same feelings,
The sane feelings of
The chronically
Sure,
The always right,
Everything in its
Right place,
Yea I know Tommy,
I must endure
And try to say
I should try to save
The knaves,
But life’s so easy
As a slave,
You buy your
Goods
And pave the way
For impoverished hoods
And hoodwinked
Majorities
Who’ve already
Made
The sacrifices
Necessary
For the necessary
To get paid,
Hope you did some good
With that bogus bonus
Mr. Suit and tie
And perfect life
With the plastic wife
And bank account
You’ll never drain,
No matter how many
Times you make it rain
On upscale hookers,
It runs too deep
To keep all to your
Selfish selves,
But I guess it’s our
Faults we don’t wear
The leadership caps
Cuz we should’ve pulled
Ourselves up by our
******* boot straps
And made something of
Ourselves, right?
Those that deserve
To make the big bucks
Make it happen, right?
Time for the forgotten *****
to put up a fight.

And I don’t think
I have ever seen
A sight
More worthy to
Behold
Than this relic
Of my past life
Glowing gold
In a bed of green

It seems to me
Its energy
Is tangible,
Is literally
Trailing gold threads
Through the chilled
October air,
And I’m not sure
If I’m seeing things
That aren’t there
Or if it’s really
My lover’s hair,

I suppose
I’ll never know
For certain
If those hideous curtains
Are still hanging
In the apartment
We used to get
Burnt in,
But I guess further
It doesn’t matter,
Not with the fervor
Of my new life as
A learner
Replacing my dreams
Of bounty and ******,

Not literally, you see
I never hurt her
Or treated her badly,
It’s just that once
She had me she’d
Had enough,

So what to do what to do
With all this free time
And all this free time
And all this free advice
About making limeade
From limes,
Or however the
**** that saying goes,

Either way this blows
And the wind is doing the same
And the way that the gold
Swirls around her frame
Makes me happy I still
Remember her name.

I’ve been breathing
When I’m supposed to
And keeping it held
When I get close to
Figuring out
What it means
To breathe in

And out
I leave through
A red door
Into the rain
To find some piece
Of mind floating
In a puddle
Next to a fry
Box from
Burger king

If I pick it up
And put it back
In my head
It’ll be wet
And that’s fine
I suppose

Irene still feels
So close,
She’s still in her
Mill floating
Through life
On a death-raft
Of pills

But I can’t stress her
I know she doesn’t need
Another stressor
I know she spent
Her last dollar on rent

It’s cheap but
So was the asbestos
In 1917
So I guess its a trade off

I take off my walking shoes
And trade off for a bike
And splash through
Puddles on my
Way to find the
Northwest passage
In North Providence
And I’m controlling my breathing

Or my breathing
Is controlling me
Either way I can’t
Really see
Cuz it’s dark
It’s raining
And I left my
Glasses next to
My mind so
They wouldn’t get
Wet and make it
Hard to see

It can’t be that hard to see
Why can’t the girl
With the book
On break
Simply look
Past the Ebt and
***** sheets
And see the dirt
Within me?
She’s seen Isaac
Proclaim
How much beauty
There is
In dirt

And I guess
I’m the same
But I guess
This is best
Since I’ll only
Hurt or be hurt
As we learn and
Forget
Each other’s
Names.

The girl named after the fruit
Has got her tongue
All tied in loops
As she tries to describe
Why the flowers bloom
In spring, not winter.
She imbibes
Glass splinters
To survive the snow
Driven
Depression
That comes with
The season.

She’s trying hard to explain
The way it makes her feel
When a thousand rain
Crashes drop onto her skin
In a rhythm of
Random points
Of pressure, and
The way the wind
Blows the rain
Into the left ear
Through her brain
And out of the right,
Cleansing her mind
Of any qualms,

Any frights,

Any problems
That might
Pose a problem.

It makes her free,
It sets her right,
But she can’t help
Wondering why
She runs
To her car,

Or to the door,

Or into the store,

To avoid getting wet,
As if she even can.

The girl named after the fruit
Sits alone next
To her couch,
With the stench of ***
Swirling through
Her apartment.
It mixes with the trails
Of smoke from
Her cigarette,
And she tries to figure
Out what
She is doing
There,
Why she has to
Bear the fruit
Of her labors,
The 12 years spent
At a lab table,

Behind a desk,

Or with her face in a book,

If all she gets now
Is a different *****
To **** every night
And a constantly
Growing hole
In her sanity,

Her bank account,

Her ability to recount
Exactly what happened
The day before.

She puts out her
Cig on the living room floor
And walks into the snow storm,
Naked except for her
Hello kitty socks.
She becomes one with the white,
She merges with the way
The ice crystals
Swirl in the air,
She fuses with their
Trails and the intricacies
Of falling stars
Until she blows away,
To melt basking
In the sunshine
Of a late
February day.

The t.v. is still on,
there’s a blue wall
that replaces the glass with
a soft textured glow
and I’m lying on my
left side because
the right is still sore
around the ribs
and I’m looking at the
eleven-year-old alarm clock
blinking the same time
over and
over
again I flip the pillow
I look over your shoulder to
try and see your face
with my dark adjusted
eyes, but all I can make
out are the highlights from the window
on your forehead
your cheek
the tip of your nose
the edge of your chin
your bare shoulder
the highest edge
of your extended arm
the top of your breast
and I don’t need to see the
rest cuz I know it’s there
and I know what’s second
best so I move the hair
away from your eye
So it won’t annoy you
if you awake to it there,
I lay back
down on my left
side with my left
arm underneath your neck
and my right over
your stomach with my
fingers crossed
and I wonder if I’m
dreaming as I slip
from one world
to the next.

Now that you’ve come full circle
You have forgotten the path.
Are you still counting
How many streetlights
You pass?  The point you
Were originally trying to make
When you rattled the window and
You yelled my name is moot.
Were you satisfied? Did you feel
Real? And how about
Now? Has it resonated within
You yet that where you
Are on the circle is no longer
How you’d like your life to be?
You showered the grass where you
Were standing with tears.
When you finally awoke
You had gold where your hands
Were when you collapsed, like a
Real live movie actress.

“Try to save face”
Was the only reply,
The only advice
I could squeeze
Outta that guy,
I told him the problem,
Explained it quite nice,
Only to receive
A verbal cowpie,

Which is better than
What I get from all others,
The lies that keep
Me dry under a cover
Of excuses piled high,
They keep me warm
And keep me from turning
Into the residue
That resides
On the shiny
Metal blade
That’s been sunk
Deep into my back
With a twist

Of lime like the drink
I toss back
As I slowly enact
My twenty year plan
To sit in this chair
With this scotch
In my hand
Until I leave
My bones and hair
In a pile
Of sand.

Never had love
Grown longer,
Nor lingered stronger
Than when
My bird sang
A song
So somber
I had to
Stop her,

The gravity
Of her shudder
Convinced me to
Never wander,
And as I laid
Beside her
And felt her
Skin warm
And smooth
Like rippling thunder
Sending waves
Of pressure
Across my arms
And chest

I heard from under
Her breast
The cry
Of a pulsing
Pomegranate
Dragging me down
To the depths
Of heaven’s slumber,

So I wept,
My eyes grew wet
With wonder and
Dripped a chemical
Sweat that
With each drop
Made me younger,

And I found myself
Forgiving
All of life’s
Blunders,
I couldn’t
Doubt her
With her eyes
Like embers
And her lips
So tender,

Those lips that
Kiss away
The wounds
Each time
I engage
In fruitless
Benders,

Those lips that
Singe my skin
Before I stray
Each time with
The branded message
“Return to sender,”

And I know I’ll
Always return
Because my
Position
In life
Is to
Mend her
Heart

Each time
I break her.

Moving shapes
Of hulking blackened
Highlighted shadows
They’re going
Every which way
Without the slightest
Clue as to
Which way
They’re going
Or coming from
And they’re painted
And draped
And covered in straps
Shreds
Trails of furs, leathers
Plastics of every sort
And it gets hard to sort
Them out,
The monsters
From
Their
Costumes.

How much depravity
Is enough or too much
For the depraved
Before the irony
Is too clean
To waste on themselves?

I’m standing in the
Midst
Of a mist
Of sweat and ****
And my jeans
Are soaked to the
Shins with *****
Or sweat
Or ****
Or hopefully blood
And I’m staring into
A shifting cloud
Of tall thin cold
Glasses of water
Waving skinny limbs
Twisting and flailing
As the show
Is put on for the
Other bony, ragged
Appendages by their
Androgynous semi-owners
Draped in furs
That are just as
Flea bitten as
Their desire to
Create substance
Through the flagrant
Display of debauchery
And purposeful
And tactfully
Tactless
Effort
To prove
A lack
Of substance.

It was too crowded,
Too much bro contact,
So I walked outside
Into the cloud
Of cigarette smoke
And the pesticides
Therein,
A man in
A black jacket
Was standing
Back to wall
Too drunk to walk
With a pall mall
In his mouth
Too tight to talk,
But talk he did,
He told me what
His father did,
He painted that mural,
And others around
The city
And I think to myself
I’m sorry,
But that ****
Looks ******,
Or something witty
Like that
Pops out of my hat,
I mean mouth,
And it’s remarkable that
This dude has to share
The accomplishments
Of his father to seem
Interesting,
And I wanna say
So bad (too sad)
That those are the glories
Of your dad,
But what have you done?
You got drunk at
This bar that
You visit every weekend
And told a skeptical
Stranger a story.
So I walked away,
And as my feet
Brought me around
On their whims
I passed by some bricks
That were sealed in a wall
In nineteen oh six
And I realize
My father’s
Life as a worker
Isn’t working for me,
So I think I must leave
My job at the factory
And pursue my dreams
Of melting away
In the sun someday
Along San Francisco Bay.

This morning on the bus
I sneezed
Just to see if
The only other
5 am rider
Would say
Bless you.
He didn’t,
So I followed
Him off the bus
And cut
His throat
In an alleyway.
Manners are everything.

7 am
On a cold
Hardly carpeted
Floor of a one
Room apartment
In a ******
Not quite big
But big city
Full of bugs
That flit
And fly
Around me
In flashes
Of astounding
similarities
And I’m wide
The **** awake
Because of the
Cats in heat
And the glimpse
Of the future
In a kitten
Named Fiona
Who is attacking
My outstretched
Hand on the floor
And I wonder
If she really thinks
It’s a spider
Or five snakes
I mean
I really have
No idea what
This chick
Is seeing
Then
The sounds of a
House being
Torn down in
Charred and
Smoke painted
Pieces of wood
And personal things
So sorries
And oh wells
Floods the
Room from outside
And swells to
Replace the
Cats who have retired
To slumber
And the kitten off
Exploring somewhere
And still I lie
Eyes wide
Waiting for the
Appropriate time
To get my coffee
And bagle
And finagle
My way through
Another day
Of the same old
Same old
That old grind
The old grind
The five to nine
After nine to five
And I dive
Into
The image
Of coffee being
Ground and
Its sounds
Lay me to rest.

This act
Just keeps
Wearing me out
Like I’m an evening
Dress and
Each day is a
Different dinner
So I guess I’ll
Keep watching
My patience
Grow thinner
Along with your
Waist.

It’s a short walk,
But still I dread
The trek
Each time
I make it
I expect
I’ll keep following
These same tracks
Until my feet
Wear away
And the tips
Of my tibias
Are concrete
Splinters,
But I don’t mind
Finding out
How many winters
This doubt can last,
It’s all a game,
Just catch and pass
You’re thrown
A bone

Or driven past
As you wave your thumb
Under the overpass
Trying to get home
For the birth of your child
At Woman and Infants
But RIPTA has ******
Service, so you might
Miss it,
But that’s ok,
We all miss things
We never had
And we all wish
To never be sad
But the reality is
Reality’s a fad,
A passing craze
Of the human brain
That hasn’t evolved
To see past the rain
And realize that it
Isn’t falling
Every time we get wet,
The future is calling
But we will always forget
To pick up the phone,
Cuz we’d rather forfeit
Nirvana to sit alone
Playing with an app
That makes a cartoon cat
Play the trombone,

Technology can lead us
Out of the realm of the blind
If only we could find
A way to slow
Our swift decline
Into the self assigned
Ceasing
Of
Creativity
And
Assanine
Overabundance
Of avoidable
Stupidity.
Iphone 4s.
Cop that ****.

Are you feeling scared?
It’s ok, we all let fear
Consume us,
We all shirk darkness
And monsters
And dripping pus,
But don’t forget
That just cuz you
Feel it, doesn’t mean
It’s there,
Tommy taught me that
When he found me
Swimming
In the near freezing
Water at the bottom
Of that pit of despair
I was left
To rot in,
He showed me where
To put the barrel,
To point it out
Instead of in,
To ******* shout
And give the firing
Pin
A reason for existing,
Solving one existential
Crisis
With the explosion of
Another into
Flesh colored
Splinters of glass
And a whisper
Sailing in
Through deaf ears,
Some *******
About grass
Being greener
Wherever one
Can get some ***
Or meaning
Or a sense of being
Wanted,
He told me it’s better
To be a wanton
Observer
Than to actively
Stir the fervor
That rages when
Thoughts of her
Spill onto the pages,
Let it happen he said,
Don’t make it,
It makes you
More often
Than pavement
Meets sky
Or angels fake it,
But whatever,
They do anyway,
It’s all a farce
After all,
Go ask Alex,
He’ll tell you all about
The empty show
For empty souls
Being perpetrated
By empty holes
In the atmosphere
That trick you into
Thinking something
Or someone’s there,
Feeling like someone cares,
But just cuz you feel it
Doesn’t mean its there,
So why even feel
If we’re nothing but
Forces and air?
Electromagnetic
Chaos
Under a bed of messed
Up hair
Is no justification
For the mask
We all must wear.
So choose yours with care,
They’re all transparent.

“Nothing compares to
The way you make
Me feel”
She said with a grin
As he peeled off her skin
And dove into her soul
All the way to his heels
And she screamed with
Delighted fear
As he fought for air
And said “my dear,
I’ll love you forever.”

The cat sat in the window
As the spring flowers bloomed
And she marveled at
The cloud of doom
That had descended
On the room while
The canary lay dead
On the floor
In a beam of
Afternoon sun
Glowing red
Like the lead
That laid her to rest.

Infatuated with glitter
And dust
The lost soul
Skipped home
And passed the post-
Industrial relics
Of the past
In heaps of rust
And broken glass
And she was oblivious
To the fast moving
Motorists
And she stepped out
Just as the last
Arrived
And they all said
It was a miracle
She survived
But they couldn’t
See the demons
More alive than
Ever awakening
Inside her,
They poured out
And over
A world unprepared
For the beginning
Of the apocalypse
fueled by her love for
Feeling empowered.

God bless us all.

For one moment
And then I’ll explain
But it’s the moment
I refrain
That produces
The most rain,
More than a shaman
And more
Than a
Hurricane
But still she came
To sit on couches
And play the game
Of hands as
Mouses
But eventually
The same boils
Down the same
If you know
Wumsayin
It’s the moment
When laying
Becomes praying
For leisure
To a heavenly teacher
That isn’t certain
If such a creature
Can even see her
But she thinks she can
Of course the man
Professes nurture
But nature nurtures
Deluded pictures
Of what Is really going on.
It isn’t the draw
Of the unopened straw
It’s the way the jaw
Drops and drools
And the fact that
A car
Takes so long to
Arrive
It’s better to
Let oneself be one
Of the hive
Than to try to be cool
And take a nosedive
Directly into
The feeling in your stomach
On the carnival ride
When the ship drops
And gravity stops your heart.
To feel,
From the ground,
Another person,
On the ride,
Falling,
Is the lure.
The attraction of flame
And fuel
And broken engines.
How could the feeling
Of waking up
In the same bed
in the same room
In the same house
In the same town
Again
And
Again
Compare?