You keep it that way,
Unchanging,
Static,

A Rolling Rock gathers mold
If you leave it out long enough.

So I ask:
Have you had enough?
You can just laugh
If finding an answer is too tough.

I love to hear it.
I live to hear it
And be near it,
And live inside you

Like a parasitic child
That thrives on your smile
And feeds till it dies.

Would you let me?
I know the answer's no,
I can see it in your eyes.

Which is why I live you.
And why I love inside you
Like a heart that beats its
Metronome in ones and twos
Oh how I'm home when I'm
Inside of you

Curled and twisted and
Beating fast,
And waiting for the day
I can be free, at last,

At least

I'd get to see your face,
Instead of the shadow
That replaced it
For the last seventeen
And one half months.

Come closer, forget about her.
She left your side for a reason.
I'll make you forget
Your silhouette,

The seasons pass,
We get baked
Then wet,
With mild months
In between.

And still I dream
Of glorious spring
And the gloryless
Song we'll sing
When we are reunited

Like a corpse is reinvited
Into mother earth
To fade into dirt.

So will we all
Find our place, our worth.

Just keep looking,
First.

Moving shapes
Of hulking, blackened,
Highlighted shadows
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A ****** finger,
And my band-aid won't stick.
What a ****.

"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.

The news came into town like the flu,
rubbing the sleep from the eyes of the people,
Clearing them to see the words in pixels of ink
spelling out what had happened.
Mothers dropped plates,
car brakes screeched,
the cats and dogs
stopped in the middle of their whims,
and the gums got to flappin'
in the hospital-sheened caskets on wheels
where forgotten old folks were left
to feel forgotten.
The collective energy of
all this dude’s friends and family
rose and pushed the clouds in a mushroom,
A rude intrusion into the heavens,
where little old ladies
and blindsided grammar schoolers
had convinced themselves
he was sitting, looking down
in somber remembrances,
happy thoughts,
shared joys,
and all that jazz.
They piled into cars
and trooped to the viewing,
to cry and behold a waxinine figure
with a painted smile.

Then they kicked dirt
into the hole in the ground
and left him to rot.

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.

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 used to stand for something enlightening that I might feel,
now I stand in fields waiting for lightning to peel
back my skin and make me real, or at least semi-real
or semi-charmed, but not that kind of life
in the song, you better believe that we'll
laugh about the new ordeal
and blast away the golden seal
that keeps us locked behind its waxy confinement
as we're sold into white rooms by consignment-
minded chemtrails in human shells,
thrown into wells to circumvent
the audacity of our red blood cells
to deny us their consent
to believe the hell
inside our eyes
or let us vent
some anger
with acidic
goodbyes.

She said it close to my ear,
Like a goose down comforter
Muffling a cat's purr.
Softly exhaled,
Sweetly hortative,
The words danced through
The monolithic inner halls
Of my ear and mind.
The sounds of shuffled socks on floorboards
And velvet-gloved hands
Tapping walls
Echoed like the sea.
This pillow had never cradled
My thinning hair
So delicately,
With such maternal
Firmness and warmth.
Lost in the blankets
And sheets,
My hands and feet slept
Like post-carnival children.
She said it like a phantom
Alone in a field,
"Get the **** out of my bed,
Or I'll scream."

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 **** has been
Caked on the fan
For so long
It can no longer spin.
We're choking on
Our own exhaust,
Debating over how to win
And who to blame
Once we've lost.
The truth is that
They're both the same,
Because what gets tossed
Comes back again.
The karmic boomerang
Holds sway over all,
Not the tang
Of pharmic poison
Fed to us by tall
White men
Who know how to talk,
Know how to convince
Us we need to swallow chalk
Flavored with artificial mint
To counteract
Our bubbling guts
And all the junk therein,
The salty snacks
And big mac meals
And lack of vitamins."

His rant was cut short
By a burst of nausea.
Pete leaned over on his
Ancient barstool
And vomited his
Last six drinks
And his last
Eight handfuls
Of peanuts
Onto the floor.
The stern face
Behind the bar
Came around
And screamed
At us to
Get the **** out,
Which was fine with me;
I hadn't yet
Paid for my drinks.

The humid air outside
Was like a damp pillow
Pressed over my mouth
After the air conditioned bar.
I parted ways with Pete,
And sauntered down
Newman Ave,
Taking periodic swigs
From my pint of gin.
The .38 my father
Brought home from the war
In Europe was tucked
Into my pants at my waist,
The box of bullets
In my coat pocket
Knocked against my chest With each step.
The sense of being followed
Was heavy in my head
As I turned onto
The bike path.
Maybe my son
Coming for a visit,
To stand in the trees
Where he thinks I can't
See him, silently
Watching my ritual.
"Maybe he'll come
Speak to me,"
I thought,
"Try to understand
Why I do
The things I do,
To see how
Hard life can be."
I loaded my pistol
And began unloading
Into the trees.

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.

Part of me
Wants to see
The part of me
That hides beneath
The laurel wreath
Inside of me,
But idly
I blink and breath,
And constantly
Feed the beast.

To watch it eat
Makes me heave,
So I avert my eyes
And grind my teeth,
And patiently
Wait to be
Finally
At peace.

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?

That guy saw me,
He watched as I tossed
The crumpled receipt
Into the gutter.
I can't believe he saw
That gross display.
I want to scream.
I have to tell him
That's not who I am.
I'm a good person,
Not a litter-critter,
I love the earth,
I'm a good person,
I always hold the door
For whoever is behind me,
I recycle everything,
I let people merge
Onto the highway,
I promptly shovel
The snow from my sidewalk.
I don't intentionally pollute,
That's not me!
If you knew my life,
Mister Cigarette-Break-Man
On Wilson Blvd,
You'd see I'm a good person.
Look at my reusable
Shopping bag
And my eight year old jeans.
I've never stolen clothes
Or candy,
I've never ******
A drunk girl.
You'll never see me rob
A geriatric,
Or tell the annoying
******* the subway
To just shut up already.
I never dip on the bill,
Or put my **** on the wall
Of the public bathroom,
Or take my neighbor's
Newspaper,
Or take my mother's
Prescription poisons.
I'm good to the core.
No touching little kids
For this me,
I'm a good guy.
Why did he give me that look?
As if I love to litter?
Who does he think I am?
Who does he think he is?
He's wrong,
And I'm going back,
**** this.
He needs to know
The truth.
I'll make him see.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

“****” 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.

There's this guilt
That sits
Like the world's worst ****
In the bottomless pit
Of my stomach, and it
Is making me sick
Like colic, and as
The clock tics
And tocs
That burden rots,
It's spoiling my blood
And clotting my thoughts
And making me think
It was all for nought.
I ought to start reading
These books that I bought,
Though none of those
I've read have said
How to deal with a stranger's
Bed that you wake up in instead
Of the one you shared
With the one you wed,
But my love is now
Three years dead,
And all the girls that
Have stood in her stead
Are like plastic money;
Not worth a cent.
But I can't make sense
Of how to move on,
I just can't believe she's gone,
Why did she have to die?
Why did her heart give out
At just about the best time
Of our entire lives?
Thirty five is far too soon
For a coronary infarction,
Let me tell you.

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.

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 do you and I’ll do me;
but if you do me I’ll do you one better.
I’ll set you free or buy you a sweater
or some other **** I think you’d like.
Maybe I’ll just keep sitting here
on this oversized armchair next to Jer,
and continue wondering
what you are up to,
what you are thinking,
how many blinks you are blinking,
how often your neurons are linking.
I’m thinking,
and I’m thinking,
but still the numbers don't add up.
I'm sinking and shrinking and
I’m getting real fed up
with feeding the schlupp
inside my chest with pinings for you;
for the way you look in my favorite dress,
for the way you find beauty in every mess,
for the way you should be here and not there,
or I the reverse,
but you’re there and I’m here
and it feels like I’m cursed,
like I'm Jesus Christ left in the manger
to die of thirst and exposure.
Im a twenty-year-dead motor struggling to turn over,
or maybe just a dude with a storm in his head
that’s getting steadily older
and rapidly sober,
who's missing a shoulder to press against,
and lacking defense against
A soul that grows perpetually colder.

Maybe one day
I'll get a real life
And a real job
And a house
That's real nice
And a beautiful
Real wife
And I'll care about politics
And popular affairs
And I'll drive an American car
With less than 50k.
I guess I want that, someday.

But for now all I want
Is to lay on this blanket
On these blades of grass
Under this maple tree
With you, in central park,
And count the red cars that go by
While you count the blue
And hear the dogs barking
And the kids screaming
****** ****** sounding fun
And feel your head on my shoulder
Your arm across my chest
Your leg over mine
Your hair tickling
My neck, my nose, my cheek
Your Lola perfume filling my head.

For now I'm fine with this.
I'll worry about
Houses and cars
And wives and presidential
Hopefuls
When my checks are cached
And my heart has grown
Cold with age
And NYC is a memory.

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.

There's a beauty that rests
In the middle of this room
Like a cloud that drops
Too low to the ground

The lighting's just right
To make the sight
Delightfully profound

My eyes can barely
Sustain their gaze

My brain can hardly
Refrain from amazement
And confusion
At the illusion, for

There sat before
My love, Eleanor,
Elegant with an

Expression of boredom
I always adored

An airbrush glow
About her skin
Surrounded by
Shimmer and

Apathetic light
Diffusions
But now I see

Only this haze
Of smoky

Traces
In spaces
We once
Embraced in

So many
Ages
Already

Erased
And brushed
Off the
Page.

Follow me,
Shirt-brother,
Rise from ripped,
Yellow faces.
Leave behind
This field of death,
The bloodied grass,
The wind that effaces
The wandering souls
With its chemical breath.
This moment will pass,
As you sink into clouds
Streaked with the traces
Of the brave and the proud.

The images of eyes
Burning like coals
In post-partum skies
Will guide you,
Brother,
As you search for peace
From a life you despised,
From all those wasted years.
When you hit the ceiling,
And dive like rain
Onto a landscape stained
With painted tears,
I'll be in the dirt, kneeling,
With my neck bent back,
Screaming upwards
So you hear first
The only words
That I know will work;

"I told you so,
Brother,
For what it's worth."

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.

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.

A shatterproof
Scatterbrain
Whips it over
Rough terrain
On his way
To get paid.
A motionless
Motorist
Waits to be
Saved
By a changing
Light
In an endless
Parade.
A dandelion's
Progeny
Released to
The wind,
Like memories
Fade
Into the infinite
Within.

You say you
Hate
Everything about
Me

Well so do I

So why
Don't we
Try
Some new material

Why not lie
And make
Your insanity
A little less serial

A little more
Bearable
To choke
Down with
My cereal

What a funny
Joke
That they both
Make me
*****.

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.

Anniversaries are passing,
But I’m still in this bed,
And the cherubim
Are still laughing
As they circle overhead.
Each one that passes
Stabs me with a shiv
In the back or in the chest,
But either way
The message is clear:
“We don’t want you dead,
But if you want to live
You have to pay
For feeling that fear,
You have to accept
The taste of spent tears,
You have to let go
Of what happened last year.”
I try to explain,
I choke out a plea,
“What happens
When what happened
Won’t let go of me?
Please
Please just
Let me lie in peace,
Let me have one of those
Salted blades you’ve got
So we can see
Just how many
Times my wounds
Can take a fresh cut.”
But they won’t let me sleep,
No,
It’s time to get up,
The coffee is ready,
And I can feel my feet
Beginning to carry
Me out
Of a dream
And into another one.