Many years
ago, I went to
this little
Irish bar.
On Sunday nights,
there was a jazz band.
They played
Monk
Mingus
Coltrane
Miles
and the Duke.

I drank gallons of
****** marys on
those hot
summer nights.
Dill pickle spears, and
green olives came up
later on those
hungover, dreamless
mornings.

I was young.
I wasted the days,
lying in the sun,
bayonetted by youth.
Copper colored skin,
tin soul.
I would go thousands
of miles, chasing
that train, before I
would be forgiven.

Rattlesnake
Boom is the gangly
Doberman at the door
When it opened I froze
And she did as well

One too many fingers
Bashful stew of gashy meats
Pulsating, squirting, blood spurting and flowing back
I take a deep breath
And my joints lubricate as if by magic

Doom rakes a killing
And yet grave is my slumber
Low, humbling, thundering
I push too hard and it collapses
In is where I belonged, now I wept thrice

Buttoned up tight
You tilt as a broken table
It was so and it creaked longingly
Crept up from under somewhere
And never looked back

Mal was indeed
Trickling once and twice and thrice borne
Diurnal my beloved
Of once and twice and thrice borne kind
Of seaweed and ***

Out of a split dome
A gashed most dastardly
One of the cloaks covered me well
Under a lock with no keyhole
Filed my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files

One too many mirrors in this madhouse
For all the blind to see
Conjuring spells with a swollen tongue
Heard the pacing and followed through
The left after the left and the right after the right, hi-**

I take from myself
And be no thing
A rumble creeps and wakes when not tended
Forlorn sensitivity
Starving tumbles a hoom, a waan, a rushed impregnate

Words birthed in barren plains
Some one thing creaks and hums and cracks
A dwarf dances in by a jazz darkly
Limbless jig in two movements
Jeaned out weens and them spurts one ******* whale up up upward

Time is a flat **** stain
El amor de mi vida
A misery of cheese
One of loves, one of lives
Gargles reflowed uncivil

Leave white and follow through
Break my bones pulling in
Kicked inwards nervous gaseous porous
Corked out flesh see one lick two
Rumbarumbarumba

Off a wonder land
Bane is my juice
Soon follows rot
Tender, sweet rut
Shadow tongued drips and wets

I don’t need to recall the melody
It left a map so large it became the land
By the name alone I find a way
Of a one off beat and two rushing in, tu-pah!
Drum the ear and work a sweat

Cracks
deep cracks

more like fissures
in the asphalt

and if you are like me
who

never got past this
first barrier

then you missed the treasure
at the end of this dusty rainbow

The melancholy sound of a trumpet seeks refuge in the night,
as a snare is brushed gently and cymbal tapped light,
the far away strum of a guitars soft dreamy strings,
playing the music that compliments what a lone voice sings.

Cigarette smoke hangs heavy like fog on the old river,
the ****** sit at the bar sipping bourbon hand delivered,
the romantics dance on a floor that whispers charms,
planning their moves with the lover held in their arms.

The street light barely penetrates the grubby glass,
the bar winds down as yet another night goes passed,
customers sway at tables as they embrace a cloak
of the heady scent and high effect of marijuana smoke.

"You're mine, you!" whispers in the back of the room. A subtle reminder that I don't think you'll ever leave. You're weird. You're broken. You're everything I am. You're everything I could never be.

When my Dad asks me about my day, or lays out plates like I'm still a little kid. I dream about dull days. Those stupid ruts we couldn't shake. You're mine, you.

It's just the flickering lights. Not your eyes. Not the bitter taste of your white tongue. My ****** gums. The ache of waiting. Of running but never making it. Always looking for the silver lining of your glasses on my nightstand. My crooked nose. Gentle reminders that you'll never leave. Warm and carmine reminders that you will never leave.

My heart should be well-schooled. Because you know I've been fooled in the past. But it's always beating just too late for love to last. "Your hair looks like champagne under this lamp." Do you remember how hard that made you laugh?

That one night we cracked the window, just to let the smoke fly out. I remember thinking "it'll go further than we ever will." As the trumpets began to sing, your bony little fingers started reaching at the stars. It's funny it's not the stars I see, it's always you.

But we'll carry on. We'll carry on. After all, I know there could never be another you.

Eyelids like Terracotta tiles, painted with Salted Wood,
In this Bohemian Magnificence—an appearance of Golden Chrome;
A Contradiction sits in Unconventionality, a Promise of Lovers
In Winter Graves and Spring Cemeteries.

Let the Late Summer Rains flourish the Commas like Grasseeds;
Reap, Sow, and Weep;
Reaped, Sowed, then Wept.

To Whom do you Owe these Trumpet Glares and Immaculate Phrasing?
(Where are the Trumpet Mutes and Wine Glasses?)
Life in the Divine is Life in Vienna—
Life à Douleur resembles Mourning in June.
Show me the Way to go Home—Public, Corporeal Adorations in the Backseat,
Turn left on Palmerston, past Sicilian Cigars and Creole Shrimp;
Towards the Striped Pillowcases and Vaulted Ceilings!
Adorned with our Reflections, of Dried Lavender and Baby’s Breath,
The open Windows let in the Damp Fragrance of Purple Elixirs.

Your Lips, Your Lips Beacon to Tell of my Oriented Past—
And when Midnight comes ‘round, Your Eyes Project my Adolescent Self.
Where did you Find Him?

(You Clutched my Rosary of Constellations in your Left Hand.)

Huff, puff, smooth bravado,
This instrument that I play,
Whisks me away into smokey,
Desolate lounges,
Filled with women in black and red dresses,
Who would otherwise look away,
If not for my silky, suave vibrato.

Ooh, how I can carry a tune,
My fingers dance on the keys,
Like raindrops on a windowsill,
The neon lights at the door,
Buzzing outside in the cold.

The only thing warming up,
This cold little soul,
Is a finger of rye,
Adjacent to the ashtray,
That holds my neglected cigarette.

She watches, She listens,
My face turns purple,
As I pour my heart out on stage,
Out in the open in this vacant place,
With only the few of us around.

I had my cake and I ate it too,
like all the time in the world that you took.
Adorned with cherries
and decorated with cream,
like the taste of my lips
that is only a thing of your dreams.
I thought I have once
tasted a slice of heaven,
only for it to rot away to
a thing from hottest hell.

I had my time and you took it too,
like my faith and my core that you shook.
Laced with grace
and the promise of salvation,
thoughts of your touch once felt
like a dream vacation.
I thought I have once
been granted patience,
only for it to burn down a hole
in my purest conscience.

But then I was sure I had it all,
the diamonds, the universe,
I had you, but then I also have a curse.
The parties, the best jazz age whiskeys,
these shall be enough to distract me.
The waiting, the wondering
are opulence I could no longer afford.
Like my favorite vice I had to abandon,
you are a glimmering borrowed gown
I shall never again don.

But then I'm sure I could do more,
the Philippine pearls, the world,
wrapped around my finger in a red cord.
The weddings, the finest wines I could buy,
these shall do good to get me by.
The patience, the pitying
are charities I could no longer give.
Like a prayer I utter in front of a new lover,
I am the luxury, the gold, all the fortune
you would never wager.