all my poems begin with the weather,
overlaid with time and place

comforting certitude,
cocktail of calibration,
calculating precision,
a surety bonding.
a shared time and space
with humanity


all my poems end with
"if only,"
incessant self-queryimg, imbalanced cowardice,
a yellowing shadow of red doubt,
overwhelming black stain of a starless night sky,
an inconsequential infection
coveting my weakfish earthbound innards

tyranny of selfish doubt,
the cowardly safety of 'not me'
the pockmarked constellation of
everything tragic body tattooed,
the Cain mark you hide beneath the torn skin
of being
only human

all my poems end with whether

I see you ralph as you see me just like before, Like a little alf you looked at me where I stood so tall
Now the day has come I have to say are we on the ball
Well look and see the super dudes we will win it all!

when we were together
you said we'd be forever

you said that forever
you would be my lover

and it's crazy that my newest pleasure
is you saying we would be forever

”And everyone has a heart and it’s calling for something
And we are all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are
Horses are just horses and their manes aren’t full of fire
And the fields are just fields and there ain’t no Lord
And everyone is hidden and everyone is cruel”

“BRIGHT HORSES,” NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS 2019


<>
some of us got a heart, that tries with us to reason,
some of us got a mind, that doubles as a hearse,
taking away, e-thots that were dead on arrival,
electrified by their unacceptable eclectic nature

some of us got word games to pass the day, doublespeak,
some of us illustrate, words that try to litter the literate,
seed the atmosphere, make it rain, confuse our ****** tear railroad tracks,  
those without final terminus, mixing them in, as a subterfuge

reality *****, even bites, of that the philosophers have no doubt,
some say they died for us, never having asked permission,
some say they saved us from ourselves, claiming cursed credit
that historians will purposely ignore, non-truths worthless

what is, is what I got to write down, to remember, to make
my Case for saving grace, is my only purpose, to make
my Case that a woman needs loving, giving her & man the
only Trip-Tik road to living, & children, nothing words, liquor can do

May 12th, eyes opened of their own accord, made a treaty with
them thoughts and prayers hanging round, needy for a go to place,
cause they well aware, their welcome ain’t, so instead wrote these
words purposed to give me reasons to rise and try to make sense,

a Case, that conversations tween my five senses that can be enCased,
that anything I got saying may be worth hearing to one or two, hell,
may get lucky and reach ten, socially distant max, forgetting fools,
now acquainted with my Case, your Case, calling for something

that makes real OK, seeing things as they are, ****, even passable^






9:39AM
nyc
Tue May 12

It’s ‪7:00pm‬, You Feeling My NY City?


a nighttime crescendo, daily grows stronger for longer,
a major miracle for a city where blasé arrivée so fast in
a New York City Minute, uncool, you’re done, see ya,
starring in your-***-banging-solo-reality-show

but this loving polyglot *** clanging, more akin to being in...A Chorus Line?
no stopping a diurnal ritual, soon to be the longest running musical,
a clap & dance prayer ‪@ 7:00PM‬ sharp, a very civilized NY hour,
quarantine is French for sleeping-in, we vive les temps viral!

‪this evening service, no choral motet, no anthem rock,‬ nope,
just a single note, a cheer, a celebratory count, taking stock,
we noise makers beat back death once again, we’re alive,
kickin’ up heels to a dance guv-anointed as NY tough

that bell ringing noise is us saying, see here, we are all heroes,
stir crazy got nothing on us, it’s a bust, no showing rust, aging,
in a city that never sleeps, we may have changed but temporarily,
an unnatural reflective silence prevailing, still take a moment to say:

our city’s style, no way Jose, this noise is a surround sound blessing,
it’s a street sign, “stick around,” here is our home, not going down,
we are troops, seasoned by history, how to survive, sheltering live,
underneath our huge racket, we quiet whisper, raucously shout

staycationing here, my homies

May7th

5:35AM

All of the days when the skies
Are soft and cloudy
The night like trees
Grow high up above
And when the rain falls down
I seem to be lonely
Thinking of love and compassion
The day falls in line with the heart
At the end of the rope
There is a tire hanging
A sleeping man lulls in a hammock
Peace is easy and creeps in suddenly
My life is a sum of my lows
In the highest places
There is only the darkness
That carries me
I always wondered what destitution is
Or where I would be
If my life would be a lonely road
In the heartbreak, you'd be passing by
Crossing my heart, till I hope to die

Ever feel so certain that you've found the right way?

I feel so certain, every single day.

But like the wind, my mind will change.
Change and bend but never breaks.

I'm on a journey but is it the right path?
I thought so yesterday when I went left.

Back then right and zig and zag.
Where am I going? I have to ask.

I thought I got there, I thought you were the one, but I'm sat here in darkness and;

I still don't know.