there’s no intrinsic value in anything
none
oh there’s value, but only what we ascribe
like picasso scribbles now worth a fortune
because somebody decided
it’s all arbitrary
***?  a compelling biological twitch
self-preservation?   if you say so
pizza?  tastes good
democracy?  if you dig mob prejudice
god?  if he existed
love?  a great tv show
youth?
ah, now you’re talking

i don’t know about you
but some nights i go out looking for trouble
sink a few, drop a bottle, jump a rooftop
shout the wrong thing in the wrong ear
many nights really
and sometimes i gotta take my popped knee
busted head and flattened ego
back home to lick my wounds
and enjoy the quiet world i live in

the french are crackpot smart
daylong parking in those cafes
gives them copious time to reflect
the results evident in ubiquitous bookstores

but with their prodigious cafe loitering
curb-to-curb restaurants
and cartons of cigarettes
how is it that parisians
don't cascade off their stools
with lung cancer at age 42
leaving craters from their girth
in bistro sidewalks?

let me ask you

you’re sitting in a hospital room
visiting a friend or mother or son in a critical care bed
an alarm is triggered, an ominous warning
you nervously step outside looking for a nurse
you tell the nurse there’s something beeping
the nurse comes inside and fixes the occluded line
you nitpick about the time it took
you question procedures as the nurse is doing them
advocating for the patient
the squeaky wheel gets the grease, right?
yeah but guess what
the nurse doesn’t want to come into the room anymore
whether you’re in there or not
the vitals will still be seen to
but other patients suddenly need more attention
and by the way
every time you ask me if i washed my hands
(like the posted signs advise you to ask)
i think:  if you’re that worried about infection
i’ll just stay out of the room; that much less exposure
that means painful bedpan delay for your loved one
or lying in filth a little longer
waiting thirsty minutes for that sip of water
staying in one excruciating position half an hour more

so have you done your friend or mother or son a favor?

an airplane is an escape from gravity
a parachute is a compromise
jumping off the ground is protest
and laying down is surrender
a trampoline is a tease
and all the elevators are going up today
none coming down
so up we go

the facts tell one story
my insanity tells another
occasionally i wake from my delirium
and realize how far i’ve drifted out to sea
then i’m dragged underwater again
it’s like driving a GMC pickup
from one whiskey rendezvous to the next
floating high above my memories
and way below my desires
i’d love to get back to sober ground
so i propose a toast
sometimes a pretty girl is a cheap trick
and i’m not falling for it

yet another victim
of what?
******* that passes for thought
circumstances set in motion
losers with nothing better to do
business as usual
morons who feel passionately
about their reflections in the mirror

thank god i'm married
it would all be too easy if i weren’t
and in the end, too boring

ironic when you consider
that marriage is a still life
with the paint flaking off

but when you're alone
it all breaks down

marriage is like college
you're not sure it's necessary
but if you don't go
you feel like you missed something

and the truth is, my bride
i would have missed everything
without you

it’s a big country and a bigger world
there’s arguments for and against everything
one man’s meat is another man’s mcdonalds
for all the bibles of opinion and encyclopedias of conjecture
the citizens see what they want to see
a boy looks in the mirror and sees a hero
that’s what the president sees in the mirror too
then he sends in the marines and builds a library
if the poor believe the rich are crushing them
every bill is a boot
if the rich are afraid the poor want to **** in their pie
they’ll taste dooky
the horndog sees a summer oasis of mermaids
swimming towards him
it’s a big country and a bigger world
and the citizens see what they want to see

intelligence = pattern recognition
you’re intelligent to the degree
you perceive patterns
i’ve always believed that
but now i realize
patterns recognize patterns
they corrupt each other
it’s 2 a.m. and patterns diagnose me
they’re nodding to me across the bar
is it my imagination
or do patterns laugh at my simplicity
then stumble off in search of **** complexity
before last call?

the rib dinner with your wife
the cuddle with your daughter
watching tremors with your son
that show you did at sonny’s
rereading wonder boys
the night you were ****** up on ludes with your poet friends
dropping glasses off the table to torture the waitress
these were the peak and you enjoyed it all
you just didn’t realize it was the best it would be
the best it COULD be
you didn’t miss the moment
you just didn’t recognize what you were seeing
you think it’s all-you-can-eat
but the buffet runs out
you think there’s always more
and there isn’t
but there is this

when you have the blues
when you lost something
you’re never gonna find again
you might have the inspiration
to write a sad song
but why would you ever sing it?

my coworkers bristle
when i say i’m a poet and composer
and that slaving in a hospital is just a hobby
"no," they insist, "the hospital is your PROFESSION
music and writing are just HOBBIES"
ok
so for vincent van gogh
he who never sold a canvas
painting was a hobby?

the supergenius' race-baiting strategy
is gonna bite him in the ***
his base (in every fragrance of the word)
will still boogie down with its war-dance
but he's gonna motivate a lot of people
to put a brake on the fascism

things didn't end well for mussolini

i’m taping a poem to a lamp post in my tiny city
and a dude comes running – RUNNING!
across the street waiving a $20 bill
"i’ve been reading you for years
i wanna give you this"
i thank him and tell him to keep his money
"the transaction is i put up this poem
you read it, you like or hate it or shake your head
and if we meet we talk about it"
but come on
once again i beat t.s. eliot
you think anyone ever ran up to him
with 20 bucks for The Wasteland?
yeah right

just because something’s for sale
and you bought it
doesn’t mean you didn’t steal it
isn’t that why prostitution is illegal?
of course, stealing is fine
if you couldn’t purloin the life
of a sirloin or banana
you wouldn’t eat
BUT
just because you can buy a porkchop
doesn’t mean that the pig
placed himself on the market
not to sweat it though
when the earth digests you
it all evens out

i know why
you ******* around on your wedding night
it was a great party
the girls were all dolled up
and you were the center of attention

how tough?
i don’t need a bar
i need a distillery

you say you’re a patron of the arts?
then *******
i don’t feel like getting patronized today
every singer must fight the urge to pander to the crowd
sometimes an audience gets in the way
i’m only playing to an ideal anyhow
two ideals actually
and though pretty girls listen occasionally
they seldom buy the complications i peddle
so they’ve disqualified themselves
which leaves my other target
myself at 20
i don’t see that fellow either
the *******’s probably out smoking a joint during my set
but i’m going to assume he’s listening
with one ear at least
so i’ll keep broadcasting the love
besides
thelonious monk said a musician plays for people
and am i gonna argue with thelonious?
even if i wanted to, i missed my chance

when you’ve seen the face of god
even if it was a hundred years ago
you obsess on that moment
i’ve never witnessed god
but i saw you
and that’s why i’ve been crazy
to this day

exit interview
with the manager
you’re both ******
he opens his trap and you snap
"shut up phil, and do what you do best
sit down and do nothing"

a pretzel is 100% better than an empty stomach
ten minutes of sleep is better than no sleep
one kiss is better than no kisses
100% better
what the hell, 500%
you see where this is going
a little is a lot more than none
since you can’t have it all
a sip of water is a fountain to a parched throat
one listener an audience to a singer
a flicker of light to a blind man
a small breeze in the desert
warm breath on a frozen night
is 100% better than zero
however
a chuckle to a comedian in a crowded club doesn’t cut it
maybe none of these things do
a touch of lucidity to the insane only makes it worse
he sees the **** he’s lying in

lounging on couch, young naked
chin resting on thin shoulder
she across room, pad on lap
penning preliminary sketches

outside, one sickening screech
of brakes, one suspended gasp
of skidding, one tremendous crash

not a twitched nerve in his body
no stroke broken on her pad

events outside remain outside

benjamin franklin was created by benjamin franklin
one of his most ingenious inventions
you could never read all the books about him
when you finish one, two more have been written
i party in his colossal footsteps
thanks ben, for lending me all those volumes from your library
you invented bifocals, i see clearly
your stove warms my heart
i give away my **** too -- no patents for me either
let’s jam sometime on your glass armonica
i’m packing one of your divided soup bowls on my next ocean trip
i’m sick of losing my clam chowder to the waves
these terms you added to the lexicon:
"battery," "positive," "negative," "conductor," "discharge"
i’m positive i bought a battery the other day
you designed the first penny – only now an anachronism
no matter how many of those saved pennies have been earned
all those aphorisms, my god
i bet you mumble them in your sleep
you started the philosophical society, me the secret music society
you studied whirlwinds and gulf streams when sailing to london for a cup of coffee
you designed flippers, hung onto a kite for windsurfing
used the kite to summon lightning
invite me next time you blow up a thunder house with an ungrounded lightning rod
we’ll make pittsburgh tremble
and congrats on the grounded lightning rods
you saved millions of people and neutralized religion
it’s not the deadly finger of god, the vengeance of the lord
it’s just a buzz
lighting the streets at night comes in handy
though the night watchman concept has gotten a bit fascist
brokering the french alliance was stellar for our onion soup supply
but your suggestion that we unite these states
i’m not sure that one’s gonna stick
and thomas jefferson was a cockblocker
we declare independence from his scolding us for all our mademoiselles

jackson browne's Late for the Sky is an uncanny song
illuminating the moment right before you split
with someone you love
the latenight time when despite all the swerving
you see the end of the road
the grieving and inevitability
built right into the overtones
i liked it before i had a girlfriend
and when i had one and we built a world together
and broke up
i listened to it and shook my head in recognition
and thought what a good song

her life spliffs in a series of luminous crescendos
culminating in a bassinet and bottle for a porcupine
spewing tears and spittle while the man she married
commits ping-pong with the video and her friends
television around the world as the hours go drip drip drip

ruth buzzi lay dead on the lawn
ruth buzzi, star of rowan & martin’s laugh-in
dayglo spinster with a hair net
like a spider web on her scalp
foil for arte johnson
remnant of a comedian
lay stiff on the lawn
my wife placed her there for decoration
she thought it was perfect
well it was perfectly disturbing
our friends were uncomfortable coming over
i reasoned with her
"we can’t have kids here"
but my wife thought it was a cool garnish to the house
she laughed, fixed herself a tito and tonic
and plomped down in a chair on the porch
admiring the lawn

waiting for the stars to align
meanwhile
there’s tacos, the kids, the cats
and us
and the stars loop de loop
to scoop us up

bomb-sniffing dogs, towing cars
ripping down my poems
scooping the homeless from storefronts
herding them into the park
i’m surprised they’re not hosing down anyone
with ***** feet

art, chix & wine are fine
but artchix & wine are divine!

he was combative, strapped to the bed
but he could still express himself
he spit a tooth at his nurse
“and there’s plenty more
where that came from, *****”

every once in a while
stan asks me to hold his phone
and watch his unit
while he attends a prayer service
in the hospital chapel
it's cool most of the time
but come on stan
do i ask you to hold the phone
while i smoke a bone with satan?

"try a few more," i encourage
i’m doing a breathing exercise
with a young multiple GSW
"you ain’t no doctor
and i’ll stop when i wanna ******* stop"
an amiable attitude
directly correlated
with multiple GSW

the frustrations of biff are a technicolor epic
his bottomless thirst to be coronated king
of film, music, literature, performance
thought
when will the world recognize genius?
reward genius?
worship genius?
******* genius?
he’s the id for all us artsy types

last week i had to put down my little cat peppy
after nineteen weird years of love
sadly now i can leave my boots in the hall
knowing she won’t *** on them

sadly we’re all born to play supporting roles
but the prisoner by subtraction
is free to imagine anything
he can make you and me zombie slaves
concubines to his fantasy
he has that right; it’s kosher
while we wear chains of responsibility
shackled to the civilities of liberty
exercising our right to spend money
on **** we don’t need
he can steal it all
he can dream us to death

i could give him ten breathing treatments
he’s still 84 years old
struggling to breathe at 4:45 in the morning
i could give him twenty treatments
he still has CHF
jamming the right chamber of his heart
flooding his lungs
he’s not drowning in it, not yet
but every breath is a squat ******
i sit with him at 4:45 in the morning
administering useless medicine
watching ice truckers, shooting the ****
it’s not lasix, which is what he needs to flush the fluid
but i’m good company and so is he
and that will have to be therapy enough
at 4:45 in the morning

when i was ten years old and we were moving
i recall those sessions with the real estate agent
i was suffering and she was happy
i was watching my world disintegrate
leaving my friends, my school, my home
my sister and i would never feel comfortable again
and this real estate woman was having a ball
enjoying the transaction, making a few bucks
digging life
i remember wishing we could make an even switch
i could be her, happy and whole
she could be me, losing so much

now i work in a hospital
and as i treat the weak, wheezing and dying
spending time with them and their families
and their desperation, resignation and grief
while for me it’s just another workday
punctuated with lunch and coffee
i see they too wish for an even switch
they’d leave me languishing in the bed or waiting room
while they hop on my bike listening to the beastie boys
on their blissful way back home

playing the ***** at a puppet cocktail party
couldn’t be an easier audience
but my check is still in the mail

saving a skinny woman with chest compressions
single-handedly so-to-speak
i wasn’t alone but i’ll take the credit
the others were weak, i was going heavy
and that’s when she came back

resurrecting my villain for the TV series Heroineburgh
an afternoon shoot with 3 young ladies in tight spandex
acting!

saving another woman with team compressions
went on for 60 minutes before her heart reignited
a christmas miracle
though i unplugged her 2 days later
continuous seizures

getting 3 of my 4 bands on one compilation
that and a quarter would give me a quarter

falling off my bike twice in 5 minutes
car ran a red light, then got doored in the bike lane
today was the first day my sprained wrist allowed pushups
(helps with those chest compressions)

making a money hat for the video i’m shooting for the Dumplings
they’re the Rolling Stones of my favorite bar

went to a hypnotist at the Fringe Fest
failing to get hyponotized
"you were obviously resisting," said my wife
i don’t know
i think i’m just obviously me

playing my ***** on a movie stage
for 8 second segments with the movie
don’t ask
we made $96 and bought tacos for $95

now i’m listening to my swinging new louis prima album
reflecting on this groovy month of spring

was baudelaire right and everyone else wrong?
was baudelaire wrong and everyone else wrong?
when you’re fed up forwards and backwards
when you realize your life isn’t a game of chess

it’s simply checkers
almost preordained
in its lack of options
we all have embedded GPS systems
gallantly navigating through the days
some work brilliantly
some less so
we depend on them
and they’re undependable
they get us so far
but invariably lead us
to the end of the highway
going 90
everyone puts his best foot forward
only to stumble off the edge of the earth
you can’t win forever
you lose it all
but **** a duck
i’m going to redefine victory
one bottle at a time
like baudelaire

when someone insults you
it shortcircuits everything good
that happened that day
or week or year
it plays on a loop in your mind
igniting a roulette wheel of reaction
that might whirl out of control
so watch out *******
maybe

play in a great band and no one wants to hear you
write a fine poem and no one wants to publish it
even published, no one wants to read it
looking fine but no one’s looking
got a big **** and no place to put it
******* in front of me, can’t squeeze them
i tell you, it’s a miracle anyone ever gets off a load

i am a poem
with an inception and a finale
perfect
you’re the best stanza
making it whole and sublime
and now i snap shut
i float away, complete
happy

saturday afternoon at the music store
browsing those racks of $1 CDs
dismal souvenirs of ambition
tiny graves

it was the greatest sputum sample ever collected in this hospital
the guy wasn’t coughing, he wasn’t doing anything
except lay there like a dead fish
we’d smash the ezpap mask on his face to inflate his lungs
useless
the doctor asked me to get a sputum sample to see what was growing in there
"the guy does nothing," i said.  "he doesn’t cough"
"can you NT suction him?"
push a plastic catheter up his nose, into his lungs
"that’s pretty invasive for a sputum sample"
"can you do it?"
"yeah i can…  i never have for that, but i can…"
so i go in with his nurse and my student
i have the catheter ready, all lubed up
i’d want a lot of **** if it was my nose
but first i put a sample jar under his mouth
and say "look dude, i need you to spit in this cup"
i don’t know if he’s listening or what
"if you can’t do it i’m gonna go up your nose with a rubber hose
it doesn’t hurt exactly but you’re not gonna like it
but i won’t do it if you can spit in this cup"
his eyes are half open
he’s possibly considering it
"COME ON DUDE, SPIT IN THE CUP!  HOCK A LOOGIE!"
then we hear a rumble
it’s like the awakening of a volcano
"DO IT!  HOCK A LOOGIE!"
we hear it coming up the pipe
"YES!  DO IT!"
it sounds substantial and it keeps coming
i open his mouth and holy mackerel
there’s a gallon of yellow mucus
it’s astronomical, a ******* tidal wave
i shake the cup under his mouth
"SPIT!  DO IT!"
but he doesn’t spit
his mouth is full as a bucket
but it’s not going anywhere
"give me that yankeur," i say to the nurse
she gives me the stiff suction wand
i don’t even plug it into the vacuum
i just use it to scoop the phlegm from his mouth into the cup
"o my god," says my student
she’s getting an education today
i keep scooping, filling the cup
"wow," says the nurse
she’s seen a lot but she’s never seen **** like this
"ALRIGHT, DUDE," i say, capping the cup, laughing
it’s the greatest sputum sample in the history of the world

sharing a dilapidated porch and shrinking fifth of jim beam
with my friend pete
we’re in maine celebrating his fourth novel
eagerly awaited by his ten fans
the sun is sinking and pete has his ruger 380
taking potshots at a statue of cervantes on the lawn
“what’s your issue?” i ask as he clips cervantes’ shoulder
“jealousy?”
“no,” he drawls, casually reloading
“******* never wrote a followup to don quixote”

i’ve decided to know everything about everything
perhaps a tragic endeavor
but i’m optimistic
i’ll follow newton’s 1st law of motion
first a smidge of research
launching observation
floating on instinct
sailing on forever
that should do it
my mind is rippling with patterns revealed
i know about you
i know about the rain
i know about you and the rain
my secret knowledge
is that YOU have secret knowledge
and here’s good news
i will be charitable with my wisdom

the rich need your money to stay rich
the rich need your labor to stay rich
they need you to shut the **** up and keep digging
it’s really very simple

once you're out of diapers

TV stars and pop singers don't compute
you look at a magazine
"my god, these people have no eyebrows"
you don't recognize them
you're not supposed to
they're not programmed for you
they're not singing to you
they're not designed for you
you're free

so young, so bare-midriffed
i’m taking her blood in biology class
we’re studying phenotypes
i jab her finger twice
but no gravy
i pinch her fingers
and blood spurts from two holes
as i’m about to poke a third
****
she’s as tight as she looks
yeah, bio students
should have more supervision
when extracting each other’s blood
but it’s some first date