being a poet is like being a king
but ******, it takes all my time
seducing the ladies
and corrupting the youth
it’s a full time job

exile is our fate
looking for a way home
even if we’ve never been home

exiled from my pulitzer
from my place at the algonquin roundtable
barred from the scotch of st. james 1966
john lennon’s holding my throne for me
but i can’t get in the club

exiled from our world conquests
our lives of leisure
exiled from the parents of our past
our children and ourselves as children
from the summertime of youth
and in the end
exiled from this ****** earth

an arrogant conductor hires me for a show
it’s a cultural exchange, as we’re from different tribes
he gives me guitar music, a D chord with 4 staves
i ask him how he wants it played
"as it’s written!"
but the 4 bare slashes tell me nothing
it’s like working in a restaurant
and getting an order for chicken
"how you want this chicken?"
"follow the recipe!"
and the recipe is a picture of a chicken
so i cook it the way i like it
basted with latin flavor
oh, he’s ****** after the show
but the audience eats it up

as the house of cards comes down…
if you can’t see that all the money in this country
is stored in the stingers of a small hive of queen bees
you’re not paying attention
quote me all the smug hard-hearted factoids
you can scrape off the radio
brand me tax-for-the-greater-good criminally naive
you might have a point, maybe there is no greater good
if it involves you and me together
i don’t know what i’d do to spread the gravy
resurrect leon trotsky?
but if you don’t think the rich have too much money
you’re a sucker

maybe you've been running hard
and you still have more in the tank
but no destination
so you floor it
and that's your destination

if you juggle your scrumptious **** in my face
to sell your sound
i’m talking to you, beyonce
then you better open up when i come knocking
or i’ll take you to the better business bureau
you work for me,  i don’t work for you
however
the endgame of religion is transcendence
and since the holy books are bedtime stories
i’m talking to you, deuteronomy
if we get a lift to light from a **** superstar
as we aim for the great beyond – BEYONCE
if she’s our prayer, so be it
different compound, same chemical reaction
i’m talking to you, oxygen
you all work for me
or you don’t work at all

depends how many drinks you’re down
how much is in your wallet
what you’ve spent, what remains
who owns the world?
i could make a huge, expansive list
but it would be defective
the best answer
is you
you own the world
there’s room in your pocket
you can keep what you can carry

there's a moment in every flight
when the plane is banking away from the airport
you get a dizzy view of the landscape
and realize this is nuts

i bought a chevy impala station wagon
off the fire chief of hackensack
it was safety yellow and glowed in the dark
had a ball on top but the chief took it with him
still a switch for it on the dashboard
way cool
until the master cylinder snapped
on my way down a steep viaduct
with my two kids in back
no brakes all the way down
splashing into a busy intersection
at the bottom of the hill
sure wish i’d had that siren

cooler still was the car before
bought for one dollar from my uncle
who’d inherited it from his oddball best bud
a scientist/author of a popular cosmology of the universe
it was a 1973 gold dodge coronet
the name conjures ancient cop shows
a huge sporty firebreathing beast
eight mighty pistons and an oil leak
i drove it for two years
until the vital fluids gushing out like the mississippi
forced me to abandon ship

the greasy kid across the street found a buyer
we waited for him one saturday morning
around the corner sailed the identical car
same color gold, same year 1973
couldn’t have shocked me more if two statues of liberty
came crashing into each other in hudson bay
the four cuban dudes driving up were thrilled
cannibalism in their eyes
my car was stripped for parts as they disappeared

now i have a new minivan and ball-busting car payments
nobody gets cooler as they get older

that macking wasn’t easy
the poor kid had it all
and had nothing

some visions are pedestrian
workaday
bring them home for night time consumption
then out with the fishbones
but you
you're a memory i'll stick under the tree
unwrap at christmas

alienation isn’t profound
it’s the nation we live in
but my alienation is epic
i’m alienated from the hepcats in this dive
the ladies who ignore me
the god who hides from me
the cops on the street
the politicians who “represent” me
the managers who “manage” me
the hicks i work with
the patients i work for
myself for eating meat
the motivation that abandoned me
the technology that sidetracks me
the music i’m commanded to enjoy
certainly the dart players
the capitalists, the communists
the smokers, the foodies
the carpenters, plumbers, electricians
rats, tigers, lions
the trolls who hate anyone who does anything
i do love cats and dogs
alcohol agrees with me
i’m popular with bartenders
i dig commercials
and the people who read these poems
thanks for listening
sorry

you gotta win once in a while
it’s nice to get what you want
but going further
if a train never reaches its destination
the oil dries up, the engine slips, gears grind
fellow trains break down in despair
the destination turns a cold eye
you are stuck

first a blizzard of embarrassment

i went to a party in my guitar student’s apartment
she planned to debut her new guitar-picking
which was cool, friends make a sympathetic audience
what i didn’t know and she didn’t know
was that these were not her friends
it wasn’t her party, it was her roommates’ party
and when she turned down the hip-hop and started singing peter paul & mary
the guests were WHAT THE ****?

normally i could roll with this but i’d just smoked a blizzard of ****
and was stupefied through the cornball song and hostile reaction
she wouldn’t stop leaving on a jet plane
and her stiff strumming was like a bucket of glue poured on me
who’d been introduced to the party as her brilliant guitar teacher
so much for recruiting new students at $20 a lesson

i was further stupefied by a coven of new arrivals
outside it was snowing, a blizzard, but these four girls were in halter tops
i was lost in a broad panorama, ******* all around
stunning ***-smoking showcase ****, taking huge breaths
i toked just to hang out, which painted me especially purple
after a happy half hour i realized, being a married man
it wasn’t time to make friends, it was time to go
so i exited the party and dug out my car
the snow was smooth, untrammeled
i turned on the radio, the grateful dead—
PERFECT

i ignited my sled and slid out, streets clear thanks to the blizzard
but half a block from the house i picked up a police car
following 15 feet behind me all the way across town
i was drunk, ****** & stupefied
and we were alone in the city, no distractions
the blizzard was wicked, the snow as intense as a plague
that’s how we rolled, and it felt like the cops tailed me
all the way down from the arctic circle

boring, useless and impossible
i understand why these are not the first listings
in the job description
but they should be somewhere on the page

my god, the love for billy joel here
it’s touching
"is it billy joel night?"
"yes!"
"is every night billy joel night?"
"yes!"

our better natures have much to contend with

we want the chinese to be slaves in factories
so we can buy our crap for cheap
we want fracking to poison neighborhoods
so we can heat our homes on a budget
we want to torture cows and poultry
for a chicken *** pie and a roast beef sandwich
we want the suckers in the middle east
to knock each other off with their bonkers belief systems
(*** slaves are kosher) so they leave us the **** alone
we want the old to be sick and the young to be broke
so we feel like we’re sitting pretty

this is what we want
this is why we’re so happy

man it’s twee heaven
i’m in a coffee shop reading malcolm gladwell
trying to ignore the hippie barista
and a sensitive young patron
as they compare their hard life and times
a dude comes in, a famous mess
barefoot, pajama bottoms and drunker than a tavern
"can i have a free french cappuccino?"
the barista says yes and while she makes it
he leans into my space making comments
he’s way too smashed to deliver with any trace of pinache
"here’s…  this guy…"
she gives him his coffee
"oh man… it’s not french…"
he staggers out of the place, cup in hand
the kid customer asks if he comes in a lot
"he’s been in here a few times," says the barista
"the guy ever wear shoes?" i ask
"i don’t judge," she says, lip ring quivering
no judging from her, except for me--
constructing a gallows and sentencing me to hang
for being old, male and normal
well she’s got me there

rich folks can do whatever they want
and it’s illegal to be poor
that’s connotation, not denotation
but slap me if i’m wrong
all men are created equal
and women are free to jump off the boat
and find a dolphin to ride

i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional naked, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

yeah we’re going camping in february
makes you a man
and if your **** freezes off—  SNAP!!
makes you MORE of a man
well, it’s a trade off

as the years pass
you get wider
more horizontal
when you’re utterly sideways
they shovel the dirt on you

i worked christmas and the day after
both time-and-a-half days
unless you worked christmas
then the next day wasn’t overtime
that’s ok
i wouldn’t wanna break the “nonprofit”
with my unbridled greed

if the company you work for
says tuesday is wednesday
unless you have a union or quit the job
tuesday is wednesday

from the shower across the dayroom at shaver psychiatric
naked as the dawn, a spring in his step
his nuts hanging, he’s a happy man
until he slips in the doorway to his room
falls and hits his head
he wakes up to find eight of us staring at him
"are you with us sir? we need to assess you"
he’s still stark naked
"yeah yeah, ok, hold on a second"
he grabs a towel and starts buffing his nuts
"we have to get your blood pressure sir"
"ok, ok, hold it a second," he says
continuing to polish his testicles with ambition
the scene goes on unchanged for fifteen minutes
he’s way clean and dry down there

now every time i take a shower and wash my crotch
i have to smile

yeah yeah yeah
it’s tough staying true to your true love
but people have no problem being faithful
to appetites and abstract ideas
they have deathless devotion
to *******, pizza, star wars
shopping, automatic weapons, jesus
i myself have been happily married
to jumping jack flash since i was 12 years old
i’ll be in love til the day i die

last night we went to this fancy new restaurant
i ordered the most expensive thing on the menu
dry-aged prime beef with all the trimmings
best steak i had in years
paid for it with my wife’s unemployment money
these days they give you a debit card
which the restaurant took no problem
hey, just because she’s out of work
i have to suffer?

i bang my head against the wall for a living
and it’s no coincidence
that’s what i do with my free time as well
i must love it

you can tell the joke about the guy
who drooled four tablespoons of toothpaste
but you can’t make someone happy
if it’s her day to be sad

glorious twaddle
launching a generation of ***** feet
book upon book of wishful thinking
a saccharine boozehound
trying to convince himself
of i don’t know what
i say this with affection
i lived it and loved it
but it made zero sense

easy access to guns certainly factors into mass shootings
but an equally disturbing issue is why so many of us
feel compelled to slaughter vast quantities of strangers
i mean, it’s because we can
with all that delicious weaponry floating around
but still, it makes you wonder
i work with a guy who had a son at Virginia Tech
during the shootings there
my wife’s boss had a cousin who died
during the church massacre last year
i was coming to work five years ago
as the cops were swarming the building
on a hunt for the maniac
who’d just gunned down three people, one fatally
these incidents of random ******
have become so ubiquitous that more and more of us
know someone directly affected
that said
the way our government kowtows to the NRA
would be pathetic if not so flabbergasting
i assume the gun worshippers are against mass homicide
though i suspect they admire the firepower
but just as there’s a lot of car accidents because there’s a lot of cars
there’s a shitload of shootings because there’s a fuckload of guns
i believe that; i could be wrong
but i guess we’re lucky there’s no National Nuclear Bomb Association

years ago i spent a winter in san francisco
living in a mission hotel when it was cheap enough
i met a charming young lady
and we kept company for a couple of months
we went out, we stayed in, we had fun
and one night she said "man, you’re so cool
about going out with a black woman
it’s like it makes absolutely no difference to you"
and i thought, she’s black?
huh
that might explain why when we hit the clubs
the black men were staring razors at me

it’s not about you at all
you get swept up in people’s definitions
hung on the wall in someone’s frame
you’re artifact on the edge of their radar
to your family, you’re a son daughter sister brother
and technically yes, your mom bore you
(and still does)
but must you accept all that goes with it?
you were born in new jersey
must that make the sopranos and bruce springsteen
your problem?
artists paint you as lame and superficial
the boss works you like a crossword puzzle
to the government, you’re a fraction
to the rich, you’re money to be spent
to the cops, an obstacle
to the bartender, a lousy tipper
they convince you, they’re persuasive
but must this be your face?
it takes a lot of energy to break free
you escape once to find yourself in another cage
it’s a russian doll of captivity
maybe it's not worth it
how many times can you wake up
and say **** it?

i come in to do some therapy
there’s two prison guards in the patient’s room
and there’s jeff sessions on tv again
i involuntarily groan and turn my head
one guard says, "yeah, i can’t stand that little ******"
even the prison screws have had enough of this ****

man, that phrase covers it all
the shower curtain falling
the autobody repair bill
the inevitable nuclear bomb
those genius republicans
the “innovations” at work
my invisibility in a crowd
melting glaciers that swallow continents
the horror in the mirror (past a certain age)
realizing you live a stranger’s life
our phones compelling us to jump off a bridge
running out of milk for our wheaties
that’s showbiz

a wacko version of hamlet

the patient came up to us raving
GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT
a naked swollen giant
his basketball *****, his endless belly
every system failing
we prepared to put him out
so we could stick a tube down his throat
plug him on a ventilator
and insert lines for safekeeping
GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU
he tried to lean off the bed
take it easy man, i said, restraining him
SUSAN  
who’s susan? asked the nurse
GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT
good night, sweet prince, i said as we gave him the drugs
GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU, GOODNIGHT
we intubated him and took him down to the OR
where he passed twenty minutes later

she asks in exasperation
do i ever think about my white male privilege?
**** no
the most privileged part is not having to think about it
then i ask her
do you ever think about your plain old white privilege?
as opposed to being non-white
crucified with every glance
judged guilty of thievery and stupidity
do you think about your money privilege?
wealthy enough to eat in every restaurant in town
while half the world starves
ever think about your health privilege?
strong enough to stroll the boulevards
while others struggle for breath
and lay immobilized in pain
i’m telling you
taking all this good fortune for granted
is the biggest luxury of all
and she says
only a man would deflect the question that way

a sad racial incident
i’m at a sidewalk cafe
i take my phone off the table and put it in my pocket
i look up and a black teen is passing my table
i didn’t even notice him and he’s staring at me
"i ain’t interested in your phone, man"
then he walks on
accused