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?

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

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?

it’s all chemistry
physics is the shuffling of chemistry
biology is when physics blows chemistry in life’s direction

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

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

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

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

“up yours!” is such a great phrase
brings me right back to the 70s

tom walks to work
and i bike here
we keep track of the rain
the snow, the cold
because we’re in it
we feel the scorching heat
our colleagues who drive in
live in a dream world

you can appreciate what you have
or weep for what you lack
you don't have much choice
you might weigh the balance intellectually
but emotions bear no calculation
emotions are a crying baby

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

alcohol and *******
and ******* at his wife
he chose to jump out of a sled
and land on his head
his christmas present to himself
now he’s tethered to a ventilator
with a bolt in his brain
his intracranial pressure
is scaling mt. everest
that there santa’s elf
is the textbook definition
of ******* up

this week thurston moore liked one of my videos
robert hunter liked one of my poems
and some japanese kid liked my latest soundcloud tune
that’s sonic youth, the grateful dead and the asian empire
if you’re keeping score
like i am

necrotizing fasciitis
the fat man’s cancer

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

(for my fellow dharma bums)

why is this backpack so heavy?
chicken & country cole slaw
forks & knives & spoons
a bicycle helmet hanging off
a sketch pad
books
          the next 100 years
          how the beatles destroyed rock’n’roll
a walkman & cds
          the soundtrack to the darjeeling limited
          faust’s first two albums
          tom waits & alan holdsworth
          compilations of local prog rock
          modern blues & albert king
old newsweeks
a black t shirt & blue scrubs
a folder with poems & instructional material
          the brain death protocol
a stethoscope
but why is it so heavy?
must be the hot sauce

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

is gravity good or bad?
doesn’t apply
gravity just is
the rich get whatever they want
is that right or wrong?
maybe
or maybe it just is

hey, people have to breathe
why shouldn't i get a few bucks?

vacation
out of sight, out of my mind
when i return after a week off
and i enter the hospital where i work
i say oh yeah, this

when it comes to playing music
i’m not chasing the dream
the dream is chasing me

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

there are no stupid questions
only stupid answers
simple answers to complex questions
immigration?
torpedo the invaders
school shootings?
arm the gym the teacher
very satisfying ***** solutions
they'll get you elected

today i'm in the ER
trying to treat an 89 year old woman
babbling in an obscure urdu dialect
that baffles her translator
her grandson found her so annoying
he locked her outside last night
in zero degree weather
first pushing her down
giving her a subdural hematoma
well, she is kind of annoying

life is a series of triumphs
every breath is a victory
but we dwell on defeat
we remember the moments
of weakness and incompetence
failure and rejection
the ones who slipped out of the net
not the ones we caught
maybe if we stood upside down
we’d get a clearer view

the doctors dithered for days
whether to amputate the patient’s leg
it was a bone of contention

old age is a cul de sac
you can rev your engine
but you ain’t going nowhere
except the junkyard
ha!

i look in the mirror
and see myself at 25
why don’t photos
work the same way?

as i was playing my ***** at a sidewalk cafe
three bums who’d monopolized a table for an hour
exchanged belligerence with a guy boarding a harley

i don’t know how it started
i was busy with my unfinished symphonies
but i felt the violence in the air

"get off the bike," said one of the mooks at the table
the biker jumped out of his seat and took off his helmet
a hollywood handsome moviestar stud

"come over here," said the seated blowhard

"oh, i’d love it if you took a swing at me"
the biker announced to the whole street

staredown; poseoff
the fools at the table didn’t rise
no thanks
the biker was winning just by standing there
bragging about how he’d love a punch in the nose
he didn’t have to approach
only wave his arms in bring-it-on jerry springer motion

then he overplayed
"my lawyer would love it if you hit me"

a roar went up from the table
"the guy rides a harley and when it’s time for a fight
he hides behind his lawyer"

it was a complicated macho standoff
an intricate defensive moment
the bums had backed down
but the biker had blown it

he climbed back on his bike
"yeah you’re real tough guys"
while the table which had stiffened in NO
taunted him with his lawyer

moral:

***** music incites violence

you think a rich twit
when he eats the banquet he calls supper
cares whether the peons are republican or democrat?
he just cares that the soup is served hot

"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

no motivation today
except the job must be done
so dive into the routine
follow the track
lock in the groove
overcome inertia
let it drag you through the day

i'm a curator of all that dissipates and evaporates
not only memories of my grandparents, my dad
now my mom
but the flesh tonsillectomy i performed on the rocks
in maine when i was 17
my wife's heartbreaking smile
and "come on down to my boat, baby"
a happy 60s tune no one remembers

as i told my kids all their lives
there are only two ages
living and dead
everything else is a construct
and death might be one too

if you can walk away
nothing happened

he woke up on the wrong side of the bed
every day of his life

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

he got a motorcycle for his birthday
got some whiskey too
he didn't get a helmet though

gotta love the scientists
with the weak attention spans
who get the job done

i was chaining up my bike
when the woman approached

"excuse me, i don’t need food or money
do you have good eyes?"

"depends
what are we trying to see?"

"i dropped a bag of money down here
do you see it anywhere?"

"THAT i would see
and i don’t see it"

"oh dear
well i do need food and money"

"and when you find that bag
you’ll be all set
have a nice day"

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?

my identity is so slippery
my empathy so complete
(empathy, NOT sympathy)
that i’m not sure who’s me
when strolling a crowded street

my father died when i was 14
presenting me with an unsolvable calculation
and a bleak though accurate view of reality
my wife and i didn’t die when the kids were kids
and that was a gift to the children
which we took back a bit by living
and the drinking, a mixed bag
but no divorce and no funerals
you’re welcome, kids

i was an ***** player for a talk show in the southside
one night while tanking up preshow at a poolhall down the block
i snooped a conversation about a stripper birthday party
currently in progress at mcardles pub
mcardles being a bar on an alley in the southside
i made haste for the stripper party
though i didn’t know which alley to head for
alas, mcardles pub stayed aloof
i was toasted and the southside got bigger
with talkshow time only an hour away
then 45 minutes, then half an hour
and i couldn’t find mcardles
many alleys, all blind, no mcardles
no strippers, no off-duty pulchritude
finally, in despair, i surrendered
went to the lava lounge, plugged in my *****
painted my face and put on an indian headdress
i sang "piece of my heart"
sharing my misery with the audience
(yes we had an audience, a good one)
when i was done our mc alexie said
"he looks like one of the village people
but he sang the **** out of that song
let’s hear it for unfinished symphonies"
yeah let’s hear it for me
taking pieces of my ***** heart
and throwing them at the happy drunken
coked-up ladies at mcardles invisible pub

the nurse called in security
because the patient was all worked up
about getting discharged

patient:  "if i go home and have another seizure
i’m coming back here and slap everyone"

security:  "you can’t make violent threats, sir"

patient:  "i ain’t making violent threats
i’m just gonna slap’em"

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

ginger is the star of these movies
fred is a special effect

your bad habit is a problem
only if it's a problem

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