wine, women and song?
well, beers, wife, jamming...
netflix, lunch...

the problem with aging
is that most things
that were inspiring in youth
are not relevant anymore
and the things that are relevant
are not very inspiring
pop music, for instance
yuengling, nursing students
jumping off a bridge
to reach the honkytonk downriver
they've lost their torque
gears are slipping in every direction
mayhem and pandemonium lose their spark
when they're not a choice
but an inevitability

the hospital is a maze
built in confusing sections
but that’s just the start
the people i deal with
are a maze within a maze
patients, families, nurses, doctors
other respiratory therapists
and superimposed on all this
is another maze
the conundrums i try to solve
a fella fell off a cliff
a jehova’s witness fell off a roof
a 16 year old shot himself in the head
my strategies for keeping them breathing
or not
every one a maze
and i’ll never find my way out

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

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

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

i'm going to pretend i'm merce cunningham
on my bike ride home from work
hope it's survivable

i work with miley, a west virginia hottie
one night we're all sitting around
(not miley)
and someone says
"did you hear about miley's boyfriend?"
this afternoon he'd been speeding on the turnpike
deliberately doing 80 past two parked cop cars
they chased him, he stopped, got out of the car
waiving a semiautomatic, wearing body armor
they capped him five times in the head
then found the car full of guns
wow
we're stunned, taking it in
i break the silence
"so you're saying miley is available?"

some jobs require brutal effort
the hammering of nails
stomping on the necks of “citizens”
vacuuming cash from the pockets of “consumers”
men assaulting women they "love"
me, i float gently towards my mission
colonizing the subconscious of this city

we make plenty of mistakes in our belief
intellectually we know these things are not true
but a deeper part of our brain is certain they are
we’re going to live forever
we won’t
we’re the same person we were when we were young
we’re not
our employer gives a **** about us
he don’t
our social media activity counts for something
not in the least
the president is more important than the first grade teacher
nope
he’s just some ******* who won the lottery
all these certainties swirling in our brain
gently nudging us over cliffs of absurdity

he’s so sharp
and gets everything wrong
like a superb computer
without enough information
for its calculation

the patient is quadriplegic
he has epilepsy, cerebral palsy
seizures, chronic aspiration
and he's blind
but mom has it down
she's always been on top of it
from day one (24 years ago)
why mom isn't running the world
instead of these evil bozos is beyond me

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

i checked
with my fellow medical professionals
and we all agree
patients who’ve been shot—
even when it’s much after the fact—
they’re always cranky

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

"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

there is no “music”
the word is a vague endearment
applied on a whim
“music” is an adjective

if you can't play your set drunk
you can't play rock'n'roll
no judgment
straight fact
take it from a guy
who rehearsed down the hall
from the ramones

i’m tired of my imaginary friend
he’s been loyal
always there for me
but can’t we be done?
i need my liberty
and i know he’s sick of me

what happened?
what will happen?
where are we really?
and the why is a lost cause
why does that man have only one arm?
we will never know
we’re sunk in a swamp of boundless mystery
but we’re rolling fine without any answers
it effects the price of beer
but we’re gonna pay it anyway

it’s not much of a mystery
the law says police can **** you
if they’re afraid of you
they’re terrified of black people
so there you go

a relentless weekend in the ER

i kid you not
a man fell off the couch
and we had to rush him to the OR
to pry off half his skull
and staunch the bleeding
to keep him alive

we had another fella
6’6 with the biggest head in the universe
probably 400 pounds
he hadn’t bathed in five years
he was a white man and his skin was black
the nurses scrubbed him clean later in the ICU
an epic endeavor
he couldn’t walk
amazingly he had a girlfiend
who shoved him from bed to chair
to toilet and back for years
supplied him with pain meds for years too
the big guy’s in big trouble now
needs a tracheostomy to keep him breathing
but can’t get one because his neck
is as thick as a chimney
and he’s young—35
his mother and sister came up from florida
they hadn’t seen him in ten years
and had no idea how he’d deteriorated

and let’s not forget the uber driver
who had a heart attack while driving
poor woman never made it
out of the trauma bay

now it’s monday
i’m eating a frozen pizza
watching Paris, Texas
Wim Wenders, Sam Shepard
and Harry Dean Stanton all agree
this world
and every world
is tough to navigate

you gotta do what you gotta do
and even if you DON'T gotta do it
you gotta do it anyway
it’s necessary

as i walked down the hall to the cafeteria
at the hospital where i work
it hit me
i will NEVER get what i want
i had a big laugh
and got a cheeseburger with extra pickles

necrotizing fasciitis
the fat man’s cancer

looks like it’s time for new scrubs
i ripped out my last crotch
picking up a 400 pounder
(off the floor, not in a bar)

dreamt about a hermaphrodite
maybe you can teach new tricks
to an old stag

if you can walk away
nothing happened

"tonight’s my night to howl"

oh well
once voiced
the intention is a dud
only frat boys and sick puppies
can deliver on that promise

an 80s tune with zippy synths and chirpy vocs
a song for happier times
you couldn’t sing a tune this bright now
there’s no audience for it

my fellow respiratory therapists hate everybody
nobody gets away
we have a new fella
good looking, young, sculpted, groomed
a nice guy and decent therapist
"oh, the model" says brenda with idle contempt
it’s a beautiful thing

i’m a tree falling in the forest
with no one around
and i’m loud as ****

they may resent that i appropriate
other people’s lives for this scribble
well this ain’t journalism
there’s no who when where
only OH ****
they may not have noticed
art takes no prisoners

when i was a squirt
i hated winter
and swore that when i grew up
i'd move south
where they never heard of snow
but when i grew up
and saw who lived down south
i said **** it
i'd rather freeze my *** off
than hang with those people
and those people are probably just as glad
that i'm living in an igloo

i’ve come to see
people who are a pain in the ***
keep you on your toes

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

what we believe
and why we believe it
is a bowl of spaghetti
we're persuaded before we hear the issue
it's where you were hatched
who hatched you
and the other chickens in the coop
we'll believe the sky is green
if it's pinned to the top of the internet feed
to put it charitably
we're open to input
and it doesn't matter anyway
our decisions rarely coincide with our principles
we choose whatever door is nearest
and scoot on through

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

he tripped over a pencil
and broke his ankle almost completely in two
he had a single tattoo on his scary belly
a big-busted beauty
"do you smoke and drink?"
"YES!"
"how much do you smoke?"
"PACK A DAY!"
"how much do you drink?"
'TEN DRINKS A DAY!"
"beer?"
"NO!"
he tripped over a pencil
it snuck up on him

"i forgot my ID," i said to the guard
as i tried getting into work
"you should have remembered it"
he snapped
"yes, i agree, but being human
i made a mistake"
he glared
admittedly i do look like a terrorist
"you can call my manager upstairs"
"YOU call the manager"
"uh, ok..."
the manager came down, gave a wave
and escorted me into the building
the poor guard was just doing his job
and ******* about having to do it
"why can't people do what they should
and let me sit here and do nothing?"
hey i can relate
i feel the same way about my job

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

i don’t beat myself up
far from it
every line i write crackles
every note i play sings
but if i had to perform an autopsy
on the ludicrous things i’ve done
and smart things i haven’t done
bypassed opportunities
and episodes i might regret
or should regret
i’d lay blame on short-sightedness
and laziness
not stupidity
selfishness?  yeah
malevolence?  nah
and a low hum of fear
which keeps me human
so **** it
i’m perfect

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

judgmental and uninformed
as enticing as bad teeth
but i would be too polite to point this out

the popstar has his moment of success
and when it’s over, he doesn’t get it
he’s still the same musician
his latest tunes are as good as ever, maybe better
but for the audience, music is but one element
and not the most important
there’s the ambience of the era, the youth of the listener
the poignance, commotion and perfection of those years
that’s why the audience has a lifelong fondness for the performer
but little interest

eventually
all boats spring a leak
and every ship goes down
the ultimate port for each vessel
is the bottom of the sea

do people need new prayers for inspiration?
or is it like classic rock--
the hoary old hits are the best?
might be more meaningful if we all
wrote something for ourselves
but it would have to be stupendous
i doubt we'd be up to it
it's like asking each of us
to compose our own bohemian rhapsody

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

i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius
i'm a genius

hey, that guy's pretty smart

the election was rigged
the election was rigged