there's only one way to be right
but so many ways to be wrong
you have a lot of freedom
it's entertaining
as long as you keep it to yourself
no repercussions
keeping your mouth shut rules
and if you overcome adversity
you can drink to your great victory
your strength, skill and awesomeness
as long as you don't broadcast it
everyone has a heavy load
everyone's job is a pain in the ***
everyone has to get through the day
nobody wants to hear from you
"that whiner, he thinks he's god's gift"
well maybe you are
you're not a whiner, you're a winner
you can step to your own parade
in silent celebration

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

stupendous new band name!

an arm adorned with one tattoo often shimmers
but a tattoo sleeve doesn’t work
profound for you, a swirling mess for me
meaningless dizzy clutter – less is more, man
it’s like years ago i was driving in backwoods nebraska
i came to a village with one ******* SKYSCRAPER
dwarfing the town like a cadaverous giant
twenty stories tall in a hamlet of 7-11s
ranch homes and stunted two-floor office buildings
it would have been a ****** in manhattan
all those seventy-story monsters huddled together
each elbowing the next from the limelight
cancelling each other out
but a single slamming skyscraper in a hick town
hits you like the first beer after two months at sea
a billboard in the desert or a charitable lady
nibbling your cashews after a stretch in the can
i was like jack tripping on a beanstalk
i pulled over to smoke a doob, stare and you know what?
i bet you a few nimble souls hopped off that tower

usually you think what you're supposed to think
a stray diseased notion may infect you
but the antibodies of society eradicate the menace
so the rivers of money keep flowing
into the oceans of the rich
and no one loses sleep
including you

got lost on the way out of bed
took a wrong turn at the pillow

summer was sunnier in the 60s
and the 60s were made for kids
my folks had backyard BBQs
with the tijuana brass in constant spin
i don’t know if it was my mom or dad
who put it on, but they both dug it
them and their friends and neighbors
me and my sister too
best part of my short time with them
i grew up, had a family, threw BBQs
merriment with wacky musicians jamming
between burgers, feeding
the most cartoon characters in town
i’m glad my kids have magical family times
to turn back to, as i do
every time i hear those spanish trumpets

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

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

kids don't believe what they're taught
they reject everything
as they should
because everything is wrong
there's no justice
except random justice
so spit out this world
until you can't spit anymore
then you have to swallow
and that's what you're made of

he sold *** in high school
it was so easy
he made thousands
and now he knows easy money
working will always seem a sucker’s day

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

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?

these classical musicians are needy *******
applause when stepping on stage
ovation when finishing a tune
they have expectations
and they get what they want
you know, it might be appropriate
for ME to get a standing ovation
after i keep a patient breathing
when she’s going down the tubes
of course, that’s asking a lot
since the patient can’t stand up
but it would be cool to hear applause
every time i step into a hospital room

the trump impeachment show is a lot of fun
those republications don’t give a **** though
so nothing will happen
but like bernie sanders’ cosmic environmental plan
it advances the conversation

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’m listening to the gospel station
digging this lady’s paean to christ
i’m stealing the song
not paying for it with piety or belief
taking what doesn’t belong to me
it’s transgressive
like watching the miss teen america pageant
or staring at my neighbor’s wife’s ***
enjoying what’s not mine to enjoy

all days are a necessary struggle
caterpillars slithering to wherever
empires striving for dominance
bands thirsting for acclaim
africans thirsting for water
rich people ******* up your money
(it’s zero sum, they NEED you to be broke)
clouds vomiting rain
the sun aching to implode
folks who lost bed and home
hunting warmth for the night

I DID IT!
did i do it well?
not material
just doing it is what matters
that’s how i explained it
when they locked me up

texting “lawrence ferlinghetti” to a friend
the phone spellcheck took over
that’s how you know you made it

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

just treated a covid patient, a bit of a throwback
a break from the warm weather trauma patients
scooter vs. car (awful), a kid shot in the crotch (ouch)
a paraplegic whose friends strapped him on an ATV
(it didn’t end well), a 17 year old girl shot
for looking like a "snitching *****"
a fella going 100 miles an hour until he wasn’t

ah, summertime

he was going 110 on his harley
smack into a guardrail
where he left his nose, upper lip and moustache
which they peeled off and took with him
here to the hospital, putting him next to a fella
whose girlfriend tried to shoot him, missed
then stabbed him and tried to bite off his thumb
and they're next to a guy who found out
that shooting yourself in the head
does not make for a pleasant morning

an optimist calls this a sunny sunday morning
coffee, cats, colson whitehead’s latest
a pessimist ruminates on gaza
the ukraine, sudan, republicans

i enter unit A-19
the place to be for car accidents, gunplay
and the mayhem people get into
i'm humming que sera sera
get to my space and turn on the radio
baroque sunday
ahhh
now bring on the death and destruction

she was SUNNY FLOWER
a happy ukranian four year old
she had down syndrome, just learned to speak
she loved to push her own carriage after school
through the park, next to her mom
mr. putin
why did you guide your missile
to that beautiful little girl with her winsome smile?
why did you mince her to jelly?
don't you think
you should cut your own ******* throat
in penance?

swedish death metal bands and i
see the world through the same eyes
but i don’t burn down churches
i do things sunnyside up
it’s how i’m built
i help people breathe when they can’t
that’s how i make my millions
i scribble pictures
post poems on lightpoles
make music videos by the hundreds
throw abstract shows
and whip instruments incessantly
to hear them squeal
i brought a family into the world
took care of them
and now admire the amazing trails
blazed by our kids
while swimming in the wake
of my intrepid beautiful
intellectual juggernaut wife
i do sit-ups, lift weights with my
permanently damaged bicycle arm
feed a couple of cats every frigging day
and am probably the library’s
number one customer

drop a spoon, you’re getting company
drop a fork, you’ll have a fight
asinine superstitions
instilled in me by my mother
probably out of the boredom of being a mom
but almost everything we believe is baloney
so who knows
and now i dropped a fork AND a spoon
so someone’s coming over to punch me

as these things go, it’s a happy ending
he tried shooting his girlfriend in the face
the gun jammed so he turned it around
aimed it under his chin and pulled the trigger
surprise -- it unjammed
the bullet tore through the mouth
and exited the left eye, missing the brain entirely
and even though he arrested thrice
before we got a breathing tube in
a week later we’re shuffling him out of intensive care
"hey look, Sure Shot’s leaving," i say to my partner jeff
to which he responds, "you mean Old Dead Eye?"

i look in the mirror and wonder
how do i do it?
the **** i have to deal with!
then i think about other folks
and the torture they endure
i throw my hands up
surrender to god
and turn on the TV

i just picked up the monkey wrench gang
a bible for eco-terrorists
an influential text
when i was young i read henry miller
and soon began ******* my brains out
read carlos castenada and added psychedelics to my mix
read bukowski and my upward mobility turned south
now i’m not young
so the monkey wrench gang
probably won’t have me blowing up bridges
which is fortunate
mein kampf is next on the syllabus

express yourself, write what you want
god knows i do
but if you have no talent
and want me to pay attention
show some wit or humor
and you know what?
that’s true even if you do have talent

it's my only talent
i know where to dig for the gold
and my gold is a renewable resource
music with momentum
harmonies that levitate
meaning where there is none
motivation in a vacuum
women who steal your breath with a glance

don’t worry about choosing a tattoo
don’t sweat that you’re gonna have to live with it for life
yeah but no
it’s about who you are when you get that tattoo
not about all the people you’re going to become
that’s irrelevant
of course you’re gonna change
there may come a day when you can’t stand sadie
and groan every time you see her name on your arm
but there was a you who was nuts about her
and that man will always stand guard
over the tricep of your love

consistency is defeat
going to work every day?
coming home?  every night?
TEQUILA!
***** BONGWATER!
look
my totality changes
every day and a half
i’m one slippery *******
so if and when i tumble out your window
it’ll be a nuclear event
molecules exploding
lasciviously recombining
promiscuously bonding with whatever
carnal stray matter catches my eye
by tomorrow morning
i’ll be snowing
all over the universe

hey hon
how’s your morning going?

this unit is like a disaster movie
2 brain deaths
2 self-inflicted gunshots to the head
2 covids (if only there were a vaccine—
oh ****, there is)
1 paraplegic
1 drunken assault
and a very ******* fellow
who was gored by a bull

let’s go out to eat tonight

thank god everyone's texting
looking down every spare
and not-so-spare moment
thank god for the distraction
now illiterate people have something to do

used to be that whenever i saw the proletariat
staring into space at a bus stop
while i was reading a book
i worried about them obsessing on vengeance
daydreaming about our destruction
rising up against us intellectuals

now they can forget about me
and the bus they’re waiting for

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

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

rick owned the monkey bar
not the one in L.A.
but his own knock-off in cleveland
and rick wasn’t a big fan
of african-americans he knew
but he was REALLY no fan
of strange african-americans in the bar
however, the pandemic arrived
the white people stopped coming
and the black people kept coming
and rick sat on a corner stool
making money overseeing a black bistro
called the monkey bar
it was like ****** opening a bar for jews
and calling it the chamber

i don't wanna go in the room
according to his chart
the patient got in a car with a bunch of his friends
only to realize he didn't know any of them
they molested him and tossed him out of the car
and when he got to the hospital
he was molested again the emergency room
that's what it says in his chart
i don't wanna go in the room
because when i get out of the room
i may be part of his epic saga

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

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

when politics is pure circus
the clown becomes ringmaster
merrily grabbing voters by the *****
it's the dancing elephant in the room

"watch out, slow down, what the ****"
that’s my reaction to some truly appalling driving
from my compadre the duke
this would be years ago
he turned to me, smiled and said
“the difference between you and me
is you’re afraid to die"
"no," i said, "the difference between you and me
is i don’t WANT to die"
now i’m an old coot
and the duke never made it to 30
i called that one
but he was a star

the melodies are fanatical
the harmonies are undisclosed
the rhythms are giraffes tripping

at least
that’s how it sounds to the marketplace

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?

as i was visiting a greek friend
yesterday in astoria queens
greek america ground zero
i couldn’t reconcile the deep thinking
of our old friends plato, aristotle, etc.
with the greeks i know
an open-hearted, pragmatic
materialistic UNCOMPLICATED people
maybe plato’s inebriated symposium relates
but there is a basic disconnect

i ran it by a couple of my smarter friends
"look at the italians," said one
"some made art that advanced the human race
while their cousins hung out
on the corner eating pizza"
another pal framed it like this:
"it’s the language
all the declensions and conjugations
steer you to abstract genius"

hmmm…

shootings, stabbings, drunken beatings
car accidents, covid, RSV
all in the last day and a half
gotta love working the holidays
in the emergency room
oh and here's a cardiac arrest
** ** **

i make noise on the piano
can't really claim to play it
this morning i grappled with sheet music
simplified to kindergarten level
trying to get a handle on Handel's Bouree
a hapless hour happily spent
in the afternoon i visited the symphony
to hear a dude play Mozart's Piano Concerto #22
i came home, opened a beer
and went back to mangling Handel
now if for some reason
the pianist from the symphony
found himself in my basement
and observed me butchering Handel
i imagine his reaction
would be sympathy and encouragement
"he's really giving it a good try," he might say
"for a mentally challenged person"
but if someone told him
no, he's normal, he plays in public
and occasionally gets paid
our virtuoso would be be disoriented
rattled, drowning in mindblown disbelief
"no, this is not a world where that can happen"
then the horror would set in