the small blonde nurse and i were breaking our backs
transporting the giant patient in the ****** bed to a cat scan

"i’m hot," she said as we slogged through the hospital

"you are kinda hot," i said
"you don’t really need to mention it"

we laughed and she said
"well i’m just putting it out there"

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

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 could brag about my night
but to who?
what sentient being is epicurean enough
to appreciate my palate?
cosmopolitan enough
to follow my exploration?
who has mastered the physics
to dig my trajectory?
there’s only one
back to the mirror!

i could brag about my night
but to who?
what sentient being is epicurean enough
to appreciate my palate?
cosmopolitan enough
to follow my exploration?
who has mastered the physics
to dig my trajectory?
there’s only one
back to the mirror!

on a warm winter day
i was taping poems to a pole
outside a coffee shop at the edge of the city
as i got back on my bike
the barista sauntered out of the coffeeshop
with a cup and saucer
a panorama of undiluted allure
a storm of blonde hair
eyes from venus
smile like desert rain
she was, obviously, the muse
"hello darling" she said
and strolled to the pole to read my latest

don't care much about the Olympics
but it beats Russia's merciless imperialism
Israel's inept butchery
and the United Fascists of America
so party on

there have been four so far
never consummated
through ignorance and morality
if i knew then...
but if i had made it with them
would they glow the same way?
am i the one who got away for them?
and for my wife of twenty years
i'm not him
me and the kids are right here
and he's back there somewhere
a beguiling smile in the window

is god speaking to me?
am i the genius of my own topology?
do i have an iceberg in my pocket?
are my insights contagious?
are my revelations fatal?
am i just rearranging legos?
am i flaky in that way?
is there a point?

the trouble is
folks who are doing alright
mostly worked hard
made good choices
and feel like they deserve what they have
but it's not a level playing field
for those who fall between the cracks
the path forward is donald trump
and adventures with fentanyl

my friend dan, a rare and refined writer
came to pittsburgh for a poetry forum

in hopes of making a splash
he decided to bake a chicken
and bring it to the event
unfortunately he chose a kitchen
in ohio

i never got a piece

a lifetime bouncing on the high seas of tito’s *****
you’re either dunked like a fatal donut in the acrid waves
or wind up washed up on the shores of sobriety

**** that glittery mausoleum in Cleveland
the real rock’n’roll hall of fame
is the Court Tavern in New Brunswick, NJ
and that went out of business years ago

the second coming of kamela harris
is a crackup
a few months ago
she couldn’t get arrested
by the democratic establishment
i’m all for her
but those four nights of hosannas
was quite the megaload of hooey
all generated by vast relief
but a bit much

the secret of life is simple and two-prong
one, you gotta be LUCKY
two, appreciate things when they’re good
because they won’t be good forever
don’t sweat the small stuff
the big stuff’s coming

yeah cops are just working guys doing a ***** job
and when you need one you NEED one
but man, they let themselves be molded into an army
at the drop of a top hat and overtime paycheck
the police are weapons and sometimes used accordingly
they see no problem dropping into invasion mode
against the unemployed, the underemployed
the darker population, freethinkers
and other americans who break no laws
except the law against resisting the harness
the cops accept their role as cattle **** to students
who are playing THEIR role:  cross-examining the USA
it's simple but true--
wear a suit and you're the boss
dress funky and you're a creep.
deserving of the smug baton
i observed this at the G20 summit
where i strolled along a phalanx of cops
there to protect the inviolability of property
more sacrosanct than the citizens of the country
and now i watch them kick down the wallstreet settlements
serving and protecting the dollar almighty
(thanks to my fellow beatniks for the cliche last line)
(but tell me it’s not true)
if you’re a policeman reading this
thanks for getting my keys out of the car
but WAKE UP to the way you’re intermittently implemented

the end is never pretty
but it’s not about the end
not about the beginning either
it’s the days in between
that tell the story
and by the way
you don’t want to be famous
for having an interesting finale

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

it’s a planet of limitless horror
governments massacring their own populace
neighboring tribes bombing each other to oblivion
school shootings inspiring other school shootings
and on top of all that
italian restaurants and wine
are overpriced and unashamed
someone had to say it

finally a warm spring day
i break out my sandals
a couple of years old but still in prime shape
i put them on, drive to the show
exit my car, step onto the sidewalk
and sink up to my ankles in fresh cement
a tiny warning flag on the edge of the walk
this is how the world works

when she’s being a mindblowing mess
and moans "how do you put up with me?"
i say because i love you
we have built a world together
we live in it
and that’s how it works

it’s not a fair world
nor a rational one
an unpleasant
though obvious
fact

most of us can get through most days
without melodrama
but can every day contain a moment
memorable and meaningful?
when it was worth the effort
of getting out of bed?
maybe this moment is that moment

this morning at work
i read the new york times
listened to huey lewis
ate a pepperoni pizza
with banana peppers
took a nap
and had a cup of coffee
why would i retire?

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

how do you tell time?
clock
calendar
school
TV shows
first times--
kiss
laid
driving
drinking
first love
last love
all the pointless jobs
timeline of the children
lifespan of the cats
initial failures of the body
fatal subtraction of loved ones
the creeping ugliness of the mirror

now everybody knows this
we experience time in a linear fashion
we’re on a track going in one direction
forward
behind us is our past
we can’t go there again
we can only look
"remembering"

but here’s the new stuff
the track is laid in an immense field
a lot of terrain
most of which we can never visit
the field is time in perpetuity
"the past" before the moments we lived
“the future" beyond the days we’ll reach
all in the field together

still though
it's an itch that can't be scratched
that time when i was young
strong, good-looking
happy and happening
is right over my shoulder
i can see it from here
but i can’t get there

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

some people have too much money
it defines them
totally
anything else about them
is irrelevant

as all consciousness
is filtered and corrupted
through online interaction
my poems taped to lamp posts
in the real world
may come to be seen
as humanity's redemption

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

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

trump’s gonna decimate the tourist industry
you think people said
“gee, i wanna visit **** germany
looks like fun”?

all these people are trapped on the A train
they look half dead
maybe from the jobs they came from
or the subway
or the lives they’re heading home to
trapped head to toenail
but like all animals in captivity
open the cage door
pull them out
and they’ll hop right back in the cage
and call themselves happy

trapped
oh yeah
no denying
trapped in the straps of my bicycle helmet
trapped in the laces of my boots
in my predawn shredded wheat
my toothbrush, razor and scary mirror
the purring fur of my cats
there's no gun to my head
but i'm obligated
to plod in my own deep tracks
i'm happy to be trapped, i guess
but i need to be reminded
of my vast satisfaction

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

jimmy page had a sitar before the beatles
but couldn’t figure out how to tune it
see, being a beatle pays off
you can have the world’s greatest sitar master
give you tuning tips
all jimmy page had for guidance
was a billion groupies

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

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

on tuesday in the hospital
i made a student cry
she wouldn’t shut up about a no-win situation
we talked half an hour as i charted
she got more and worked up
"we should DO something" about a patient
when there was nothing left to do
"we are done talking about this," i said at last
"if you work in a hospital
you won’t see ten people like this
you’ll see hundreds
and their families
if you really want to help these people
you can’t be so emotional"
words that jumpstarted the tears
i felt unsettled about that
but she put me in that position

on friday i was at a gallery opening
the artist handed me a vape pen of ***
"what’s that?" i asked
and my cool factor shrank to zero

once upon a time
i woke up in a garden of dried *****
from a tuinal OD
an uh oh moment
and if i hadn’t woken up
well no one held a gun to my head in union square
(an actual possibility in those days)
now at work in the hospital this morning
we just gave up on a 20-year-old athlete
OD’d on pills, arrested, dead before 8 a.m.
mom, dad and older brother are wild with grief
uh oh

mom, dad and Uncle Money
he's YOUR uncle because it's THEIR money
now in later years he's a bully
a fairy godmother, an annoying obsession
he obliterates imagination
you wanna love him but you can't trust him
he's here, he's gone, he's up for a good time
even while kicking your feet out from under you
and he always has a better argument
doesn't know the cool tunes but he plays the hits
Uncle Money gets all the ladies, in the end
he paints a binary picture, in a bad way
but he forever gets his *** kicked by Grannie Luck

to be fair
we were always racist
the civil rights obsession
of the 50s and 60s
was an anomalous blip
witness our recent reaction
to black people's displeasure
at getting slaughtered by police
for traffic violations
america was so appalled
we reelected donald trump

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

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

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

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

in the 21st century
playing a guitar instead of a computer
is like driving a harley instead of a lexus
the lexus is better for every kind of weather
smoother, sleeker
more versatile
more intelligent
the guitar?
IT'S A ******* HARLEY

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

yeah, you're anticorporation
that's why you wipe your *** with tree bark
and weave your own cloth
from the cotton you grow in the basement