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We choked on our stock's ashes.
1929. The crash. We lost it all.
nothing left to bear my burden.
nothing left to sing my praise.
my body aches. my soul despairs.
Forget friends. Never mind prayers.
The only warmth a stranger's "Hello".
I doubt innocence. What does he want?
I'll sleep on benches and city grates
and wipe my *** with 20 dollar bills.
I'll walk the stairs for the first time
to the top of my building and perch
and gaze upon the city that betrayed
me and step into death's cool flight.
The beats are howling for truth
   angry wolves in need of a fix
   in a pack in Central Park at
   3 am, junkies on the prowl.
   They won't be denied a deity.
   Ginsberg's Howl their Bible.
We've all gone crazy lately.
I don't wear a tie or cut my hair.
I smoked some hash and lost my
mind a little bit. Save me from
a world I don't recognize anymore.
I dress like a clown and eat drugs
to keep me up and down and level.
Friends are straight or hippies each
seeking their very own Nirvana and
I walk a tightrope above them all.
Perfect. I'm still on that tightrope not sure where I hope to fall.
We've all gone crazy lately.
I don't wear a tie or cut my hair.
I smoked some hash and lost my
mind a little bit. Save me from
a world I don't recognize anymore.
I dress like a clown and eat drugs
to keep me up and down and level.
Friends are straight or hippies each
seeking their very own Nirvana and
I walk a tightrope above them both.
We've all gone crazy lately.
I don't wear a tie or cut my hair.
I smoked some hash and lost my
mind a little bit. Save me from
a world I don't recognize anymore.
I dress like a clown and eat drugs
to keep me up and down and level.
Friends are straight or hippies each
seeking their very own Nirvana and
I walk a tightrope above them all.
The world lost its center and we lost sight of God.
birkenstocks and halter tops
no bras no rules free love
drink acid from the tea cup
kiss God's ***, bless His son
smoke hash eat ****** and
keep your sanity balanced in
space and time we have left
with alarm set to die young.
Mullets and discotheques,
gold chains round the necks,
lines of coke, smooth *****.
Buying drinks, making passes
back when everyone was gay
then the scourge had its way.

Skeletons rattling breaths
clutching the hospice deaths
Really nothing left to say
just hold my hand to pray
friends please bend a knee
thank their God their free.
I can't believe the incidence of rage.
No one is willing to turn the page.
America is left dying on her vine.
Every empire destroyed in its time.
I was 10 running in a field to the pool
where Patty wore her 2 piece and owned
my boyish heart. She was 15 and I was
******* her alone in my bedroom at night.
Everyone I ever ****** was 2 piece Patty.
She was beat to death with a fence post.
I love you inside your mind
  I love you outside your head.
  I love you in solitude or screaming
  stroking you gently or kissing thighs
  in dreams or nightmares bravely or
  shrinking in fear from your anger.
  I love you inside out and upside down
  north south east west night or day.
  I always love you most at 3AM while
  you gently snore and talk in your sleep.
I love you inside your mind
  I love you outside your head.
  I love you in solitude or screaming
  stroking you gently or kissing thighs
  in dreams or nightmares bravely or
  shrinking in fear from your anger.
  I love you inside out and upside down
  north south east west night or day.
  I always love you most at 3AM while
  you gently snore and talk in your sleep.
The picture was from long ago in 1920's.
  Forget color they lived in black and white
  muted times with talcum powder and fancy
  hats and brooches. They look posed for a
  wax museum. 4 are smiling big but 1 is
  reluctant and looks forlorn. Maybe her
  husband died in Europe's wars or influenza.
  They're toasting something. Raised glasses
  to what I wonder? We all have things to
  celebrate and all have things to mourn.
I'm barely awake from a dream. I
    need to call home. 6 Alcott Lane
    Greenhills. Is my room still there?
    Is the Xavier pennant still nailed to
    the wall, and Christ on the cross?
    That room was my growing up womb.
    
    I found my *** in that room. I puked
    beer in that room. I played with my
    plastic super heroes in that room. I
    was sent to that room when I told my
    parents that Kathy and I were pregnant.
    There's no place like home they say.
I'm a worn out old man.
I want to go back to Alcott
where the world was in a jar
and we were masters of the
woods. We knew the creeks and
lake and swung on vines Tarzan
like and ran home to supper and
homework and TV and slumber
and dad off to work at 5am hacking
in the bushes and off he went in
the flesh colored rocket ship that
was a a '57 Chevrolet Bel Air.
I'm a worn out old man.
I want to go back to Alcott
where the world was in a jar
and we were masters of the
woods. We knew the creeks and
lake and swung on vines Tarzan
like and ran home to supper and
homework and TV and slumber
and dad off to work at 5am hacking
in the bushes and off he went in
the flesh colored rocket ship that
was a a '57 Chevorlet Bel Air.
I'm barely awake from a dream. I
    need to call home. 6 Alcott Lane,
    Greenhills. Is my room still there?
    Is the Xavier pennant still nailed to
    the wall, and Christ on the cross?
    That room was my growing up womb.
    
    I found my *** in that room. I puked
    beer in that room. I played with my
    plastic super heroes in that room. I
    was sent to that room when I told my
    parents that I got Kathy pregnant.
    I know there's no going home.
I'm a worn out old man.
I want to go back to Alcott
where the world was in a jar
and we were masters of the
woods. We knew the creeks and
lake and swung on vines Tarzan
like and ran home to supper and
homework and TV and slumber
and dad off to work at 5am hacking
in the bushes and off he went in
the flesh colored rocket ship that
was a a '57 Chevrolet Bel Air.
Anybody ever understand me?
I try to make a point but silent
stares fill me with terror. Do they
hate me or am I on fire naked?
I have equations to prove my point.
Einstein agrees with my logic and
if the sun dies in the blink of an eye
we have 8 minutes to say goodbye.
Left behind with stuff we didn't need.
We found you as a puppy and kept you
safe and loved you 'til we had to scram
and left the stuff we didn't need.
Forgive us our sins. I ache for you.
The day will come I'm left behind.
We write poems like ants in colonies.
We submit our jewel here and hope
for the front page. I'm hanging on.
I wait for the phone to ring or the
letter in the mailbox but I feel like
I'm playing the lottery with my
submissions. Billion to one chance.
We swarm to be heard.
We write to plant our seeds
in your furrows. Ideas take root.
Cocktail chatter and bedroom whispers
spread them far and wide from church
to AA to shooting galleries.
We shout words in sound proof rooms
wrapped in straight jackets and put down.
I tripped the light fantastic
back in the day.
I dropped acid and dressed
like a high clown prince
and dreamed us in forever
in the place we always wanted.
Where did you go?
Where am I now?
Birds cawing. Rats gnawing. Cats clawing. Craving.
  Bells ringing. Choirs singing. Dead bringing. Score.
  ****** faking. Thief's taking. Mischief making. Under.
  Alice small. Alice tall. Red Queens fall. Floating.
Birds cawing. Rats gnawing. Cats clawing. Craving.
They said I needed help.
They admitted me to the
ward of madness and shoved
pills into me that made me a
scarecrow. A man of straw
shuddering in the wind as
weak as my resolve to be me.
I never came to life again.
I died in bright light at peace.
The crows sent me on my way.
I'm ashamed of my affliction
   through no fault of my own.
   My life's been lived in parts
   watching from the dark alone.

   Afflicted. Conflicted. Addicted.
   Betrayal. Portrayal. Burial.
we are makers
we are breakers
we are gods
we are undertakers
we are eggs and fakers
we lie at the wedding
I'm waiting for my heart to
fall in love with you again
sitting in your backseat
trying to pick your locks to sin
I have a bag of seeds to sow
upon your fertile afterglow.
Aids 1980

  We worked night shift
  and shared a bus home.
  Rod lived in Cambridge.
  He told me he was sick
  betrayed by his immune
  system. They'll cure you.
  I never saw him again. Shifts
  changed and we all moved on.
  He went to hospice care and
  rattled when he breathed
  and used a cane until he was
  bedridden and died quiet.
  His obit in the Boston Globe
  spoke of his kindness to all.
A knock on my attic walk up,
no good reason for my fear,
I'm a starving poet birthing
a poem to our new frontier.
Different like Bukowski and
Cummings and Frost and Dylan.
They stood in the hall in tears
for this Poets timely killing.
I'm going to say goodnight
and say my prayers
and hope to God
there won't be bears!
Light the flame. Do your magic.
   Mix your powders into elixir
   for me to shoot or snort and
   levitate above life for awhile
   a soul floating after death to
   God's welcoming arms at last.
They live in crypt like bars
stained yellow with cigarettes
smoked over too many years.
Livers surrendered long ago
give them ugly yellow eyes
and skin the color of ****.
The stench of alcohol clings
like way too much cologne.
They never sleep. They just
pass out. Come to for a drink.
They just die day to day
while we all look away.
I want to live until my little girl
finds her happy ever after.
I've looked for mine forever
and all I find is tears and dust.
She gives and trusts compromise
as a key but gets empty hope.
Ride the high winds full winged
and watch it all from up high.
Love is a pool full of sharks
you swim alone and keep on.
Just be my breath and heartbeat for a start.
   Be the stories that made me fiercely weep.
   Every lust that ever brought me to an end,
   the absolute to my doubt, strength to my fear.
   Be my broken vows and promises forgiven.
   Be my gentle ending when my end is here.
PTSD LGBQT ADD OCD ABC XYZ
look in the Shrink's book they
pretend to know our afflictions
catalogued with treatments.
Our despair is hope in hopeless
shadows cast from burning bushes.
I am a man who doesn't
know how to love
no matter how many times
I try. I write poems
hoping my heart might be
captured by one love at last.
I am still not able to love.
I love impossible hearts.
It's huge
melodious centrifuge
stealing rhythm
with no misgiving
from each to give
to each to live
fabulous Commune
a marvelous tune
Communism
Shifty eyed, *** covering bureaucrats,
   everybody knows 'bout the Beltway bubble,
   the plague is here and now, ****** USA
   $50 buys a loaf of bread and pint of *****
   and votes enough to steal any election
   print monoply money, kiss Soros' *** and
   take a slice of American Pie 'fore it's gone
   read this fast before it dies in a gulag.
Great empires die from within.
Cowards cower before barbarians
hating their weakness but accepting.
The senate has stabbed Caesar and
everyone who had hope in him.
Wild hordes will tear us to hell.
I turn a century tomorrow.
All my friends are long gone.
My face hangs like a mask.
My body is a question mark.
My hands are crooked claws.
My kin can't see me anymore.
We're angry angels
   with broken wings
   and tortured souls.
   You think we'll save you?
I won't hide. I won't ignore.
**** fear. Hate me. I won't die.
Read me or don't. I'll read you
or won't. It's random. We pan
for nuggets in streams and find
them in the Klondike gold rush.
in the end none of it mattered anyway.
  worry didn't help. wishing was useless.
  prayers were mute pleas to a deaf god
  with animus for every **** one of us.
  in the end it never really happened.
we never existed outside our minds.
in the end none of it mattered anyway.
  worry didn't help. wishing was useless.
  prayers were mute pleas to a deaf god
  with animus for every **** one of us.
  in the end it never really happened.
  we never existed outside our minds.
She's beautiful with an angel's voice.
   If I were young again I'd chase her down
   moonlit streets offering my love as if
   it might entice her. I'd go to my bed alone
   hear her voice calling from rocky shores
   in dreams and gladly die in her sweet song.
I didn't set out to confess my
broken self to you. My shrink
said write about my suffering
as catharsis. I put my soul on
pages and pages and just kept
vomiting my pain. Forgive me.
The only ending to it was my
head in an oven full of death.
Forgive me for my death.
Why do we obsess on your death?
Wear mother's furs and die in a car
painless, breathing her dead breath
as your own in the closed garage.
You painted your suffering in such
splendid colors and signed it AS.
lose your dress
forget duress
just say yes
I'll confess
let's bless
our mess.
Wrapped in her dead mother's fur coat inside her Buick
       in a closed garage with a glass of ***** for courage she
       smoked a final cigarette and floored it and just died,
       a final act in her play. She died with this poem in mind.
I had to write it for the dead girl called Anne who had
such difficulty living her role on this lonely stage.
Believe me, Child
there's always an answer
waiting for your question.
Just ask me at noontime.
In the shade of the big oak
while we drink iced tea
and I'm sober and free
from the demon who
haunts me at two
demanding *****
to set me loose
to die another day.
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