the writing of a poem,
much like the taking of a ****,
is most satisfying when
it is large, slightly painful,
and locks you away in a small
room for what seems like
hours

and it was Bukowski
who said that the most satisfying
part of this is flushing
it away

seeing it go forth
into places that you.
yourself, shall never
have the heart to
brave

what now,
we wonder, staring
up at the stars that both
inspire us and contain
us so

what do we with our
lives in the face of all
these eventualities

each day seems to
tell us we can’t go
on

so what now,
we wonder, staring
up at all the possibilities
we were promised

thinking quietly,
*******, how we were
cheated

I awake,
finding myself
in a car
speeding
down a highway
in the middle
of the
night

someone
is driving

I do not recognize them,
I am afraid to speak

something
hints that it’s
smirking,
taking a small laugh
at my expense

it leans over then,
looking at me I know,
but it has no
face

it whispers

your turn

and is gone

somewhere,
a woman lights a cigarette
outside a central London flat
pulling her jacket in close,
her scarf closer, the night
is her closest friend

when a man approaches her,
he will say hello, smile a toothy
smile, and ask her if she has
an extra cigarette

she, of course, does
and hands it to him
and lights it for him

he laughs and smiles that
toothy smile again and she
returns the favor

they will forget the cold then
somehow

and this simple moment
is how humanity advances,
each lumbering step as
delicate as a caterpillar
trudging across the easy
flower of a spring day

a lizard scurries up a white wall
as lightening flashed
miles away

the oldness of this city
means so little

as we approach the fort,
the furthest point
the great Spanish empire
ever reached,
I am stricken by the hollowness
of it all

the stone seems plastic
the palms an illusion

the bridge stretches across
the water, lights strewn
across its concrete length,
and the lightening still
flashes when the mood
strikes it

the water seems black,
shady, dull, brooding

it holds some deep secret
(but, for once, it is not my
reflection)

this night hurts

I wonder where I should go
with these feelings as I trudge
silently through the night

Good morning America!
Welcome to another day!

feel free to be yourself
do what you want
follow your dreams
be who you want to be
but be careful now:

be sure you’re being who
you really are

and for god’s sake please
don’t do anything
stupid

or embarrass
us

oh that would be
most dreadful

but anyways-

Good morning America!
Good morning to you!

all you happy-faced,
pale-skinned,
judeo-christian
suckers

I hope you enjoy this day
exactly as we tell you
to

I sit,
contemplating
the world,
as I look out upon
a green country,
spotted by tan umbrellas,
and the blue ocean
waits somewhere
nearby