Passing through mid-century
these jazz oneironauts reached Apollonian heights
while society drifted into Dionysian drunkenness
the merchants caught on too soon
The most beautiful parts of humanity
enamored to serve the ugliest:
The merchant class, the bourgeoisie
Buddha’s undeserving in charge
If only in past centuries
those noble princesses embraced
even more lowly patronages
all this potential today could be staved off
Saved from the drive to be commodified
People stopped buying jazz as it reached its height
No more smiles to appease the whites
Jazz for the few
the noble, the individual in the know

Until this too becomes the simulacrum
The Ornette Coleman on the bookshelf
to signify your snootiness
your refinement from wealth
Aging Dads in thousand dollar sweaters
kicking out their 22 year old kids
for being ****** addled hipsters
meanwhile Bird on Verve is nodding out
and Dad’s girlfriend pops a Percocet
to deal with all the stress

we are strong people - full and sure
our purposes are not in conflict - just out of phase
we share the need to achieve
and to find new solutions

we are intense people - busy and needed
our hours are overfull - our agendas undone
we share the delight of discovery
and endure our learnings

we are expectant people - determined and convinced,
respectful and cantankerous
we share an expectation of excellence - of success
though unprepared and unbelieving

we share the need for trust and commitment
we share the dream of excellence

Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth.

Life is just kitchen like it was before
Conversation runneth over,
Our glasses overfull with celebration
Why don't you come to my door?

you were the kind of hope
that soothes an aching soul
just the sound of your name
makes my bones feel whole

maybe i never got the chance
to tell you

that the kindness you carry
so delicately on your shoulders
and the rooted rhythm of change
you’ve had to learn to dance to
has created waves of hope

maybe i didn’t tell you enough
that the love in your eyes
was exactly what
i didn’t know
i needed to
know

your l o v e
your goodness
a glass overfull

and it has over poured
into a soothing memory
a blanket of comfort
where i can find peace

so i snuggle into the loss
comforted by the knowing
that out there exists someone
as honest, as brave
as soul-shaking
as you

this alone has moved me
deeper into myself
a soothing to my soul
you’ve reflected
e v e r y t h i n g
i needed to see in me
and left me only with
tiny bruises
of what-ifs
the always wondering of
what we could have been

but these growing pains
are mine
i will kiss them
and sometimes
i will cry
i will fall asleep alone
to the rhythm of my own
heartbeat
to the peace of knowing
what comes
must sometimes go
___

the world keeps spinning
let it take what it must
to make room for
what will
b l o o m
with even more beauty
than any life experience
has yet to do

embrace all that has left you
stretch out in this new space
of self discovery
keep hope & be eager
for all that’s yet to
u n f o l d

My mind over full
Where to restart
My plate staked high
With pain and tears
Long ago I used to have
No plate
My mind full of songs

she bleeds,
hard and dark, bitterwords
and angry scowls,
from the depths of her lazyboy chair.

age has stolen
her laughter, wit and compassion....
pain is her worldy possesion,
it blinds her to all else.


she used to laugh and smile and i miss that, so much,
and i wish that, my boy
would have those memories
but we have become,
the whipping boy,
to her frailty,
her scroogelike attitudes,
her impatience to,
be done with it all....


this is my sacrifice,
my burden,
willingly, lovingly,
shared by my lover and child...

but, oh! somedays,
it is like,
carrying a bag,
overfull,
of sharded glass,
that pierces my back
and stabs at my heart.

loneliness: in my dreams
we go on adventures
you, without a face or a name
travel with me as we raid corporate
offices and write children’s books
and turn tables searching for truth
and liberation
you strike deep roots, deeper roots than I could
ever fathom

sometimes I try to deny you the earth’s blessings
sometimes, loneliness, I try to pull you out from the soil
but I can only claw so deep into the earth before I am tired
sweaty, in the hot sun, the sandy soil sliding back down around
your rootspace

loneliness, you are not the same as despair
loneliness, you are not a perennial
I should let you grow deep and wide, I should let you
take over the entire garden
Do I even have the heart or soul left to grow anything
else this year?

One of these days I might regret stymieing your growth
I would wonder what your blossoms would look and smell like
What your fruit would taste like if I gave
you time to bear it
What nutrients you might leave to nourish a rootspace in my soul
That could be filled with love, laughter and
a future so distant and so near I could know not its name

loneliness: let’s be friends
I’ll leave fear and longing behind and we can bear on
together,
Our cups overfull, our hands acheing with energy
The sand, the soil, into the forest together
We discover a world I would have never known without you
And I will learn to carry you not as a burden but
as a blessing
Since it’s been so long since I’ve known your name
Why would I deny the opportunity
To savor your bittersweet flesh in a hot afternoon?
It will take time,
But I have all the patience in the world

my reach now often fails my grasp -
confusion replaces regret,
obligation taunts me from tomorrow -
to do again what was done before.

how then might i notice and do -
with ambition so withered?
how might hope be gently held -
to better keep promises?

difficult and grateful days go by -
what more than these stories am i?
pervasive fatigue now my companion.

i awake, underfull of thought,
and overfull of sadness, i remember -
a bird singing.

again your words garner tears
i am fought from within
between wretched smiles aching with the shame of words i've shared
listened to, copied, written, "shared"
and yet never truly shared

those doors are gone: i have shared
and one has listened, shining love as hot to bear as sun...
refracted in my tears the warmth
is as a solar flare of unexpected love--
distrusts flung of self for undeserving care,
i waver-wallow, sing another cracking grasp,
slurp my sniffle-ramen soup to comfort ten-year wounds
all open now, shining, wincing in the sun.

i would bare my bones, it seems,
in urgent need to stamp the world an honest love.

what have i waited for? better words to come and scare us into final sum?
a final balance done, as if a math could send us there?

where? where has the daylight gone and come?
how old this starlight sinking from
i try to laugh and fail,

giving fame another final finger-flipping off
as that one girl said once, long forgotten, "cradling
her last fledgling flying ****,
and kissing it on to fated final flight"

yes. discovered now by one, i heal in single sun
i beg from those in shade or hurting from my blindest words a balm
a balm of knowing deep i seek to undiscover harm...
a balm of knowing deep the wholesome love of self that overflows to all...
Mokume told me, "love them" as i struggled with their hate,
he asked my love as to her love for me,
he asked me of my love i held for her--and which was more,
the love of self or love of her
and so i wavered in the meanings love has come to bear
while he taught stridently the meaning of Yoruba masks,
the bowl atop the symbol-studded head
the brims so overfull they shower all who look,
or dare to touch its bursting river-majesty

We came from dreams

Arrived in our beds

Having just been separated,
we formulated plots                that would return us to each other.

A switch from the subconscious sparked miles between us.

We talked through wires until it was no longer tolerable.

I went to find you, and found myself with you, the journey blurred.

There were others. They were all beautiful. But then darkness took our
                                                                      sight.

And everything was quiet.


I had never known beauty unseen, unheard.
                                                 but...you touched me

You felt me, like a cloud feels a mountain peak before taking the highest point away from the rest of the world's...sight.

Like a confused thing on a strange planet...but not frightened.
You touched me with want.
                                                       And I wanted you.
                                                                                            To know all of me.
                                             Including the bad parts.
And I wanted you to add to me, things I didn't even know yet...


The sad parts.

And a moment was a year to me. And I was wise for a second.


We left. your room. out into the night. the others around us, expressing such joyous jubilation.
And still I couldn't derive joy from their moods.
My capacity for happiness was overfull. All you.

Bring back the sight. Bring back our voices. Remember the touch.

Undying.

Our souls touched.
       The whole night long.
                Until we had to leave.
                        Because we were afraid of a supernova.
                               so we hurried back to our respective beds
                                         and that was the fastest I ever fell asleep
                                               and I know you did too. because I saw you there
In that room. In my room, in my head, in your bed, full of dreams.

Dos mil y seis. Yo fue yo...fue yo y tu. Me odio.

Brings a feeling of helplessness
And all of the leftover Christmas cookies
Are not satisfying but cloying.

Our bovine grazing leaves the kitchen ravaged
And our stomachs are overfull
But still we eat,
Finding ourselves only hungrier.

Our minds, our senses, need refreshment
And our desperate starving spirits moan ceaselessly.

Our skin is pallid
And desiccated by the artificial heat.
The sun hasn't shone for days.

To where may we escape?

little ***** and rings
of metal move
as he talks

three studs,
on his eyebrow
wander like a slugish
overfull caterpillar

the bullring ring in his nose,
condenses with each breath
of the frigid  winter morn

and his earlobes swing and dangle
with blocks and spheres
of a dark wood like substance

I ask him, does that hurt,
he deigns not to answer.....

We get on with the matter
at hand, his idea for a thesis;
with regard to dramatic reflection
in Shakespearean adaptations

He speaks of Othello, Richard III
and Romeo and Juliet....
the use of water, sunglasses and mirrors

I ask if he believes there is 70000+ words
in his exploration of reflection....
all the time watching the metal caterpillar
try to escape the forest of his eyebrow....

He sighs, and the bullring mists over
the ears lobes waggle and waft around.
He states not really sure......but he likes the idea
I send him off to look for other plays
Shakespearean or not that he could include
in this work.....and to come back in a month
with a precis and chapter plan....

He leaves, shoulders slumped, muttering
and I think....I may have added  one more peircing
to his intellectual life

Using these words I make a world I understand.
Inside is a friend to hold my hand,
so off we go, pen and man!
Away we blow dust and sand
to reveal beneath a shining sheath!
Draw your sword! and come aboard
this trail of blood.
My mind will flood paper with ink
and down this road my blank will shrink,
and weight unload from a heavy soul now pierced,
overfull.

The wind is getting in but not out. we know this because we see the curtain rise
we love our mismatched furniture
we love our scraggly hair
we love our couch with the cigarette burn in the second cushion from the right
and our ever constant stream of dishes that we wash ourselves to make our room mate smile
we love our valentine's day door hanger
we love our nonfunctional bicycle
we love our half eaten box of cookies
and our overfull incense burner
and making puns about our incense burner
we love our phonebook that we found by the door today
we love our friends
we are joyful his day

sometimes we need no beginning ; or ending. only meeting them
at the right moment, when the stars or the gods / or the gentle and raucuous earth, overfull on maudlin sorrow / move us into this moment. you ease into my life as if you never left / you will stay; 'til i forget when you came and when you leave again and i follow and we circle, like stars, atom and dust to dust to hopeful ashes, always reaching, reaching for the moment
we meet /

again.

hello: welcome home.

A spinster from Flint once opined
In her day the suitors were kind.  
Though sister was gone,
They didn’t stay long.  
An overfull parlor can grind.

I sit here, using the pen I stole to write this
And wonder if you see my face in the steam of your coffee
Like I hear your voice in the half-murmurs of everyone around me
I count 11 empty seats in this cafe and see your ghost in all of them
When I met you, you smelled like ground beans and woodsmoke
Velvet against my mouth, I had become addicted
To your taste, both bitter and sweet
I would cup your face in my hands and tell you
That there was more warmth here than any drink
Your hazelnut eyes crinkled and we would laugh
Throaty and dark, I melted into the hum of it
When you left me, every glass in the house shattered
I was made entirely of cracks, overfull and leaking
My heartbreak a great chip that grew only larger
We touched for the last time and I felt the fire of you
Found it scalding against my cheek
The whisper of a bonfire as you walked away
Only tar black and thick against my rasping throat
I choked on every memory of your lips
Still, sat here, in this room that is all you
Only 2 empty seats now, enough for us
Enough for our ghosts to laugh together
I pack away the books, the stolen pens
Leave my latte, grown colder now
Untouched

Sometimes when i'm writing, it feels like a glass half full, with fingerprints and stains, standing neglected for days on the living room table; and sometimes i flow, like a cold bubbling stream of water pouring into an overfull cup in the kitchen sink.

The liquid is surreal.
I thought this unnatural perfection was reserved for films flashing before your eyes,
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The water rushes freely, defying my imagination.
Triumphantly it flows contrasting the lazy trees it gives no heed.
Bursting over every obstacle, it
Caresses the mountainsides it calls home for just a moment,
Falling ever deeper into the gorges it crafts masterfully with time as its tool.
It ceases for no one and its color is unmatched.

O river of sweet liquid ice, I admire thee.
I stand on the edge of the riverbank and I marvel,
Time means nothing to the beings here.
The indigo fluid escapes grasping,
Like so many forgotten memories.
As my blurry cerulean reflection stares at me
I am conscious of the eras that have passed this place and left it untouched.
From whipped cream snow, to buttered sunshine days.
This setting transcends understanding.
There is no want for love,
No desire to sin or stay pure,
No lust for money or material worth.
I watch as the sun’s beams in their death throes
Discharge their savored finale upon the river.
It burbles back with a satisfied sigh.

Shadows envelop my wonderland, as I cascade into sleep.
Obstructed by the dams in my mind the despair builds into a reservoir.
Brimming, threatening to break, and I am
****** from my slumber.
Tears stream silently into the darkness
Escaping my overfull well.













Azure beams dance softly at first.
Anxiously they swim in their own light and
Suddenly come forth proclaiming their own birth.
Reveling in their existence as a new day starts, and
Again this place holds the power of ages.
They join me here, basking me in their glory, and
Out of the ashes of yesterday’s sorrows
Gushes a mighty river of joy.

I.
We ***** our tents on the hardpack
of the town’s airport,
rows of stakes and guidelines
like a fishing wharf in the tundra;
the mail plane comes at one,
an overfull vulture circling above
before looping North towards
the Gates of the Arctic for the approach run.
The landing is
        a front row rock concert
        where the bassist only knows one chord
        and the drummer is still setting up:
        the tone resonates in the ooze of our marrow;
that is to say, the landing is simple,
drifting over alpine fir and spruce tops
with ballet grace
before cutting power
and slamming wheels to gravel.

II.
Yesterday’s rain feeds the Yukon today.
Its hands reach for a hard cloud ceiling
and its lows, its troughs call my name,
call my name, call my name,
endless waves in the river’s center,
arcing with storm energy
and grip strength.

III.
Other planes come, and leave,
and helicopters set down near us.
We play cards in their wind,
drink camp coffee that strains
through the teeth and plugs the gaps;
we watch and we wait
for seats that never come,
waiting to leave this airport runway,
waiting to fight the big fires.

IV.
We hear the boats before we see them,
curving around the clay banks
and we line our packs along
their aluminum walls.
We sit in plastic bags
to keep dry of river spray,
I hear my name again,
and another mail plane
takes off. The hardpack vibrates
under the wheels, the engines scream
their one note show,
and the DC-3 sinks off the runway towards
the Yukon – and us – before catching itself,
then slowly, so slowly we can almost touch
the silver belly, it growls to the North
and loops South towards Fairbanks.

Loook, lets get down to brash bralws
Somebody call Saul
Who's the ventriloquist controlling the porcelain doll
Isn't it supposed to be the peoplz?
Allz I can hear is feel good poetry aimed to please the vastest majority
**** trigger who do you think you're talking to ?
Have you taking stalk of what you do?
I might look all white
But on the outside im red
and on the inside im blue
Inundated and confused from an uneducated yet poignant
point  of view
I'm color blind so I can see
There ain't no pedigree without fleas
quadraphonic stereo type
Save you energy for whats important
You cant lable me
One !
is what we should be!
but
we
Are all caught up
Like lambs to the slaughter
Arent we?
I mean really people
I'm no rocket surgeon
so go on double check me Giggle it through
Your search engine.
Whats this I see ?
"We the people"
FRIENDS ,FAMILY ,COUNTRYMEN!
         LISTEN
       Social distancing
Is the beginning
Of the end
Of we
Cause we
Now we look at each other Indifferently
As if
Every one except me
Is a threat
All we see is people are different
Well isn't that what we've taught ?
And learned not to be a follower
Isn't it a shame
We all want to be a little
Different
And yet we cant see
That makes us all the same
Fucken-A
The most obvious
Tactical move ever played
I hear this phrase
At least once a day
"Divide and Conquer"
Cupid better grow
Some bawlz
Make us all
Fall
In love
With each other !
And do it with a quickness
Break down these fences
Unite fight as
PATRIOTS
!!!!!
This is our country
Trust me
Sadly,
If we
Dont
Soon it wont be
All the oceans of blood
And the pain caused
To drain it came from
Hero's and ******'s
Who gave thier lives
For you and me
So you wanna sit by
Do nothing say sorry
Y'all it was all in vain
Id rather take the Mark
Do what they want
Me to do
I like the thought
of bein
Bought and sold
As  a commodity
........
M
Naw.        
Not me  
Fool
You gots **** twisted
tired òf all these stupid walls i always crash into
First off if you wanna plead youre cause to sway me
Sorry that aint what this is baby,unless were ultra identical
And you too have
old and sole
whos ethical and moral codes are way more than uncomfortable in this overfull deplorable melting *** of volitale over egotistcal feel good liberals
That feel its a neccecity to subjigate me with prpaganda paste their ideology to my face force me on to what ever floats thier boat change my name to linda lovelace and shove as much as they can down my throat like a handfull of rusty jacks
Double down with a ****** ,roofie,and a zantax
Is it an unamusing anecdote or  poisonous antidote
 Lets make this clear there real adenda is chaseing ,swaying jerrymandering ,understanding ,over analising padding ,creating ,catering ,and solicitating and ultimately controlling the vote
Ayite ?
Hope you brought a lunch that wont offend me ,,,..............cause if you don't it might
Wait  let me pre apologize  
Please look into my eyes
I see a splinter
Do you see a mote?
Im just clearing my throat ,this aint a debate have a seat while i take off my coat.

I.
We ***** our tents on the hardpack
of the town’s airport,
rows of stakes and guidelines
like a fishing wharf in the tundra;
the mail plane comes at one,
an overfull vulture circling above
before looping North towards
the Gates of the Arctic for the approach run.
The landing is
       a front row rock concert
       where the bassist only knows one chord
       and the drummer is still setting up:
       the tone resonates in the ooze of our marrow;
that is to say, the landing is simple,
drifting over alpine fir and spruce tops
with ballet grace before cutting power
and slamming wheels to gravel.

II.
Yesterday’s rain feeds the Yukon today.
Its hands reach for a hard cloud ceiling
and its lows, its troughs call my name,
call my name, call my name,
endless waves in the river’s center,
arcing with storm energy
and grip strength.

III.
Other planes come, and leave,
and helicopters set down near us.
We play cards in their wind,
drink camp coffee that strains
through the teeth and plugs the gaps;
we watch and we wait
for seats that never come,
waiting to leave this airport runway,
waiting to fight the big fires.

IV.
We hear the boats before we see them,
curving around the clay banks
and we line our packs along
their aluminum walls.
We sit in plastic bags
to keep dry of river spray,
I hear my name again,
and watch another mail plane
take off. The hardpack vibrates
under the wheels, the engines scream
their one note show,
and the DC-3 sinks off the runway towards
the Yukon – and us – before catching itself,
then slowly, so slowly we can almost touch
the silver belly, it growls to the North
and loops South towards Fairbanks.

As a little kid, you protected me at night
When I said the shema one word at a time
Repeating the lines about the angels, I envisioned them surrounding me, protecting me and then drifted off to sleep in a womb like serenity
I prayed dillgently to you at school prayer time
I got stickers from my teachers "morahs" we called them
Who told me to scream out the prayers even louder
And so I did and  I got a star for best davener
My teachers always told me, God was proud of me, I knew you were
You cured all the sick people I prayed for - all of them
You sat next to me in  shuls, at the brachos parties, the tehillim groups
There was no healing without you
You told me what I could and couldn’t eat
And I listened
You were my inner voice, my soul, my mind
God you were my everything
You made me make sense of the chaos

But one day
Like waking up from a nightmare
You just weren't there
Not in the way I imagine you anyways
And when I realized it was all a façade
You just faded into fog
Like a drifting cirrus cloud
Popped like an overfull balloon
And I haven't seen you since

And so I lost my safety
My father
My friend
My guidebook
And I mourn

For now I'm left with miles and miles of earth
Mobs of people
Faces and more faces
Subway lines and library silences
Coffee shops and hidden pubs
Music, art, and human opinion
To make sense of on my own

Like an intricate maze
Foul play it is
This world, this overshadowed earth
A total confusion
God you left me
And now I'm all alone