step number one: read the book wintergirls.
tuck away every detail like you're cramming for a test.
dog-ear the pages and carry it with you like a travel guide.
decide that with your fingers and toes always icy cold for as long as you can remember,
you were destined to be a wintergirl.
reread it periodically, for inspirational purposes.

step two: download the myfitnesspal app.
use it to track every calorie you put into your body.
memorize that an oreo has seventy calories, an apple has one hundred, a cup of hot chocolate has eighty,
a bagel has two hundred seventy (a number that terrifies you),
and on and on and on.
let numbers float behind your eyes just before you go to bed,
and let them stay there as you throw off the covers to do guilty pushups and situps in your room
for twenty minutes (burning one hundred and twenty calories).
ignore the warnings shouted at you in red text
when you eat less than twelve hundred calories per day.
look at the projections it gives you for five weeks from now
with weights that seem both too small and too large at the same time.
when your net for the day hits the negatives after weeks of trying,
feel the slightest pang of satisfaction.

step three: find your "thinspiration".
make a tumblr just to look at pictures of jutting-out spines and thigh gaps and ribs.
hold your phone up next to your reflection in the mirror
and pick out everywhere your body differs from hers.
when the girls on the fitness blogs start looking too heavy for your goal,
find the eating-disorder blogs.
obsess over their bodies almost as much as you obsess over yours,
but not quite as much.

step four: begin losing weight.
imagine yourself floating away, feather-light.
imagine yourself becoming skin and bones.
imagine this as you drag your heavy body from class to class,
as your muscles waste from malnutrition.
imagine this as you have to clean your hairbrush out
three times while you work tangles from your hair.
imagine this as you snap at anyone and everyone,
as you spend hours locked in your room.

step five: become a poet and write about yourself.
romanticize your own demons, just by calling them demons.
use as many metaphors as you can,
to avoid the harsh language of the truth.
and especially avoid writing about the crippling guilt
that hits you when you eat too much,
you're fat you're worthless you'll never be anything,
and hits you when you don't eat enough,
what's wrong with you how did you let it get to this point
voices in your head never abating.
avoid writing about your lack of motivation and constant exhaustion and always,
always, use words that imply mystery.
describe your mind as foggy, call your body diminishing.
never say it how it is, because you could convince yourself to quit.
never say that it's torture and you're in pain
and you just wish you were eight again, never considering this path.
never say that you need help but you don't want help.

if you have the urge to say these things,
say only that this disorder is not one you would willingly give up,
because you finally have something to control.
because it is the truth,
but it is also the romanticized truth.

1 pushup
i forget your face
2 pushups
i forget your fingers
3 pushups
i forget your
lips
i forget your nose
4
for
get
your
shoulders
5
forget
the back of your
neck
6
forget your thighs
touching mine
7
remember our smells
together
spicy
vibrant
8
remember the sound of our shoes
on the pavement
9
remember the river
10
remember the symphony of our laughter
11
oh look
back to 1's
again
well
at least
i know
where i am

Generous coasting of the west coast
leaves me tangled in roots from roads
intersecting with waves surfed by
long blond-haired beach bums and
babes who pant at a muscular man
that pushups on the boardwalk
next to towels drying on the
handlebars of my bicycle.

I ride and ride and ride
through weather thought to be
unrideable by most cyclists
even if million-dollar-prize
tempted them at the finish line
and a set-for-life sponsorship
was promised to any and all
who could fight through the storms
of what I stoically battle.

No gear or goggles,
just legs of toned steel from
nights spent heating them over
a log-lit fireplace on spit
while keeping intense conversation
with lover across my gaze
until she escapes unexpectedly
into dreams, unaccompanied by me.

My legs are on fire,
no rain can extinguish them
and no slick roads
will stop my going.

Fingernails dug out of steering wheel
in the out door, not enough gin to ****
50 pushups. 50 more. Change my body
Maybe you won't ignore
Ambien, the lull of the ceiling fan,
the crowds of protestors disband --
the blanket warm, cosmos tease and can,
malaise, malaise, I'm trying to be active
and sane, sane for the next promise ring holder
and wine cooler queen, here comes the switch:
ether.
The night brings me back to you
by way of illusion --
you've got lingerie
I've got needs
You've got teeth
I've got shoulder blades
so it begins,
white knuckle, culling songs, strain on scalp --
I sing along, ancient melody, satin dirge --
precursor to your soliloquy and black venom urge
to scatter this bandaged man--
pieces in your hand,
collected and left on 100 dressers
for ill-informed future connivers
conspire
but I'm only tired of trying not
to look like a liar
so I blend into your blood
satisfied smirk from
transparent you
but what is the future
--a present hope
but what is the past
--a present memory
so we abolish each other now
betting on tangible mirages
in this delicious, miraculous night  
the stars align
the planets collide
not an inch of you goes unkissed
not an inch of me goes without an itch
blackness and breath swirl and spit
me into a confetti end time without prophet or priest
only a skinny seed, and then the switch:
wake with a present hope of getting over
my present memory.

you say my eyebrows could use a plucking
you say my lips are colorless and dull
you say my eyes could use defining
you say my cheeks are much too full
criticize my face all you want
it won't have any effect
but tell me that i am unpleasant
and inside it will leave me a wreck

you say my ******* could stand to be bigger
you say my waist is much too wide
you say my thighs could stand be thinner
you say there is too much fat on my side
ridicule my body all you want
it won't cause me to cry
but tell me you hate my existence
and i will find it hard to get by

you say my grades aren't quite up to *****
you say my face often looks very dim
you say i should do more pushups
you say i should connect with a him
laugh at my lifestyle all you want
it won't cause me distress
but tell me you've told all my secrets
and it will leave me very depressed

My kids need me,
and there is so much to see!
I have a great camera!
Yet I NEVER take pictures
because I am Old,
and Tired,
and ******* LAZY.

So Yeah.
Time to change all that.

So help me.
ASK.
Pushups,
Walks,
Hikes,
Exercise,
Some heart pumping task.
Please,
Feel free to ask!

Believe it or not, I don't lie.

(Or rarely anyway)

So ask me what I have done today,
I didn't mean to turn this into a poem,
Didn't mean to rhyme,
But this is how I write when I really FEEL,
This is how I am in my own private mind.

Good God,
(I say this with that knowledge that most of my friends don't believe,
But to them I say,
***** you,
God is always true,
Even if you don't believe in him
(or the greater power, or it, or whatever),
He still believes in YOU! :)

It doesn't matter to me,
Or to him,
Living a moral life is really what matters,
Even if you never sing a single Hymn.
People have it wrong.

And I ask you,
The Old Dude Upstairs,
Please lend me your tolerance and Strength,
Help me overcome my Laziness,
Because I want to LIVE,
TO SEE,
TO BE ,

And I won't,
Not if I continue down that path that I walk now.

It is hard,
But I have faith,

If you can't,
God,

I WILL,
My own logic will show me how.

How to buck up,
to deal with pain,
and to let it go like I used to,
To dance in the rain.

Dear lord,
I just say thank you for the chance,
Let me change my life for the better,
Grant me the strength,
to withstand the pain,
let me heal,
Give me the rest of my life to say thanks,
Give me one more Rain Dance.

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.

His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.

Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.

Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

Gone Gone Gone
Into The Great Beyond

I inhabit a different realm now

I went to chip golf *****
At my usual place

I chipped for a bit
Then drove over to a beautiful park nearby

I sat beneath the trees
A long dirt path behind me

Completely alone
A beautiful afternoon

As I walked down the hill
And saw a lizard doing pushups

It scurried behind a tree

As I found another spot in the grass
Underneath the shade of a tree

I read a chapter
From Bertrand Russel's
The Practice and Theory of Bolshevism
Entitled, Why Russian Communism Has Failed

It appeared as though the black mother and child
That I saw earlier had left

The familiar voices of children playing
On The playground to my right
Could be heard in the distance

American families
Enjoying their American dream

Far to my left a couple enjoys the afternoon
Lying together in the grass

I look above as the birds descend
Across the park
They ride the wind

Simply extending their wings
And gliding across the park
They land on a tree opposite of me

And there was the ice cream truck
Circling its way
Around the park

With the familiar tunes
Of childhood days gone by

Then I came home
She is still announcing
What food is in the fridge

"I can see"
I muttered

Doing everything I could
Not to scream in her face
She just repeats that over and over

And then I went to the nature park
I took pictures of the birds
A video of a lone rabbit too

These animals just do what they do

A woman asked me what was the easiest trail
As I took a picture of the cross
On the monastery gate
I told her the way

I waited until she returned
To see if she would tell me
If she enjoyed the hike

She walked by
Ah well

I no longer seek a companion
I am alone
Forever alone

Oh look
This is the classic
American Scene
A summer American Dream

This is an expensive neighborhood
Don't you know
And fancy cars line the street
In front of the large home in Sierra Madre

Everyone is chatting
This is Tao
I walk by

I wonder if they even realize
That our country hangs in the balance
That our very way of life
May soon end

Oh, they are content
Just to carry on as always
Most people are

Our country has been ruined
Ruined!

A debt we cannot pay

A Chinese, Russian, and U.N. takeover
Likely on its way

Weaponized weather, A grid attack,
Most definitely a total economic collapse

But these Americans just want to enjoy
Their barbecue
As they often do

And on my walk home
Four steps
Thud
Followed by four steps
Thud

And after I go to the gym
I will return
And they will hear the thud
Yes they will hear
As they try to sleep in their beds

Thud

Get ready, Get Ready
Your American dreams will
Soon have gone away

Foot shortages and economic collapse
On its way
U.N. vehicles are here to stay

My therapist told me that
"God never gives us more than we can handle"

She being thirty-six
Accomplished and having had every
Opportunity to succeed in life

Her last words
She uttered a "Take Care"

You know when she told me she was leaving
I cried a bit and composed myself

She said, "I know its a lot to process"
It would have been respectful to be silent
And not say anything
And in that moment
I learned more about her
She did not honor what was sacred

How could she have said that?
Meeting with her was important to me
Quiet, please!
Your words are unnecessary

I didn't say anything to her about that
And that's fine
I had hoped for something higher
A companionship

Blah
To her I was just another client
Another paycheck

I don't trust her
She left me and her other clients

She never said the savior's name
She never said Jesus' name
Just her "higher power"

She told me to email her
If I get a job

I will not ever contact you again

Why are people having kids?
Why the **** are they?
So they can grow up in a FEMA CAMP!

Terrible times are coming for her and for me

That expression
"God never gives us more than we can handle"
Who says that?

Tell that to those who have starved to death
To the German men who spend over a decade
In Russian labor camps

Americans will have a lot to handle soon
And your money
Won't save you

Neither will your **** looks
Or your car

I'll survive
That's all I know how to do

Is to survive
And to keep feeling emptiness
And that ******* therapist
Who left

It was enjoyable
To meet with her
It was consistent

She did not give me much notice

I am pure
I do not engage in ****** *******
Married couples they disgust me
Slamming their privates into each other
Lusting after each other

I do not want to shake another's hand anymore

I do not know
Where that filthy hand has been

******* therapists
I'll never see one again

Remember---They don't really care about you!
Remember!!!

They are there for the money only
And they will sit and lie
Right to your face

Remember to care for yourself
In this world
Trust in Jesus and yourself

On my hike
I greet others with a friendly hello

Perhaps one day
I will meet another friend

I have three I trust now

Until then I will walk the streets alone

The therapist
She left, she left
And she did not give much of a care

Bah
It wasn't her fault
I just shouldn't have allowed myself
To care about our meeting

Now I don't care
I don't work
I don't do anything

Except read
And walk
And listen to podcasts

Gone Gone Gone
Gone Into the Great Beyond

Thud
Can you hear me?

Form is emptiness
Emptiness is form

it rained the day after Christmas and

you said you’d prefer snow.
it reminded me of London

so I kept my mouth shut and pushed your hands
further between my legs.
“eat my pineapple,” I instructed
as the *** coated my tongue.
“carry me through

the tiki bar and do pushups in the empty
space while I brush my lips on your temple.”

we were married on the corner
of Queen and Dunn;
our officiant on one knee, clad in blue knit
I

never thought I’d be here.

across oceans you recessed
further into my insomniac brain.
your eyes are green, right?
turn around:

it’s less romantic if there’s no eye contact.
track our distance across my sternum --
I’ve never been to Azerbaijan.
I took advantage of the fact that you were wearing black
and forgot to outline my
shape in chalk.

I do a few pushups

Before you visit

I rummage for the good cologne

Dash some on wrist, neck

Crotch

I trim my hair

Sweep the floor

Swipe the gunk

Off sinks

Wash the dishes

Stuff all the junk

Socks, backpacks, ****

Into the closet

Rearrange my trinkets

Shelve the various books

Thrown all about

Lay out the good movies

Songs, covers

Ready at hand

Prep my mind

With witticisms and humor

Hang up strawberry

Car-fresheners

Buy wine

Out of my price range

Dim the lights

Scrape the crust

Dust off the shadows

For you

I dream

No pain no gain is an understatement

Pushups are a form of punishment

You respect your captains every single day

And trust your choreographer to lead the way

You leave the field sweating, makeup in your eyes

A fire burning in your heart... and in your thighs

Practice every day, dripping with sweat

That six-foot pole no longer a threat

Working hard to be the best

Every weekend is your test  

You gain new family and friends

With each other till the very end

Bonds that last all year

People to project all your fears

This is where you throw it all down

Because in the band, you're the crown

You make the show

And you need to know

To hold your head up high

And don't you dare be shy

Cause the countless hours you have spent

Can't be bought with any cent

Cause Denise's bleeding hands

And Beave's constant demands

Always changing

Always rearranging

Working hard to make the show great

Making sure to keep your posture straight

This. Is. Colorguard.

Which will always have a place in my heart

I told you, I don't want that kind of girl.
The way she bent the strobe- and the moonlight,
the way she kept telling me to shut up,
the way her heels acted like asterisks --
Marie, she ain't my kind of girl.

I told you, I'm just waiting for my head to clear.
I need fall to end the crow and vulture's flight.
I need to get unkempt and shut-in.
I need the pills to pull hat tricks --
Marie, I need a few more weeks.

I told you, my body's not ready.
I'd love to defend the howl and hiss of night.
I'd love split rent and shudder skin.
I'd love the pushups and matchsticks --
In the spring.

I promise, Marie.

You melt my stress like
The first hit
Or
A solid set of pushups
An honest act of altruism
Seen or completed
(One thing I am remarkably good at without even trying is
Being kind of big so
I’ve been pushing cars out all winter, you should try it)
You interrupt my thoughts
Even when I’m telling a story and
That’s impressive
Knowing me
I’m known to create soundscapes with the echoes in my dungeon mind
Lonely compositions
Full volume but drowned out by you
Sometimes I become completely detached
To any idea I’ve had or action I’ve committed
But you bombard me with the beauty of mistakes
And the merit of being proud
Catch me slithering into my hole
Stomp on my tail and drag me into the light
You make me transparent but
I love it
To the universe, I am murky
For you
I am clean

Here, re think the name that may not be spoken,
in light
of the curse brought
by knowing evil, and good, especially,
in this little light of mine, which I vowed, as a child
to not allow the accuser to quench,
AI nada gonna put it out.
My duty is to fight and **** to keep it bright.
I'll be a warrior under god.

But then the darkness of the pledge,
to the flag, {I am six-years old, *******, allegiance?} locked in,
duty bound... endure the contest, and laugh off the fear of dying.

- look out my window, watch that black lizard
- doing pushups, signaling in my peripheral vision
- listen, does it look like that lizard is showing off
- strutting its blue belly as hook-up bait?

Not t'me.
I think he's singing in lizard pitch my ears notice,
but my senses lack the filters to sing along,

lizard songs, no fear, no roadrunners or cats near,
and it is a fine day to be cold blooded,
running on the rocks,
running on the sun.
Singing lizard loud,
All that's done been done is done,
all that ain't, ain't
ain't it wonderful,
what may be?
Yep,
that is that lizard's song
as he run along, stopping every few feet to dance,
I swear, for sheer lizard level joy.

playing the ***** at a puppet cocktail party
couldn’t be an easier audience
but my check is still in the mail

saving a skinny woman with chest compressions
single-handedly so-to-speak
i wasn’t alone but i’ll take the credit
the others were weak, i was going heavy
and that’s when she came back

resurrecting my villain for the TV series Heroineburgh
an afternoon shoot with 3 young ladies in tight spandex
acting!

saving another woman with team compressions
went on for 60 minutes before her heart reignited
a christmas miracle
though i unplugged her 2 days later
continuous seizures

getting 3 of my 4 bands on one compilation
that and a quarter would give me a quarter

falling off my bike twice in 5 minutes
car ran a red light, then got doored in the bike lane
today was the first day my sprained wrist allowed pushups
(helps with those chest compressions)

making a money hat for the video i’m shooting for the Dumplings
they’re the Rolling Stones of my favorite bar

went to a hypnotist at the Fringe Fest
failing to get hyponotized
"you were obviously resisting," said my wife
i don’t know
i think i’m just obviously me

playing my ***** on a movie stage
for 8 second segments with the movie
don’t ask
we made $96 and bought tacos for $95

now i’m listening to my swinging new louis prima album
reflecting on this groovy month of spring

and now she'll just work harder.  sweat dripping from every pore, from every crease in her skin and every bend of her bones.  she will become what she has always wanted to be: strong.

her hair is becoming lighter.  one by one, the wavy hairs on her tanned head are being bleached by the sun.  her skin smells like memories of shores and of heat and of bathing suits.  she smells beautifully.  and as her skin tans her smile stretches across her face, beaming and bright.

her stomach is shrinking, her arms are muscular.  she finds new outlets for sadness and rage in pushups and squats.  she lifts weights for fun and does sit-ups to feel the burn of her life slipping away.

she needs new clothes, her old ones don't fit right.  or maybe they fit the way they were always supposed to.  she buys new shirts, new shorts.  she feels good about herself.

and then she breaks and her arms are weak and her legs won't move.  she scratches at her sides, long red marks across her too thick frame.  her thighs are fat and she knows it.  her hair is frizzy and she knows it.  her back is cracked and bent in half and she knows it.  

and now she'll just work harder.

Well, there.
I found it, shins
I found,
a huge place in the back of the head and locked in bed, maybe id
can only pinch with the residue residing
Swelling and spilling, the only true bad Smile.
The stem ringing and squealing
Swelling, kneeling
Afterwords, left and sizzle stigmad
Talk to your kids a lot. please!
Because handstand pushups only make
The thing competitive with no
Relatable taste
And movement from the vital stops
Which attracts the secret cops.
They're city veins.
Swollen, stolen.

A real big mean *******
6'5 280 lbs
With a 6th grade education
He had a tattoo on
On the back of his shaved head
A big stab wound on his gut
He was shot 5 times
In the ***
He was brilliant
At credit card fraud
Only felt pride
For his gang
In and out of prison his whole life
Said life was more comfortable inside
I watched him put his feet on the kitchen counter
Hands on the floor
And do 100 pushups
I watched him with dying red eyes
High on speed
Peeking through filthy blinds
Every 3 minutes
While explaining how the
Man in the telephone company truck
Was really the CIA
He was arrested for ******
But the courts let him go
Due to a lack of evidence
He had 12 kids with 5 women
He was willing to fight anybody
Even women
Especially women
Made me drink a beer and
Showed me **** when I was 8
Showed me how to steal a car
With a flathead screwdriver
I hated big outlaw
He was a real mean *******
It's a real shame
That I have to see his face
Every time
I look at a mirror

Well, there.
I found it, shins
I found,
a huge place in the back of the head and locked in bed, maybe id
can only pinch with the residue residing
Swelling and spilling, the only true bad Smile.
The stem ringing and squealing
Swelling, kneeling
Afterwords, left and sizzle stigmad
Talk to your kids a lot. please!
Because handstand pushups only make
The thing competitive with no
Relatable taste
And movement from the vital stops
Which attracts the secret cops.
They're city veins.
Swollen, stolen.

The thugs in my mind
that make me want to
do drugs til I'm blind
spiritually are so strong
I crave relief
even with my faith
my unshakable belief in
God this addiction just waits
doing pushups outside this place
this rehab stay number unknown
I just want to go home
because being sober
will never be the case

My emotions in the mirror looking into the past are closer than they appear to be -what is the truth of me- is it what I allow myself to think or is it what I feel and how do I heal my pain body building up at a cellular level doing pushups inside years of experience perceived through tears and mysteriously they linger only in my mind yet are just as real as you and I and are not limited by the illusion of time and there is no rhyme or reason as to why I can't let go so I think it must be my egocentric will that has a death grip and it needs to be killed before the true me turns over my death wish and surrenders to God's Will which wants me to be happy joyous and free having interesting and vital experiences that teach me to see clearly the source of everything is God and that listening to what She is speaking to me through others and showing me in each scene of synchronicity in every single ineffable moment is what sparks the fire in my soul and if I allow myself to go spirituality broke again by trying to regain control by pretending to run the show again the cancer will only grow into more restless irritability and discontentment rendering my true self defenseless of my self-centeredness engulfed in fear relinquishing all hope of any hope and I know I desire Love and not to be alone so hear my cries oh God -the Indefinable Unknown- save my soul and carry me... and crucify my ego.

Perhaps I will
Always be alone

And when
Our society collapses

I will be doing pushups
Against the same tree trunk

Maybe eating a pear

Companionship
Would have been nice

I suppose on that
Final earth day
I will just sit on a yoga mat

Looking at the birds
Human life is beautiful
But lonely

Even as a child
I knew
What an incredibly
Dull and stupid place

Earth would be
Sitting by the gate

I enjoy doing pushups
Against a rock
And a stump

Simply let the times
Past through

Nothing much
Here to do

The food goes in
The food goes out

Everyone
Seems to scream and shout
"I am here, look at me!"

But I prefer
Just to be

To the gym
Then to the trail

Like a boat
I do sail

Upon the sea

You'll never know
How I am
Or what it is like
To be me

Advice for Geraldine on her Miscellaneous Birthday

stay in line. stay in step. people
are afraid of someone who is not
in step with them. it makes them
look foolish t’ themselves for
being in step. it might even
cross their minds that they themselves
are in the wrong step. do not run
nor cross the red line. if you go
too far out in any direction, they
will lose sight of you. they’ll feel
threatened. thinking that they are
not a part of something that they
saw go past them, they’ll feel
something’s going on up there that
they don’t know about. revenge
will set in. they will start thinking
of how t’ get rid of you. act
mannerly towards them. if you don’t,
they will take it personal. as you
come directly in contact face t’ face
do not make it a secret of how
much you need them. if they sense
that you have no need for them,
the first thing they will do is
try t’ make you need them. if
this doesn’t work, they will tell
you of how much they don’t need
you. if you do not show any sadness
at a remark such as this, they
will immediately tell other people
of how much they don’t need you.
your name will begin t’ come up
in circles where people gather
to tell about all the people they
don’t need. you will begin t’ get
famous this way. this, though, will
only get the people who you don’t need
in the first place
all the more madder.
you will become
a whole topic of conversation.
needless t’ say, these people
who don’t need you will start
hating themselves for needing t’ talk
about you. then you yourself will
start hating yourself for causing so
much hate. as you can see, it will
all end in one great gunburst.
never trust a cop in a raincoat.
when asked t’ define yourself exactly,
say you are an exact mathematician.
do not say or do anything that
he who standing in front of you
watching cannot understand, he will
feel you know something he
doesn’t. he will take is a serious
blow. he will react with blinding
speed and write your name down.
talk on his terms. if his terms
are old-fashioned an’ you’ve
passed that stage all the more easier
t’ get back there. say what he
can understand clearly. say it simple
t’ keep your tongue out of your
cheek. after he hears you, he can
label you good or bad. anyone will
do. t’ some people, there is only
good an’ bad. in any case, it will
make him feel somewhat important.
it is better t’ stay away from
these people. be careful of
enthusiasm…it is all temporary
an’ don’t let it sway you. when asked
if you go t’ church, always answer
yes, never look at your shoes. when
asked you you think of gene autry
singing of hard rains gonna fall say
that nobody can sing it as good as
peter, paul and mary. at the mention
of the president’s name, eat a pint of
yogurt an’ go t’ sleep early…when
asked if you’re a communist, sing
america the beautiful in an
italian accent. beat up nearest
street cleaner. if by any
chance you’re caught naked in a
parked car, quick turn the radio on
full blast an’ pretend
that you’re driving. never leave
the house without a jar of peanut
butter. do not wear
matched socks. when asked to do 100
pushups always smoke a pound
of deodorant beforehand.
when asked if you’re a capitalist, rip
open your shirt, sing buddy can
you spare a dime with your
right foot forward an’ proceed t’
chew up a dollar bill.
do not sign any dotted line. do not
fall in trap of criticizing people
who do nothing else but criticize.
do Not create anything. it will be
misinterpreted. it will not change.
it will follow you the
rest of your life. when asked what you
do for a living say you laugh for
a living. be suspicious of people
who say that if you are not nice
t’ them, they will commit suicide.
when asked if you care about
the world’s problems, look deeply
into the eyes of he that asks
you, he will not ask you again. when
asked if you’ve spent time in jail,
announce proudly that some of your
best friends’ve asked you that.
beware of bathroom walls that’ve not
been written on. when told t’ look at
yourself…never look. when asked
t’ give your real name…never give it.


Copyright Bob Dylan
This was printed in the programs of his October 31, 1964 performance.
at Carnegie Hall, in New York City

I sat on the edge of the pool, heaving last Friday
"I thought this would be easy," I shouted at the lifeguard who was actually on duty in between heavy breaths
We've been mates for awhile I suppose, so I wasn't uncomfortable wearing almost no clothes in front of him
My relay partner was returning so I stood up, still breathing too hard,
Ignoring the bruises on my shins from the side of the pool
I jumped in, turning to face him (terminator style) as the water swallowed me,
Grabbed the brick, swam the fifty
Stood up on the edge right away this time, entirely focused on my body and my partner

I got lost on a mountain once
My friend and I had been climbing nearly straight up for an hour before we realized we'd lost the trail
We also realized that going down would be infinitely more challenging than coming up
Covered in scratches and bruises, with burs in our hair and the sun setting and no idea how we had lost the Appalachian, we called my dad
When I finally got home, with no help from him, he said,
"I'm glad you got lost. You learned something today."
The water I had hidden in his pickup truck may have saved our lives

A football player pushed me up onto the two foot side of the pool to do a tricep dip at the instruction of my teacher
This was the first time I realized how weak I was, pale and sickly and tired and trying to change
We have already done fifty nine pushups and sit ups and sprints on the deck
I passed out at six pm that night
And got up at six am the next day
Wrapped my wrists for English and chemistry,
And replaced the braces with grips when I got to the gym

I think disappointed was the only word I could come up with as my sister drove me to the ER the day before she left for college
She'd spent eighteen years growing up, and this was the first time I felt like she was still a child,
Scared and vulnerable, turning off the lights for me while we waited for the doctor and my dad
More CT scans,
"Lie still, don't move,"
I could swear I was in a mortuary, in my coffin, too young for my liking
This was before my second training session, and I was afraid I was going to have to quit

My girlfriend and I did our first run together, holding steady to her 11 minute-mile-pace
Except for the mandatory sprints on my training app
I took her in between trees and across the farmland I grew up on
There was no talking, we each had our own music
But she got to feel something I loved, and I got to be with her, sense her footsteps out of sync with my own
We got caught in the rain

"Excuse me, Coach, Sir," I said out of habit, when he told me to call him Coach and not Sir
It was the first time I passed my physical for a sport
He had me running three miles on the first day, and the second, and the third, and I got lost
(This became a running theme in my quest to "get better")
Suddenly, I wasn't the girl in the hospital gown anymore,
Although the one person on the team who knew me asked me if I had my medication every day
If I didn't, he stayed back with me
He was safe, for some reason
I ran my second 10k that year

“There’s nothing you wish for that won’t be yours
        if you stay alive.”  --Beowulf

Winter has arrived and the wind cuts through
the parking lot under the el in the Bronx,
streets stretch out in their directions, events
in their mere chronology have no relation.
Old friends face certain dissolution
with perplexity, comity and humor,
look with gay eyes on their future
in a forest or a city, someplace.
Snow outside, despair inside. Homelessness.
Raccoon tracks cross the soul. Prostatectomy.
Winter mix. Don’t relax. The difficult
dangerous season when weak creatures die
and the strong barely survive. Leave me alone
with autumn, an autumn like last autumn.
Don’t stand around my bed, I won’t be in it.

Jack’s in jail. His panic attacks are like
an AI on automatic pilot
who wants to live, just like the rest of us
under the eye of eternity or
running in new snow, loving that feeling.
Some people go dancing in fishnet stockings.
Effortless mastery, success without practice.
Fractals without chemistry. Do the small
things first, clean the house and bless the guests.
Sick of Krshna, sick of salad, sick of self.
Sick of meditation. As I lay dying
the full moon’s rising. My existence
is indivisible from the wry Creator’s.
I like the old Rhymer, his smile resplendent.
It’s Death, not the Jewish king, in your rose garden.

I ply my arts all day alone. All I have
is all I do not know. The past isn’t dead
it never even happened. Learn the changes
then forget them. Keep on learning and re-
learning them. Down the steep and icy trail
through hail and storm. Take into eternity
my hail and farewell. We’re living in the
Anthropocene. Indestructible garbage.
Bulldozed landscape. Big Brother, dead father.
***** of the tiger.  Getting thought to twitch
the prosthetic. Mischievous, malevolent,
militant thistles. Or just plain polite
Americans, afraid to get shot.
Bump bump bump down the igneous rocks of life,
take the boulders two at a time down.

Old-timers bagging groceries, low social
security for the security guard.
Situps, pushups, fix yr brakes, fix yr leaks.
I know what’s gonna happen before it happens.
Polar bear mugs wino exhausted by that earlier,
irritating, constant need to survive.
Surrounded by history, neither seen nor heard
from again. And a deaf mute in a pear tree.
If it’s human, nothing’s wasted. Pasted
into a big wet kiss or posted
on the internet. Stolen from the pockets
of the dead, burgled from living memory.
Most art is dispensable, ***** and *****,
vaginal lubrication, prostate enlargement,
the unknown, anonymous man named me.

I’ve been wrong before and I may be wrong now.
Things fall apart. Or maybe not. Maybe
it’ll all hold together 10,000 years more
after all we’ve observed a galaxy born
13 billion years ago, a faint red blur,
and microbe partnerships on the ocean floor.
The good life’s all around us smiling
girls on bicycles, dogs on leashes,
equality is mandatory.
Sweet solitude and privacy, quiet
sitting spot, write a little, read a lot.
Tip generously, gratuitously,
like good luck. Haircut, cabride, dinnerout,
to eat a continent is not so strange.
Does Jack even exist? I doubt it but

the class of transformations that could happen
spontaneously in the absence of knowledge
is negligibly small compared with the class
that could be effected artificially by
intelligent beings, aliens in the bleachers.
Japanese knotweed also known as kudzu.
The Chinese navy also known as t’ai chi.
Water shortages. War and wildfire.
What you’re scared of and what you love. Contracts
and deliverables. Hate speech, fate.
Humor or ardor, I can’t decide.
Dad’s steel-toed boots. Leaves, flowers, fruits.
Things are said, mistakes are made. I’m driving
pontificating on geopolitics
when an archangel flies into the windshield!

Lost my timepiece, lost my metronome.
Well, music is a manufactured crisis.
Caloric restrictions, control your addictions,
desire to be famous, propensity for violence.
The profusion of species contents me.
Wilderness comes back strong as cactuses,
chestnuts, coral. No more missile crises.
Eat less, an empty belly’s holy.
Horselum, bridelum, ridelum,
into the fray! World order—not my problem.
Only meditation can save your soul,
should there be such a thing. There are actual people
half woman half man running past me
and dream people in movies half language
half light. Or they lie under polished stones
embossed with actual photos of themselves.

Learning who you actually are is difficult
as sitting still 10 minutes w/o a thought or want.
To get lucky you gotta be careful first.
Knowledge of death without dying =
early retirement. Counting your blessings,
a healthy activity. No solution
to death’s finality, and such a blessing
awaits me, too. If you’re suicidal
they call the cops. The audience is full of glee.
Watres pypyng hoot. Chinese characters. Quantum guesses.
Most failures, and most successes, are in our future.
I embrace wild roots and run through streets
with arm around my girl. Inmate #427443.
Poetry and surgery—they go together
like a horse and buggy. Cheerful as a flock
of chickadees. Looking for a lost horse,
I hear Appalachian Spring!

Look one way, from another come the heart’s
missed beats. Much better to look slowly,
labor for the success and happiness
of others, even the old and frayed.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest.
Look more closely. It will be gone in a few days!
First entertain, then enlighten if you can.
Is it stress? Yes. Tired of death? It’s what it is.
Let’s play sports, have ***, live a wonderful life,
give generously. If you see a hawk on a bough
at field’s edge beyond the corner you should have
turned, maybe it’s a sign to go on, alone.
No body, no soul. No mirror, no black hole.
No mission, no hero. No applause, no noise.
No experience, no nonsense. If words can
be arranged in any order can they be
of any use in foreign policy?

Disappointed, didn’t get what was wanted.
Forget me not, is that all I want?
A catbird account, a mockingbird account
and an owl account. Then, and only then,
nothing’s missing and nothing’s left over.
Jail or zen mountain monastery
hiphop artist hypnotist bebop trumpeter
unknown soldier black bear bad bladder
ice cold beer poker player wry Creator.
If not one way, then another. Otherwise
give me your 5-10 best hiphop artists. Can
they take the sting out of life like bluegrass, jazz?
Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks,
chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers,
thrushes, owls and a dove, high pitchers,
wood warblers and a word-warbling wren.
Unusual vocalizations.

We have hope that everyone alive is
essential, consequential. The commonplace
and everyday is sanctified. Nothing else
special need be done but stay alive.
Don’t lose passport, don’t be late to airport.
Insects are pollinators, insects are us.
Romance without finance is a nuisance.
November, however, is sweet, sunshine
through bare trees, dry brown leaves companionably
visiting among the dead. When middle school lets out
at the periapsis of Earth’s orbit
that’s the face of joy. Each leaf out and Jack
in his boxers. If you run over a chipmunk,
a groundhog or a skunk, say a short prayer.
One can’t help being here, queynt.

I live in a state so blue there’s nothing I can do
to change man’s trajectory and if I could
what angle of re-entry or ascent
would I choose? Grace is what we get
no matter what. Come the tired end of day
Jack thinks why not waste time watching tv
but the next day he has a hangover
like Ernest Hemingway or **** Jagger.
Your soul is immortal. It exists outside
of time. It has no beginning and no end.
If you cannot accept this, forget it all,
do not even begin. It all goes into
the same church service and comes out babbling
for God to appear. The shorter the service
the better, less passion, more resistance. Joy
may outlast the holocaust. Get it while it lasts.

The material world is reality, my friend.
Reality is not always what we’re after.
I like Jack’s confidence, that working the problem
will result in better outcomes than guessing.
Confidence is the feeling you have
before you understand the situation.
A hawk hunting or just floating waiting
for inspiration, a heron rowing east,
an owl’s quiet hoot even simpler than
the pentatonic bamboo flute.
What’s not to like? Ice cream, yogurt, profit, tofu.
Mosquitoes this summer are relentless,
heat and humidity, merciless.
Ice will ice those little *******.
Killing time before it kills me. Ha ha.

Whatever forever. Poetry is plumbing
your unhappiness habit until you reach joy.
As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done. I think
that’s how my father and his father did things, too.
“Away up high in the Sierry Petes
where the yeller pines grow tall, Ol’ Sandy Bob
an’ Buster Jig had a rodeer camp last fall.”
It is the older man’s responsibility
to protect, not as a hard-charging archangel,
Jack’s joints couldn’t stand it, or hero
but as a rational participant,
cool, caring and completely zeroed in.
Culture or religion is an answer to
the problem of what to do and why do it
when your cancer makes poetry from
losing the argument with yourself.

To die spiritually in the hot sun
and the body go on climbing, haunted,
hunted, nature’s intelligent partner.
People are the element I live in, or else.
Call for the elevator. Wait for the el.
Snow on the Sonoran, each saguaro
wearing a white yarmulke. Creosote
smell as snow melts, ocotillo buds out.
Man needs help from every creature born.
The blackbird contains death but it’s bigger than death.
It’s more like God but an ironical god.
Smaller and funnier than God, impossible
to regard directly, gotta look sideways,
aim binoculars left, right, up, down—
missing every time. There’s nothing you wish for
that won’t be yours if you stay alive.