Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               The Land of We’ll Get Right on It –
                                              Songs of My People

You are a valued customer
No public restrooms
We don’t carry parts for that
Restrooms out of order
We’ll be out to make a bid tomorrow morning
No public restrooms
We’ll have your mower fixed this week
Restrooms out of order
Our driver couldn’t find your house
No public restrooms
Your call is very important to us
Restrooms out of order
My best mechanic ran off with my wife
No public restrooms
Our service tech will be there between eight and four
Restrooms out of order
Our next representative will be with you shortly
No public restrooms
Click…if…buzz…you…know…brrrt…your…click…party’s…buzz…ex­tension…
Restrooms out of order
We’ll call you just as soon as it’s ready
No public restrooms
The pump reader doesn’t work; I’ll just take your credit card inside
Restrooms out of order
All our representatives are busy right now
No public restrooms
Our Monday Hours are 9-11 and 1-3
Restrooms out of order
Your security question is…
No public restrooms
It’s $250 just to take the dashboard off for a look
Restrooms out of order
I charge $75 an hour starting as soon as I drive out of the shop
No public restrooms
Our breakfast menu ended at 9
Restrooms out of order
I’m just not going to make it this morning, but I’ll be there tomorrow
No public restrooms
I need you to unplug the modem and look for…
Restrooms out of order
I’ll have to call you back, honey, there’s a customer (sigh)
No public restrooms
We don’t work on that model
We don’t work on Saturdays
We don’t work
Closed for Emergency
Closed for Lunch
Closed

The 1st electric wildness came
over the people
on sweet Friday.
Sweat was in the air.
The channel beamed,
token of power.
Incense brewed darkly.
Who could tell then that here
it would end?

One school bus crashed w/a train.
This was the Crossroads.
Mercury strained.
I couldn’t get out of my seat.
The road was littered
w/dead jitterbugs.
Help,
we’ll be late for class.

The secret flurry of rumor
marched over the yard &
pinned us unwittingly
Mt. fever.
A girl stripped naked on the
base of the flagpole.

In the restrooms all was cool
& silent
w/the salt-green of latrines.
Blankets were needed.

Ropes fluttered.
Smiles flattered
& haunted.

Lockers were pried open
& secrets discovered.

Ah sweet music.

Wild sounds in the night
Angel siren voices.
The baying of great hounds.
Cars screaming thru gears
& shrieks
on the wild road
Where the tires skid & slide
into dangerous curves.

Favorite corners.
Cheerleaders ***** in summer
buildings.
Holding hands
& bopping toward Sunday.

Those lean sweet desperate hours.

Time searched the hallways
for a mind.
Hands kept time.
The climate altered like a
visible dance.

Night-time women.
Wondrous sacraments of doubt
Sprang sullen in bursts
of fear & guilt
in the womb’s pit hole
below
The belt of the beast
~~~

Worship w/words, w/
sounds, hands, all
joyful playful &
obscene-in the insane
infant.

Old men worship w/long
noses, old soulful eyes.
Young girls worship,
exotic, indian, w/robes
who make us feel foolish
for acting w/our eyes.
Lost in the vanity of the senses
which got us where we are.
Children worship but seldom
act at it. Who needs
temples & couches & T.V.
~~~

We can do it on a sunny
floor w/friends & make
any sound or movement
that comes. Roll on our
backs screaming w/mirth
glad in the guilt of our
madness. Better to be
cool in our worship &
gain the respect of the
ancient & wise wearing
those robes. They know
the secret of mind-change
reality.
~~~

“Have you ever seen God?”
-a mandala. A symmetrical angel.

Felt? yes. *******. The Sun.
Heard? Music. Voices
Touched? an animal. your hand.
Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water
& wine.
~~~

An angel runs
Thru the sudden light
Thru the room
A ghost precedes us
A shadow follows us
And each time we stop
We fall
~~~

No one thought up being;
he who thinks he has
Step forward
~~~

Shrill demented sparrows bark
The sun into being. They rule
dawn’s Kingdom. The cars-
a rising chorus- Then
workmen’s songs & hammers
The children of the schoolyard,
a hundred high voices,
complete the orchestration
~~~

“In that year there was
an intense visitation
of energy.
I left school & went down
to the beach to live.
I slept on a roof.
At night the moon became
a woman’s face.
I met the
spirit of Music.”
~~~

An appearance of the devil
on a Venice canal.
Running, I saw a Satan
or Satyr, moving beside
me, a fleshy shadow
of my secret mind. Running,
Knowing.
~~~

The day I left the beach

A hairy Satyr running
behind & a little to the
right.

In the holy solipsism
of the young

Now I can’t walk thru a city
street w/out eying each
single pedestrian. I feel
their vibes thru my
skin, the hair on my neck
-it rises.

Dear, all other men who use public restrooms.

Why is it, that every time I go to use a stall in a public toilet
there is **** on the seat? Lets set aside the fact that there are urinals
on most every wall for those of you who only need to take a quick
leak and would like to do so in the upright position.
Let us also set aside the question of why you did not bother to
lift the seat into the upright position.

Let us instead talk about aim, now I am a man myself so
I can see this issue clearly.  Unlike a vast majority of you guys,
I don't think I have ever watched a full game of football, and
I am confident I could sleep through the entire baseball season
without batting an eye or asking the score.

Surprisingly, this does not hinder my aim
it is steady and true. Would a bullseye
at the bottom help the rest of you?

Now there are times, I know, that are more difficult
maybe you're drunk, or tired, or just having an off day
and you happen to miss. In these cases there is a simple
saying "If you sprinkle when you ****** please,
be neat and wipe the seat". The saying is juvenile
the meaning is not. For those of you who are now confused

There is this nifty paper keep on easily accessible dispensers
inside every public restroom. It usually even has perforated
edges, in order to help you tear it Hercules. Woman use it
always and you do too, when you ****, I hope. So now is the time
to grab a *** of that stuff and wipe away your insecurities,
for the rest of us.

Sincerely, a Fellow Man

There is a
Threat
Outside of bed.
Beyond amber red
Sunsets
People of the night
Come out.
Awaken by the smell
Of repugnant restrooms
And *****.
Last memory of
The inside of
A toilet.
Brought alive by
the frightening
sunrise.
Blinding all
who hid.

The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

Bonding,
With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.

It was just another ordinary day at the Pub.
I  as always at the helm tending bar hitting on hamsters and making crude jokes that usually walked the line and got me banned from a site that I was a living legend on.
Remember kids there is no Hello without Gonzo.

Hey Gonz you really need to do something bout the restroom some nameless bland writer that I probably liked cause I thought she looked hot said to me as she walked towards the bar.
What is somebody jerking off in there again ****** !
I swear creative ******* sure are a frustrated ***** bunch.

Just then a old man walked from the restroom .
Granddad  what did I tell you bout using the restroom?
Huh the old man replied with that look of who the hell am I am what the **** is this ***** behind the bar saying .
Yeah I get that look a lot .

Granddad !
Huh?
What's that ?
He replied again as he staggered to the bar smelling of whiskey and **** yeah almost like Lindsey Lohans new perfume ode to a ***** well minus the ******* and bitter smell of a burned out former child actress.

What's that your saying?
The restrooms father time what did I tell you ,there strictly for paying costumers go use the alley where  I keep your house slash cardboard box .

Oh yeah and by the way you still owe me rent duh just cause your old and related to me doesn't mean you can just sponge off me who do you think you are some washed up drunken writer who haunts a nearly dead website like some strange perverted ghost ?

Hey did you hit the blood bank you old ****?
But son they told me I can't go twice in a week or I could die!
Look old man if you cant do that then you better hit the street start jerking off truckers I swear it was good enough for grandma you lazy **** .

I swear you give a semi senile old **** a spacious alley and wonderful box to live in as you take his social security and this is thanks you get.
Oh well least when he passed I can still collect his checks I'll just keep him in the walk in box nobody will know the difference .

Hey ******* don't talk to that  nice old man like that.
A voice Interrupted  me as I was about to remind father time he needed to sign his check duh how else do you think I fund the bar?

You really are a ***** Gonz you should be ashamed off talking and treating that nice old man so terrible.
I couldn't believe the gull of this women and although I was slightly distracted by her ******* I had to keep  focused cause this story had to end some ******* time .

Miss first off may I say welcome to the Pub and you have a great rack.
***** you perve ! , She said in her angry yet I could tell she secretly wanted me cause I'm a totally delusional egotistical ******* writer who is really long winded and enjoys cheap laughs and even cheaper hookers but only in moderation like Jesus kind of sense .

What to much?
Well you haven't read **** yet kids .

Miss I realize you may view me as a totally kickass writer and dude that you secretly want to have a goodtime in the backroom with .
Drop dead **** ! the woman replied .
Yeah I could tell I was wearing her down.

What gives you the right to treat this old man so cruel?
Duh cause he's my family silly woman and it's not like I'm cruel to him
in fact I treat him great don't I grandpa?

I haven't eaten in four days .
The old man replied .

You poor old sweetheart the woman said as she put her arms around the old man as he began to cry what a total ***** .
It's okay I'll get you some help .
Oh thank you so much your such a nice lady .

What the hell !
I herd the woman say in a semi state of shock as she realized in her effort to comfort grandpa he had grabbed a handful of some tight **** .

Get your hands off me .
The woman shouted but grandpa was stuck to that women like a tight pair of jeans .
Come on sweetheart give pop pop  some love.

The old demented ******* said.
***** this the woman said as she drove her knee about five miles into the old ****'s junk.

The old man fell to the floor as all five of the regulars laughed and the dudes had to cringe .

You people are all insane ***** this place she said as she walked out the door .

The old man climbed the barstool in the woes of agony a frustrated climber trying to hit the peak of that really tall mountain that I cant recall it's ******* name oh yeah Adele .

Give me a *******  whiskey and a ice pack you little *******.
I swear pops that act never gets old you alright?
I said as I poured the old ***** a strong one and handed him a steak.

What the hells the steak for ?
Duh the swelling ******* besides we got to thaw it out anyways
somebody ordered one from down the street and would it **** you to shave I'm just saying the owner of the site really already dislikes me enough already.

Yeah you kids are ****** up with your cellphones and computers and your shaved ***** give me the old days where men were men and weren't afraid to be men and smell like men not French ******
speaking of ****** dam I miss your grandma .

Yes the Gonzo clan it's so great to come from such a long line of misspelling drunken ***** loving perverts .

You know pops maybe we need to pick a new scam to run on the yuppies I don't think you can take to many shots like that anymore.

Hey are you saying I'm old ?
Well when the first boat trip you ever took was on the  Mayflower I'd say so gramps .

Well did that order for the steak include any seafood?
No why?
I replied as I poured me and the old man another.

Well cause it looks like there getting some ***** with there steak.

                                          Fin

Stay crazy hamsters

Gonzo

he and i met up at my place
and chilled and talked for a bit.
i began to feel warmth as i listened to his voice,
then looked at his smile,
his eyes,
his dimple on his cheek.
i gave him his gift:
a t-shirt from his favorite band and album.
he said thank you as he continued smiling,
and it made me feel warmer than i was before.

moments later,
we walked to the green line.
i was going to take him to
one of my favorite coffee shops in the west loop.
he told me that we would probably be late to get in.
the coffee shop closes at 5 while
we got on the train at around 3:40.
i told him that we were gonna make it.
i was surprised i would be the optimistic one
since i was a huge load of a pessimist from the past week.
luckily, we got to the coffeeshop an hour before it closed.
he ordered a cappuccino,
i ordered myself a hot chocolate.
we then grabbed our drinks and found a table
in a faraway corner near the restrooms
and began our conversation from there.
it was a nice one and i still felt the same amount of warmth
as i looked and listened to him.
i knew that he had a girlfriend
and that i shouldn't keep my hopes up,
but ****, is he a gem.
i just couldn't help myself.
i was also kind of surprised how we kept looking at each other
in the eyes for long periods of time.
don't know if that's a sign or anything, but, it would be frequent.

an hour later, we decided to head out to my place again.
i took some pictures of him outside the coffeeshop
with my 35mm camera and laughed when i
saw a customer almost photobombing my photo
through the window.
minutes passed and we were already back at the green line,
waiting for the train to arrive.
the sunset was so amazing,
but seeing the view of him made it better.

we made it back to my place
and relaxed for a bit once again.
he remembered that he saw a bass guitar
leaning against the wall and asked
if he can play it.
it wasn't mine but i asked one of my roommates
if he can play it and he said as long as he knows
how to set it up.
he, of course, knew since he plays bass himself.

i heard the notes he played and i began to feel mesmerized
with every note that he played.
although his rhythm was a bit off since he
wasn't used to my roommate's bass,
he was still pretty good.
the low frequencies coming from the bass amplifier
softly vibrated my ears as i was hypnotized by
his fingers moving as he presses on each fret.
i guess the vibrations made me feel a bit warm, too.

the day finally ends as i was about to walk him out of my dorm.
when we got to the front door and before he left,
he said thanks again for the gift.
and then he hugged me.
he hugged me.
i finally felt his warmth for a second or two.
it was a friendly hug, but, it still felt nice.

i remember him saying it would be cool if he can hang
every other weekend when i'm free.
i'm gonna keep that promise for sure.

Something original. Of newer words, that originate from the pleasure and happiest of timeless incidents. The happenings, back of the park, near a set of restrooms, a pool of clear sea water and a purplish-red starfish. A sea cucumber. Trailing sea lions diving off of a cliff, a vertical display of rocks, moving a millionth of an inch each year. You caught me.  --------

I can't nail it. It happens to me when I sleep, it comes around me, over my shoulders and latches onto my breaths. I'm breathing and it creeps inside of me like a mealworm, I turn to look for it and it disappears again. It lives in a shadow but it is also a shadow of itself. An anomaly, a space for time and the tell of time, its hidden agenda, its positive nature, how it yields itself to prey, how it coos for a sweet smile, runs up to me in mid-day traffic, and kisses me, noon at military time.  ------  

The blessings come. All of them. Laid out on a table in red and white checkerboard, making the eggplant parm and the homemade vinaigrette. Peanut butter chocolate chip vegan cookies. A dandelion necklace that only fits around my wrist. It makes me weep some twenty years ago on a Playskool slide, orange, red, bright. I'm looking around my neck and still it's not there. Every where I want to be, every where I've gone and could go. I should go to California too but all of this...stuff, everywhere, under my legs, in my pockets, the closets tumbling high and low, I haven't had enough to change, and still I am wanting something else. You the same, my shoulders tell me stories, I listen and I fall asleep.  -----  

Sometimes my nerves grow quiet, my words grow- but then they just fall again, skittering in a lull plash of blue-green pond water. The bench I sewed to the ground. A tale of mirth and woe. I cannot call on you, you will not come. Sleeping beauty, blue eyes, blonde hair. I wrestle you in the day to day, the hour to hour. Minutes cannot go by. Pages that turn but I remember everything. My mind will never go.  -----  

Two pink letters in the post today. Maybe neatly placed for you. A fake-tattoo puffin, upper-left hand corner. My hands are empty, they have indecent memories, they write indelible superpowers. I can't go on. I run lake water over my ankles, slowly drift beneath arcing waves and cold grey skies. Half a day blue goes black, night comes and I whisper when the sky goes quiet. Nothing is as serious as this.   ------    


In a white box there are two pairs of shoes and a soft bear. The bear without the name. He doesn't speak to me so I leave him with the sea birds. Put them in a push cart and show them off, I take them here, I take them there. No one asks his name, where he's going, what he's going to do. ------------


Tuesday's are the worst. I count and count and count. I will never forget Tuesday's, twisting like a cuneiform jelly, fingernails spoiling me-meat, breaking the Styx crossing the river Rhine, there is nowhere that I will not go, only for me to cross time. To wait, I really hate waiting. Nothing comes between, I lie to a stranger and they fall in love instantly. I see you on Monday evenings and I want to kiss you gently, the sides of your neck, on the inside of your hand. Where do you go when all the shadows go? ----

Some of me is backwards. The waves shape the sky. A rabbit goes with a fire truck, a blueberry with a cephalopod. Back to the soft wood walls of the cotton luxe room. My legs have never felt so safe, you have never made my teeth so happy. In Russia you touch my face, I see you, a picture of you, any part of your eyes or the things you draw upon and I am instantly in love. I love you, a part of you, all of the parts of you, your soul is the only part of me disconnected. You are the happiest moments of my pleasure. You taste like Tahitian Vanilla and Acai berries. Gold grains hit our shins as we go like great wild horses through the alluvial plains. -----

I cannot count to you. There are no goddesses in numbers. I only have sleep, for you to look me square away into a bliss I have in a picture of the two of us, lost in our faces, our hands wandering each others knees. I sit across from you and I am not close enough. I go closer and I want to be inside of you, all across my limbs expanding our spiritual forms, intertwining in our skins. So I speak, I lay my words gently in front of you so you cross them as you walk our path, back from the sea into a narrow slumber. Sleep is the only place we all can play. You, me, her, her, and I.

The room was filled with burnout nuts who looked half crazy dear lord what was someone as normal as me doing here.
Yeah dont laugh im being serious or however ya spell it.

The group slash cult leader approached the mic.
Hello im Dan .
Hello Dan.

Dear lord these people were some brainwashed hampsters almost as bad
as that voodoo priestest Taylor Swift yeah Her new song sounds just like her last okay.
the only people who like her are kids and perverts that reminds me gotta put that video on mute when i
watch it it really messes up the mood what!
Im talking bout when im writting ya perves haha no im not.

Enough with the foreplay kids.
The man went into his speech how he used to snort lines that went from here to texas
picked up hookers drank till he passed out.
Hey No wonder this man was a leader he was soon becoming my hero.

But then I hit rock bottem and stopped found Jesus once honestly i didnt know he was lost.
Now he hadnt had a dam bit of fun in four years i couldnt contain my laughter
what a ***** huh?
I said to the old drunk beside me.

Hey what you got in that cup there grandpa.
He just looked at me in a strange manner must be on a hell of a trip lucky *******.
He spoke slow in a ***** old seductive kinda scared shitless by me manner
It's Koolaide.

Yeah weird mixer what ya trying to pick up kids ya nut what else is in it?
This oldman was playing a game yeah  sure dont share you old ***** hound
my flask was nearly empty and my patience was fading with every sober ***** that took the stage Jesus people it was listening to Jeff Foxworthy it's great if your ******* but honestly its one step above a ******* puppet.

The group of lame areses was almost done when they looked at me hey there friend feel like sharing?
It was something I should fight but a mic and stage was as tempting as a
wild turkey and college keg party.

Why not.

Hey Kids Im Gonzo!
Hey Gonzo jesus it was like dealing with a human parrot or Brittney Spears really
you've  seen one mindless drone ya seem em all.

I took a deep sip from my coffee with a little something extra cup
mmm acid and folgers it goes togather like teens and ****** reallity  shows ******* MTV!

Well Im Gonzo , Hello Gonzo.
Look meeting of the living braindead it's funny the first time okay.
Okay jesus these people were bad as a boy band dam three tenors yeah your all
hot and can sing opera but wants to party to that ****.

Look here  Ive been drinking since 12  umm commited alotta fun crimes
Once paid the babysitter to show me her *******  yeah I know winning.
Ive been in 20  car crashes some of em not just other peoples cars  like I can afford one.

Ive done every drug known to man and some that arent made by people named skull and eightball.
dated strippers snorted coke off of more than just a table  get your mind outta the
gutter cause if ya dont your gonna end up like me serious!

My wife is full of life and strung out on pills that reminds me
i gotta pick her up after cheerleading practice.
Ive been in the iron bar hotel many a night yeah that ****** but he hairy guys are great to cuddle with
like big teddy bears who'll **** you yeah that ****** so ive herd well yeah.

The group was silent till DR Downer spoke up but when did you hit bottom.
Sir thats my personal life okay and besides i not that hung okay.
But you stopped right.

Stopped what are you high on crack Bobby Brown?  
First off amigo its cheap second I aint stopping till im dead yeah i could work out have no
fun and spend the rest of my life speaking in front of nuts who used to be cool
Like you Irene hey personally i wish i had seen you in the ******* cause you seem
like a nice lady and really easy to get into bed okay yeah im
sensative I always pay after that's manners.

The crowd was filled with something what was this place Jonestown
Look at what ya all become eating cookies and drinking **** I wouldnt even
drink when i was ******* five okay.

And you ****** Dave well okay it's kinda weird ya hung out in park restrooms
But if only you had met George Micheal maybe then he'd still be making good  records but ya gotta have faith im just saying.

Sure you can be nice live good yeah then one day ya cross the street and some *******
spoiled brat   teenager  who just got his license runs over your *** cause he's texting sally
asking to see her **** to share e with the rest of the football team okay.

Hey whatever happend to *** drugs and rock n roll kids.
**** living forever.
Lets party now and ***** tommorow cheers I kicked back the last
of the wild turkey hitting that liver like a sledge

The group was silent yet again **** I had crossed the line yet again ahh someone needs a spanking
but enough bout lady gaga.

Sir there leader said leave now!
Just then like something off of saturday night pro wrestling.
A folding chair hit the
hugging preachy nut over the head.

***** this guy the old drunk exclaimed lets go get trashed my life ***** lets get some ***** drugs and
Irene crank the music.

And like something outta a stupid wholsome after school special my heart grew
okay aybe thats a bit much .

We were off like fellow addicts set lose in a world as ******* up as us
And everything was as messed up as us we partyed laughed made some movies of are own that probaly wont be seen on tv anytime soon.

And we lived in the moment cause its all we ever have.
And this perves gonna make sure his is
******* fun stay crazy and avoid the clap love always
Gonzo

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                 Welcome to Stoplight, Texas

             Shopping * Fine Dining * Antiques * Friendly Folks
       Annual Ye Olden Days Friendly Frontier Cowboy Festival
        Visit the Friendly World-Famous Parking Meter Museum
          We’re Your Friendly Hometown Family of New Friends

Closed No Restrooms Restricted Hours Dining Room
Closed Lobby Closed Road Closed Drive-Thru Only
Line Forms Here One at a Time Cash Only
Road Closed No Restrooms Restricted Hours

Dining Room Closed Lobby Closed Road Closed Drive-
Thru Only Line Forms Here One at a Time
Cash Only Closed No Restrooms Restricted Hours
Dining Room Closed Lobby Closed Road Closed

Cash Only Closed No Restrooms Restricted
Hours Dining Room Closed Lobby Closed, Closed, Closed

                           Y’ALL COME BACK SOON!

The old ones seem haunted
even with ole Presidents
making their whistle-stop
campaigns.
Blacks on their exodus from the south,
streaming into them, one can visualize
with their souls and
spirits accompanying them as they seek
a decent life.
Imagine the shoeshine stands with their shoeshine “boys” and black attendants in the restrooms
which was probably as far as some of
them got.
The newsstands with their variety of
newspapers and sundries alerted
the lonely travelers to Wall Street
and elsewhere, businessmen
who would stream in with a sophistication
the common traveler feared.
The smells of leather baggage,
the cleanser that porters used
to keep the coaches clean wafted in.
The smell of cigars and wrinkles
of old men’s skin let us know
that the porters would be appearing
with a bevy of special guests.
History speaks in these stations
as well as some bus stations
around the country with their
dangerous drifters who would serial ****,
and the ambitious young talents off
to the big city to seek success who we would
later never hear of.
The local Union Station in Champaign has been
turned into businesses, but I can
just see Abe Lincoln arriving
speaking from the caboose and making
his way to a horse and buggy
outside to go to the local county courthouse.
Long live ghost-filled train stations
everywhere, and don’t let us forget
the homeless and destitute street people
who need to use their restrooms and
sit down in the waiting area seats
to take a needed load off.
They’re that important in the general
pictures of things, at least to me.

My grade school
burned down
twice.
Once in the 1930's
then again  in
the 50's.
They rebuilt,
there were two
large black and white
framed photographs
of the school houses
before both fires
hanging in the
main hallway.
At some point in
the reconstruction
someone had decided
on two boys
restrooms.

The one at ground level
was always clean.
There were small white
tiles and fresh blue paint.
It always smelled like
pine cleaner,
never ran out of
paper towels.
There was always
sweet smelling
liquid soap in the
shinny silver dispensers.
There were doors with
shinny silver
locks on the stalls.
It was a timeless
space,
pristine and somehow
preserved.
Free and unscathed
by the ugliness of
the world.

Then there was the other
one.
The restroom below
ground in the basement.
There were ground
level windows
with round wire cages
over them.
The view of the
***** untied
tennis shoes
attached to
saggy socks and
scabbed knees.
The children
ran about
with purpose
over every inch
of the playgrounds
hot black top
as I'd try
to guess who's
feet were who's.
There were no doors on
the stalls,
yellow stains beneath
every leaky
******.
Smears of rust around the
faucets ,
a coarse hand soap
in the often broken
dispensers.
More fit for prisoners
than students.
It smelled like
**** and was always
cold.

I don't know why
one was always cleaner
than the other.
Maybe it was an
unwritten janitor
law.
Maybe they seen it
as somehow lower
than the other.
I always chose the
basement restroom.
It just seemed more
natural to me,
it made me feel strong,
made it all feel more real.

Now after so many
hardships as I sit with drink
in hand or lay down
while high on some drug
I can't seem to  help
but look back and
remember.
Then ponder the question.
"Have I always been
meant to live in such a *****,
harsh environment,
even way back then?"

Here comes the sun in all its glory
tracing the hemisphere in its slow
rise over rubble, but first the tallest
steel and concrete dedications to
the lives living high while their
green shadow casts below over
the desecrated. I see bright night light
shining blue. I see wide, wild light
only high noon. Morning, all day
veins are caving under the rubble
under the tallest.
Here comes the nasty truth, suited
in belts clasped with wealth for
well being, beating the lies with
a dollar sign, until the ugliness
of the first story presses like
meat into the underneath, under
the detritus concealing lives in
the dirt with the needles.
I see bright night light shining blue
in the park restrooms. I see wide, wild
light only high noon from the under-bridge,
waiting for trains to come crush.

Mary,

don’t leave me.  
The things we’ve seen,
the perfectly serene
tranquil hours,
thick, sweating, hazy bliss.  
No.  
Stay with me.  
One more day of
nakedness in the park.  
One more night of you
late and deep and
infinite in the dark.  
One more breath of you.  

You *****!

I should have tossed you out
with the cigarette butts and
the empty bottles of *****.
I should have buried you
in the back yard where
no one
would ever find you.
I should have
handed you over to
those shady *******
who moved in down the block.
I should have sold you.

Oh, my love!  

These cloudy afternoons are
cloudy for us, tangled
in each other.  
Lost!  
Maybe I could live with
never seeing you again if
I could just always taste you.  
I understand you  
so perfectly.  
The lovely flower,
Delicate,
an intoxicating
fragility,
I will hold you
so delicately.

You *****!
  
I will eat you.  
I will take you down
in restrooms;
on the beach;
on the side of the road;
on the steps of the church
with the clergy staring
upon us,
possessed and hell-promised,
in the middle of
room full of people.  
I would burn the
******* house down,
Mary,
just to elicit
the tiniest bit of
glow from you.

My everything!

I plead.  
I entreat.  
I command, beg and weep and
I find a little more of you
absent each and every day.
Like you have dried up and
withered as
the direct result of
me loving you too much.  
Words and want and sentiment
do nothing
to keep you here and
so what do I do?

I ensconce you
in plastic to
preserve you.  
I roll you up carefully
expelling all the air and
secure you
with a cord.  
I make room for you in
the freezer
so that you will never change,
so that I might take you out for
a few moments
at the end
of seemingly endless days and
finger you
on the kitchen table.  
So that I might breathe you
in moments
when another heartbeat
seems too painful.  
You help me like that.  

You are looking quite
green but
that red hair, oh!  
So carefully I keep you
these days
not sharing you with
anyone, ever…,
well
almost never.  
I mean if the right girl
were to come along and
if she was of the mind
to understand,
open enough to
mentally grasp
the sort of relationship
that we have then
maybe we could
allow her just a bit
of the madness we share.
Or maybe if I had a really,
really good best friend
I might allow him a
taste of you
now and again.
Friends share until it
hurts to give,
don’t they?

All we have been through,
so many close calls like
that time in that
dank little apartment
downtown
when the authorities were
mistakenly busting down
the door next door.  
It was a terrifying experience but
I giggle a little now
at how
when things quieted back down and
darkness fell
I scooped you up and
shoved you
in the trunk of my car and
we drove and drove
and drove.  
It was summer and
hot as hell and
the next day you
started to smell a little,
reek actually and
your odor saturated the
interior of my Chevelle and so
I made sure we
traveled at speed no more than
ten miles per hour
under the posted limit,
totally paranoid with
the situation and
still as happy and rich as
I have ever been with
so much of you
bound and tied and
packaged for
no one
other than myself.  

And still,
look at you.  
Everyday diminishing,
dwindling,
evaporating into
nothing and
enough is never
enough.  
Every time I resolve myself to
quitting you,
to leaving you behind and
moving forth
I pace the floor
sleepless,
my mind traversing a
monotonous loop that
circles every reason that I should
cast you out but
religiously returns
to the need that is you.

Mary, don’t!
Don’t leave me,
Don’t.

It is good to get lost at Edapally junction
in that sea of people in the bus bay in front of emmanaul silks
to be exact, I could get lost in any part of kerala
it is the same to me ,kozhikode, thrissur or cochin
I am a foreigner
And i have adapted.
why ?
Why ,you may ask
why this indifference to one's own mother
simply because you cannot abandon your mother though you grew up in an orphanage
So goes for these places
I did not choose my mother
nor did I choose my native land
and I cannot orphan them
can I ?
I am familiar with some places now
As new memories are made
I remember places now
I remember fort kochi for the lanes sloshed in whisky and dreams
i remember vypin for small truths
I remember vytilla for heartbreak and pain
I remember wellington for incessant talk and friends
I remember calicut for numerous crossroads and junctions and restrooms
I remember thrissur for art and molestation
i do remember places now for each memory made
it was not like this for the place I grew
I know the temple and the paddy field
and the people in each house
like the woman on Google maps announcing each turn and curve
I would say this where I smashed the neatly piled red bricks with my lady bird bicycle
or take a turn in that alley and say this where I buy coloured glass bangles
Or take a left here ,this is where I light lamps filled with ghee fasting and in obeisance to devi
It is all vivid ,perfect with no doubts
and everything is doubtful in my own land
And then ,I decided to get lost at Edapally
sorry if I am geographically wrong

I stopped my car at the highway
Amongst the water logged fields
Overgrown with white lilies
my driver looked displeased
how could one waste travel and money
until then I had counted minutes and seconds
Of anticipated moments of security boarding and baggage
and now I stopped here at angamali  a nowhere
and watched my flight overhead
What now he looked anxiously
let's take a detour
I said
and yelled at the plane
"I don't care "
I want to get lost
And switched off all accountability

He dropped me at Edapally junction
And i stood still in that movement
a flood of people
fear engulfed me
the airconditioned air filled my mind
a fake cherry tree with cotton and red  glitter paper stood staring
People moved in with money and came out with loads
sweat, dreams, monotony, laughter expectations ,new hopes and hopes  dangling in the bus bay
some comfort now ,I stood hugging my Adidas coat
I did not know where to look and was whirling around in small circles
when I felt being pulled
Your lanky arm
I was here trying to get lost
And here you were pulling me back
I walked with big steps trying to dodge you and hoping to disapper
And then it started to pour
I did not know which was louder
the rain or your anger
your knuckles white
is this why they call white with fury
even the rain seemed white
the cotton hung wet and the cherry Tree seemed drained
but language seemed fine
you drove
I walked
and it rained
it was perfect to get lost

Tease me with your words.

Let.
       Each.  
                 Syllable
       Fly.
Free.

And when you drift
away,
I hope this happiness exists,
that you find
to be beyond
your fingertips.

You put the L
in Lust,
and the Loss
in Love.

But let me not forget
my own imperfections.
When you force yourself
to smile all of the time,
you ready yourself available
to restrooms.

Who am I to say what your smiles mean?
Just as I would not expect you to know mine.

The quirks and the relevancy of
daily life
cloud the fact
that progression
is essential,
and that the need for development
is the reason for closure
and travel.

Emotional baggage is only
goodbyes that aren't finished.
And sometimes they will never
be salvaged; relationships are like that.
But it's important to remember
who you explained a few
smiles to.

Crossroads are a particular

kind of place where mythology

and actuality combine,

mix and dance with your shadow.



Limitlessness has a name

and social security number

in your restlessness

and your ambitiousness.



I've performed in cafes and on street corners,

In bookshops and depots,

woods and public restrooms

with the junkyard profits

desperately clutching to my clothes,

refusing my money

but begging for my love.



But now I am at the crossroads.



The smoke from my soul

comes in, forces me to turn around,

turn around turn around,

and see the faces,

so many different faces,

all those who have

loved me,

mocked me,

befriended me,

mentored,

hated,

changed

maimed

spit in my eye

called me what they thought I was.



So many faces.

So many eyes full of dreams and ire.



How many would I come to know again?



Who would become fortune tellers

blues-men

teachers

cops preachers

mathematicians builders destroyers

soldiers of fortune

businessmen liars or junkyard prophets?



Who will become like smoke in the fog,

slightly hazy lost-boys

off to never-never land,

never to be seen or heard from

except for the cries that whisper

the time?



So many faces.



What will I be to them?

A companion

friend

liar

hater

lover

brother

sideshow

an I knew him when

a face that looks at their back

at the crossroads,

a wisp of smoke?



I turn again,

turn turn,

a cymbal shot

pushes me forward,

left and right,

but I can never go back behind.



Johanna whispers

Even salvation must get old.



I know she must be correct,

at least as far as I can turn my head.



The right is barred,

the left is guarded by the beasts,

the faces hum a dirge or a lullaby,

I straighten my jacket,

pack my self into a slip bag,

and blow away with the smoke.

It's funny how we worked so hard to get here
It's just me and you now
In this dark cozy cabin
We both think we know what's going to happen
But oh how wrong we are
I am outside looking in on myself with you
And I can't stop what's happening
Believe me
If I could stop myself from leaving then I would
But I watch myself get into a car
While I look back in to see you laying in bed
Waiting for me to come back
But the car drives off
And suddenly I'm back inside my own body
Sitting up with my hands tightly on the steering wheel
Driving too fast for rain
Time is just speeding past us now
I look at the clock every few seconds
And hours keep passing
My eye brows work with confusion
And I know I should go back
But in my mind is a place where
Another girl will be
Waiting
Working
Why am I headed toward her when I have a girl back at the cabin?
This I cannot answer
But I know the girl back at the cabin will wake up soon
And she won't be happy
Her heart will break
And I can stop it but I won't
And I don't know why
Because I know the girl I'm after now will only break mine
She won't make me happy
I think she will
But she won't
And then the cycle changes
I'm no longer in a car
But standing bare foot on the warm concrete in just my bathing suit
And there's a bunch of people around
No one familiar
But it doesn't bother me
I step in the pool and hold my breath
I open my eyes under the water
Only to black out
No pain or anything
Just boom. Unconscious!
I wake up drenched with water and sweat and blood
Still in my bathing suit
I try to sit up but I'm still in shock
So I lay here just moving my eyes around
I see Scott
And a few other people I know
He tells me to relax
And I ask him what happened
He stalls and looks around to the other faces to get approved to tell the story
How don't I know what happened?
How don't I remember anything?
But he begins to tell me
He says
You got out of the pool
Walked over into the restrooms
Into a stall and started smoking blunts
One after another
A kid saw you and beat you senseless
And we found you a mess
Alone
Just passed out on the floor
You don't remember that?
He asks
No! No I don't remember anything after I got into the pool
My thoughts to myself are
Why can't I control myself?
And then the cycle changes again
I'm early to a party
Mary and her friend are upstairs
For some reason me and the two people I'm with don't go upstairs to be with them
It's just known to us that we aren't welcomed
But we were invited
So we stay down stairs and drink
We speak in whispers
And the only light is the bright moon shining in the windows
I find myself very intrigued by one of the girls I came with
The other, not so much
The girl I like
She was my very first crush ever
And now she's here with me tonight
For some reason she's really into me
It takes her a while to warm up
But once we're warm
I sit next to her and stare at her hands
And she speaks to me
I don't like my hands
Is what she says
I look her in the eyes for the first time and ask why
She replies
You're staring at them
And I say
You're hands are lovely and so perfect
She reaches over to hold my hand
And I compliment on how soft her skin is
And the touch of her hand on mine
Who knew that dreams could hold such an emotion
So intense and my bones ache with the desire to kiss her
But I don't
So we just cuddle on the chair and drink our drinks

Why try when ya can buy?
I made like seventy comments.
Yeah he donated tweenty bucks and has more
points than I.

Respect dont come with the side of a card.
It's not totally broke.
But to demolish it were trying hard.

Mr Robbins can you just please keep your
mouth shut.
we'll buy ya a case of wild turkey
you drunk *** pain in the but.

Point and poetry really dont mix.
what is this nascar?
Nothing that some strong drinks cant fix.

The doors are locked  lets semd in a spy
to see whats going on in that joint.
Hey i just  won at beer pong  
did that get a point?

Were all  about exposer so get your beads.
Avoid the restrooms at the Pub.
look  in the red light district of hello
cause everyone's got needs.

I gotta point for logging in and  one for
coloring within the lines.
And got no license  for like
few thousand dollars in unpaid fines.

Heres a point for me.
And heres a point for you.
With the ******* a few
fellow poets did point and said they were threw.

Yet here i stay slightly sober
happy to stir the ****.
That  i refuse to play the game.
Hey how many points do i get to quit?

Drinks are always on the house at HPs
number one joint.
And if ya waste time getting  anry with
me then ya really didnt get the point$

Real questions I've been asked by the 3 year old I care for
Dia do you have a mancave
Dia did you get new toilet paper
Dia are those antlers for the cheese
My answers respectively are fairly straightforward
No I don't but I sure wish I did
Yeah I got the really soft pillowy kind thanks for noticing
I have no idea if those antlers are for the cheese but I don't see why not.

I am generally confident with the answers I provide
However once in awhile she asks me
Dia do you have a ***** today
And I'm stumped because the answer Josie
is so much more complicated than no
Because I want to say someday you will learn how that no matters every single day in more ways than I can tell you
That no has everything to do with the way I take up space
That no is my mother's refusal to buy me bow ties in favor of silver necklaces
That no is the cringe in my heartbeat when people call me a lesbian
That no is the source of fear I carry as a shield when I *** in public restrooms
That no is what I use to bind this chest to prove something I can't prove with a yes to that question
A no is the answer that sales person gives when I ask for those shoes in my size
That suit in my size
That body in my size
The mirror in my eyes
I've had a home in the lies I've told instead of no

The world asks that question every single day and I never have the right answer
It would be so much easier if the world asked if those antlers are for the cheese.

I guess this means its over.
I told you not to contact me
if you were haply and happily seeing someone else.
I haven't heard from you,
so I guess you are making a go of it
wherever you are in that big District.

Does she know your affinity for public restrooms?
Does she love your little hands like I did?
(Maybe mine are just big?)
Do you call her darlin' when you hang up the phone
and does her stomach fall out of her bottom
when she catches even the slightest glimpse of you
in that dashing tuxedo you're so proud of?

I still have your cuff links.
Those stupid pieces of silver mock me on my bookshelf
next to the copy of your favorite book I still can't
bear to pick up and read.
You said to read it to understand you, but I don't know if I want to-
understand you or read it, that is.
You told me to return them when I was ready.
I'm ready, but you're nowhere to be found.
What happens now?
I'm convinced you're the one I'm supposed to
put all of my money on, and
You've always been a betting man.

I heard you wanted to give up
I heard you were tired of fighting.
I heard that you were going to stop trying
Just throw away all the effort.

OK
Why should I care, I doesn't matter
It is your decision
But...

Years ago did you know that
Gandhi gave up too.
Yeap, he did and now his home is still being colonized by the British
And Martin Luther king As well as Mandela
They gave up after a bunch of policemen came after them
And now in their own homes they are servants
They use different restrooms
They enter through different doors
They are treated like aliens from outer space.

If the wouldn't have given up their homes
would be a peaceful place for them
They would have proven justice.
Now think of what you can accomplish
How are your friends going to see you,
when you tell them Don't give up
But you were the first to give up
Just say you were weak,
Well what if they are weak too.
Maybe even weaker than you ever were

Tell me what change is there for someone who doesn't keep trying
Tell me what will you do later on?
Regret it, feeling bad for not keeping a fight
The haters, the neighbors, the enemies
want you to turn weak in a fight
But it is your decision to fall
Or show them that your weak moments
make you even stronger

If you need a wing-man here I am
I am here to help you
But don't give up
Follow Gandhi, Martin, And Mandela
They never gave up for what they believed in
They were threatened to death
but the still stood up high
for the desendents and their follows

She wears blue rubber gloves
Middle aged, with light, brown hair
She pulls it back in a pony tail
Her eyes match her hair,
Brown, but dull and dried, uninspired.

With her hands, she holds a cart,
with a container of trash, black trash bags,
two wooden poles, and her disinfectant just below from where she holds.
She pushes it, and it rolls over the floor.

Her parents promised her a good life,
that she would attend a college.
She has made it.
She has late nights like every student
Like them, she visits the second floor of Wells, tired,
but in her brown custodian attire.

The lady makes her rounds every four hours
every day of the week.
Her legs and feet slow down every time she returns
And her worn out shoes decay even more

When she looks in the mirror in the restroom she can see the wrinkles  
           around those eyes of hers.
In a different time, she would have covered these areas with makeup,
but now she wonder, 'is there any use in that?'

We ignore her, we've seen her too often
She is like an invisible ghost,
you don't see her,  can't hear her.

She's is leaving now, after cleaning the restrooms, pushing her cart.
It's now 8:16pm, she'll be back at midnight.
I will see her then, before I leave
It's a date that we have, but only I know
but I'll ignore her, I won't smile nor talk to her.

Once fully liberated, she rides her antique, three-speed bike down the small hill from her campsite to the:  RESTROOMS – SHOWERS – PAYING CAMPERS ONLY. She dismounts and goes into the well-kept, recreational facilities and takes a hot, 50-cent, seven-minute shower, arching her soapy back against the white tiles, rubbing her soapy front in the same spot, up and down and up, and then, rinsed, she stands, dripping wet in front of the first full-length mirror she's seen in weeks, gyrating her hips, mocking pin-up poses to herself and all god's good-looking men with a sense of the absurd, then she wraps her towel around, tying the knot between her *******. She stands outside in the sweet, Santa Vidian air, finger-drying her hair and imagining, unabashedly imagining, guys in the campsite above, eating fresh-cooked meat and ogling her. Then she takes off down the road, pale green nightgown fluttering against the rear spokes, past Bonnie's trailer where from sundown till 11pm you can hear the best country music: Randi Travis, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams Sr. She pulls up to her sweet “Bleu Belle,” shushes the dogs reflexively, hops off the bicycle, and turns, eyes closed, face upraised into a rare shaft of redwood forest sun.

The old ones seem haunted
even with ole Presidents
making their whistle-stop campaigns.
Blacks on their exodus from the south,
streaming into them, one can visualize
with their souls and
spirits accompanying them as they seek
a decent life.
Imagine the shoeshine stands with their shoeshine “boys” and black attendants in the restrooms
which was probably as far as some of
them got.
The newsstands with their variety of
newspapers and sundries alerted
the lonely travelers to Wall Street
and elsewhere, businessmen
who would stream in with a sophistication
the common traveler feared.
The smells of leather baggage,
the cleanser that porters used
to keep the coaches clean wafted in.
The smell of cigars and wrinkles
of old men’s skin let us know
that the porters would be appearing
with a bevy of special guests.
History speaks in these stations
as well as some bus stations
around the country with their
dangerous drifters who would serial ****,
and the ambitious young talents off
to the big city to seek success who we would
later never hear of.
The local Union Station in Champaign has been
turned into businesses, but I can
just see Abe Lincoln arriving
speaking from the caboose and making
his way to a horse and buggy
outside to go to the local county courthouse.
Long live ghost-filled train stations
everywhere, and don’t let us forget
the homeless and destitute street people
who need to use their restrooms and
sit down in the waiting area seats
to take a needed load off.
They’re that important in the general
pictures of things, at least to me.