Make up, on silk clothes
And those crazy one stand offs
And the times of soggy sandwhiches
And the years in our hair,
Could have been the tears from our tongues

The thing that conquers me the most
Is the things we cannot achieve,
The notches in and under our sleeves
The nights we conceive, the things we never need
The winds and the trees,
Its time to remember, nights like these

long agonizing nites
Spent running like
Dog show enthuisists
The ukanuba muts (our crew)
Have names
And cold plates of
Meat loaf waiting
For them
When the noise
Of old boots
Warns the couch
About our irival
ill be away from
Home some where
Adventerous like the
Green hills of affrica (Hemmingways worst knovel)
Getting the perfect
Shot on the rhino three hundread
Yards away in the straw grass
Watering hole.
He falls like frozen patatoes
And my day closes
Half full
Half golden like
Whiskey on
The burning slopes
Of tacomas
Blue collared ridges.
Flooding the flood
Of endless floods
Inside my nitecaps
Hidden shot glass.
Thats the only way
We all sleep before
Tomorow brings out
Our best jokes.
The only pride we
Can find after
To many hours of
Half finished sandwhiches
So we can make room
And stare into
The welcoming fridge.
Good nite tacoma
I need all the double
Shifts we can get
Before we all find a new
Paying gig.

I wish you'd tell me things
big things
little things
like
how your mom and dad met
did you fail your first driving test
if you like your sandwhiches cut
in triangles
if you like eating alone or being accompanied
if you like or hate soy nuts
how you spend your Christmas
which contries have you visited
which of your friends do you really trust
do you like sunsets or sunrises
do you like old movies
if you like the lights on or off when you sleep
what were you like when you were small
what genre of music do you listen to
where did you get that scar above your brow
what is the meaning of your tattoo of a girl's name
what type of girls do you prefer
do you like girls who smoke
do you like girls who shedd a plethora of tears for you
do you like girls who are fragile
do you like girls who write poems about death
would you drown with me if I asked you to?

I remember a dream I had that stayed with me
I never knew what it meant
Although it put me at unease
It was a sunny day and I was awake and smiling
It was all normal until the bed I slept on came to life
It set up a table and poured some tea
With both sipped and ate small sandwhiches while chatting
All of a sudden it got angry
In the end it ate me
I awoke, and what seemed insignificant was a nightmare to me
After 10 years of wondering
I've finally came to my conclusion
I can be happy
But that won't stop the world from trying to devour my smile
And I'd never see it coming
Because the person to carry the mischief through
Would be the one I got comfortable with
And depended on
But it'd be my fault because I was the one who made the bed
The thoughts would eat me away
All they did was set the table and cut the bread
Never knew until the day
Where all the cards fell in place

After forty years the brownstones
still seemed the same except
for the newer cars and the people
in fashionable clothes walking
golden dogs in chic comfort vests,
all living in houses he couldn’t afford.

He couldn’t believe he grew up here
when the streets were lively
with black live matter
and Gerald every summer
out there  with his roller
painting fatsfix’s store front red.

Now there sits Wray’s fancy drink café,
his name in a stylish white font
outcropping from a charcoal awning,
a cocktail glass replacing the Y, a large
BLACKLIVESMATTER banner out front,
proudly put there by its white owner.

The old El Diamantet is now
Castro’s Authentic Mexican Cuisine  
sharing space with a Dunkin’ Donuts
with expensive bicycles racked
to the declining handicap ramp.
The Mobil on Fuller- a Citgo Market.

The Meats and Greens turned Bamboo’s
and the farmacia now just  a pharmacy,
and the biggest insult of them all,
New Murken’s Restaurant which
served the best corn-beef sandwhiches
is an “eat big, leave happy” Mega  Bites.

The homebuds  had split, vanished
to memories of stinging high fives,
basketball jams and feeling up
Zoe on a fine Friday night,  the smell
of her  lingering in forty years  of regret.
There’ll be no bros coming from  these doors.

His heart  felt the sting of going home to a home
that was no longer his and no longer wanted him.
That past was a meat offering to this new block-
as if his blood and flesh had been scrubbed away
in the white wash of neatly trimmed roses behind
spiked  fences-  as if that there of his never happened.

“What was here before we came?” he imagined
the children asking the parents behind the doors.
“Nothing of note,” they would reply using the
same line the real estate agent routinely recited
to anyone who inquired about what existed
before the abattoir came and moved  on.

What vies
to be our
blood stream

our signal
out of the
"that direction"

bits of dysfunction
speed to you
unhindered

like sandwhiches
oh i like
them

of meaningless
to celebrate
a dog's greeting

Vies is only because
numbness
arrived in time