getting stuck
restless in the dust
stirred by soft touches, hard to handle
flurries of hesitant spontaneity-
take flight in the heated tango of 6:17 p.m.
will the billows settle among the fabric
or will it settle for nothing, yearning for fresh winds
floating endless on breathy quotes
wisdom of ancient used shirt sleeves
I believe I have a chance
to choose

In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening

And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations

Hoo-huh

Exhale the fire

It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin

And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin

Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition

Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel

Well,

It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is hell.

This tough front,
This altogether unlikeable first impression,
This mean, crude obnoxious scumbag,
This despicable misogynist,
This cynical misanthropic madman,
“Wassup wit dat?”
Enquiring fans of poetry want to know.
Simply stated, 'tis my oldest modus operandi,
Self-protective, learned street behavior;
My don’t-****-with–me first line of defense.
Surely some form of survival mechanism;
Meant in the narrow psychological sense.
Evidence of mental health or illness,
My cloaking device and shield,
Gift from Jove, my goombah father.
Dad: a powerful force in any child’s universe—
Be the patriarch dead, absent, retired on the job,
Out of the picture, just plain missing--or insane,
The latter, something you may not
Want to know about your gene pool.

So I’m really just a *****.
Forgive the expression, Germaine Greer.
A pussycat and big old teddy bear,
Mr. Sensitivity:
Wiping a warm washcloth between your legs.
Across puffed & pouted lips, gently.
After shooting a load of *** into you.
Or on your face: Spumante!

No, strike that last part.
Let’s start again.
I am a kind soul, a precious man.
The sort who likes animals;
Puppies, especially, and kittens too.
Savoring sunsets and flowers,
I serve you sweet gelato & Asti.
Sometimes I’ll spumante you with original love poetry.
My Muse: your gorgeous body delights me,
Your brilliant mind & noble spirit inspires.
Each night of the week I surprise you,
Prepare for you an exquisite home-cooked gourmet meal.
Served with your favorite Pinot Noir,
Brought to your elegant, candlelit dining room table,
By yours truly, wearing only a scarlet bow tie
And black silk jockstrap.
(Starting to get into this, Maureen Dowd?)
Later I’ll run you a relaxing bath,
So you’ll have something to do,
While I wash the dishes, scrub the pots,
Do a load of whites, clean your bidet,
And Swiffer®  (www.swiffer.com) the entire house.

By then, you are ready for your nightly spa treatment,
A 15-minute, deep tissue massage,
Followed by a hot oil treatment.
Next up is 30 nonstop delirious minutes,
Me, going down on you, without
Seeking any ****** gratification for myself.
In the morning I’ll make macadamia nut pancakes,
Your favorite, and brew you a fabulous cup of coffee,
From freshly ground beans, very rare beans
Salvaged from Karen Blixen’s last crop, before the fire
Completely destroyed her plantation in Kenya.
"I had a farm in Africa, Babaloo!

You can go shopping from dawn to dusk
With Ruth Madoff, while I go out & lose my soul,
Selling Dominican Republic timeshares all day and all night . . .  
(Cue West Indies Calypso: “All Day, All Night, Mary Ann!”)
Calypso-Harry Belafonte Songs, Reviews, Credits,
Awards www.allmusic.com/album/calypso. 1956.)
I’ll still find the time to open up for you
A line of credit at your favorite nail salon.
I’ll pay for weekly bikini waxes, hair and Botox treatments,
And the odd cosmetic surgery you may require.
I’ll pay your cell phone bill; I’ll pay off your college loans.
I’ll send money to your extended family in the Ukraine.
Yeah, that’s the kind of guy I am.
Your life with me will be every woman’s dream.

And, if you believe that,
You soulless Ukrainian ****,
Then monkeys will fly out of my Wayne’s World ****,
You stupid capital C for ****-*******,
Capital B for *****.
THIS JUST IN:
“Arms and the Woman,”
An article in Time Magazine, conveys a statistic:
Some 20 million women in the U.S. own guns.
As the NRA instructs:
Guns don’t **** people.
Women with Glocks **** people.

My roommates Leong, Sophie, (Charles) and I were coming from a Yale sporting event. The sky looked like a ***** Swiffer-mop and the wind seemed to be ignoring the posted 20mph speed limit. It was a typical spring day in New Haven, overcast, 65°, with intermittent, drizzling rain. I was thinking it was a good day to be a duck.

We were looking for something to gnaw on and a beverage - of the alcoholic variety. We picked up some Mike’s hard cider (featured in our refrigerator now), which proves college students really do plan for the future.

It was about 4pm and the streets were puddled, slick-looking and empty. The lone passing car sounded like it was riding on a sponge. I was wearing a navy blue, short sleeve Polo dress, a matching Polo bucket hat (for the rain) and a slub knit hoodie that I ‘borrowed’ from Sunny forEVER (seriously, I ordered her a replacement from Amazon) and Roxy boat shoes.

On a side street, a “party-bike” sat parked, sad and abandoned in the rain. A party-bike is a tram fitted up as a bar that slowly drives noisy drunks around. The drunks sit around a “U” shaped bar, on small, backless stools welded onto the tram. Yes, an open-air bar on wheels. I can’t help thinking that a lawyer came up with the idea, because what could go wrong?

The first time I saw a “sightseeing” party-bike was on Beale Street, in Memphis Tennessee. Memphis is the Disneyland of barbeque and the blues. Every storefront for blocks is an open air blues bar, a barbeque place or souvenir shop (or all three at once). Party-bikes make sense there, because intoxication is like oxygen in Memphis. It's a party-bikes native environment. In New Haven, they seem cheap, excessive and opportunistic.

As we were walking, in the distance, we heard the wail of a saxophone and a beat so clear, that the sound seemed to linger and shimmer in the air, like a cartoon neon ‘Jazz’ sign. We instantly turned that way and discovered it was coming from a place called “Three Sheets” which was having open-mic tryouts for the house band.  

It’s a bar that serves food and there’s a ‘beer goddess’ painted on one wall. In Georgia, we’d call it a ‘fern bar.' We found a table in the darker back, out of the way, and settled in. A waitress quickly took our orders and brought us several IPA beers.

Near a platform stage, there were 6 or 8 musicians sitting around (with their instruments) waiting to take a turn forming a trio with the house drummer and bass who were laying down a constant beat. One would step in with a guitar and play for a hot minute, then a guy with the sax, another with a trumpet and yet another with a clarinet, it went on and on. They each had a solo, at some point, and it made me wonder why I don’t listen to more jazz.

Our afternoon of music was something Sophie had wished for. Earlier that morning, as we were leaving the residence, she’d said, “I wish there was a concert or something going on tonight - something musical,” and boom, we get this. Still, I don’t subscribe to the idea of holy intervention.

I hate it when I hear people say, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” I bristle, my head snaps in the direction of the speaker, I want to see who that dumb-*** is. My parents and sister are doctors, and believe me, people are dying every day in situations that are more than they can handle. Heart attacks, staph infections, gunshot wounds, covid, cancer - Uggg, sorry, I got off track and boiled-over there.

Anyway, we had some jazzy music and incredible Vietnamese pulled-pork sandwiches with fries and a smoky ketchup that I could have just drunk.
.
.
**I put (Charles) in brackets because, as our driver and escort, he’s usually there in the background when we’re not in the residence. But his presence is circumscribed, because he’s not there socially. Is it rude not to include him in every narrative? I don’t know - it's a habit.

It's short
it's sweet
It's the perfect treat

For our last goodbye 
I'm not going to lie
I really hope you don't die

Growing up we had our fair share of fights
With flying slippers 
...and that broken swiffer
But I think we turned out all right

You're not the strongest nor the smartest
Though you're much stronger than me.
And I know you'll fight the hardest
When you're fighting for our right to be free

It is said there is a friend unlike any other
One that sticks closer than a brother

Perhaps some day this will be true
But I think it's almost impossible to do
Cause I have to say, 
to my brother born in May,
I've never had a closer friend than you.

So here's farewell, not goodbye
There is only do, never try
Stay strong, don't die
And of course, semper fi

5/20/16

There was a smile in your eyes
a reflection
that was allowed to last about
three minutes and thirty-two seconds
before you said you needed
to swiffer the floors later
and then it was tucked away
under rolled up sleeves
that did dishes
and wiped counters
only to return
when contemplating how clean
everything would be
if what did the sweeping
were my hands and knees.

Eyelashes battle like trees for the sunlight.
Theres dust in your eyes and your swiffer just wont cut it.
Knowledge is amazing, even one byte.
It'll set you free, so flit.

Eyelashes calm like an ever watching storm.
Theres dust in your hands and its to heavy to lift.
Trapped indefinitely in a chrysalis form.
Waiting to spread your wings, now flit.

Eyelashes open wide like night engulfing day.
Theres dust on your wings and your beginning to emit.
You've grown to much, minuscule things cant block your way.
Freedom radiates from you, so just flit.

You made it, Mc hammer too legit to quit.
Your a full fledge butterfly, now do what you see fit.

My brain flows like the current of the ocean
thoughts and memories constantly in motion.
Ideas tend to come and go
some are nice and deep yet others are shallow.
I have a unique way of thinking
I can give advice confidently without blinking.
Yet somehow my own problems are too complex
I look at them through foggy specs
because my brain battles with my heart
as I slowly fall apart
from not knowing whether to surf the wave
or to go with my heart and be brave.
My mind says one thing heart says another
slightly contradicting like a father and a mother.
Both want what they view is best for you but they differ
while I'm here stuck with a mess that can't get cleaned by swiffer.
Right now my heart is broken so there's only one thing to do
which is surf the waves of my brain until I get over you.
My situations like an whirlpool dragging me down
but this young man refuses to drown.
So I write poems for they're my life preserver,
and I'll swim on because I guess I don't deserve her.
These are thee waves that crash in my head
every night before I go to bed.
Sometimes I feel like I'm going insane
but it's just the waves that are crashing in my brain.

it's when the dust gets as high as the baseboards
or the rust corrodes the pipes
and they start leaking
I get buzy
whip my swiffer sweeper and knock the crust off this
apartment
grab my pipe wrench and start tweaking
on the leaky faucet
it's when the electric gets cut off
I can't see the dust or the water
dripping
is when I get lazy
set still
I don't care
a **** bit

Immaculate Reception

Oh No! that rare call family saying they will drop by after the mall

Sudden rush begins to brush away that dust appearance of neatness is a must

No time for detail stick to retail don't go wholesale, reduce the clutter so they won't whisper or mutter, just throw loose linens in the closet in the hall

Give that mop a quick romp dance the broom around the room ,toilet bowl needs a bit of bleach to at least whiten the rust

Always keep a clean kitchen helps with quickness and reduces sickness, open a door a window for the air so new freshness isn't just aerosol

Begin to brighten instead of frighten lift the gloom with a twirl of a vacuum, straighten a mess just for the guest not the naval white gloved

Little messy not to dressy merely a side effect of bachelor life, now in a hurry to arrange in a flurry make the tornado appear as a minor squall

Swiftly swiffer  wiping the upper along with lower,  lift loose lint sets my mind at ease, giving it all a fast pass to not appear over scrubbed

Fast and furious dust a thon to not appear to be living life to soft and luxurious, wash not wax is not lax ,minor buffing not the complete overhaul

Shake the rugs loosen the linens rearrange the many pillows, make haste no time to waste room already appeared chaste, pillows from the dryer will pass for fluffed

Last minute set the music for a fresh vibe coffee and cookies to welcome the tribe,stage is set they won't judge for that stray hairball

Glad that didn't drive me mad, not much fuss over a little dust or hub bub for a fast scrub, it won't truly matter if it was clutter or spatter, I just realized I am still in my pajamas and my hair is not brushed. R.C.

we've got insanity in the streets
and cops to keep the peace
to protect them
from their dysfunction
i am ok
as things are uncertain
my purpose
my purpose
my purpose
i am here now
and earlier i went to target
and bought a swiffer wet-jet
for twenty-two dollars and ninety-nine cents
i am constantly in awe
of the number of souls
that inhabit this planet