the sieve and the sand

The alcohol’s numbed my lips
But honestly I promise
If I could speak
My mouth is tumbling with words
So I’ll tip back
And keep looking for answers
Written in the froth of another draught
Cause we both know
We’re not that strong
Ernest as your tears attempt to talk
I’m preoccupied
Ordering another
Shot of heartache please?
No, make it two
We’ll drink to existence
Secretly hoping it ends
But would you mind taking
That bullet out of my glass
I’ve bitten it one too many times
Shame I couldn’t say it sober
But cheers to another stupor
The longer it lasts
The less time we’ll regret

I will, I will, I
promise. Karma’s
got me by the balls again.
I will, I’ve killed, but
now I sense
you’re not amused this time.

Oh
I will, I will! It’s
just so much
to try and handle all alone.
I will, I will, as
you forget you used to be
a friend of mine.

the winds changed
leaves left reminders of
death on pristine grass

(mowed mind you
not naturally toe-tickling)

bindweeds caught me hypnotized
lost in mild self hate
warm beer warping my taste buds
leaving an aftertaste vision
the adult child daddling her fear
unable to dodge the bullet,
or give her mother her youth back

There’s nothing quite as offensive
as a lit cigarette in a room of non-smokers:
the mark of a guest as unwelcome as
the pungent sick he permeates with.

Though, in all measured, fair, and honest
assessments, perhaps that room
could use a little shaking up;
Perhaps those boys and girls
need
their cages rattled.

Well son,
light another one, and get yourself lit too.
There’s a lot of folks that just don’t smoke
(Read: You’ve got a lot of work to do).

money is your god
and i know you know you know that
fact
and the graveyard is the
only place left for people
like you
the graveyard is where you
must all go
the graveyard where i can
drink rum and laugh at
the size of it.

courtyards wine ice-tea
spaghetti penne sausage
chili sauce bruchetta
grass stars dim-sky-pointed lights
great service white tablecloths
and you

’bout right

Of course hope covers us
of course mercenary love lacerates us
of course music rocks our drownings
of course madness grasps us in the middle of these struck down people
of course sobriety reflect a certain elegance
of course silence unseams souls guilty of having
created nothing, not even a plastic toy to last an eternity
However when you have no one not much is real, not the
city lights, dirty water or paycheck in your pocket
When you have no one,wings spread in loneliness at the top of a bridge

Nature is no mother of mine,
she twists me every chance she gets.

I’ve come to speak as an older, English,
Gentleman.

Strange the effects that older,
English, books can have.

through the night
rain fell thick and thunderous

by morning the sky was clear
blindingly scattering photons
sharply at a watery wavelength

by morning the ground was as dry
as the fallen leaves
leaving me pajama’d and wondering
what i’d dreamt
or not.

Chivalry is dead
And I killed it.
Slit its throat
While it slept.
Watched the life
Drain and disappear.
It was I who
Held the sword—
Promising to restore
Peace and reconciliation.
But as backs turned
I took lethal aim.
This is how it ended—
My guilt stained like scars.
The humid air still quivering,
Moist with betrayal.

tipping the scales
a bit of a misnomer
i’d think

toppling might be more descriptive

They’ve seen something in the forest
just outside the lantern-light
but Adventurers are adventurers
and don’t quite give a good god damn
So stepping lively through the waving
branches of a white-pine grove, the
Boys in Black ain’t looking back: they’ve
half a map and half a plan

Of course, for all adventurers
the first one’s always rather rough
and every little detail not quite
taken in account, so
when the man in back was dragged away
by creatures unbeknown or seen
the other young adventures
kept not their wits about

Fortunately, however,
one lone brown bear, though quite a sight
is no match for six stout walkingstaves,
so was dispatched quite quick
And the boys were quite relieved
when dragged away was dragged on back
and plan were laid for next adventure:
Bring more than just sticks

i pondered your loss at length
perhaps carrying out the possibility
beyond the line in the sand marked
“healthy”

thank God you’re not gone.

See, the folks we love,
they get drunk sometimes.
Sometimes, they go and
do things that make us question
(not really, but we think so)
weather we really love them
anymore.

Sometimes, though
the folks we love,
they get drunk,
and then they bare their
very souls
(drunk words are sober thoughts
and all that, though I hardly believe it).
Now, what to do with the
mess they’ve made the morning after?

I can only say
What I’m thinking,
But I think
More than I’m saying

feels like i’m gripping the edge of this
speed boat through the swamp
dodging mosquitos and gators
thinking the crash is going to come
any moment and will i be holding
on tight enough?

Funny, really, to think about
that we mostly know each-other
(these-days, anyway)
Indirectly through the meandering
THOUGHTS
we sometimes feel pressed to press
pen to paper (or finger to key, as is
the less poetic, but far-more-common
scenario)
to iterate for (potentially) the entire
rest of the world
to read along with at home.

Funny, really, to think about.

Terrifying, truly, that we
know each-other so very, very well
(Kindred souls and all that)
…(not in a gay way)

(Happy Birthday)

Arriving along country roads
Trees burst into fireworks
Trunks shoot up like rockets
Standing in undivided attention
Trumpeters in dazzling colors

I guess you’re busy on the
other side of your party, and
that’s oh-kay, ‘cuz there’s
pizza and good company
in the little corner that I’ve taken
for my own, even though it’s
someone’s house that I don’t know
(but her friends are nice, I’ll find
on the walk out in to the rain
out of the party and
towards the newly-fixed car
that of course will fail again)

Well anyway, that dress looks wonderful,
even if the make-up is a
bit too much for me to take. But
who am I to say a word? Forget
about it. Oh, and one other thing
(and Connor said it best):
Happy Birthday darling, we love you
very, very, very, very, very, very, very much.

to write a poem about
your father would be
to assume that the words
i would put down could
change some part of the
fundamental stages of
life or the cold, hard
fact that someone has
disappeared from your life
in the way that you under
stood it and understand
it currently at this very
moment.

this is more
like an anti-poem,
because it is raining today
and your father is dead.

i am sitting in a chair,
thinking idly about what
it would feel like if my
father died,
the way yours did.
a black hole is eating all
of the words that could
be used to describe it.

and when i picture you, or
me,
or anyone, for that matter,
in old reel footage of a sunny
day with the sprinklers in the
lawn and propelling down a slip-
‘n-
slide
with your father there,
safely,
keeping everything safe and warm,
this black hole grows larger.
the words start spiraling towards
the floor.

i fear if i do not stop thinking
about this now it will most likely
swallow me alive like it is
trying to do to you and your entire
family at this very second, jeff.
you must struggle against that tide
and i will help you with any hand
that is possible to give even if
“i’m sorry for your loss” is the
only
dead
replacement
for “grab my hand.”

When the blown radiator is
replaced and the engine is
still spewing green shit
all over the GOd DAMned place,
what’s the next step?

Here’s a good hint:
it has nothing to do with
running the car across town
anyway, like you just did.

I hate math
And scientific method can go to hell
And so can yams and their scaly skin
Which can be poisonous if not cooked right
Just like rhubarb
Which is pretty expensive
But is like best friends with strawberry
They make a nice pie

if you give a man independence
he’s going to buy a motorcycle
he’ll cruise the world for days
perhaps months
then he’s going to want someone
to share it with

if you give a man a woman
he’ll take her with him and they’ll
build shared experience in some of the
craziest places on earth
then he’ll fall in love with her

if you give a man a wife
they’ll fall more in love
and soon they’ll want someone
to make their love a family
and they’ll begin to think about little
ones

if you give a man a child
he’ll ball his eyes out at first
glimpse of the miracle he helped
to produce and love it watch it grow
until it can run around and eat on it’s
own then he’ll want some more

if you give a man a family
he’s going to become addicted
to being a father and husband
and find a satisfaction in life he
never knew. but then one night
he’ll be sharing a beer with a single
friend who owns a motorcycle
and he’ll begin thinking

i wonder what it would be like
to have independence?

would you eat something
if it sounded delicious

or sing something
if tasted of a solid crescendo?

i know i would
i’d rock the hell out of that
hotdog

I don’t use your nomenclature
so pay close attention while
the system that you’ve grown
in to is
dashed upon the metaphoric rocks
that ever hover oh-so-near the
metaphoric ship that the lot of us
ride

I’ve got the life preserves, prepared
emergency lines so we can
drag you back if you’re caught
in the tide, but first you
have to
grab on.

i slipped into the waterfall
baptized myself in the crystal
water
begged i could return
again and bask
in purity

It may be awful
lonely sitting here
all night alone

But

New steel on the
six string make the
time alone pass
that much more
wonderfully.