on believing yourself to be more important than you actually are

poetry

we should all believe the world
revolves around us
they said in a movie about truman
with a man around whom the world
already revolves (at least in part)
we went and watched and for mere
moments believed we were he and therefore
worthy of note

today i write words into oblivion
they may be viewed once or twice or thirty
but the world will sleep still
i cannot stop the sun in the sky
or take your breath away long enough
to affect who you will marry

but i can hope
as legends live
long after they die
these words wont
represent me
but perhaps
a humor i embodied
your laugh will not endure
forever

but twinkies will

Vernal Vivacity

poetry

FUCK the fact
the air’s still cold
the wind still blows
the birch is bare–we
bare our brilliant skin to defy
winter’s withering grasp we
lie in grass as if it were sand we
talk outside of things irrelevant
just to be irreverent we
don’t need leafy green trees just
give us the sun–
we’ll take the ‘verse.

The Gang’s All Here

poetry

It’s Friday night, boys, and you know what that means.
George and Tommy are coming but if I know anything about them,
It’s that they won’t last very long.
No matter, Abe and Alex are on their way.
Andrew said he’s coming out full force too,
That’s what I like to see.
Can’t wait.
Told Ulysses he’s got to come around more often,
Need me some of his skills—
Oh look! Here comes Benny boy!
Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Let’s get this party started.

WYWH

poetry

We’ve been playing the same songs for years
and they’re always sounding better
except for that Wish You Were Here

But fitting, I suppoe

Georgia’s a long ways
away, you know

And we’ve been playing that damn song for years
so maybe let’s practice
so next time we’re together
guitars in hand
we can pay it right

Until then,
rest assured,
WYWH.

climbing a fence

poetry

blah blah you
self-assured like the civil war
full of shit sayin’ god put it there
standing at a gate
with the key
someone inside and i wish it wasn’t
me
seeing like a blind man with a
telescope and some other
metaphors that would cut real
deep
if i had only used your name.

hand-off

poetry

we huddle in to
each-other-warm
where one body wont suffice
gather round tables
as though to worship
a lazy susan

plow food into our faces with
sticks and laugh at
failed attempts to evangelize

reminisce the future
leadership, change, adjustment
as i sit with
prophet,
businessman,
preacher,
manager,
pastor,
researcher,

sharing table, susan, bowl, meat, bite
and love(mixed)jokes(dreams)
tomorrow i’ll leave this behind
them behind

to pick up where i set down

funereal anticipation

poetry

two days from now
i’ll wish it was two days from then
and that i could be back here
in my drab, too small cubicle
eavesdropping on my co-workers’
impotent, constant complaints
because anything is better
than watching a mother
whose lost her only son;
whose lost her future grandchild;
whose lost her hope
in her loss of everything;
everything that matters;
everything that gets her out of bed;
everything that gives her purpose
to face a day in which she will know
that she’ll never again
talkseetouchhugkiss
her son again
and that she’ll never have
another chance.

Maybe that’s the secret

poetry

The world has a way with itself, sometimes
and in that way the rest of us get
trampled
left for dead under the stamping feet
of the universe

Years pile on years pile on age and all
the lyrics in the world can’t
STOP
the sun from spinning out in space
and us spinning around it

And for the life of me I just can’t
put my finger on the reason
that we all eventually get out of bed
every morning

But we do

And maybe that’s just it.
Maybe that’s the truth that keeps concepts
of emptiness at bay. I
want to live. You
want to live. We
will live together,
on this rock, we will rock

And every morning we will roll on to
the floor of our bedroom, alarm clock be
Damned.

We will step out of the front door
from a hot shower and a cold bagel
and we will go where we will be
and when we finally get home
too late to crank the stereo too loudly
there won’t be anything keeping us up at night,
because here we are.
Let’s do it.

Earth and Me

poetry

Dirt in the mouth.
Each grain that grinds over
The tongue
Tastes oddly identifiable,
Each mineral familiar.

Pick oneself up and
Beat the dust from jeans.
Rub the dirt away and
Yet deeper into pores

Savor
Flecks of bone calcium and
Iron that dissolves,
Sticking to gums like blood,
Tannins of wine and
Earthy tea,
Charred granules of
Carbon burnt meat,

Copper, nitrogen, and manganese linger and
Slick the pearled teeth

Hands finely gloved
In dirt that sinks
Low into the furrows
Of grated palms.
Rubbing eyes with bits of aluminum and
Deposits of sulfur

My gaze starts where my feet are
Planted and
Jumps up to
Meet the horizon

I breath deep and
Run ahead with
Mud and spit and sun
Spackled across my face.

Visitations

poetry

the words for city streets
are many, from colorful
explitives to dark and
malodorous concepts that
chill the soul, to beauty
and it’s life and light and
beauty

but when
the spaces aren’t really
there (oh fire hydrants)
the only words that come
to mind on these old gothic
streets is the beauty
of their beauty.
Fuck this city,
I’m going home.

heroin spoons

poetry

heroin spoons

ice glazed in
grass

cat piss white
t-shirts

from
smoothing edges
to
running
from
police

notes to yourself
reminding yourself
that you are not
being
your self

perplexed by
that concept
you ignore your
old friend

stems

giving up by
sitting down

a man made of
mist and a man
made of stone are
yelling at eachother
on your television,
you cannot
turn
it
off.

Viewing

poetry

There wasn’t much to say
Because there wasn’t anything we could do.
Wanting to, but knowing,
Asking ourselves why
We would waste feeble words on deaf ears.
An unbending anxiety, bending our insides
Pleading—lying in wait to riot
A cacophony of flame, of sound, and disbelief.
But a shapeless hand like shadows holds fast,
Even a shudder and it may overtake me.
Yes, this fear will outlive us all.
It was then I realized I was scarcely breathing.

PJP

poetry

i guess you never had much of a chance
to live a happy, normal life,
growing up in your house,
filled with tension,
filled with strife:
from the mother whose pain
was still all too present,
and the reminder you were
each and every day
of the father who lived
a few towns away
but never had the time
to come see you
because he had started a new life,
with a new family,
and new kids that weren’t you.

and that is how i remember you,
subsuming the rest of your life
into your childhood,
reading your life like a book
in which the ending is foreshadowed,
inevitable;
and even though i now realize
that i never really knew you,
cousin though you were,
I still think that i know
what made you tick,
what made you go away:
running away from your past,
running away from your pain.

a short description seems more appropriate to the situation than to drag it out

poetry

one of the ways i know you will forgive me
when i tell you i have dirt on you you cant
afford to ever let get out in the open for
all to see just how strange you are despite
your best attempts at masking the feelings
you have for the people around you and
even though it seems childish almost like
you’re back in high school hanging out in
the mall near the orange julius because that
just happened to be where the cool people
hung out and you were always one of the cool
kids even among the crowd of losers that’s one
of things people say they liked about you
telling me about that one time you used a pillow
to do the unspeakable (but apparently others
have tried the same thing with more success
than you admitted) till late in the evening
probably around 3 when i pressed if you really
wanted us to leave or if you’d prefer we stayed
and you said you enjoyed our presence and
that we were therefore welcome to stay as
long as we’d like and that was when we knew
we were going to be good buddies that it would
last despite you being somewhere all the way
across the globe and i know it’s only 3 in the
morning there but you’d want me to stay if
i were there.