the sophistication that comes
with a pipe
will come to me
tonight

I know it’s coming around again
but
I never seem to duck
low enough

the mcdonald’s man talks to you
but he doesn’t want to be
your friend
and neither i, his
because fuck the mcdonald’s man
and every dream he’s ever had
and for that matter
fuck me too
his paycheck lies behind
handing me my plastic
and my satisfaction lies behind
this transaction going flawlessly
so i can put it in gear
and get down the road
and foreget his face
and he mine.

we’re forgettable people,
i and the mcdonald’s man

we are seen yet unseen
or relativly anonymous

we are unimportance personified
with no books or pictures
in our names
and i am uncertain
if that will ever hold any weight
at all.

His jawline
trembled

Hopefully I
reached out

He wouldn’t
or couldn’t

He stood
as stone

His jawline
trembled
just so

And I
tried

But he
was too far
gone

trees have blossomed
bursting
like daytime fireworks
pink and white
frozen, but swaying sweetly
with the wind.

Forever a child, owner of the biggest smile.

Saddled down with the same sadness,

Marked with age, acne scars and warts.

We’ve all felt it.

He feels it.

In another life

He lived with me,

In an apartment by some park.

I can feel it.

We used to sit around and smoke cigarettes

And drink, till the night returned.

“Fuck!” he’d yell and slam back another one.

Always smiling so damn big,

Would make you laugh just to see it,

Light up the whole room, calling the ships to safety.

One night, beer cans strewn, smoke saturated air,

I asked him, “what’s your fucking secret?”

“Fuck!” he yelled.

“Shit, what secret?

You wanna tip, here it’s yours keep it,

I rub one out in the shower each morning…”

Fuck…

It’s the same in this life…

you’re simple like a tree
in that every story you
tell is really about
yourself.

for that brief moment of
simple beauty in the
midst of the blinding
chaos

Oh darlin’
there’s that song again
and we missed it
the last time and
this station only comes though
every so often on
this stretch of byway
and the signal’s strong,
too, so if you could
reach over and turn it
up, I’ll slow down a bit
so the speakers keep pumpin’
and we’ll see if we can’t
at least make it to the
chorus before it

For Tara. 
Always.

I heard the ice cream truck
for the first time since October
Today.
The birds are blasting past my window
Claiming this sky
as theirs
Not mine
Little do they know I too
can sometimes fly.
Like today
when I heard the ice cream truck
for the first time.
And wondered if the wind wasn’t built
for the wind chimes
And the sun doesn’t shine
just to reflect off your eyes. You
dandelion.
I’ve been seeing you in
everything.
It’s like ice fishing
Naked
Without a pole
Diving into the freezing ocean
And gasping for breath at the hole
I thought you were all water
and I was all cold. No,
we are both
one huge expanse of ice
And isn’t it nice
to be part of something so clear
So close to glass, but
so much more alive. Like
the freezing ocean
you take my breath away

every time.

Every year, when I grow older

I draw a breath

exhale a wish,

locking it away for safe keeping.

any time I witness a star dying,

burning up as it streaks across the sky

as quick as the brief streak

my mind goes to one thing

always a secret.

but now that you’re here

I speak that secret

let it be said for the first time,

fall from my lips,

as I call for your lips.

Goddamnit, sirens,
I’m already at my teeth
in overwhelmed hysteria,
my heart nearly poundin’
out. It is One Thirty Six in the Morn,
and I’m tryin’ my damndest
to get my shit together and
not have a mental break-
down and maybe even sleep,
and all you do is continue to Zoom!
past my house with your stupid
wailing banshee shit and keep me
from having a moment’s peace,
for chrissake. Jesus
I need a dose of yoga.

These lives of yours,
intangible ghosts,
much like the summer was
to Escher

No color to dictate
season, nor ice nor
snow nor falling leaves
as if the summer
always was

these lives, though,
are the dossier of a fool:
and at least Escher’s,
when jammed together,
fit right.

and i’ll give you my right arm
for a slice of fried chicken
wrapped in a tortilla and downright
delicious.
but as i’m offering it
i’m finding it increasingly unlikely
my right arm will help you purchase
chicken of any variety…
let alone fried.

my left leg on the other hand [sic]….

francis was whacked today.

i lost a toy i’ve loved since
childhood. a small green frog
stuffed with sand given to me
by a friend in sixth grade as
i walked out the door to move
a lifetime away and return much
too late for our friendship
to remain. i miss that toy
and the memories it’s always
represented, but that seems so
trivial now. as

francis was whacked today.

For T.

It was one thirty
and I had just become sidewalk
You were walking away
and the pavement and I became
equally unable to move

I should have chased after you

Instead
I went to my bed
And wrote myself a note
which I sewed inside my pillow
It said

Do not ever
let her go.

I wouldn’t be here, fumbling my way through the dark, over-crowded rooms and the sickly, slimy basements searching for the door with calloused fingers; I wouldn’t be in this cave, hiding and hoping for others to miss what I’d done; I wouldn’t drag, head-to-floor slowly, scathingly, begrudgingly through this supposed gateway to Paradise; I wouldn’t be trapped among the dead bodies, barely up-right; I wouldn’t be filling my cup at every empty oasis which offers even the slightest mirage of saturation. If not for you I wouldn’t be stuck staring into a blank wall that surely must bear your image; I wouldn’t look around every corner with my heart all a-flutter thinking to see you waiting there; I wouldn’t rejoice at the melting snow, convinced it promises your return; I wouldn’t imagine your heavy hand upon my shoulder when I need you most; I wouldn’t hold your relics close while all others are gone nor dance with your shadow. I’d steer clear of the sadists and their Opiate Swells and their cold fingers and their dirty hair; I wouldn’t nearer myself to those undeservings who flee from my good graces, would not identify with their self-loathing, their regression, their silence. And if not for you I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

Rain come to hail
and a long way back
and no ride on the way
and a bit lip
and a grin and
a bear
and step after step
before home
and that’s it
and thank goodness
there’s that
at least

Looking out over the city,
my small, quiet, little city,
I see the lights atwinkle,
I see everything I never saw.
the cathedral sits,
squat and menacing,
it casts it’s watchful glare.
st. michael’s sword stretches
from father ryan on into the water,
protecting us from those on the other side.
My city is guarded.
My city is safe.
My city is mine.

God give me the strength to
open my mouth when necessary
speak truth when needed
and to seal my lips when
i’m dying to speak but it’s anything
but useful.
and the wisdom to know the difference