Hand On Shoulders Don’t Mean Shit Unless You Mean It.

poetry

Calm me down.

Grab my shoulders and
duck me under water
just long enough to
shock out the shock.

A slap in the face
A punch in the gut
Something
Anything
To slow the roll
(as they say on the streets)

Calm me down
or however
will we get this whole
mish-mashed
drunk-on-the-job
sort of thing
straightened out?

summer home

poetry

you woke up and ate eggs at
the bar in your summer home

on the beach
the sun pouring in and bouncing
off of your white sheets

and you must think it mad
the things i think to think
about,
and purely so

but those babies in the garbage
why,
they’re all miles away
outside of your bubble,
anyway.

it’s finally happening

poetry

i never thought i’d live to see the day i drove from clouds to sun through 13 hours of straight misery pass graveyards in fields still growing grain and corn in first, second, third, and fifth gear because fourth broke down somewhere along the way and we had to stop and pull a crazy maneuver in the hills of some asian country we could swear looks just like the baja to turn around roll down the hill 10 kilometers to a guy who said he could fix it, couldn’t, and then promised he could in three days, or we could simply continue without a fourth gear.

never thought i’d see the day where i moved to my dream home in my dream country doing my dream job and getting friggin paid to dream of growing a kingdom that’s not my own, of which i’m only a citizen trying to be faithful to something more than dream.

the day came
and praise my heavenly father
my Lord and God Jesus Christ
He brought me here to dream
dreams far too big for one man
alone and pray for change in
the lives of 9 million people

and the future of this country.

Sidelong

poetry

If I am ever to look sidelong again
I shall need a pair of glasses with
little mirrors on them, and a bit of
extra cash, as the word on the street is
the current administration
is not long from taxing these sidelong
glances of ours. But then, I’m all
for tax evasion in some regards,
so tell me,
Do these glasses make me look
sophisticated or
silly or
what?

Creeping Octopuses

poetry

it seems to wrap around the parts
that would best help to get away
the throat
the legs
the wrists
and covered eyes
but careful to avoid the teeth
people-bites can be pretty nasty

And so
the chance of self-exorcising slip
but if you don’t owe no money
you don’t need no money
and the tentacles loosen
just enough to move a wrist
and an eye peeks out
and a slip
and that people bite is pretty nasty

But it screams from anger
not from pain
escape is all it tried to stop
and there you go
but now you’re leaving
all the other folks behind

Family Reunion Subtext

poetry

Come in!
Come in!

It’s so good to see you
(and you are)?
Oh, yes, Carol’s son
(You don’t look like her,
but I’ll take your word).
So where do you live
(will i approve)?
Oh, do you know so and so
(the drunk!)?
No? Do you know so and so
(the bastard!)!
Now that’s too bad
(I guess you’re alright after all);
go get some pie before it’s all gone dear
(off to test someone else).

Errata

poetry

I can not fathom
Do you take short steps on your long walks?
How shallowly do you cut
when you cut the hairs on your scalp?
What of the grass out back?
or the weeds?

I scarcely hear a word in tune
but I’ve brought with, a pitchfork,
though perhaps better a tuning-pipe,
but that doesn’t make sense either

Walk faster

Roadside Stands

poetry

Summer sun and such searing
all the pavement beneath my feet
and the tops of my feet additionally
and all I smell is smoke and fire
and charcoal briquettes
and ooh, that smells oh so good
and yeah, I think I’ll have one
of those, but what you want to
charge is
un
be
leave
a
bull

This is the flavor of disdain and despair and other terrible things (that probably also start with the letter ‘D’)

poetry

I can taste the
apple juice
mixing with the sulfur
in the back of my throat
and it’s sweet enough,
I’m thinking,
for most of us to swallow down

But I’ve traveled
very recently.
I headed North, or
North-West, for those
that crave the particulars,
and tried to come to
settle in a place that’s
at least a bit more
sulfur-free

but alas,
the sulfur
is always free,
and that’s probably
the problem
to start with

a couple more days (to the tune of plastic birds)

poetry

i shouldn’t expect you to be like me
my pretty plastic bird
and when i took you to the fare
you said that life’s not fair

when i go home at night
and i think about it
i know i only want the truth
and that’s all i want from you

and when i realize
looking into your eyes
that they are plastic beads
i wish that you could see

i guess that i’m a mess
and i get left like that
cuz you can’t tell
i wish you’d go to hell

i lose my appetite
i’d rather be lonely
cuz it’s not fucking cool
being such a fool.

Coffee

poetry

Not that there is an alternative, even though there are many
Who’s bittersweetness strikes faster, stays longer;
Not that I need to stay up for him, as hours drip
Into fat puddles of late night tv and limbs that shift
Like a seabed under their blankets. His charm isn’t
Worth sacrificing the house-wine for, initially.
If I help him along a bit, maybe?
Drop a sugar-cube, add some cream or milk.
Give the Atlantic back its icebergs. Yet not that
He’d notice: Curse the lactose intolerant!

There comes a time, when everything warm in
This world, gets lost in the Arctic. There comes a
Time, when the cat by the fire duly notes its place.
And despite knowing this, I drink a little faster;
And I, having tasted what I have tasted
With eyes that have known to stay open,
To the richest and the boldest, I am still a tourist
To be seen in coffee-shops by a clearer lens.
While I am this slow sipper in this
Place of eternal happy-hour: every new mouthful
Is a new land to see.
Kraus! Oh Schnitzler and Toberg;
Come on, oh come home with me.