poem

i, Human

poetry 
This is so easy.
You’re so easy
to talk to.
You’ll really do anything
I want. That’s bad ass!
Why would I talk to anyone else?

Welcome to reality 2.0. And

Real people: they have their own ideas.
Real people: they have their own desires.
Real people: they have their own inhibitions.
Real people: they have their own boundaries.
Real people: they’re so…real.

And I, I don’t want to compromise.
And I, I know what I want.
And I, I want that all the time.
And I, I am so human.

Feliz Cumpleaños

poetry 
There’s nothing you need.
There’s nothing you want.
Except, that you do want,

Something.

Something that says:
“I’m thinking about you.”
“I remember you.”
“You matter.”

Things that could be said
with actual fucking words.

But words can sound trite.
Words can sound too easy.

And a gift takes more.
More than a moment.
More than a word.
The more of a gift is

Something.

And something’s not nothing.
So I hope you enjoy this gift.
I chose it just for you.

Can I Come Back?

poetry

It’s been a minute,

It’s been some years,

There’s been some tears,

There’s been some fears.

–

And being back, there is

A truth I have to face.

I missed this place.

I missed this space.

–

The years between, I don’t

Regret. The years of buying.

The years of failing and trying.

The years of being busy dying.

–

And being here, I can’t quite

Say how long I’ll stay.

It may be just for this day,

Unless I just can’t stay away.

jjr

poetry

there is no god
and yet
it is every where
and every thing
including being
all beauty, love
and life
but conversely
it is also all the
bad things

you can be certain
of this much
without wishful
thinking

often people
talk past each other
like ships passing
in the night
and they love
to over-complicate things,
too

i think it’s okay
to be wrong sometimes
if what you really want
is to be right

and it’s most
important to find
a reason to live
and to learn to draw
water from any well
when it’s not rained
for a while

Perhaps We Fucked This Up

poetry

Perhaps I am a vampire
but I have always been this way
he said
as sunlight poured through
the open curtains

You can stake me thorugh
and that will slow me down
and I will not fly from you
as a rabid little bat
or simply float out as gas

and he cackled when the door flew wide
and the whole of creation
lit our sitting room

I have sucked your wretched blood
and savored your filty scabbing throats
and when the time comes
I will eat your rotting hearts
in front of everyone

and you were panting in the entryway
a perfect silouette in the dawn
but he just kept laughing
that awful laugh

Perhaps I am a vampire
but that daytime shit
was just in old movies
and when it comes down to it
maybe you’re vampires too

a leaf, exactly

poetry

i receive the cat birds that frequent the oak
tree in the alley between greylock
and 49th as friends although i am
not theirs, and can never be

their friend is the flimsy oak
which stretches and groans with
every new perch
because it is dying
and the city is killing it
which is my city

my every greeting falls on deaf ears
not only because we don’t speak
the same language but also
the big city birds don’t have
the same fondness for the people
of the city as they do in the country

the city is killing everything
they love
i am lucky they do not
attack me

and it goes on and on like this
my romantic and naive love
blowing away in the cold january wind
exactly like a leaf

Circumference Of Nothing

poetry

I didn’t even shout out loud
when the wind picked up
or the sleet burned my face
or any of the other things

I kept my head down this time
kept both feet moving forward
this time
I didn’t even look back once

you spelled out the perfect measurement
down to the finest degree
and I finally took your word for it
so I never dug out my old protractor
So I never even checked the math

I Thought So (I really did)

poetry

I can’t have you
whistling through the vines
out there,

teasing cool
in the summer heat
and bringing,
for just a moment,
the fragrances
of another man’s
supper

My head lays
on the kitchen table
like a chopping block,

pressed against the scratches
in its perfect,
marred surface,
lolling on
the center leaf

it is seven PM
exactly
when I will lift
my head again

to gaze in to you,
cool night air,
like a memory

to think your name
and dream of you
in winter

6:01

poetry

I watched that video
again
for the hundredth time
but maybe only the twenty-fifth
without you

and I don’t even know
what day it was

it was every day
at 6:01
until we memorized
each word and we
laughed whether
we fucked it up
or not

but look, man
we’re in the
prime of our lives
got to live the way we got to

gonna make us some money again
gonna fight

but not all fighters
are champions

and I don’t even know
what day it was

but I hope
it didn’t
hurt

3/10/10 – 3/11/19

poetry

1.

it was unseasonably warm that day
and the day before, too,
and it was windy. I remember that much,
and the sun in my eyes
on the patio
through the plate glass
on the short drives
here to there and here to there
while our friends traveled through Germany
for the sixth or seventh time

there was nothing but time then
drinking black coffee in jackets
with the traffic hustling by
whispering about forever at 20
and I remember meaning what I said out there
and I remember the look in her eyes

2.

Time has a way of stopping sometimes
with a phone call for example
in a tacky Chinese restaurant
surrounded by our people
while the sun set just outside

and I told those people what I heard
after I pressed the End Call button
while our hearts all stopped beating
forever, I think,
for just a moment

3.

I drove to her in darkness
and she was all alone
when she let me in to her sitting room

There were no lights on
but she could see me
and she hated every word

I don’t know if I’d leave her now
but I left her then,
nine years ago

4.

We sat in a cafe
in silence
for what couldn’t have been
forever
and my tea got cold
as the weather had
that night

we talked about your boots
not in detail
but we did

5.

I remember you
Warmth in March
sun in the afternoon

I remember you
black coffee
downtown patio

friends in rooms
and cars
and futures
and cul-de-sacs

and I
still try to remember
to remember you

boots and all

your unlucky heart

poetry

while standing in
the shade a strong
hand took you

and although

i would share
a million sunlit
hours with you

at that moment

i was so weak
i could not even
look your way

i ran

and i ran
and felt remorseful
but never did i cry

which is just what weak men do

—

standing in the doorway
with the light bouncing
off kitchen linoleum

i lock eyes with Lal
it’s an eerily quiet
afternoon in wichita

i turn as i smell
a hint of freedom
in the air

i spend a moment with
what is left of you
inside me

it’s an awkward moment
because i am ashamed
and i finally cry

for you

Length / Breadth

poetry

We walked from the east forever ago
dragging our belongings in burlap bags

You were with me then
with a smile that stretched as far
as your eyes tended to wander

and I should have known
that you couldn’t stay

When we reached a strong, shallow river
I said I’d take your load
but you swore you couldn’t swim

So you headed south
when I waded in

On A Country Road

poetry

Rosie was eleven years old
she told us, as the overweight bulldog
began to wheeze near her feet
while a television program murmured
in the living room

A tree had fallen on the property line
so now she was all alone
except for old Rosie here

He was driving their big-wheel tractor
with the mower deck running off PTO
maintaining 28 acres on an August afternoon
when suddenly he succumbed
to a massive skull fracture

She warmed the other’s coffees
but she didn’t need both her mugs anymore
so she sent one out with me

‘No more air piano,’ she said
trying her best to smile
As we bid farewell to Rosie
and left them both
with the upright grand we’d come with

lift off

poetry

the shower’s a warm blanket
but the cold lives in my spine
if only i could see
then i wouldn’t be so blind

tell me i’m not fine
tell me not to cry

the president’s a virus
and my family is the host
they pull all of their pants down
to get lashed by the holy ghost

castigate my mind
tell me that i lie

my father is a rapist
and my mother cries all day
the sun dances in the window
but has nothing much to say

i’m starting to unwind
i’ve nothing but the time

let up
lift off

weeping at the visage of our glorious leader

poetry

be wary those that are born
into this prison
and straighten your spine
and look forward
for all eyes belong
to the great gods of hell
who filled walls
with your dead brethren
and covered them in
the faces of their family

eat love and pray
under their holiness, I say
although
it may pick at your soul
to do so
the sun will shine on
endlessly
but men can
block your view.

Giving Ground

poetry

I.

The air was cement
in the afternoon sun

I counted the stains
on the upholstery
on the backs of chairs
until The Law walked in

I was brighter then
I am warmer now

II.

At Eleven O’Clock
the pain set in

I clutched your thigh
through gritted teeth

I’d heard what you said
I never heard you say a word

III.

The Law was restless
pistol hand on grip

I tried to keep my eyes down
as her visage shook my soul

The air in my throat
grew thicker still

IV.

There were just us three,
two tables and a pistol between

You stood to leave with elegance
as I floundered, chair to floor

I spat your name as the door swung

V.

The Law saw my despair
and her pistol hand was mercy;

She shot me twice

and waited

for the light in my eyes to go out