What the hell was I thinking
out there? I couldn’t begin
to tell you. It all happened so
fast. It’s all a fucking blur.



The ease of use
it provides us faithful, us willing
to be enveloped by its back alleys
and boulevards, bustling traffic and
baffling silence, brightest summer
days given way to yearly dulling
grey, hardly bland, its spectral brilliance,
bohemian businessmen and beat
barkeepers, rubbing elbows and
cheersing drinks, because what else
have we to do? Where else is there
to go? Why would anyone want to leave?


Werkin Monday Mornin

Spread the word, the casings broken,
the medicine pouring out, the masses all
happyfaced and smiling. Working their jobs
without contention for their own rights
of getting a day off. Yes, I know, I’m sick

of it too but the flood of time
can’t be applied retroactively, so
let’s be sure to get our pints now. My wallet
is filled with outdated bills to remember that
none of this lasts. It was the last straw,
tending my resignation for the position, they
suggested, shoved and staffed it.


Hope From A Dope

What it comes down to is a decentralized way of living. Not this attempted individualization, but a quest for identity within society. The niche’d culture of community washing away into calamitous networks of commerce. Be cautious of the rapids between “I can get what I need,” and “I’m only thinking of myself.” You can get what you need, fine, but that leaves you with the cancerous commodity of ignoring all the other faces on the street, all the people who grew, designed, funded, sew, cooked, packaged, named, lifted, built, carried, delivered, unpacked, displayed, found, and handed it to you, because you can hand them money, and you can go home and enjoy that thing you paid for, since you needed it, and now possessing it, never have to pay any mind to how the proceeds of your purchase will be distributed, even forgetting all that you had to do for that money. Well, it was your money. You earned it legally, and as an american it is your right, nay, your patriotic duty, to spur on this damn, dragging economy! There are people out of work, loosing their homes! Children starving in dilapidated school cafeterias, we’ve got and have got to help them! How else than by getting the economy back on its feet? Besides, you had a long week. Everyone at work’s been on your ass about bullshit this and meaningless that, so is it really so bad, would it be such a crime, to relax and kick back and buy something new for me time? Of course not, but, perhaps, my sarcasm’s got you thinking that you say that quite a lot. That’s just the way the world is, you might think. You can’t help it. Or maybe you’ll feign humility, admitting, “I’m only thinking of myself.” Are you? Really? Or are you lonely thinking of that thing you needed so badly, or the rent check that’ll bounce, or banging that girl on the bus on your way to work, or that joke on that show last night you can’t wait to tell at the office, or the stock markets, or sports, or where to take your spouse out to eat, or that shooting on the front page, or your next clever status update, or where you put your cell phone, or your wallet, or keys, or about how badly you could use a beer, or where could you find some descent weed? Because I believe, if everyone truly, only, thought of themselves, and the kind of lives they’d really be proud to lead, and what they’d need to achieve that, they’d see what’s best for the self starts with what’s necessary for everybody else.



He was seventeen in a featureless dining room,
in a lovelorn home, and in the compensation of coming
into his own, he stood across the table from his mother
as she reduced herself to tears in the utterance of
the acknowledgment of his fucking himself up

all the time, that first understanding of his breaking
weeks later, or perhaps before, in his stoned
selfish rock, “There’s a park in this city where I used to go,
now it’s covered with fences, and cops, and light posts, and
I’d never go back if anything was the same, but it kills me

to know that it’s changed.” Maybe she agreed. Maybe
just passed it by, into quick passion of what it means
to be one’s self, and in coming to some kind of realization,
of what reality looked like, he, too, was drawn to tears
in the warmth that comes from family, as molecules go.

Happy in the appreciative charge. The strange sensation
that to be separate is to be one, as there is truly only

Fucking Charlatan! Up here, only supporting his own agenda!
Friends, just the mention quells all negative from the bullshit!
From what the world gives me, and maybe that is the kink


in the line, is that friends are much more than just a selection
of you. They are you. The whole only as strong as the pieces.
The pieces only complete as the whole

Isolation degrades into selfishness
Community is the only chance for good.

But, if I may indulge…

(But the presence, the only instantaneous
evaporation of what is, was then, there, and actually,
haha! Forever! Recorded on the eternal bits of
our personal computers, will last until
the electricity runs out.)

It was there, under the damn
all too common street lights I took notice
of one of those life moments. Pinnacles, we dare not
say, but there with two of my best friends and a woman,
I understood what life was meant to be.
Even before I understood the world.



A warzone is a warzone
Asian swamp
Middle Eastern desert
Your own backyard
It is what it is
no matter where it is
(Tactical scholars disagree,

“The conditions in each
are very varied, and therefore,
each demands a specialized,
individual course of action
(Feeling sorry for the new girl at school, Eva, age 7,
sat down, asked rhetorically, ‘So, you have a cat?’
The new girl nodded, mouth full, uneasy. ‘So do I!’
Eva screamed, and said, ‘Mine’s black and white,
his name’s Bono! Here,’ and shoved her smart
phone in the new girls face.).”)
and its everywhere.

It’s on our premium channels and our nation
wide headlines, in our sick
to the stomach romance novels,
to our sickly obese strategic, online,
multiplayer, PC in the basement until 4
packets of Oreo’s and a mean 12 of Straub’s got you
getting p’owned, I hope no one’s home,
at 5:45, shoot em ups, watching heads explode.

We can tell the difference though. Just
how our stomach’s grown
after each Taco Bell commercial,
and our taste buds perk up and remind us of
that tasty taste,
and our dick’s get hard at even the slowest
bit rates, and our eyes light up
at the shiniest things, “We’re all unique!”

Pop radio sings!
But I think that’s one thing that we know
is not true. We get up in the morning. We do
what we do, working to evening, getting paid
in full, bed down for the night, us all crying
boo hoo. And that’s a fear, we all know,
that is realer than real. Then stop
And listen to the sound that we hear…
((Eva started to get bored with her new friend’s
silence, so she started asking questions, ‘I bet

your kitty’s soft, mine is. Is your kitty soft?’
The new girl, exhausted by the droning, said,
‘The cat I have is delusional, sucked dry, and covered with the hard, scraping scar tissue from the parasites that appeared on, then overwhelmed, its body. It was doomed a long time ago,’
looked Eva square in the eyes, stood, and left.
Eva sat in disbelief, quiet, appalled, dejected,
ignoring her food in the filling daydream
of her softest cat after math, Chinese, and a long bus ride home.))



Riding on the Fifth Avenue drag in the about to break gloom of budding spring. College students packing street corners, waiting for the crosswalk signal, or the traffic to wane, trying to make it to their boxed room homes, before the weather crinkles the edges of their freshly penned notes. I’m watching it all at thirty-five miles per hour, from the raised seat of my one less than commercial capacity corporate van, pumping the gas to the rhythm of the bass pedal pouring in thick sound through the radio waves. The electronic timer shifting the green light from the lit position, switches the yellow light on. It leaves me with time to perceive the change in my flowing, always focused vision. Immediately, instinctively, I transpose my boot to the decelerator, slowing the hulking machine to a smooth stop at the county recommended stripe, feet from the about to spill over crosswalk.


Around Here

Perhaps it was the weather, breaking
freezing the first time all year, the color
pulsing back into the landscape, all
blue skies and sunlight. The dust, salt
getting washed off all the cars. Or maybe

it was two days worth of clear headedness,
first time all year. It invigorated the mind,
like the first few days of any bender, until
everything started looking the same, after
any length of one state, but usefulness

was waning. So much of the same questions,
no matter the time of year. The understanding
experience is integral to any position, and each
position only has so much to offer. It came
to be that understating the banality could be used

as fuel for the smoldering fire. As the nights
are not so cold, it can be remembered, the importance
of light. It’s giving power, excellence in ability
to view the immediate unknown. Images reveal
themselves in the uncertain darkness that surrounds

the wake up, work, stay up late life cycle. Visions of
the world leading to the habitual transcription of what
it was he saw, but he hated writing about writing so
much. He leaned in front of the redundant corporate logo,
smiling emptily at the passing patrons who still represented

the concluded sports festivities, because they’re not from


Intro (Gene’s)

The refreshing sharpness in the ribs, full
bodied aroma of my fool body up through
the unzipped jacket. The world as wide
open as I can stand, as late as I can walk.

Money for nearly nothin’, tips drinking
me for free. Strange in seeing Gene smoke
a cig, something I’ve probably registered
forty times or more, but never took notice.

Drowning yawn of classic rock and roll
moaning in the ease of weekend living.
The crowd finally leaving, revealing
the pleasantry of easy breathing.



The record store shut down
And everyone either bought
Their music online, or stole it,
And it all sounded exactly the same.



Fingers dance in flames
on the wall,
molding the language, trying to
decide what it was
we could call it.
Every expressive noise

we made, adding to the
exuberance of understanding,
while enlightenment remains


Major Credit Card Required For CHECK IN

And so, the last bastion of the common man
has fallen. The practicalities of physical exchange
given way to distrust, and the necessity of shelter
deemed available only to the credited.
Truly, this is a sad day for the resistance.


Restless Night

He sat in the sound and the light rays emanating from the box
in the corner of the room, both types of waves spewing
constantly, pausing only momentarily. Every ten minutes or so,

he noticed, the breaks would be about thirty seconds apart,
for three or four minutes, during which he found it hard to
focus, each like a blink inside a dream, where every segment

was somehow similar, yet completely independent, and psychotic.



Am I hung up? Like, does everyone get it already
and I’m just lagging behind? Am I living the cross
word puzzle from yesterday’s New York Times? Really,
every once in a while, it feels like everyone’s gunna jump
out and we’re gunna have a big party to talk
about how simple it all is.



engulfed, absolutely consumed,
decimated, cremated, completely redecorated
by, enveloped, devoured,
dominated, dissolved into, drastically
effected, diminished, digested,
emancipated, entirely enticed, entrapped,
tangled up, dolled on, twisted in
with, tied up to, or some such thing,
all there in the image, as fleeting as it is,
we all know it when we see it, and maybe some of us
never do. It makes us gruff at four am on Tuesdays,
but if we can understand our rough edges, and find
worldly means to smooth them out, is, then, it not?



The molecules formed at the first available instant,
when the elements formed, mater also formed then,
as did life, plant life, as animal life would, learned
to feed off this energy, parasites following suit, in
each scoped, perpetual view, it truly is very simple
within the confines of this singular receptor cell.

I find the enormity of it intimidating, but I am confident
that, as the story’s stationary, and the water supply
depletes, we will find the answers to that never ending
bitch of a notion


Old People (you know funny when you) See It

Why not? He asked, shoving
his backpack off one shoulder.
The bus pulling away. Because
if you get caught, it’ll be my ass,
he said, obviously cautious. Eh,

quell that shit, he said, eyes on
his prized, personal life, time
piece, drinking cloudy water with
a job where people ask him if that’s
a wise thing. Screaming Irie on side

walks, where gamecocks fight it out
over females in the midst of sight
seeing. Christ bleeding on the cross
has evolved into this freeing, nice
feeling. Disbelieving the essence

of ideal because, despite the trivial,
that’s how you keep seeing, how
reality keeps revealing itself, into
the dawning of a new beginning.

You see, as generations fade, so
does the reality of the good ol’ days,
and what we know is all that stays, so
let’s say something worth repeating,
instead of reciting material so fleeting,

even we can see the depletion
of its meaning, or its meaninglessness
to begin with. Memorizing lines
with no defining quality to distinguish
any of it from the other trash, except

the fact that it lingers, like the stench
of a rest home, or shitty cunnilingus.



Here’s what the deal is (Discipline!), I’ve watched it
and replayed it (Discipline!) and broken it down so
often in my head that when (Discipline!) I sit down
to write it (Discipline!) out I become
bored (Discipline!) and want to venture (Discipline!)
around my brainspace (Discipline!) freely (Discipline!).
I just don’t (Discipline!) know that to do about (Discipline!) it.


Last Cash Check In

He was definitely, definitely, interested in a room. One bed was fine. In town for sightseeing, and he was cool with the cash deposit. Definitely interested he said he was. ATM right in the hotel? He asked. Definitely, I told him. Alright, he said. I’m very interested, definitely. But here’s the thing, he paused and I listened, he was dropping his kids off at their mother’s last night. He paused again, and I acknowledged him, he sighed, “I can’t really stand the situation.” I understood. Worse, he lost his driver’s license, but he had his work ID and social security card, and he was definitely interested, he said, wondering if circumstance would either inhibit, or encourage my heartstrings to overlook protocol and allow him to stay. “Well,” I took a beat to consider the possibility of any swindle, “that won’t be a problem.” He was relieved. “Thanks. Thanks, man. I’m definitely interested in getting this room. I’ll be there shortly.” “Definitely,” I told him, and picked up line two.


The Club

I came to the conclusion that I assume
a lot when it comes
to people, and I think I

don’t care. It’s a part of my
job. I was thinking of a story,
autonomous sections that string
some tired narrative together
through bits and pieces of interaction,
like human life, but I got to thinking

because people who work in offices, real person jobs,
see the same people every work day, so the autonomy
becomes something more cohesive, which are dynamics I’m not
functionally aware of, as fo(u)r (and a half) years(!) I’ve worked
with only one, sometimes two, not usually, other persons
a shift, so with seven or nine of us rotating, those
interactiona all become very defined.