8/31/2012

Lover, Like The Earth


We, lover, like the earth touch
Below royal blue patterns
Tender moving textures
A medieval temperature
A message below the skin
Freeform sculpted plaster
Vitriolic outburst
To shock to fuss to cast a spell
A generation laid out
Desiring a garden maze
A variation on magicians, christians, and dudes

8/28/2012

Maybe


Waking up in a field
of flowers opening
            to the sun.
No one’s sure
            if it's feathers
            or snow
but something’s falling
all proud,
            with a angelic
glow
            like maybe heaven
            is real
                        and maybe it's right 
                                              now.

8/27/2012

Working '07


And I hear telephones in my daydreams when I'm not at work
But I enjoy myself sometimes and it scares me
Life shakes his head when he hears my song
And the glint off his jade medallion hurts my eyes
But sometimes I dream when I'm asleep
That we always were good friends
And the pain in my head is just my ideas dying to get out
But they scream so damn loud my ears bleed
And my eyes roll back
When it’s like that I can see them sometimes, those ideas
And we talk about what they can do
But the closer we get to an agreement to cool them off, shut them up
The fucking telephone rings and I'm back at work

8/23/2012

Memory


Tired, torn asunder, uninspired eyes
holding hope in tiny drips on pillow casing liner

The sky’s still wide on its shortest side
The skyline tied in knots

The mind’s design in time denies the trial of these drops

8/22/2012

Of Mind


Too many late nights, along
with too much remembering, make
old words confide new
meaning into the nights
we all forgot.
How much we knew
and how much we
didn’t think to care.
Nights, these days, when
we're too tired to live,
breathe needles into
the fading memories
of our lives when
they were still ours.
The needles settling into our
arms and legs and hearts
and make us gruff at
9 pm for 7.25 an hour.
Punching out for relief
that still comes in
swigs and puffs
but with real reason
to forget and real
loneliness to subdue.
We've all learned
the map now. We've all
seen the way. We've all
fought and fought for a
path of our own, but
they all lead us to the
same dead end alley
in different cities
in the same state of mind

8/21/2012

YouToob


I saw Mr. Jack
            Kerouac
on television
            reading from
his commercial
            masterpiece,
and my modern
                        upbringing
made me cringe.
                        As I watched
            the broadcast
                        explanation
            set to the heppest
                        jazz sounds
            I cringed.
                        Where is the validity?
                        Where is the reality
                                    in sitting on tv
                                    and pushing product?
                                                I thought.
But as the segment concluded
            and the cut to break
                        was counted down
                                    on silent hands
I watched his face
            and he did not look up
                        from his words.
He sought nothing
            from the tv host
                        the studio audience
                                    or the lit camera.
He kept his work open
            and his eyes on
                        his voice
as if he knew the difference
            between telling his story
                        and selling it.

8/20/2012

Decorative


anything else other than desperately trying
to dig myself out of this oddly, sudden hole,
I leave it to the powers that be, the coinflip,

pickahand of willitrain, or not, disappointed
with my indecision, certain the sting of each will,
wishful, watching the curtain move in the open

window, hopeful for any sign of forced entry,
hearing only the up tempo chatter of the care free
blaring like crows signaling day break,

gut wrenching laughs in the hold it in sense
of waiting, the punchline welling up in our stomachs
for years, like beers, why can’t it all be so plain?

8/17/2012

Lamenting '07


And I hear telephones in my daydreams when I'm not at work
But I enjoy myself sometimes and it scares me
Life shakes his head when he hears my song
And the glint off his jade medallion hurts my eyes
But sometimes I dream when I'm asleep
That we always were good friends
And the pain in my head is just my ideas dying to get out
But they scream so damn loud my ears bleed
And my eyes roll back
When it’s like that I can see them sometimes, those ideas
And we talk about what they could do
But the closer we get to an agreement
The fucking telephone rings and I'm back at work

8/16/2012

Desk Work '08


            A familiar truck pulls up and takes a familiar amount of time to get situated.
           
The doctor lady in 504 just called down complaining about the piss and shit in her toilet, the layers of dust on her desk, and all the pubic hair in her bed sheets. They teach us to take responsibility. I don’t do that anymore. Empathize, apologize, take responsibility, they say. I take responsibility for my own shit. If I fuck up, I take responsibility.
            I offered to move her, cause even when Paul got back, I knew he’s wasn’t gunna clean it. I was surer than hell he wasn’t doing that, but she was all ready for bed, and moving her stuff down the hall was too far to go. She laughed when I said that housekeeping’d gone home, and that I was literally the only person who could do anything, but, unfortunately, I was unable to leave the desk. That is, at least, until Paul got back from the 8 o’clock run. She thought she’d got it bad.
            “I’m going to be staying here,” she started, “a lot. And with the surgery I’ll be having, they’re working on my eye next, I cannot be around a lot of dust.” She had been in a car accident. She told me that when she checked in. She also told me about the surgery on her eye. I hadn’t asked.
            These folks just like to let you know.
            I wondered if she realized I was the same guy, but she continued on about how sometimes this place is nice and sometimes its crap. I tell her I understand and I’m sorry, but at that exact moment, if she didn’t want 517, there was nothing more I could do for her. She volunteered to clean the bathroom herself. Then she hung up. I only charged her $50.00. Before taxes, of course.

            Ms. Coasten’s still sitting with Lil’ Bob in the truck right in front of the door, counting out 5 dollar bills. 

8/15/2012

Rucky Schmucks


Two cats in over their heads
sit talking over two tables
with their dates getting bored
quickly, interjecting more and
more often less and less
significant one liners.

8/14/2012

Long Time


The quick talk kicks in
            its been a long time
                        since I’ve met up with him
An ‘e’ to end every line
            A memory to destroy
                        every mind
It’s been a long
                        time
It’s been a long
                        long time

8/13/2012

August Monday


Home movie memories of lives we’ve
                left behind. Look out of the
picture framed portrait right into
the mirror. Burnt out bathroom
light bulbs, bloodstained bathtub
                love in full bloom

Life likes to be tricky. Silly is
god’s sense of humor. The irony of
karma. The ebb and flow of the cosmos.
Luck lies in

                little shards
around broken window splinters
so small, so sharp that even
picking them up leaves hard hands
stinging and bloody. Bumpy walls
are too hard to put a fist through
when the world
                                decides
                                                to step

on your chest. Breathing’s easier
after you pass out. Breathing’s easier
when there’s smoke inside.
                living is easier while your dreaming
but dreaming’s tough with life around

These days leaving for work
is a breath of fresh air
                Just because I have to walk
Just because I have to
       Just because
When did the road curve?
                like waking up, strapped in
head throbbing, resting on the powdery airbag
like her breasts
When did I lose sight
of the path?
                Where were the tracks
and when did I miss the
train?
Is there anything out
side this snow globe?
                Anything other than this
  comfortable christmas
                mantle piece?

8/08/2012

Projectionist


These moral projections flash over me
Like an old time movie, black and white
And jumpy and over heating and
Ripping in half with a thum thum thum
And burning the theater down

8/07/2012

Stolen


Find focus
Not this scatter bombing

“Art is not chance
Unless by chance
(“I’m banking on luck,
                        this city,
                                    my looks,
                                                and not giving a fuck.
{“By the way, I stole this riff”}”)”

8/06/2012

Nite Life


This would be the night to trip
on the music.
But those pictures behind my eyes
don’t come as easy as they used to.
But I still see their shadows
everywhere.

8/03/2012

Self Titled

It wasn’t even sound 
that was moving him, 
that close to the full 
stacks piled three high. 
The air vibrated like sand, 
moving the crowd in its ruckus 
back and forth. The speaker 
tubes weapons. A drone of body 
heat and the crashing like 
on beaches, humans form waves 
when packed together like any
other molecules, a cohesive 
liquid of shouting and free fist 
pumps, straining lungs with 
the amplified voice coming 
from the man on stage.

8/02/2012

Flares


Itching from steps with
            hats pulled down
Embers flaring in the pulsing light
Leashes tighten with particles
Skin pulls across rib bones
            constricting lungs
Putting pressure on the heart
Draining out a soul      Exploding

Fireworks in a neighborhood
Trash can fires turn tribal

Torn from flesh Torched in brine
Midnight yields to the beat

Street vacated, smoking
Flashes of freedom drive away

Eyes squared in the rear view
Squinting, tired, ready

Lord, have mercy on us.
                                    We know not what we do.
To find reason again
                                    is our grail.
To be deemed purposeful
                                    will be our promised land.
Eden was beautiful to look at
                                                before Eve gave fear to sight
                                                                                    and touch.

8/01/2012

Creative Nonfiction '08


How can this be called journalism?

The celebrity news team of MSNBC

                                                advertising

the fucking presidential election.

“This is so inspiring!”
one face reports
                                                very objective
“You need to watch this!”
                                                very subtle
with the overtly red, striped, starred,
blue, and mostly white
epileptic nightmare