here and now

 Where do we begin to heal?

When do we begin to heal?

 

How do we reconcile with our amends being made?

How do we love, while being hurt?

How do we forgive our trespassers, within the moment of agression?

How do we forgive those who take time from us?

When do we begin to forgive?

In a moment of desire we cannot forgive a person.

We may desire a moment of their time.

We may desire their love.

We may desire their touch, their kiss, their very presence in the room.

We may desire their death, harm, malice and pain.

No matter the form.

One cannot forgive those whom one desires.

So forgiveness comes from apathy?

A moment devoid of desire?

Is forgiveness the absence of desire?

I do not desire you, or your suffering.

I do not desire your attention or your kiss.

I do not desire your friendship nor your company.

I do not desire to look at you, hear you, feel you or perceive you.

But still I cannot forgive you...

 

So when do we forgive?

What do we need to forgive?

What love exists that allows us to forgive what shall happen as well as what has happened?

What love creates this moment, only for us to suffer it?

How do we forgive and love the person without desire?

How do we love without desire?

How do we answer these questions without the interference of god?

A winter meditation on the shore

 I am working on an exercise to restart the writing process

I tell myself close your eyes and take a word. 

I love you is the first thing to mind. 

So let us take Love, and in our mind we open the top of the word.

And what is inside love?

What is inside love?
A warmth within a dark glowing emptiness

 

What is inside love? 

The energy that moves the universe

 

I see nothing within the word love, except the warmth and energy of Love

 

So the word carries the warmth, but it does not create it.

 It transfers the energy for us, from us.

The warmth and the energy that we associate with the word is created within our own being

emanating from us during times of joy, sex and desire

 

But how do we get IN love?
How do we live within love?

Fallacies of the Romanticists, poets and lovers past

Fallacies of my own

We do not fall in or out of love for there is no well to dive
There is no spring of love, no eternal ethereal oasis of love

 

It is conjured from our soul, from our energy

Created from within the shell of our emotional preceptions

 

So to live in love

You must open your love and pour the warmth into it and let it overflow

To live in the glory of love, within the warmth and boundless joy of love

you must open your preceptions of love and emit it brightly without conduit, without fear of loss

or reciprocation. Because to love is just as beautiful and strong as it is to be loved

 Who do you turn to in life?

Who do you turn to when you’ve driven them away?

Who do you reach out to?

Those are the ones who love you, the ones that reach back even in times of darkness.  

Who do you turn to, when there is no one reaching back?

It's not fair
a twist of the spine
a wrench of the heart

a level of untruth,
a mixture of fear and anxiety
it makes you crumble
and makes you weak

and all was created
to make the other seem stronger
a passing of a sickness
from one to another

where in the soul
does this impurity breed
why does it wish to watch
the other bleed

ifI could I would give you the world
but I am not capable
and for that I cannot apologize
for it is not my role in this world
nor is it my duty
and for my tears
a shallow victory

I know my failures and my weaknesses
they sit in my stomach eating their fill
my heart heavy and my eyes sore

this bleak moment
pitched a whole month black

I know not from where this storm came
but from a mixture of fear and anxiety

it's not fair
the twist of the spine
the wrenching of the heart
it's not fair to be so cruel

Linger my Sweet Tamarind Queen

Your scent has faded from my bed

And lingers on only in my head

A memory now for a lover's thoughts

Of worries and love's me naughts

And in the cold dawn 

I pray, Why have you gone?

Already, distant is your tender kiss
Which I so dearly miss
But now your perfume
That once lingered in our room
Has faded into the cold air
Leaving just a blank empty pillow there

Dreams now saturate
That we had to separate
And for a short while in my domain
You scent did remain

As you took your leave
The house did breathe
And with that frittered
What should have lingered

Leaving me alone to wonder
When my love shall recover
The memories lost to that theft
Leaving my bed bereft
Lonesome
and Numb

Linger this time 

Lay a bit longer with me

Take the time

To exude your love

Deep into the air around you

So that when you wander 

However far from my grasp

That I may feel your bite 

As I bury my face 

Deep into the pillow upon which 

You are the crown

Loved by that hopeless foolish clown

Poeme

Her perfume was quicker than she
It arrived moments before she came through the door.

A scent, mild
Blowing in upon fall's sweet breeze.
Through the screen door
She announced herself
Through the Macy's Counter.

And upon her arrival
The day I noticed her first
The day I faltered in my sadness
I awoke to her beauty
I became again
A man

A man standing upon the shadows
Of the little boy he had been.

And I knew
I knew this Woman
Standing tall
Glaring at me
Knowing the child that I was
Would destroy me.
And I was glad.
I was glad
For losing myself
For stripping bare the life
I had settled into.
Losing what I had become
For what I could be.

So my dear,
As short or as long as you linger,
Thank you

Lost in the night sky

The child sits 

staring deep 

Into the wonderment of the night sky.

Agape,

her mouth hangs

as her eyes

scan the darkness

for what her mind

busily imagines could be. 

And watching his child

watch the heavens

the loving father weeps.

To know his child

to see her becoming

Developing and growing.

He watches

her little face Change with every shooting star.

Imagining 

what she could be

who she will be.

Both sharing a tear of wonderment with the night's gentle breeze.

The child lost, in the heavens.

He lost in her future.

Grandpa Was a hero

Granddad knew the Prince of Wales

The captain in the trench
Sharing his silver, chocolate and Cigarettes

The pop of the mustard gas
Filling the trenches with the dead

This was the setting
For this great man

His scruples would come later
When he took to the cross
Revolted by his Cigarettes and Gin
Sending his only son to war
To become a man
The angel of the trenches.
In the second stage of hell

His son
Now one of the crosses
Marking the resting spot
Of the Greatest Generation.

This man from England, Toronto, Detroit
Becomes devout and good
Christian and Sober

Now asleep
Next to his son and sinners alike.

Why we drink

We in the service business
The ones behind the scenes
The ones dripping sweat onto your meal
Burning their hands and arms
Screaming their angst deep into the night

We feed you on your night out
When you're looking for a good time
When you're looking to impress a lover
When you're looking to close a deal
You're looking to us
And yet
And yet you ask

Why we drink
Why we get tore-the-fuck-up
Why we take pills
Why we abuse cocaine, heroine or whatever else is available

This business abuses the body
So we abuse the body

My Christmas Prayer

Dear Lord,
Who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.

Please lord,
Watch over your flock
This Christmas Day.

Guide your wandering sheep
Adrift in this wide world
Who have been blessed with thought
Mind and Spirit
Who are consuming your planet.

These Christians that you made
So white and so pure
Have brought to your house
A sacrifice of toil and pain
Not of their own fleshy bodies
But of their distant inferior kind.

Our love for you Oh Lord
Is shown this holy day
upon which we believe you were born
So accept these goods
We have bought for ourselves.
Give us this day
and Ever more
As we have come to expect of you.

For in your name we pray
With life, liberty and justice for all

Amen

A San Juan Christmas Card

She sits upon the seawall
Modeling for her lovers to be

Facing away she stretches out her leg
Exposing the divots
Of a television life

He has already had her today
But she dances still
Her game
A play of desire and thanks

A holiday couple
Escaping their living room
To the beaches of Puerto Rico.

I do not know
Which one
Dragged the other
Out of the security of Home

The Husband
Stalwart
or His chatty bride
The Michigan family five
Corn fed Red faced Americans

All settled in the territories
For Christmas week
An Escape from the norm
To enjoy their Exotic TV
In their air-conditioned
Caribbean hotel room

A far away land
Exotic, warm, accessible

Winter's coffee

Im beginning to like the pain

Sitting here
Staring out this dirty
Broken
Pane

The glass cracked from the chill
Minnesota's December wind
Howling my damnation
Across the plain

A sweet ray of sun
Cast across the kitchen floor
Teases me of months to come

Im beginning to like this pain
Creeping up my spine
Mixing with the chill
Willing me into a soft dream
Even as the kettle screams

What do you mean

What do you mean
When you say
He wasted his life?

He lived as he wanted,
He did good things and was
A good man

What do you mean
When you say his loss was a tragedy?

What do you mean when you say He?

Who was this man?
This Saintly, stubborn ass
Who wouldn’t listen to the people who loved him?

What do you mean 
When he had a problem?


What does that problem entail?
Do I share his problem?


Am I He?


I am not he.

I am not he,
Yet I seem to be laying in his casket.

He who loves god more than most is he known as Satan

The hero is
He

Fallen from Grace
Down to the world below
Down here
Bathed by the brilliant Sun

The Beauty of man
Damned by knowledge of sin
And the sin of Knowledge

Yet the persistence of love and devotion
Damns the Hero
He
The king of nothingness 

The purist love unrequited

Without the reward of heaven
He loves

Down to the world below
He remains
Fallen from grace

In the brilliant sun

The brilliant son

Damned by the knowledge of man


In the perseverance of love
Becomes the hero
Without the reward of heaven

Sugar for wine


I give you sugar...
For wine

It will turn.
It will become wine,
and it will be sweet.
Intoxicating wine.
But my patience for the wine
is less than my love for it’s sweet release.
So I give you sugar for wine,
in return for the wine you have so steadfastly cultivated.

Please sir
I give you sugar for wine?

I am a victim of Seven O’Clock

As I fall asleep upon my mattress on the floor
I dream of Seven O’Clock

When the day is going my way

There lays

Seven O’Clock

My existence is based upon the people I feed

And I seem to only feed people

At Seven O’Clock

Fuck Seven O’Clock

When my head is down sweat creating a layer of salt

In the band of my hat

When my fingers cannot feel the pan they are clasping

When my plates are a little too hot

And the servers all panic

Fuck Seven O’Clock

Fuck Seven O’Clock

Right between the zeroes

When the people come to feed

Unannounced but welcomed

When you first realize

It’s only Seven O’Clock 

I wish I meant more to you
That this meant more
But in your days to come know I was serious
I loved you then
I love you now
In times of joy
And in pain
You are my friend
My lovely friend

I just wish I meant more
Than just a name
On some distant wind
So far from you
From your grace

I wish I was more to you now
Than I could have ever been
But the distance between us
The years gone bye
Have made my memory
A dull and distant one

So love your life
And be strong
I shall watch from a distant shore
And be contented
To have known the woman you became

The most precious one

Before me stood a great beacon of hope

A triumphant woman

Of grace and what glory may be

She smiled upon me

And did make my heart flutter

My spine quake

And my brain melted upon the floor

What powers have been bestowed to you?

Oh woman so pure

Muse to the Gods

Idol of Man

Who stands before me

In heavenly robes

Weeping

For her own heart breaks

Upon the stair of God

We Weep.

The precious one

In the arms of man

Love's poem lost in the wood
A weary traveler once here stood
And upon this fallen tree
He wrote his letter to thee
An undying love he did search
And left his soul upon this birch

A lover's poem
A majestic totem
To the love he saved
His feelings engraved
Along the wooded trail
Though winds do wail

The lover's poem shall remain
A lonesome wander's loving vein
And upon the trees we do engrave
The darkened woods we do brave
Just to spell our love to thee
Oh mistress whomever be.

Apologies from Assisted Living

one year has passed by

and my ward I must vote aye

to keep within the realm of man

my mind searches for where it began

however,

the serpents of thought and hate

that escape the souls haunted gate

terrorize the mind in memory’s time

from the passage that is thy tongue

the demons of thought are sprung

lashing and thrashing the spirits soar

through the air as our breath does roar

without passage back 

our apologies stack

letters of great stature

to our self less mature

and in the years gone bye

wisdom now in our eye

we scold our child from within

tell him where to begin

to change what we have become

and maybe our tiny world some

but alas we cry

no tears left to dry

and shake our soul shall violently

as our demons dance in glee

to celebrate our desolation

from long forgotten devastation

one year has passed 

and my reminder has amassed

upon my doorway

the government letter lay

to remind me how

one year from now

one year shall have passed

for the lovers lost in the darkness of midnight

for those discovered in the break of day

from cascading light through broken blinds

we awaken in the arms of each other 

holding on to prevent the loss of our humanity

lest we separate unfulfilled 

lacking in loves sweet pleasures

we shall linger in the beautiful warmth 

of the morning sun

as the shade of regret 

hangs over our rotting stomachs

filled with the angst and loathing 

left by liquor and bitter pills

this is for the lovers lost

and for those found again

this never ending routine

stealing moments 

we could have remembered

great things unachieved 

great loves never witnessed

great stories never written

our greatest love lost 

between the sheets 

in liquors sweet embrace

Look back in

A face emerges from behind closed eyes

A face that is remembered from years past

Staring deep into my soul

From within she stares

Watching me fail 

Watching me stumble home

A face emerges from behind closed eyes

Waiting for me to rise out of this darkness

Waiting to see my name in the sky

This face

Lost in history

Staring back at me 

Every time I close mine Eye

The minds eye

Privy to the visitor from within

The soul trapped behind mine eye

A beacon for my future

A reminder of my past

Who I want to be

Whom I want to be with me

She is there

From behind closed eyes

Staring at me 

Wanting me to become 

What I need to be

Who I should have become long ago

 

A face emerges from behind closed eyes

My eyes

Haunted by she whom I could never have

Without smothering who she was to be

A nights' romance

A moment suspended in the night

A drunken fancy

Followed by delight

A nights’ romance

A tender kiss

Followed by a gentle dance

But long we wait

For our suitors call

Too long to anticipate

What may come 

What may come

Of a nights’ romance

Love for all and pain for some

Young lovers in the night do prance 

Yet crying lovesick Romeos

Chasing Belles, their lusts do goad

All along the love sewn pair

Sharing glass of whiskey and wine

Without a worry without a care

Lovers joined in pleasures’ twine

So unto thee

Tonights’ sweet lover

We seek to be

United upon the bed

Twisting and clawing 

Beneath the cover

Drunken and blissful

Into the morning light

With a smile, wistful

Shrouded in mornings’ delight

We share a sweet goodbye

And a gentle sight

We pray you know who we are

Is not what we became

And who you are 

Is a lover with no name

A day to be wasted

The chill of a young spring
wafting round my toes.
The new midday,
the old woes.

In perpetuity
life cycles onward.
A day in the life,
is gay indeed.

And with lethargic bliss
I blow you a kiss
Miles away and no road between
Lingering a moment longer
before pulling off the kettle.

Today is a day to be wasted

Irresistible Bitch

In the morning sun,
I sit,
Admiring,
The California winter, still green.

I have seen the depths of Winter
And now I have seen her blushing rosy cheeks.

She is quite beautiful,
This wintry being.

Her sunny crisp morn.
The lazy afternoons an early evenings.
Yet I have heard her howl,
I've seen her freeze the land solid
And blow destruction through the lives of her children.

The beauty of fallen snow,
The frozen lake,
And a warm fire,
The lining of the frozen Tundra.


But alas,

I wish to escape this temperamental beauty
Into the heat of the sun,
Into permanent summer,
Summer,
A less beautiful bride.
A diligent mother to the more fortunate soul.
Keeping the fruit of our mother
A constant delight.

Danzig in the smoke filled air

The smoke

Fills the room 

A pleasant glow from the embers

Emanating from the copper urn

Lights the wafting cloud of Mir

Conjuring dreams 

As ancient as time itself

A dream laden with spices

A hookah bubbling softly to its master 

Under a night sky, clear and endless

But with daylight 

The dream fades into reality

The stale smell of tobacco and resin

Saturating the air

Cleansed only by the strong breath

Of the Nevada wind

Blowing 

Its hardship and despair

Across the fire ridden plain

Filled with the essence of timber

As ancient as the sands

Over which their ashes now lay

Scattered by the escaping winds

Passes before me

Wanderer 

Dreamer

 Traveling the desert
Amidst my smoke draped reality 

Hens

The cackling hens
Pecking at the heels

Making it known
The ostracized from the clique

The circle constrained

All along
The hens
Giggling

Tossing their cares
To the wind

Pecking

Their wants
Become the way

Too much to suffer
We bow
To the cackling Hens

This evening

The loveliness of the setting sun
Lost behind the clouds
Pouring in from the north

A howling dastardly wind
Fiendishly steals
our evening away

And a last I must turn
And find beauty
In your eye

Where ya from?

Where ya from?

I am from right here.
Where else could I be from?
My view
My perspective
Seat 21
Bus 317 to Asbury Park
Leaving Philadelphia.
This is where it all begins again.

Where else could I be from?

Watching the towns twist by
Through a dirty plastic window
Planted on a sponge
Filled with the essence of travelers past

There is no town, or city in my blood
No country or coordinates
That bind my soul
There is no place for me
Other than right here

So right here is where I'm from
And for the next few hours
It is where I'll be going

Wisdom

Far into time we learn
New songs
New ways
To right old wrongs

We learn the way
Far into time
As age grows scarce
And time too short

We learn far into time
What we should have known
These years long gone

From the bottom of the rye

Wisdom from the bottom of the bottle

As seen through the gin soaked eye

Reveling in the bottom of the rye

The rhythm of the beating heart

Pumping

The kiss, the brush of the leg

The sly glance from across the room

Pushing the heart to beat

The rhythm of the beating heart

A ballad of the energy flowing forth

From the soul and into the Earth

Filling the breast with 

Love

Lust 

And

Life

History Lessons

In the moments just passed
We belong to our mistakes
Poor and Grand

An apology given
To those transgressed
A feeble attempt to hide vanity's true cause

And here we grovel
Over insignificant blunders
And travel on
With a pocket full of forgiveness
From fool to fool
Apologizing for your shortcomings

Drifting off into the night

In the depths of night

A beautiful thought

A brief delight in the halls of unconsciousness

When only my soul knows it's name

Stirring me to waken

My sleeping body quaking 

In the delight of your eyes

Brought to me 

Through to my isle of slumber

Ms RightNow

In a dusty beer hall
deep in Montana's nowhere
I caught a glimpse of her

From the corner of my eye
A silhouette in pure sunshine
Cascading through the broken panes

I caught a glimpse
of her crooked smile
Her sun worn face and faded eyes

Not my first love true
But for tonight
She would do

Parrhesia

Parrhesia


In the masses we argue
Love God and Liberty
We carry in a weapon
To this arena of chatter

The mind educated or dull
Is forged with two sides
One cunning and sharp
Folded to perfection
Given its edge through wit,
Pedagogy and the science of the mind

The adverse blade
Blunted and dull
Forged from inferior metal
With poor craft
In haste.
Wielded only by the dolt and pions
The most dangerous weapon
When used in debate

We swing our sword of discourse
Trying to bludgeon the other clowns
Submission from the dull and rusty spine
Of a beautiful weapon
As our sharp wit rusts
Never to be honed
Or used to cut the fat
From our rhetoric
The ignorance
Gathered in free speech

Al mijn gedachten zijn in het Nederlands

All my thoughts are in Dutch
Something unpleasant has happened to me

Something awfully base occurred
Something evil has clutched my life
Hurling me into chaos

From which I try to gather
All that could be saved
To create
Maybe even something beautiful

Falling through the minds eye
Deep into the abyss
Of absurdity and beauty
Down through reality
And into the pleasantry of escape

I proclaim

In all the glory of man

We have built our hell upon this sand
Our creation, a bastard of the mind
Our heaven still lost,
Behind those soft brown eyes
Waiting to be created
From the refuse of hell
From which we fell
Deep into the chaos of reality

I'll keep feeding ya
Stuff you to the gills
Burbon, Rum, Gin and Love
Let your cup overflow
With that which I can offer

I offer no peace
I offer no heaven

I offer love and sacrifice
I offer my name and my soul
But I offer no promise of security
Or sobriety

But I will become
That which I need to be

So may we linger
Here where the sun disappears
Behind eternity
Forever promising to become better
So we both may live
In the glory of love

One Trick Pony

One Trick Pony

Dancing
Prancing
Playing the fool
A hero in mine eye

Dancing Pierrot
Lost in love's labours
Calling for our past
And our lot in the stars

Calling you by name
Deep in side my brain
That saint amongst the foolish
King of the Clowns

Voice

He gave them their voice
To make them happy he gave them song
But now all they scream is his name

The sweet songs of praise
Fall to threats of death in his name
He forged his name in their words
And gave them the power to speek it

From there their will
Brought forth the evil of religion
And the beauty of love

But with the gift bestowed
They lost control
And banished imagination to the devils lair

So now they scream out
In agony and in praise

But all they can utter is his name

Nothing else

Nothing
Nothing comes to mind but you
And you are stuck there
Glowing in my imagination
A beacon drawing me back
Back from my fantasy
to the shores of reality
Where I moor until the day
I can steal you from this land of reason

I know what I want
I know what my desires are
I know what I need
To satisfy these desires

I know what I am
I know what I should be

I know what I want
How to get it
How to keep it
And what wants to be fullfilled

I know what I want
I want You
I desire you
Your love
To Fullfill my desire
You must love me
And so I must be alll that You desire
All that you want and need
I need to be
To be yours

I need to be yours
So that you may be mine

Matchbook Cover

I reached out for something in the dark.
Something,
even a bump.

But my fist remains empty.
Nothing in my clutch.
Fingers gripping tight to the squishy red palm,
ready to grasp, ready to fight.

In the hollows beyond existence,
I'm reaching out
Yet my hand remains empty.
Busily my arms seek out,
wandering the hollow darkness.

My arms extended,
looking for you,
but only grasping
the beautiful nothing.

Love comes springin forth
from between your cracked red lips

A fountain of beauty
eminating from a spring so pure
So lovely a place

A lot in your heart
A place at heavens table
Locked
For the key that rests beneath your breast
too hard to reach without playing the fool

Melancholy is dead

Melancholy is dead

We mix these chemical mixtures
just to make the self happy again
Our lives too empty and easy
to just be melancholy

This life of ease
for this weak man; excuse me, human
falling prey to the infinite sadness

So we mix these cocktails
that make food toxic to our blood
We inject our bodies
our bodies reject life

We stimulate our brains
with chemical solutions
so they produce in abundance
that which is released through toil

The puzzle:

The enigma of the human state is
we feel the chemicals from petroleum plants
will make us happier than those in nature's plants

So we pill up
and paint on a chemical smile
and eat the chemical foods
to survive our chemical smiles
even though we become sick
while curing our finite sadness

And those less dramatic,
Feeling Melancholy due to routine:

Our life, lived in boxes.
In the morning we rise from our soft box,
Open our cold box,
Turn on the image-box
Shuffle out of our warm box,
Into our wheeled box,
Into a warm box,
To stare at a box,
Inside of a three walled box,
Only waiting to get back to our warm, soft, box
With the image-box softly babbling upon the wall.

The solution:
We drain the blood,
Burn the box,
and head out into the sun.

If a culture as sour as ours were to ever be tasted
By a being with a palate pure,
It would be revolting.
Tasting of sorrow and regret.
This superior being,
Casts aside we curdled beings
Only to label our blood
Caustic, inedible and hazardous.

The glowing smiles fade into
scalding glares and tortured glances

Along the path that these lovers ventured
Gay glances of enjoyment that filled their eyes
now stained by the tongue of familiarity.

The nipping of heels
pecking of eyes
turning a lovely day
into quarrels
solved by pistols and blades

But along the dark and lonely road
a glance
starring back from the eternity of darkness

A glance
that shows love is still love
and brings you to your knees.

A broken man
stuck on his knees
staring back at that perfect glance

Along the brook grazed a magnificent chestnut mare
Along the road side wept a weary mother
As a young colt stumbled, suckled and grasped at life
The old woman wept as the young horse whimpered
She wept and wept tears of sorrow and joy
Her tears fell remembering her own child
Now twenty years dead
His small frame motionless in his bed
The fever now broken
Falling ever still into oblivion

Along the roadside preyed a haggard old woman
Preying for mercy
Preying for the Chestnut mare and her colt

Once more into the deep deep drunkenness my friends!
Once more unto the breech of the assness
You understand the humor in the words we use?
You understand the humor in the life we live?

Once more unto the beach to gawk the ass of the lovelies.

The most amazing social advantage is the one of beauty
The most ostracizing social feature is the lack of beauty

So let us ugly fucks celebrate humanity
So let us ugly fucks celebrate the interesting peoples
Dancing amongst the queer
Drinking amongst the drunk

We celebrate the strangeness shared by all
We celebrate the celebration of not being one of you

SO ONCE MORE AND AGAIN ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREECH OF DRUNKENNESS!

Light house

The Light House has gone dark
Sitting amidst the crashing waves
Motionless, wet and weary
The Light House is not warning, not searching for the living
But it still exists, this Light House gone black.

Oh how the waves taunt and tease the massive block
but someday the Light House will no longer be dark
It's hollow body cleaned out and it's lantern relit.

But for now in quiet melancholy
The Light House stands dark
Amidst the terrible might of the thrashing waves
It's light faded and it's voice silent
The Light House waits to be relit.

State run Sunshine

The sun sets too early
and rises a bit too late.

The drifting senseless being I have become
despises it's shadow in the mirror.

What games shall enter today
what lives shall leave.

I dream of the misty sea air, the sultry summer nights.
I yearn for the heat of the desert sun and the bitter peyote flower.

When trapped in a mind so foggy, so dense,
When trapped in a role, so tight, so defined,
I dream of the oceans breeze I dream of new
New people, new faces, new loves lost.
I dream of new. A new me, the same as the last.

But my lies are still the same.
When I run out of these lies,
I dream of new.

I dream as the sun dribbles through the blinds
I dream of new as the sun fades not an hour later.
This being
this way of being

Drifting senseless brute
Searching for the end,
Dreaming of new.

The road to hell is paved with tenderloin

I was walking amidst the demons and politicians of yesterday,
along the stoney bridge to hell.
I promised the devil I'd be in-time for lunch,
I had to hurry for the traffic in Newark had made me late.

As I strolled with the vile evil beings;
fat, pasty skin peeling from their wicked souls,
I asked, "What's for lunch?"

On oversized under-needed cretin cried out, "THIS IS HELL! YOU GET TURNIPS!"
I said "Turnips are lovely this time of the year, and your soil is so lush from all this shit."

A lovely old lady from Wisconsin spoke up. "Today boy-o you will eat haggis!"
"Ah wonderful" said I. For it had been quite sometime since I had haggis.

"Fermented Shark! Ludafisk!" Cheered the blond beasts from Minnesota and such.
"A bit of shit on a vomit cracker!" Screamed Mussolini and Hitler.
Who since their marriage have become quite the gentle beings.

"GUTS AND BITS OF FISH AND FOUL!" Howled the gringo in the back.
A buddhist priest placed a single grain of rice in my hand and bowed away.

All good experiences in the strange and unusual my dear friends. And a bit of self control surely will do me good.

And at that moment Rintrah, the lord Beelzebub himself, came forward. Pushing his minions and patrons aside.
And placing a table before me adorned in the flesh of a thousand Rock-Gods he proclaimed in his evil booming voice,
"TODAY WE DINE ON THE TENDERLOIN!"

Brick City Blood

Blowin up like a blister
That dapper mothafucka
puting babies in your little sister
Straight outta Jersey
rockin the sweater
Packin the batty
singin this song

"Straight out of Jersey
You hear me Ma Brotha
Straight from the land of the lost
I'ma hit you with the funk force"

Ridin the streets
walking the rails
sweatin the concrete
baggin the ales

It's that dapper mothafucka
with the phones on the dome
fat as a trucker
creepin in ya home
shittin your throne

Track 2

The tracks you see are being built
But they run you see, right down through the ghetto
Ferrying the conscious right past the drunks and their stilettos
The kids playing with their glocks n' tings

The tracks you see are being built, far beyond the line in the sand
We drew this line long before I even arrived, the line and the highway
We keep this line, enforce this line with a badge and a gun

For you see, the tracks are being built
They are small tracks for a symbolic train
And they are being built so that we move this line

this line here
stradling the city
strangling the city

You see we are building these tracks
these tracks

So that we can move this line
to the wrong side of the tracks

Ernest Borgnine

That beautiful man

That fat man

 I wish I was fa--t man

That would be great great fun

Round and sound through and through 

Rolling with laughter Jolly in spirit 

Comfortable in ownership 

 I wish I was fa--t man 

That would be great great fun

That beautiful man

That fat man

What fucking tracks?

I was treading down university for my third cappuccino. As my cousin, who so dutifully took me in and has allowed me the use of his floor and toilet, does not imbibe or condone the consumption of the black bean I must walk for my fix. So I strap boots to my feet and Bo Diddley to me ears and head out into the cold, making sure to lock the last remaining deadbolt on the rickety front door.

Lift.
Push.
Lock.
Pull.
Leave.

As I slip out the front door and down the steps to the even icier sidewalk below I know why I came to this frigid state. Insanity. And as the wind howls my lips freeze and split like glass. Heading down the roads to my rendezvous.

I've been in St Paul for three days now and it certainly reminds me of home. Of Asbury Park NJ. Only nobody is here to send you greetings from St Paul, because they've all moved to Los Angeles or New York. Even if someone would wish to greet you in St Paul it's too damn cold for them to roll down the window and wish you a "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WALKING FOR?"

But I love this rundown out of towner feel. This bum from the East walking our icy sidewalks stares and the confused looks of the Ecuadorian immigrants at the bus stop. I love my ethiopian cappuccino while the old men argue about cricket and soccer while the youth destroy their watt looking on and listening intently.

I enjoy my rendezvous. My St Paul experience away from The Lexington and the wool caps of Whole Foods. Away from the tattoos and tutus of Grand. Away from the gringos and deep into the other side of the nonexistent tracks.

Pierrot

come come Pierrot
trusting
faulted
loving

come come Pierrot
no thought
just love

come come Pierrot
tease me
drag me
use me

come come Pierrot
shapeless
sad
little
clown

come come Pierrot
watch me walk away

come come Pierrot
come come

Down Down Down

The end of my cock is bleeding profusely, but I stay under
water.

I can feel the sharks coming closer as I drain of blood.

Why did I venture out tonight?

Out into the city,

Into that bar,

Only to be jumped, tortured, robbed and now this?

Why did I venture out to die?

In the Library this Morning

I met a woman, her name was Lill
Her baby-doll I had to kill
She came first
that little plastic bitch
Blood was needed to quench my thirst
So I gathered the tools and dug the ditch

I met a woman, her name was Lill
Her baby-doll I had to kill
In their house she was queen
I shanked the little cunt right in the spleen
The plastic hoar was sure to die
I wanted to see her melt
I wanted her to cry.
I tucked the carcass in a cushion of felt .

I met a woman, her name was Lill
Her baby-doll I had to kill
But I fucked it all up, I dropped a toe.
I lost my bed to blunder.
My woes,
Resting upon plastic torn asunder

Post

Sufferin' Suffern

through winter and spring

Dreaming of paradise

Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.*

Peering through the looking glass

at grasses more green

Wishing I was miles away

Wishing I was in Pamona

*Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Lead us not to still waters
festering with disease and ill thought
But bring us to the torrent
so we may imbibe it's purity, harness it's life force.

Let it wash us clean,
Let it shout it's praises to life as loud as it may.
And let it never lay in stillness and disease.

A long life of peace and prosperity brings lethargic compliance,
littered with boredom and melancholy.
A life of fire and courage, brings rash decisions,
loneliness and doom.

A life of reason, deliberation and indulgence,
leads to contentment and bliss.

A life of fear and worry is not worth living.

Kick me in the boobs

Today I'm playing by all the rules,
Mostly because you said I couldn't do so.
I'm on my own and keeping you
On your toes.

Suit and tie!
Slicked back hair!

I am to your liking, no?
But be warned on looker,
What tomorrow brings,
Nobody knows.

Heaven Simply Heaven

The smell of cinnamon fills the soul.
The butter still on the tips of my fingers,

All the recipes done,
The breads in their respective ovens
the cakes patiently awaiting the probe.

The smells uplifting,
the sum inspiring.

I am home
in this hall of amazement
and joy alone.

Drifting off into
my own buttery flaky world.

Filthadelphia Night Owl

I have the desire to move 

Move to the side to the fringes 

Only to be confronted by a mass 

A mass of humanity swarming down upon us 

They were not accustomed to the numbers 

They were lost amongst the others

The sea of people suffocating their senses

Escaping into the tunnels only to sit smothered by a man who's just pissed his pants

ABC's Heroin pushers in the Laundromat blues.

The poppy fields alive and bright,
Drag the sinners in to the wretches of hell.
Down through the gates
amidst the spiders and the shit
on the wings of mighty beasts.
Plummeting with the plunger's great force.
Fire begetting fire
the needle's bloody trail
the poison turning blood molten
the paste spewing forth
Satan's beautiful hate.

You should see this fat little hell spawn run
She topples with ease
on the uneven laundromat floors.
Screaming and raging
stuffing her face with candy and cola
You should see this fat little hell spawn scream
defending her pretzels and chips
from her mother's tyrannous gaze
raiding the machines of their candy and toys.

I ATE IT! I ATE IT!

Good girl, yes you ate it.

I ATE IT! I ATE IT!

And now you're obese.

I ATE IT! I ATE IT!

We all fall dead!

Words from my Mouth

When love strikes you dumb
you better not fight it.

Dive in and drown in the suffocation
bathing in the beautiful anticipation:

Of kisses years too late,
Desires filled and satisfied.
Lovers, vexed and spent.
Embraced and beaten.

Exhausted collapsing onto each other
in each other, struck dumb.

You better not fight it but love it.
Love in it.

Arrested

The tinker speaks the truth with haunting hollow eyes. Shattering dreams With Thor's Mighty hammer he strikes the fantasy as a smith works irons breaking loose the shackles of delusion shaking loose the wayward wanderer Allowing him to compare the delusional fool and the delusional sage I came upon two fools in the wood. Both were equally unwise. But I followed the guru most sage and that has made all the difference in the world.

Yes. Thats Raght!

Whether we be
Upstairs or down here in the rain
It's all the same
I'm stuck wishing
Stuck wishing you'd come out tonight

Leaving me here to ponder the bottom of the glass
Wishing this was more than it could ever be.

The recycled Lips pounding out a broken tune
The boppers hopping the Hipsters rocking
The adoring yuppie fans in their new colors.
Happy to conform to rebel against le difference.

Leaving me here to ponder the bottom of the glass
Wishing this was more than it could ever be.

The ATM vomits it's bile into my hands
back into the bar

Contemplating the bottom of the glass
and the freedom of the dark outside.
My boots laced and my future determined,
my legs in anticipation.
Yearning for love never coming
For freedom now slipping away
for adulthood, now meaningless
deconstructed in the presence of children

So Hip
So Tame

So Same

Long lost in the bottom of the glass
wishing this could be more than it could ever be.

Momements

A month ago was too late
A moment ago was too soon
And now I'm lost wondering
Where I've left my head.

In the spring
The birds sing of love and beauty
The lovers stroll
and play
joyfully
in meadows and fields

In Spring
the trees mate with the wind
And the birds play in their spray

In the spring
those we couldn't suffer
are miles away
Now we long for their return
may their love come again
and smother us

The Dumb

The river couldn't be contained.
The train couldn't be stopped.
The wave came crashing down
And the steel horse came in.
Down through the heart,
Straight through the court.
Paralyzed and dumb they watched
Wrath and Death howling with delight
The matinee show on the isle of the dumb.
But on they watched,
and some did weep
So all was quiet
and nothing done
All on the Isle of the dumb.

Words of Love

Why must I read their words of love and passion
Do not my own hold true?

Why must my love fit their definitions?
Does not my own hold true?

When I tell you I love you
Do not compare it
Do not mock it's Simplicity
I love with all my heart
and express it as I can.
But never shall I let my love
be served to you on a card.

Cliffside

The wind winds up
the gulls dive madly into the river
Amtrak snakes roar by wildly.
The suns warmth
contained by the chilling wind.
Alone in the howl,
Content with the squawking and the noise.
Wishing there could be less,
So that I may be more in this world
To this world

Mr Presidnet

They no longer wear patches.
They no longer wear Che Ts.
The Joint is replaced
with Parliament lights.
Parliament Funk
has been suffocated
by Kanye
This Beautiful river terrace
now mobbed with cunts.

River Time

Come down to the river
So I may look upon you
in the cold spring wind.
Come watch the train
wind up the river
slithering along it's cold steel belly

Suffer these fools
intrusive and childish fools
shooting pool never seemed so debonair
Learning to ride, forgetting to fall
teaching themselves to fit in
to the conformist rebels.
Fitting into the world of others
much wiser and foolish than yours.

Exist with me a while
in the wind ontop the trees
Watch the fools failing and retching
Fall upon me when they disappear
and exist with me a while

The Beast Appears

The papaya grows
in the mango grove.
Fitting in from time to time.
As they finish,
The mango turns
and the papaya grows and grows
The beast now stands
above the rest
a dominant and wondrous thing
a miracle of variables
a beautiful oddity
landing amongst the fallen fruit
a beast of beauty
alone amongst peers.

When you hit the pavement and the snow is falling you say fuck it all, and walk.
The buses are not running and you say fuck it and light your last cigar,
but there are always more so you say fuck it and walk.
Now you're two miles in and the train passes by in front of you
and you say fuck it and you walk two more.
Now the worries are dripping away as the snow freezes to your face
and you say fuck it.
Work melts beneath your feet, that pain in the ass disappears
and is replaced by a pain in the middle of your back because let's face it you're still a little to heavy for your bones
but you say fuck it, and you walk a little more.
And the store is open, you're the last one in and they have your beer and you say fuck it and buy two more.
And you hit the pavement unsure of your footing toting a few smiles in the flimsy little black bag
and you say fuck it all, I'm good.
And you say fuck it I'm happy, the horizon is coming up and this one is no mirage.
The missed opportunities the lonely mornings when you wake up alone? Fuck it I'm good.
And now you're home, not your home but home, drying out
and the REM is ready to go and the blanket that has becomes yours is warm
and you think to say fuck it, but there is no reason to and so you say, fuck it.

I hope

I hope my words fail me
I hope my pencil breaks
I hope the Pabst breaks my brain

I hope the pie on the windowsill stays warm
I hope I remain for a while longer
I hope I hope I hope

I hope the girl in blue smiles again

Q n' A

Questions:

Who is this guy
Sitting, drinking swill
from our shallow well?
Spending unearned monies
Watching relationships fail
Across the water logged rotting bar.

Watching people
Hating people

Who is this guy
Sitting there
Dreaming of his wanted girl?

Answers:

I am he who cannot doubt I am.
Saving my precious unearned money,
Marinating in cheap whiskey watching the yuppies lose
To the drunks in the game of life.
I am he who cannot realize the power of humility.
I am he who can no longer doubt that I am.

What was I gonna say?

I forgot what I wanted to say because I left my pen in Trenton.
Forgive the absence of thought.
I apologize for the oversight.
One day soon I shall remember my thoughts,
and my pen shall strike the page with the fury of my love.
Until it rolls, again, away from my unconscious hand into the stew.
Beneath the seats, beneath the filth sponges.
Down where no instrument of love should ever land.
Rattling around the bus tormenting me in it's filthy freedom.

But I promise you my sweet sweet muse.
Some day I will remember what I wanted to tell you.
And maybe then I'll have my pen.