his holiness

Linger With Me

2011-05-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

Peaceful perpetrators of poetic work
Linger outside buildings
Loitering,
Laughing,
Lumbering their legs over chairs
I wish to sit in.

Water flows from fountains
As I leaf through pages
I purportedly am to perpetuate in my mind.
I have no such desire
To demolish the dormancy of my mind.

(Poetry shining through their lips
As I gaze out over their faces.)

Peaceful protesters they are,
All alike as they strip me with their eyes
Except one with a nice smile
Laying her legs atop my lap.
Do not move
Let us linger a little bit longer.

My desires are simple:
A cigarette;
A glass of beer;
A beautiful girl.

Elevator Riding

2011-05-24T00:10:00.000-07:00

I had to get a book
From the seventh floor
Of the library.
Elevator riding high-
When will you get off?
Is it the same floor as me?

Please, God...

Please let her get off
On my floor.

I'd teach her things
About Shakespeare
She never even knew.

New Acquaintance

2011-01-03T20:06:00.000-08:00

You are a new
Infatuation
Leather-laced and locked up
Your leaflet-like innards
Lay sprawling beneath my eyes –
I am here to use you.

And you
Are here
To be used, to lie
On the living room floor
Wide open and screaming my name,
Begging for my entry
Within
You.

We are here
For one another –
User and used –
To open each other,
Lie together
Inside leather-laden lust
Like licorice-sweet lovers
Engage in each other.

You may not be used
Tomorrow,
Or the next day.

I will use you like
A necessity-

When necessity dictates,
Be ready
And open
For my
Probing
Pen.

Outside the station

2010-12-03T21:18:00.000-08:00

There are
Three black babies
Running up and down
The broken escalators.
They are more
Like stairs now.
The parents
I cannot see.
They must be
Breaking themselves
For a dollar or two
To feed the family.
One, a girl,
Smiles a child's smile
At me.
I smile back.
And realize
It is the first time
Today
I've smiled.

The cold
Has arrived.

My fingers clench
Around a lit cigarette.
The cold stings them
Into a sense of
Belonging
Amidst this winter night.
I am jealous.
All I want tonight
Is to belong.

I inhale
And exhale
My teeth chattering
More lively than
A group of teenage girls
Walking down the
Escalator-stairs
Into the monolith
Of train-riding misery.

A homeless man
Has made his perch
For the night
A few yards away
From me.
His bags
Cover him
As he shivers his way
To sleep.

I realize
His lonely bags
Are his life.
And they double
As blankets
In the cold.
Winter is really
An asshole.

I feel sad
That I do not
Have it in me
To help him.
Surely
I have a
Beer-stained couch
For him to sleep on.
I am too
Concerned
With my own
Well-being
To consider
His
And I hope
That soon
The cold
Will go away
And Winter's
Tempestuous winds
Will wither
And die.
Like I see
Myself
Doing
In the
Brazen frigidness
Of December's
Wicked wrath.

Cigarette Freaks and Cocaine Fiends

2010-12-03T21:16:00.000-08:00

Cigarette freaks
And cocaine fiends
Swirl in the city's
Crazed nighttime glow.

Flame to nicotine,
Inhale to exhale -
Smoke hovers like a miniature cloud outside my lips
Before my eager mouth
Hungrily devours it
And I am whole again.

Crumpled dollar bills
Rolled nice and tight-
White powder resting
In carefully cut lines on the table
As we look around the room,
Excited.

Soon cigarette smoke fills our minds
With thoughts of old romantic forays into poetry
With lovers who linger beside us
As we delve
Deep into the darkness.

Soon powdery dust calls out our names
And we recall
The extravagant beauty
Of moments that have passed.

Remember when
Smoke billowed from my lips,
And you said it looked like
That time we made a fire
In the gazebo?

Hooked on uppers like a fine chick

2010-12-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

I got
Not so much to do today
But I'll wake up
With a hop in my step
Take the first dose
And start with the work that plagues me so
Coffee steaming around my eager sniffing nose
Cigarette smoke like the ghost of an angel flowing out of nostrils into the great wide open expanse
I want it all I want it all it's all mine just give it all to me
Then another dosage to have it all
Do a quick airdrum solo on the ride into town and never stop to think of slowing down
Like lines of powder lining up in my sight jockeys racing horses in my head thoughts careen headfirst around tracks
City buildings eagerly waiting for its tenants and busybodies to enter and exit
I enter and exit sanity next to an insane subway man whispering to god about walt whitman's dick
More doses more doses more more more
And off to the chelsea piers again like a rampaging madman screaming at old people young people middle-aged people anyone everyone (especially attractive chicks)
I lie at the edge and dose myself and soak up for a minute the Jersey views
Up to the subway again prancing like neal cassady dancing like neal cassady not giving a fuck like neal cassady all I've got's a couple more doses and my own quivering sanity which might just be some other form of illegality stroking manhattan's great gray beard under the empire state building's loathesome nighttime lights
Off to columbia and upper west side spanish harlemites and another quick one popped frantically into my mouth
Tongue rolling over it savoring the highs the highs the highs does it ever get better than this? as the lines lining in my head take form in reality and line up like little soldiers on the table in front of me awaiting my orders:
Into me you go little army men and women
We'll soon be one and I'll be complete and whole and all I know is I've got all this beauty already inside me but I'm an open guy,

I'll surely take some more.

Give that body to me

2010-10-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

Pass around
that bottle of wine,
Pour one for me
and one for you
to the top
of our glasses -

Tonight
no inhibitions;

Stare at me
from across the room
and feign interest
in useless words being spoken;
Meet my eyes
as they undress you
and likewise tear
my clothes off,

Tonight
no clothing;

And later as we lay in bed
letting sweat rest cool
against our naked bodies,
turn around
and press against me,

Tonight
your body is mine.

From God's Merciful Hands

2010-10-27T15:27:00.000-07:00

Underneath the evening glow
Stand sorrowful beings
Granted passage to and fro
From god's merciful hands.

Underneath the stars' milky strife
Stand you and I
Given each other in a new life
From god's merciful hands.

Underneath a broken city lamppost
Stand you and I, tormented together
As two eyes dare to cry, silently appears the glorious presence of our Host
From god's merciful hands.

Underneath my body you lie
Laying together we stave off starvation
As God's smile gleams on you and I
And a chorus of cherubs sparks
From god's merciful hands.

Just like an adventure

2010-10-27T15:24:00.001-07:00

I am
With you
In my arms,
My love.
In my arms,
In my arms,
In my arms,
You lay so beautiful tonight,
Your tanned skin
A perfect contrast
To my pale complexion
In my arms,
In my arms,
In my arms,
Tonight you lay
So quiet in your sleep.
Your breasts like
Mountains I conquer,
Grant me passage
Along your lauded paths
Up through you
I am entered.
In my arms,
In my arms,
In my arms,
You lay so peaceful
Tonight as I gaze
Longingly
Over your body.
Return
To me
To my arms,
To my arms,
To my arms,
The morning insanity
Will be
So bearable.

I Know What You Know

2010-10-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

I know
what you know-
Distance traveled
over telephone voices
is too great
to conquer.

I know
what you know-
My hands
over yours
is a sensation
unlike any other.

I know
what you know-
Together you and I might
overcome miles and miles
turning space
into a memory.

You know
what I know-
My lips pressed
over yours
continue to tingle
throughout the month.

You know
what I know-
The soft touch of my fingers tracing
over your breasts
lingers on
throughout the lonely evenings.

You know
what I know-
Our voices traveling
over the countryside
are an ample adversary
for Time's spinning Inquisition.

I know
what you know-
Soon it shall be my body
over yours
hiding from Autumn's
crisp winds.

You know
what I know-
Emoting Time's devilish
old age eccentricities
brings you
and I
together.

Not everything is a poem

2010-10-27T15:18:00.001-07:00

Or so she says
As I walk away from her
Being sure not to look back;
This
Is certainly
A poem.

Life
Is a poem,
It seethes through
Daily moments of glory;
Death
Is a poem,
It drips through tears
Into words written silently
Sitting in funeral homes.

Me,
I am a poem,
I twist and turn,
I rhyme and scheme;
She,
She is not a poem,
She does not seep
With passion
As a poem does,

And if life
Is a poem,
Life must then be passionate,
Pulsate through bodies
And course through minds.

I am passionate.
I find poems everywhere.
Just the other day
I saw a poem
Beneath her blouse-
Still she
Did not see it.

She must be blind!
Poetry is everywhere!

Train Gliding

2010-10-27T15:12:00.000-07:00

Train slithers its way about town,
Gliding on tracks
Twisting and turning its body
Around graffiti-covered stone.

I, the passenger,
Silently enjoy the ride
And the time it affords me
To consider the thoughts
I’ve had to suppress all day:

Your fingers tracing
The back of my neck;
Your eyes like shining nighttime celestial orbs
Lighting my fire;
Your lips lingering on my chest
Shivering me whole.

When the slither snake finally reaches my destination
I hastily exit
And shudder my mind
Once again.

My Seraph Talks in Her Sleep

2010-10-04T13:29:00.000-07:00

Each wing rests lazily
next to me
as I rest next to she,
Counting burnt feathers
I never reveled in
while we lay together.

I count one
     and begin my evening prayer
I count two
     and gather nighttime strength
I count three
     and softly travel my fingers across   her chest
I count four
     and exhale coolly over her right cheek
I count five
     and fingertip my way to her lips
I count six
     and kiss her soft-skin back where wings do not protrude

It would be rude of me
to awaken her as she sleeps
Yet she talks to me
as her eyelids rest so wearily
           extolling her pain,
                 her poisonous pain,

In my arms she whimpers
     My seraph whispers
In my arms tonight.

Where do you go at night

2010-10-02T10:58:00.000-07:00

When my eyes
tire of their constant viewing demise,
Where do you go
at night as my eyes
sink deep into dreams?

Where do you go,
The sullen sulking of simple minds
Sunken and sworn so sweet like a seraph in the late summer?
Where do you go my love,
With your never-ending legs lazing their way across my body as we lay together?

Where do you go at night
As the rising sun rids my dreams of all their dormant dusts,
And I in my bed so filled with lust?

How will I keep myself occupied until class starts? Part II

2010-10-02T10:57:00.000-07:00

I spent
The last
Thirty minutes sitting
On a bench outside the library.
Smoking cigarettes.
Watching people
Talk
To other people.
Playing with
The yellow bracelet
I've had
Since I was fifteen.
Wishing
I
Could draw you naked.

Now
Only
Two
Hours
To
Go.

Two guys
On the mall
Are playing
Catch.
I
Wish
I brought
My glove
So I
Could join.
Another
Is sleeping
Nearby.
I wish
I brought
My sleep
So I
Could also
Nap.
No one
Is fucking
On the mall
(At least
Not yet).

In my
Weary
Haze
I must have
Ashed a cigarette
On my
New white shirt.
Shit!
Nothing like
A good stain
To invigorate
The mind.

Now just
One hour
And
Fifty-nine
Minutes
To
Go.

How will I keep myself occupied until class starts?

2010-10-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

Two and a half more hours
(And three already down)
Until
The
Next
Class
Starts.
Everything else
Has been read,
Everything else
Has been written.

Except for your face

And its
Exquisite
Features.
Were I
More talented
I might task myself
With drawing you-
Starting with your eyes
And your hair
And your cheeks
And nose
And lips
And neck
Down to
Your chest
(Special attention
To the breasts)
And finishing
With your legs.

Maybe
It will help
To pass the time.

Either way
Its too bad
You're so far away-
Were you closer,
If I may,
We would "nap"
And orgasm
The day away.

She'll be coming around soon enough

2010-10-02T10:55:00.000-07:00

Time
becomes lost
in the ridges
of her summer dress
playing tricks
in the wind
as bare feet
caress blades of grass.
She dances
in circles,
my glances
and trances
following her colors
cascading
over
me.

Her voice
transcends Time
hours behind
thrown hours ahead.
   My mind
        cleared and
              telling of a
                    most cynical rhyme.

She'll be
coming around
soon enough,
With her collection
of wrinkled
summer colors
tucked safely away.
She'll be
coming around
soon enough,
With her collection
of purples and blues
blending in
my own eyes.

She'll be
coming around
soon enough
and the
tough ridges
of my palms
will hide
Time away.

I Dream of California

2010-09-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

I dream of cascading over
Mountains
I dream of forever orgasming eternity away
Under the glowing nighttime
In Los Angeles.

I dream of California
Washing over me.
I dream of San Francisco jazz
Blasting in my ears.
I dream of her
Sitting next to me
As we make our way
To freedom.
I dream of a sun
That never ends.

I dream of green grass
Omnipotent green grass
Swirling around my naked body
As she blows smoke in clouds
In the backseat of her car.
I dream of cigarettes
Dangling between my lips
As the thunderous wind
Blows back her hair.
I dream of her hand
Resting on my broad shoulder
Soothing and calming.
I dream of leafing through
Her flowing strands of hair
Like a collection
Of Whitman's finest.

I dream of escaping
These enclosures
That encapsulate me
So egregiously.
I dream of her touch
Seeping through my skin
Her fingers tracing the tones
Of my forearm.
I dream of California
Performing rituals on me
Cleansing my body.
I dream of a muse
Singing softly in my ear
From so far away.
I dream of her naked skin
Sweet to the taste
Smooth to the touch
Caressing my naked skin.

I dream of sexual escapades
Amidst tramping adventures
In downtown Los Angeles.
I dream of rockstars
And cocaine bars
Misting fog over my head.
I dream of forever
Seeing an oceanic expanse
That never ends.
I dream of her hands
(Always her hands)
Grazing mine
As we drive
Forever freed,
Freed forever.

Sonnet 16

2010-09-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

Tonight I would not dare
Close mine eyes amidst the evening glare,
Nor would I dare to compare
my love's beauty against anyone, anywhere.

From far away you strike
Deep within my being as sleep begins its conquest,
For to sleep with you is unlike
Anything else I may request.

Dream of me, too,
As our words eclipse space,
In your dreams softly graze my face,
And I shall do the same for you.

Furthermore I shall be your lullaby,
Furthermore you needn't fear, furthermore you needn't cry.

Sonnet 15

2010-09-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

Quiet now my darling,
As the ornamental sky darkens,
Hold me quick and silent,
And let unspoken words brighten our world.

Come closer still,
Ever grasping tight against my body,
As the rising sun bids us goodday,
Hushed moans seeping from your very being.

Fly, fly away my darling,
From me and you and further away,
Still moaning under hushed breath,
Your body rises and falls and I notice every beat to your rhythm.

Your scent still tingling all around me as our bleak future rises with your smile playing in my head,
Remember how we love, return to me when memories no longer suffice.

My Love Appears At Night

2010-09-07T11:09:00.002-07:00

My love appears at night,
The darkened end of a lighted day,
Arriving at my door when love is right,
She in my arms loves the night away.

My love appears at night,
Her eyes like stars illuminate the darkness,
Through my window she smiles bright,
Mortal and finite she declares my happiness.

My love appears at night,
Through her hair I trace a delicate line,
My strong grip denouncing her fright,
Quivering hands grasped tight against mine.

Through galaxies and multiverses my love appears,
At night as the shining stars creep their way through space,
Her soft lips and soft words quiet my deafening fears,
Her sighs tingle my skin as we embrace.

Through clouds of haze and fog my beautiful love erupts,
At night as I lay alone and stranded,
Shooting stars burning landing next to us,
Our actualized love forever disbanded.

My love appears at night,
Through my own recollections of the past,
Laying next to me quiet and tight-
If one moment is all I have, I shall make it last.

My love disappears at the break of day,
The sun dispersing its cosmic brothers,
She and I have had what we may,
And now must return to others.

Sonnet 14

2010-09-07T11:09:00.001-07:00

"Promise me,"
She whispers quietly in my ear,
"Promiscuity,"
Her warm breath soft against my neck.

It would be wrong to object-
"Promise me,"
I reply,
"Pleasure,"
My cool breath ecstatic over her chest.

"Promise me,"
She ekes words as her body ascends to the peak,
"You'll leave soon,"

Eager to oblige, I turn right back around;
Back into her wading pool I dive, leaving her with nothing but a frown.

Sonnet 13

2010-08-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

The extravaganza of life passes before my eyes,
the extraordinary glow of beautiful young women
happily tramping beyond my demise;
Through windows I dream, from far away,
of days gone,
cowering beneath words which betray.

Different sets of legs impress upon me
different memories of engorged encounters,
faithful and unfaithful- still always unholy to a degree;
Lustful, I, enamored, stretch out my being
and call with force to an unseen visage of beauty-
Where have you gone? Have you seen what I have forseen?

Eyes shut, she travels alone; deeper and deeper she goes,
far down and forever lost to a land in which my face never shows.

Sunday Best

2010-07-27T16:25:00.000-07:00

The city is full of life before a rainstorm tonight,
Careening forwards towards the hoards of lifeless bodies rambling down roads lined with never-ending screams and moans,
Wind tossing and turning leaves in their endless sleep hovering in the hazy mist,

Skirts flowing far too high for the young women's liking,
Clouds rapidly approaching, a formidable army of treacherous female oddities saluting the summer's imperfection,
They climb on top of each other again and again and again
Covering the city whole,

Quivering words of love hushed down to whispers withering away with wisps of wind,
Walking through circles encircled by circling cars crashing through sheets of rain,
God silently crosses the street with his newest smile shining devilish against the pavement,
And the end draws near,

Forever or for a moment makes no difference,
One moment is forever in the back of your head as your eyes close and create new moments,

God standing tall and proud at his destruction,
And the end draws near.

Wonder Rides

2010-07-27T16:23:00.000-07:00

Trains forward and trains backward howl through tunnels as the sun begins to fade,
Tourists train-riding "oohing" and "aahing" as our vessel climbs speeds blasting into the open -
Out of the tunnel and into the glorious early evening southern aura melting the metallic core away,

I hide in the depths of the train.

Cowering,
Breathing deep searching for fresh air amidst the sweat and coughs and little babies crying,
My lungs filling up and exhaling as the train springs into action after a brief stop -
When did I forget the wonder of a train ride?

I search a young boy's face for an answer.

I cannot find one,
Lurching to and fro tightly packed as one man falls at a sudden brake and nearly spills his coffee on me,
Our cattle car carries us creatures careening towards our end-
There must be an end,
It is in sight,

I feel it in my bones,
I smoke and live and breathe the end.

The train keels itself to a halt and I exit,
Running towards fresh air and openness -
I am engrossed with the people exiting and entering,
I hear their prayers - mimicking mine - as they prepare for another train ride,

That trusty, good old train ride;
Closer and closer, until the end.

A Twilight Reverie

2010-07-27T16:21:00.000-07:00

I lay awake all night against the burnt background of the desolate sky,
Shining with all my might amidst my cosmic family,
Stranded millions of miles apart without an arm or leg to reach out and make contact with,
My xenophobic creation in the face of all the space spread throughout this Universe shames me into an unyielding submission-
I wish so desperately to find myself a partner with whom I may dance around in this deserted wasteland,
Our masses and entities drawing our bodies closer and closer,
Closer ever still,
Until the end of our solitude.

Can you see me hiding alone against the portrait sky?
Does your rooftop perch afford you the image of what I have become?
Have you reckoned my loneliness much as you lose my memory?

I shine on you tonight from years and years before-
So years and years from now,
Again climb high and find me shining down on you as I slowly fade away amidst my long-lost brethren.

Melody

2010-05-18T21:48:00.001-07:00

Music silently blasts through my unsuspecting ears
Waiting alone deep down along the subway tracks,

Sublime,
Subdued,
I trace my fingers along the railing and let the melody roll with them across the metal cool and smooth,

A violin perks up in the background,
chirping like a bird in the early morning misery,
I tap my fingers with its rhythm against my chest,
The beats resonating in my ribcage
induce my heart to flow alongside,

Voices sing about,
Silently
only to me,
The melody flies around my head,
Buzzing in my ear.

Soon this insect shall find itself
wrecked by an oncoming torpedo.

Yet it hovers in my thoughts for now,
this eternal moment of melody.

Sonnet #11

2010-04-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

Ancient fires frantically flee fortune,
Burning centuries and histories,
A blazing path picturesque and perfumed,

I burn, burn, burn, always burnt and crisp,
Engulfed and engaged and fiery,
My own centuries, histories amassed amidst
Epochs momentarily placed in monumental mystery,

Flames flare bearing ancient fatalities,
Lost languages crackle without a heart,
Fearing rebirth amongst new age mentalities,

Embers flow through damned tunnels of wind,
Blowing beauteous bastards about my head,
Born-again blank-faced figures who have sinned
Beckoning me to bring about the dead.

Or the Man is Crazy

2010-04-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

He says "God saved me,"
Saliva dribbling down his chin,
A torn face tattered with signs
of morbid abuse;

He walks about the subway car
asking me for change,
"A spare quarter,"
Or even less;

I don't believe in a God
who would save him as he is-
If this is being saved,
Save me from Providence;

He stumbles through the doors,
Screaming "Praise God!" so loud
that I can still hear him
as we enter the next tunnel;

If god has saved him,
Show me this so-called "Grace"-
And burn it down,
So I might be saved from his Savior.

I Spoke of You in a Dream I Had

2010-03-24T11:04:00.000-07:00

I spoke of you in a dream I had,
Late-night laying alone,
Describing beauty
In its absurdity
To Camus,
Sitting outside
An old Parisian coffee shop.

I spoke of you in a dream I had,
Late-night lazing alone,
Alluding your eyes to a magician's wand,
Spellbinding in their myriad lives,
To F. Scott,
As we sat outside his home
Lamenting the loss of Hollywood,
Bottles of gin flying between us.

I spoke of you in a dream I had,
Late-night loafing alone,
Portraying your hands as intangible as the sun,
Always blazing heat from faraway to me,
To a stranger on the subway,
As he sat next to me
On the way downtown,
Discussing our lovers with each other.

I spoke of you in a dream I had,
Late-night loving alone,
Comparing your breasts to the great Himalayas,
Of Everest in its godlike impossibility to truly capture,
To myself,
As my eyes closed
Ran about your chest.

I spoke of you in a dream I had-
It would appear,
As I awake the next morning,
You have materialized
As an apparition of my nighttime remorse-filled visions;
And you
In your beauty and grace
Take hold of the hardened stock I have become
(I am no longer a withering vine),
And become a dream again,

A satisfying
And beautiful
Wondrous
Dream.

The Lady Who Walks

2010-03-24T11:00:00.000-07:00

Coming back I see you,
No longer you traipsing away,
Auburn-covered scalp blazing through paths
Of gauged-out serenity amidst springtime's newest fetish;

Coming back I see you,
Once again coming back to me,
(Am I so magnetic?
Is it my charm?
Is it my looks? My handsome attributes?)
It must be my looks-
My charm has simply charmed itself out;

Coming back I see you,
Shining eyes enchanting
Apollo's breeding jealousy
Lively under the high noon sun,
My ego stroking it's own ego metamorphosing into egomania-
All because of you coming back;

I remember your re-entrances and your exits vividly,
Vivaciously,
Vicariously I verify my own virtues amongst your vile belongings and recollections,
Of your memories and how they differ from mine,
You may meander forever freely,
Come and go,
Your comings and goings bear no intrigue;

Coming back I see you,
Yes! once more,
Only orgasms once more,
Or symphonic arrangements bursting from your lips once more-
Sweet,
Smooth,
Soft to the ears,
Once more,
Come and go,
Coming and going-

You coming back-
I see you.

A Passage in Love

2010-02-16T09:45:00.000-08:00

Then it suddenly stops--

The car and its engine sound aloud;

A woman walking by prances

elegantly through the snow:

Her noise is beautiful;

Calm,

Serene,

The winter wind sways trees back and forth;

The Snowy tracks of the people on the path,

Delicate,

Lighthearted-

Come and gone,

I am alone again:

And yet your eyes shine in front of me,

Guiding,

Steering,

Illuminate my path,

Oh my beloved-

Frigid frost engulfing me,

Quickly thawed,

As these shining stars

Burn me whole.

A sharp screech of the tires awakens me:

The noises cease;

The images fade away;

Your eyes,

Always,

Fiery,

Flaming,

Illuminate my path.

En Route to Manhattan

2010-02-16T09:39:00.000-08:00

En route to Manhattan,

My heart beats faster,

My eyes move quickly;

The rain that collects itself on the passenger window strikes hard at the foraging youngsters standing seminally inside;

Love dies under the growing pressure of massive autos,

Under the bridges and mystical tunnels in the ancient city streets,

The profane cocaine mongers mastering their own misery deep in the heart of the city,

The days and the ways of the people plays a maze inside my head,

Under the glowing telephone poles and naked trees lost in the early winter rain;

My body drops in the midst of a worldwide fire,

Blazing,

Perfect orange and red catastrophe engulfing the evil I embody,

Melodies and memories burn, burn, burn all around me;

Still I find your heart in mine,

Still I find your smile divine,

Still I find your eyes shine;

Still the brilliance of you-

My wonder, my awe, my absorbing personality-

Still the beauty of you;

The rain picks up and has an affair with my hand sticking out of the window,

I am adulterous no longer,

Faith in me,

Faith in you,

En route to Manhattan.

The Young Urban Psychopath

2010-02-16T09:30:00.000-08:00

Stomping through deserted alleys under train stations,

The pounding of the cars flowing above drenches my head with pressure,

Immense pressure,

Pressured and pressed on-

I press on with no direction,

Nor motive or means,

I amble and ramble and preamble through the dark city streets--

The Young Urban Psychopath wandering mystically.

An angelic cloud surrounds my mystique,

(My mystique itself clouded in surrounding mystery),

And mystery turns to mastery,

Perhaps my mystique and all its

mumbling meandering was meant

for something more-

Stumbling, mumbling,

A shrine following wherever

words may lead.

The train station,

All of its deep and dark alleys-

Themselves full of mystery and mystique--

Drives my mastery further into the long drawn out forever,

Never ending in the great expanse,

Expanding universally,

(A Creator's Favorite Son)--

The Young Urban Psychopath.

Wooden Sin

2010-02-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

Truly astounding,

Are the feelings

of regret I have,

For misplaced orgasms:

And disgraced majestic ornamental

orchestras lying displaced

underneath this new tablecloth;

Dynamite may be most destructive,

But you are a close second;

My eyes distorted looking around

to find their surroundings,

Peripherally surprised to find that nothing is around them;

Forgive me Father,

and Mother,

and Brother and Sister:

I have sinned.

For I have sinned and sinned

as my days have progressed,

Sinning in nature

and sinning in nurture;

And I sin and sin and sin:

And transgressions break

into digressions on wooden porches

under wooden skies

sitting on wooden benches,

Everything wooden and me

myself wooden,

Match to cigarette burns my wooden whole,

I burn and burn and burn,

A wooden sin

replicating my wooden past.

Note to a Beautiful Woman

2010-02-16T09:21:00.000-08:00

You are beautiful-

I cannot deny;

Lips tweaked so specially,

Lying next to me,

Flowing hair blowing strands across your eyes:

And your eyes ought not be covered,

So I carefully clear them

And stare longingly,

Capturing the minute details

You once swore I had forgotten-

And so it is,

As I have said:

I cannot deny your beauty,

Nor feign its effects on me.

There Was A Moment

2010-02-16T00:04:00.000-08:00

There was a moment
Yesterday,
Before I awoke-
A moment with you,
And me,
Meandering around an old garden
Under an old gray sky,
Surrounded by shrubs,
And trees,
And little crawlers,
And tiny habitats,
And you,
And me.

You strolled the path
That traces the lilies along their border,
Quiet,
Pensive,
A lily-loving lover of mine,
Under the sky's ominously oozing clouds,
Your hair blowing around your neck,
The wind picking up and dancing in between your outstretched fingers,
Motioning me to love the lilies with you.

I make my way

From under the willow tree,

Hopping over the little brook that flows down the miniscule slope that leads to the lower patio,

And I see you holding a flower to your nose and inhaling it's scent,

Greedily,

As if it were a sensation you had never experienced before this moment,

You keep your hand outstretched and I continue to make my way to you,

Tiptoeing around the basil and long-striding through the small tomato patch,

Ducking under the laughably large duck prowling over the mini-pond housing little mini-fish,

And speed-bursting through your pristine lily-tracing path,

Finally to your hand,

Your fingers (also outstretched) making waves as they engage with the dark wind.

My fingers

grasp your fingers.

My eyes

grasp your eyes.

The black haze winding through your fingers elopes to the sky,

The rain begins,

It ripples the mini-pond and little brook

And dashes about your face-

Beautiful.

There was a moment

Yesterday,

Before I awoke:

I have arisen now,

But would so desperately that there were to be another,

And another,

And another.

Quick Fix Bucko Lives Again

2010-01-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

As it goes right now,

It is as it went:

Quick fix bucko

Back to life -

Born again,

Born never,

Born to the bottomless pits

Stretching across America.

And so it went,

As it has gone:

Tonight has death

Strewn across its mantle,

Quick fix bucko

Thrown aside again -

No more emotion;

No more forgiveness;

Quick fix bucko

Lain to rest.

So it has passed,

And it has come to be:

Quick fix bucko

Lies alone -

Mr. Humbert Humbert

Despairing his Lolita;

Quick fix bucko -

Last morphine hook,

Junk dreaming,

Alas, after all -

The end.

Red Dress

2010-01-25T10:03:00.000-08:00

You wore the red dress

last night,

The one that is bold

And daring

Like your body

Screaming bloody murder

Under the nighttime haze

Shining through neon city lights.

I saw you in your red dress

Last night,

The one that hugs your curves

So perfectly,

And invites me in for

A climaxing rendezvous,

Brandishing my loaded pistol

For you to handle

As the blinds are drawn

And the morning yawns

Its way alive.

You approached me in your red dress

Last night,

I saw in you

An eruption of lava

Flowing down your breasts

Peeking under your red dress,

I spoke no words

I could only stare

I held you in your red dress

Until you left it at my bedside.

Your red dress lays in a pile of clothes

Tonight,

Surrounding by literature

And titular characters

Glimpsing (like me) at you

Under the blue blanket,

Thinner and thinner this

Blockade becomes between us -

Still the romance of you and I:

Sill proposing late-night red-dress rendezvous':

Still your red dress

Thrown at my bedside,

Thrown for me

And thrown for you.

Your red dress haunted

Last night,

I worried I might

Never imagine it again;

But tonight

I have you

In the red dress.

Freewheelin'

2010-01-20T11:40:00.000-08:00

Comfort finds me in the untimely snow masquerading across the early winter skies like young women dancing into the night,
And each flake with its own history and memories fleeting so quickly drives my own fleeting indulgence further,
Poetic nonsense thrust inside of my aching mind,
(For it does truly ache-
Oh, that you might one day feel the ache of my mind!)

And bones frozen break frigidly against your rigid jaw and clamped mouth defiantly evading my probing lips,
My eyes closed dashing through memories of times of opened lips (and open hips),
And you allure me still,
(For you are as alluring as the devil,
Offer me a bite of your red apple;
Oh, offer me just one bite!)

Luscious reds volcanic in their magma growing out of those lips so devious so defiant still,
Voluptuous lava flowing as words silently escape your mouth (and berate my advances),
My ears are shuttered against such volatile behavior from such volcanic voluptuous lips,
(Most certainly voluminous and vociferous as well-
Yet I am confined in their volcanic and voluptuous manner),

I see you fade away towards the edge of the horizon and slip effortlessly from my view,
As you have managed so daringly easy in desperation to not define yourself through my definite defiance of demonic demonstrations inside my domesticated dormancy driving deriding and eventually derailing the dramatic dreams we once shared,
(They were dramatic dreams,
Oh, the dreams and their drama!)

Sonnet #8

2010-01-12T05:25:00.001-08:00

Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand which waves at me from afar,
As though a ghost dissipating my dreams;
That I might encase such beauty and coolly graze your palm,
And trace the lines that so subtly tell your fate;

Such a faraway hand strikes the air around you:
It is banished from your inhospitable aura-
I reach out and welcome the exiled winds,
And breathe it in with a passionate greed;

Oh, that I might trace your fingers with my satin cloth,
Gently revealing myself as a savior-
Yours shall become mine as you gracefully slip me over you,
I cover this hand entirely and protect it's beauty as my own;

It is but a small piece of your beauty from which I am banned:
Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand!

Sonnet #9

2010-01-12T05:19:00.000-08:00

There is a cold at night outside amongst the innumerable stars,
Which shakes me without warning as I pace these lines,
A weary wind wisps around me and whispers:
"I will never be what you desire."

And I clench my aching fists and turn about,
Searching desperately for that voice I have heard,
Your nimble frame prances around me-
An illusion dancing through the frost-bitten air;

I will have you soon enough under this cold winter sky,
My warmth and yours wild amidst frozen smoke rings;
You may be aghast at my withering weakness for such lips,
And I may be ashamed of my withering strength for such amenities;

As you lay faraway struggling with me underneath this starry tray,
I am everywhere and everyway to be sought someday.

Friday Morning

2010-01-09T12:23:00.001-08:00

Early morning,
Coffee house
Still sleeping.

Tired-eyed
Barista
Smiles sheepishly
As I place
My order.

"Large-
Espresso,
Please!"

I sip anxiously
And watch
As the crowd grows.

Friday morning
Coffee-drinkers:
Students, businessmen,
One homeless man.

I walk up
And ask for a cup of water,
And return to find
My nesting area
Infiltrated
By four little children.
One mother.
She seems
Deviously attractive
For her age;

I smile and offer her
An unused chair
At my table.

The youngest boy
Drops his bagel on
The floor and
Cries.

I pick it up
And whisper,
"Five-second rule."

He smiles
Through his tears.

Sonnet #7

2010-01-05T17:24:00.000-08:00

I take a step back and admire you at a distance,
Water cascades down your hair and showers your glistening back,
I reach out and trace my fingers gently along your hips -
They are alluring to me and entice my being into an ecstatic state,

And as you turn around to face me I press my hand to your innermost regions and smile as you sigh under the growing pressure of the water,
Your eyes closed with drops trickling smooth down your cheeks and dripping down below your neck -
It crosses my mind I ought to cease at this point and forgo the natural unveiling of emotion,
Yet I am tranced by the wonderful image you have formed;

Do not be so naïve as to presume I am your fate (nor you, mine) -
Your current frame may last a lifetime but this moment will not,
Soon it too shall fade away against the dying pressure of the cold water,
Slipped down the drain and suppressed into an eternity that will never be again;

So do not presume to know your fate or mine,
Sigh as you and I, under the water, embrace the divine.

Broadway

2010-01-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

Ancient language beauty,
Memories memories memories,
Forlorn a lost man amongst the lost tribes.

Memorials memorials memorials,
Mother brought a potted plant to my apartment:
House warmed.
I am jealous of domesticity.
Domicile domesticated man.
Wine cellar refrigerator stocked food shopped.

Subway station is too hot too hot too hot.

The Penthouse view is beautiful.
I see young school children playing basketball on a black and white checkerboarded court.
They look like ants carrying little pieces of food.

The sidewalk is distressed with rain.
The storm has left.
Its remnants remain.

A 1 AM cigarette splurge leaves me wanting more.

An influx of faith has been bestowed upon me.
Yes.
God exists in New York City.

The nighttime oozes confidence upon young women.
San Francisco dreams displayed on monitors big-screen-playing cool pictures in front of tripped out crowds.
Jack runs in and out of the bar after each drink checking for his new girl.
San Francisco jazz burping into ears in the late night fray.

The night begins with a furious monstrosity, egos and drinks battling the haze.
Yesterday's accident has already been cleared.
I walk over a noticeable pile of debris and wonder who has died here.

It is too hot.
I shouldn't have worn clothes.
The heat is winning.

Wind picks up, blowing women's hair out of their closely arranged arrangements.
Trees wail and moan in the streets.
An obese boy unnaturally races a skateboard home.
I am morbid.
I frown.
This is not where I meant to be.

The never-end-all comes tramping through Broadway and the light shines half body whole, half body not,
The picture of a poisonous piston pumping pornography into perilous petty preachers.

This is
the end of time under gorgeous percussionists.

I stomp the pavement,
Moving to the beat,
Noises procreating inside my head (now I reckon I'd have made a tremendous musician),
Entirely too much -
It is all stretching out the limbs of my theoretical being.

The rain picks up again;
The wind moves pettily about me,
Invincible;
Soaking, I exhale:
Broadway smiles in the late August rain.

Sonnet #2

2010-01-02T13:47:00.000-08:00

The lost ground shrieks under the pressure of the snow,
A newfound winter night sighs as you and I slide into each other,
Your eyes such bright shining orbs-
The resulting twinkle of such a freshly fallen whiteness.

And if those eyes would shine on me,
There may be such a blanker expression reflecting off the ground-
With no importance outside of this room,
Save for the rest of you and I.

And saving you as I may save
And have been saved by muses before,
A muse shining tonight against the snow-covered ground,
Naked covered in snow melting away around your warmth.

So there may be in you and I a formidable warmth laying in a freshly blanketed field,
Naked wet bodies submerged under snow with a passion that shall never yield.

Sonnet #5

2009-12-29T20:30:00.000-08:00

I threw my cigarette
Into the fire,
Hoping it would ignite
The last piece of wood left.

It comes to be
That a cigarette
Is nothing compared
To all these masculine embers.

But fire is as fire will be,
So fire will always
Eat up my cigarettes
And me, too.

Goodnight, burning fire,
Engulf me too, and take me higher.

Sonnet #4

2009-12-28T11:56:00.000-08:00

The burrowing hands strike ground quick,
A natural necessity lies at the end of the hunt-
Your body lying naked illuminating the darkened room,
Ravaging my naked body lying tight next to yours,

Pulsing sonars shooting their way between these bodies,
Gravity hauling you closer and closer to me,
Gorgeous gleams throughout you and escapes in a beam
Shot from your lips and ending in a lust-filled place,

The lashes covering your eyes happily trace my face
As you tilt your head and jigsaw your lips to mine,
Soft and slow I shall go at first as I begin to acquaint myself with you,
And as I am familiar I inject passion from my lips to yours,

And my touch coerces your body into a tingle growing stronger and stronger,
And these virginal whisperings shall echo no longer.

Sonnet #1

2009-12-17T11:54:00.001-08:00

What beauty has graced this pleasant night?
Rough and hard under a fierce white grief-stricken Moon,
And pleasant as it is that pleasantries
Will be more pleasant ere they will be lost inside of you;

A thousand ships brought upon by your discoursing eyes,
Cannot measure nor compare to those cast violently beneath these waters:
Tightened cloth surrounding the flesh of your temptress body,
Flung aside as you lay at my bedside - arise, fair Sun;

Playwrights so lonely as they may take solace in loneliness,
And lonesome travelers may have such loneliness as it comes from your angelic wings,
Speak again fair heavenly messenger,
Those twenty swords are no match for your soft voice;

Wherein forever more I am a Montague and you a Capulet,
By the Moon I swear myself Romeo and you Juliet.

To A Muse in the Winter Months

2009-12-09T15:04:00.000-08:00

Oh,
The sleepless nights,
Your image in my head,
Next to the unknown other-
Does my love betray me?

I wonder as your train departs,
If you will have me again,
And if so-
Will you betray me,
Like my love?

Oh,
Do not find a gentle touch in me,
I have too little strength to handle you again,
My darkened eyes glower as I watch you-

Who have you found?
Have you reckoned my love?
Have you considered your insanity much?

Stop the incessant womanhood and speak to me-
Oh,
How one word might define this moment-
Cease your cowering grasped deep inside of you,
Entangled as you may be with this unknown lover-
Oh,
Waste not your days on ungrateful ones-

Stop now the plague that afflicts you,
For it afflicts me, too.

So You Might Know

2009-12-09T09:13:00.000-08:00

I am sorry for waking you,
with my cold skin,
as I return to bed.

I stepped out
for a cigarette-
I could not sleep.

Your warmth
is precious-
I did not mean
to steal some of it.

Waiting As She Remembers Me

2009-12-04T20:36:00.002-08:00

Your enigmatic stature
Creeps thoroughly inside of me.

Hello mister bottle of wine number three,
Join me tonight and indulge in Fitzgerald's binges,
Help me forget the misery in losing she that so completely grasps my soul,
That soul which is so intangible and unattainable that I am astounded at her ability to calmly reject all of my poetic advances,
And deeply respect the enigmatic me that I also find inside of she.

The haziness of an unknown circumstance,
An unknown answer to an unknown haphazardly stricken young man's most sincere approach,
And yes,
The rock-and-rolling through the night calms my soul happily,
Springsteen and Joel on "Born to Run" with their new gray hair and never-dying sex appeal,

Come entangle yourself in my habitual insanity tonight,
These cigarettes are lonely and without decent words,
My indecency avails itself indulging in late night unwarranted orgasms,
Be not afraid of those emotions inside you which tell you to come quickly into my arms,
Breathe deeply as I explain the never ending originality of me in these late night loving sessions.

Find the factory inside of you irreplaceable,
The single little drop of blood that storms from my finger like a tempest requests everything of you,
Of dancing under the moonlight together,
Of your soft-skinned hand holding mine on the way home from fancy dinners,
Dining together habitually with longing eyes staring across the tables,
Staring at each other,
Uneaten food foraging for a home in place of our mouths.

Always finding new excuses not to stay the night,
Always begging to stay the night,
Always staying the night after my romance finds itself in you.

Beginners attempting to tame intriguing sexual feelings not happily sought after due to prior sexual indecency,
Your smile convincing of anything under the trickling light of the fire,
Fading into the black of the cold winter night that surrounds us with such ferocity.

Waiting under this canopy I shall never cease to find myself in you,
I am told not to peruse these late night memories and find salvation in missed sexual encounters,
I shall wait tormented in this prophetic moonlight extravagance,
Bottles of wine and good old friends as a cork to the flow of liquor that you have become,
Waiting I shall always find impatience in my heart.

Yet it is for you I aspire,
So wait,
I shall.

Waiting As She Remembers Me

2009-12-04T20:36:00.001-08:00

The Necklace Your Grandmother Gave You

2009-12-02T05:16:00.000-08:00

This morning,
After you left,
I found the necklace
Your grandmother gave you.

It was hiding
Beneath my bed,
And I smiled
At the sight.

Your necklace smelled
Just like you,
And I fell asleep
With it in my hand.

When I woke up,
I let the chained jewelry
Slide through my fingers,
Just as I did with your hair,

As we laid in bed,
Dreading the sunrise.

Tomorrow,
I will return the necklace,
But will require,
As a token of affection,

A kiss.

On A Balcony

2009-11-23T06:15:00.000-08:00

The air is cold,

The wind is biting.

The sun has also arisen.

The apartment complex

gives rise to other buildings,

with other people

and other needs,

other fears-

perhaps they,

too,

have been awake for too long.

The garbage men have come and gone.

The patios below are a mesmerizing array of insanity,

eyelids in a battle with the need for beauty,

a man exits.

His body seems miniscule,

until the memory of multiverse conversations

traverse my thoughts,

he becomes a man again.

There are no more letters to pen,

Only the frostbitten plants,

gone,

lost again,

the haze of the city streets encapsulating their existence,

might understand.

The mother holds her baby delicately with her hand,

The morning dew

moisturizing the ledge of the balcony,

the thoughts of days gone permeate me,

of other ledges and other thoughts,

of you,

of me,

of sitting quietly

in a jail cell

with not a thought to be had,

not a suicidal tendency nor necessity,

nor distances to be covered,

nor drugs to be consumed,

nor balconies from which to look out,

The lives seemingly make their way about.

Dreams occur

and recur,

offering orgasms,

oedipus,

organic ideologies,

enigmatic questions,

dreams recur,

they occur seemingly as often as I feel the sway of God's hand,

waving over me,

mixing together memories,

missed marriages,

morbid and morose meaningless mornings,

The balcony and all it's mourning,

all my mourning,

every morning,

in the hazy city streets:

the chill of my fingers,

memories,

sex and poetics,

proposals,

blanket covered coercion,

The thought of the past in the present and my lamentations,

Regrets forgotten,

brought back by the chill,

the balcony and it's view,

so sudden as the sun rises,

so sullen as the wind blazes through the coves and the alleys created by the monstrous buildings,

Stuart sleeping still,

Stuart so simple,

Stuart,

Stoned still,

Still such a seraphim,

Much like the past

in it's present,

attempting to mix

and match

in and out

of the mornings,

The balcony, and all my mourning.

One Kiss, Two Kiss

2009-11-20T03:28:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I might say,
Was magnificent.

You, if I may,
Are beautiful.

As I walk away
From your door,
I have nothing else to say,
Only kisses to give.

And give them I shall,

I stand above you,
A kiss for the forehead,
A kiss for the cheek,
A kiss for the upper lip,
A kiss for the lower lip.

Kisses I shall give,

They lie in abundance,
Not withheld,
Nor whimsical,
Just waiting for you.

A kiss you shall give to me,
Beneath your building,
And wine is genuine
When the time is late enough.

One kiss for my cheek,

This is all I ask,
One for my lips,
Too,
If you might manage it.

The City

2009-11-05T21:09:00.000-08:00

I carefully peruse the sidewalk looming in front of me as I stagger back from the bar,
It is quite possible my body is shaking so uncontrollably because I made a valiant attempt to shut down those devils crouching like hyenas below the construction site,

The apartments and the stores
are filled with men and women
who glow in the evening dark
like deep-sea aquatic animals,

They keep their children up at night to watch me walk by watching them,
Covenant House with its own glowing children screaming from their tenth floor windows at the cars passing below;
Health Clubs,
Gymnasiums,
Mirror-covered buildings smile at the guilt-ridden reflections on the street,

I cower, an ant on the busy
pavement, a personality alone
and wiry,

Gone with the hyperboles and the hippos that procreate them,
Hippo-loving aristocrats romp the streets at the early morning hours,
Virtuous every which way -the men are victorious in chivalry,

Deep into the devilish
eccentricity of the sunrise
sanity, nighttime watchmen
patrol the sidewalks like Gabriel
in the golden roads of Heaven,

Past the Chelsea Piers and housing projects and newborn babes running naked circles around their mothers and fathers as the sun sets mystically,

Portraying vigilantes on big big
big screens, forgotten stars on
playing cards sending armies
out attacking kings and queens,

Aging death covering victims with half a heart twisting turning through the breeds of skin,

Fingering through pamphlets
the lonely lady freaks in the
deep sewer wasting in the
beyond,

Mother preaches about the significance of the future,
A dirty ragged man across perks his ears intently,
His heart races,
The though of a future is terrific and exciting,

The future finds itself frantic,
Pressing for more subjects and
that always elusive submission,
I look at the ragged man and
tell him through a gaze that his
future is mine,

The exact replica of the new wonders of the world
(which have inexplicably replaced the old)
wander around downtown,
Children in awe with dogs and cats and mothers and fathers in tow,

The end of Chelsea Piers-
I jump in.

A Summer Romance

2009-10-19T09:45:00.000-07:00

I can see you peripherally looking deeply at me secondly,
As though I am a passing moment,
One you forget and pass over quickly without a passive thought,

Drunkenly come to me with desparation and desparingly touch me with a wish to become mine,

I sometimes wonder as I stand alone stranded staring at stars if serious sexuality is in our future,

I need breath defiantly against my drunken wishes,
My throat is hoarse and I do appreciate the debacle that is my voice,

I look in the blurry mirror and am happily impressed with the way my eyes gleam in the glass,
And how my eyelashes are butterflies and only want to become what they used to be before the coccoon,
And the end of the age of innocence was complete and sodomized orphans screamed in the streets,
I am a terrified child in the ghetto looking for my mother,
I am the dirt on the bottom of your forgotten shoes beginning to fade amongst the summer roses,

There you are again across the hall eyeing me and I wish it were a suggestive gaze,
I wish you would look into my devilish gaze and stare back at me theoretically,
Do not be afraid that all I want is you this one time and soon I'll forget you,
Indulge and come to me alone at night,
Adulterous come to me alone at night,

I see you looking at me looking at her dancing to the new song on the radio,
Oh the thought of what lies beneath you!

Stop with the high-heeled monologues and dialogue yourself into me,
My body works perfect on a night like this,
Too many times it comes down to a me-versus-you and I have become a weary digression,
Your body screams to me the most eloquent of acoustic sets,
Sing to me tonight alone goodnight television hello me and you,
Scream loud moan loud hush loud before the sun rises,

Stop your crying tonight and let me inside,
Open the door tonight and invite me in,
I am the most gracious of guests and promise to clean up after myself,

Stop yourself before the stars kneel at your feet,
Oh the nighttime glory is a spectacle inside of you!
Oh the intellectual arrogance is a spectacle inside if you!

How the evening gown so elegantly drops to the floor,
Gracefully you slip out and I slip in,
Graciously you make your way towards me,

Forever understanding you and I in the eyes of god on a night such as this,
Together the newfound cold is strikingly brazen with a sunless heat,
The actualities of you and I continuing into tomorrow are slim,
The actualities of this moment bearing meaning on the next are slim,

Together, you and I tonight are one never-ending moment in the grand old annals of Time.

Momentary

2009-10-19T09:35:00.001-07:00

Deep in the end of time lies the most basic of emotion,
A split second rendezvous with the Angel of Death,

Fearsome.

A mid-June afternoon,

Fearless.

Young sixteen-year old me,
Without a thought of death, the devil,
And all his connotations;
Naïve young me-
Upright- not as a man,

As a child.

Simple June afternoon lost forever in the flurry of quickly destroyed autos,
And the flames that ensue,
And the guilt, shame, and death that follow the flames,

A child.

Sweet child,
Lost forever;
The ugly head of death,
And its destruction,
Roars in the early summer sun,

Crash.

Shattered glass,
Echoing shattered innocence,
Loudly reverberating through traffic,
The momentary peace,
At the end of death incarnate,
A visionary glimpse,
A messianic endeavor,

Fearful.

Fear in the aftermath,
The momentous stoppage of Time;
Flames uttering crackles,
A heap of metal,
Burning,
A sacrifice to god-

Me.

The Thought of Romance

2009-10-19T03:04:00.001-07:00

I suppose I ought to be sad,
To see you taking another into your life,
And to see you so happy - not mad -
Fills me with internal strife.

Yet, it must be said,
That there is not another I would rather see,
Moving on, moving ahead,
Moving faster, moving quicker, than me.

Luck is a term used too frequently,
I propose a toast instead,
Remember the things we said so secretly,
Love each other until you are dead.

Perhaps this day is meant for your mother,
Who raised and praised you,
Who is handing you off to another,
And one day will for me, too.

Her beauty is your grace,
Her smile is your laughter,
For her you found your place,
And today promise, "forever after".

Now, you must not forget:
There are times of hatred;
They will be hard and tough, and yet -
Not one other shall ever find your bed.

And as the sun sets on life,
The music shall cease;
And you shall look at your beautiful wife,
And say, "I have loved you with such ease".

And the Ages will continue,
And I will find a bride,
And you will teach me, too,
Long after you have died.

The lessons we have learned,
From ancestors and those living,
Forever leave us burned,
Scarred with memories worth re-giving.

You know, as I know -
From our father and his before -
That lovers may come and go:
But the one true stands behind one Golden Door.

So, as you both find God amidst your romance,
I smile as I did when we were young,
And quickly shoot you a boyish glance,
Reminding you of the days from which we are so far flung.

Bride, groom, all the unnecessary things we say,
Converge now as I stand next to you,
Happily, on your wedding day,
Knowing that a part of me is responsible, too.

Heavenly Departed

2009-10-03T23:23:00.000-07:00

Here are the feelings,
"Hello, darling"s,
Originally insane sacrifices,
Long drawn out goodbyes,

Or new pairs of lips,
Or new hips,

I have been as I am
Since I first gazed upon my mother's face,
And commented on her beautiful complexion,

Or mesmerizing impressions,
Or mesmerizing reflections,

Here are the heavenly departed,
Covered in soot in family plots,
Tombstones bearing familiar names,
A vertical insignia of eternity,

Or forgotten mothers,
Or forgotten brothers,

I have been as I am
Since the day I first spoke,
And told the world I had arrived,
And began the process of losing my innocence,

Or perhaps it has just begun,
Or perhaps there is noone,

Here are the pallbearers,
Heads down bearing the guilt of the last words never said,
An evolution from maybe to yes,
Yes it has ended,

Or they have simply resigned to their fate,
Or they are never to be as great,

I am as I have been
Since before the time of my Father,
Lying inside of tiny particles,
Awaiting a rebirth,

Or I am nothing without You,
Or I am the cricket and the mailman too,

Here I find a dirty floor,
A grain of salt lying under my naked back,
And I contemplate the necessities I convey,
And I find them written on my chest,

Or there was never a You and I,
Or there was never a time to die.

A Treatise

2009-09-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

Sweet voice in the moonlight.
Sweet wine.
Sweet woman.

Pretty eyes glaring.
Pretty smile.
Pretty portrait-
Become what I imagine.

Come across the lake.
Come to me.
Come inside- the winter has arrived.

Entertain these thoughts.
Entertain me (my thoughts have exacerbated themselves).
Entertain my ego.

Ignore my pre-dawn rants.
Ignore the female on the other line.
Ignore the "what ifs"-
They have no purpose here.

Tell me who to be- I am a shapeshifter.
Tell me what to say- I have not one voice.
Tell yourself it is okay- I am no consoler.

Feel my hand.
Feel my breath.
Feel the insidious requests from god late in the afternoon.

Hold my body.
Hold my hips.
Hold your breath-
Time is escaping.

Hear my whisper in your ear.
Hear the sharp water against my neck.
Hear this:
You are a beauty.

So long ago we held a promenade in the shade of tents.
So the way of young boys and young girls becomes a treatise for future reconciliation.
So you return and I am gracious.

Tremble beneath me.
Tremble at the thought of me.
Tremble as you hear me yearn for omnipotence.

Your every move excites me.
Your being is mine.
Your lips moving say nothing but:
"Have me here. Have me now."

Watch as my eyes gaze upon you.
Watch the glare in my eye grow.
Watch as the train departs-
I am always on the way out.

See the way my hand traces your skin.
See yourself next to me forever.
See me never-ending in you-
I shall never end.

This is the climax of humanity.
This will not come and go.
This has never came nor gone-
I am the climax of humanity.

Believe in who I am not.
Believe in what I stand against.
Believe the words I say:
"You and I are now."

The time has come.
The portrait is almost complete.
The final piece is now-
You and I, together.

There is but one life.
There are none other than you or I.
There will never be another-
Forever, you and I.

Dedicated to Ashley Osterer

2009-09-25T18:32:00.000-07:00

Greet the Angel of Death at His Holy Door,
No stuttering.
No weakness.

Hold the Wreath of Heaven at your side,
No salutation.
No knocking.

Break down the Gates of Eden like your Mother before you,
No forgiveness.
Nothing is forgotten.

Smile at Hades as you row Yourself into His Domain,
No torture.
No looking back.

Orion is Forever, You are lost amidst His Stars.
No flowers.
No music.

Continue Your everything, eternally extract us from His Hatred.
No more Disease.
No more Captivity.

Dance with the Wreath around Your neck,
No exhalation.
Nothing is forbidden.

The Song is formidable, and You are an Angel,
No more Death.
No smiles.

Gone is the Ego of the departed Souls,
No more Hatred.
No longer shall He torment.

An algorithm is replaced, You are here in it's stead,
No more Life.
No sorrow.

The Angel rests Her head.
Innocent. Beautiful.

An Ode

2009-09-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

Revel furious in the night!
Sweet, sweet darkness-
Won't you have me tonight?
Bathe in me,
Bask in my rays.

Cured in the hollow glow of stars come and gone,
I struggle deeply with you-
Born again,
Keenly devised secret gatherings between you and I,
Sensual force divides us-
Lay back,
Lay back softly in the grass,
Lose your mind in my caressing index finger.

Let each blade find itself greener under my light,
Glow as I approach-
Closer; brighter.
Closer; brighter.

Feel the tickle of the growing lawn,
Hold a hand steady directly and minutely above,
Wonder aloud:
"Will it ever be this way again?"
Sigh as a response etches it's path from my vocal chords through my lips and out into the never-ending vast great unbreachable beyond.

Stay with me this moment and you will come to understand the Universe,
The echoing of History throughout the Ages,
Lay close to me and you will come to know God and his Angels,
The Devil-
Yes, you will come to know.

Listen to the ricochet of your every breath as it roams Eternity and returns,
Hear my soft sigh as I find God through ecstasy.

Revel in the darkness-
Sweet, sweet great expanse;
Bask in my glow,
Feel the deep penetration of everything that ever was;
Pour yourself into the grass,
Beware my wandering mind;
Look closely at the words escaping my mouth,
Gallop quickly into their remnants.

Diminish as I depart-
Further; dimmer.
Further; dimmer.

Organic

2009-09-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

Blue blouse blossoms beautifully banished barren breasts.

Torn clothing left lying perfectly.

Helpless young man.
A torment of a mind.
How do you feel, young man?

This is not the place to be.
This is not where God placed me.

Forfeit one soul. Introduce the next.

Gather a tear in the well of an eye and speak to it.
Nurture it.
Bathe it naked in its infancy.

Forgery aside.
Forgery inside.
Forgery devilish.
Forgery forever.

Drugged in the attic.
Taken in the attic.

Taken and forged.
Endless useless words.
Apologies mistaken.
Abrasive.

Nationals. Always Nationals.
Always teeming.

Pride internal. Pride instilled.

Where did the lights go?

No lights. No need.
No pride. No need.

Chilling extravaganzas.
Dawn-
Why do you break so early?
Dawn-
When will you stop putting me to bed?

I am a man. It says so on my skin. Blackened. Crisp. Burnt and burdened.

Heavily I am weighed down.
Plights of humanity echoed
inside.
Plights. Forgotten. Forged.

Forgery needed.
Attic dead.
Me bandaged.
Forgotten.

New York City Also Lies to The Opposite Sex

2009-08-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

Drinks
at the 79th street bar.

You are beautiful
like the memories I hold.

Kaddish is imminent
for mother's mother.

Her father keeps his cool
he is a commendable man.

I know certainly
I would not face death with such grace.

Earlier today
we all sat together outside the oldtimer's building,
And watched the new breed of humanity
gorge itself in the playground under photogenesis.

Grandmother sweet.
Grandmother still in cute dress and shirt.
Grandmother the blood of my blood has died along the endless years.
Grandmother with memory not to be matched.
Grandmother ageless in sentiment.

Mother tears.
Mother in her childhood home searching for old high school yearbooks.
Police sirens blare.
Children run around the playground where she grew up.
Stories of Stuyvestant pizzarias in the 60s and moving to Boston in the 70s.
Illuminating those pieces of a mother's life a son always wants to know.

Dead characatures wandering city streets.
Mid-August untimely heat drips sweat along their foreheads.
Nervous twitching Me sitting on wooden benches amidst the traffic.
Coffee house packed.
No space to sit.
I wonder if Kerouac sat here.

Taxicabs advertise delicious gentlemen's clubs atop their yellow skin.
Wine store sale oozes cheap Merlot.
My brother strolls West 70s like it is his own.
I trail behind.
I passed out on his couch last night.
I drank too much.

Cigarettes cost as much as a ticket to see the newest action flick.
Which to choose?
Cigarettes.

Mid-avenue benches littered with the remnants of their nighttime co-habitaters.
Woman sits down next to me.
Pretty eyes.
Prettier breasts.
Influx of people around the area as the work day comes to an end.
More taxis.
More men holding another man's hand.
More Me smoking cigarettes.
I feel sick.
The coffee is bad.

Columbia University memories floating like fairies around me.
Intoxicating road trips with fraternity brothers from the District.
Ivy Leaguers studying dubiously into the morning hours.
They paid too much.

The humid levy has broken.
Rain is falling.
Looking across the street it would appear it is falling only on me.
Mystery.
Woman in a wheelchair smiles as I tell my mother on the phone I love her.
Which I do.
I only hope she doesn't walk by and see me smoking.
No more rain.
What a devilish trickster god is!

Cars move faster as the day wears on.
I do not.
I drank too much.
Sheepish young couples walk arm in arm into apartment buildings.
A long day at the office.
Long day in my imaginarium.
Mortal pigeons stomp the pavement.
Women in much too revealing clothing attract my attention.
I do not attract theirs.
Man sits next to me and shows me his package of cigarettes.
We smoke the same brand.
I do not find it as amusing as he.

I sweat under the sun.
I should go back inside.
The "CitySights" tourbus passes by.
Tourists make me sick.
Touring me.
Touring my rough fingers.
Touring the veins that run from them up to my elbow.
Old cenile man looks at me with disgust as I tour.
We all tour.
She tours my eyes from across the block.
One drop of rain still lays on top of my hair.
It slowly paces down my bent head and mixes in with beads of sweat.
Shit.
Now no more discerning rain from sweat.

Hispanic woman walks out of the dry cleaners.
Bundles of clothes trapped against her body.
Her eyes are bloodshot.
Another 24 hours of work.
My eyes have trouble opening wide.
I wish they would.
I enjoy my eyes.

Mother wants me to find a nice Jewish girl to settle down with.
She regrets her baby not growing up properly.
I tell her I have grown up properly.
I am a man.
Perhaps I am not.
I have made some very unmanly decisions.
On 70th no one is a man.
Only god.

Grandmother remembers me running in the playground.
Three years old.
Hair still blond and curly.
I was not a writer then.
I was a miracle worker.

Man with engorged midsection walks by.
He is engrossed in his sandwich.
My stomache grumbles at this sight.
I forgot to eat.
Motorcyclist stops at the light beside the bench.
He does not look too comfortable on the machine.
A beginner perhaps.
I hope he doesn't fall over in this traffic.
No one wants to see a man die.

Too many taxis for one city.
All too yellow.
Yellow.
Like my mother's flowers.
At night she sighs for her lost son.
I am not lost.
I am right where I belong.

On Approach

2009-08-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

Two years old

Nightmare new.

Ghetto District in flames

Just as I left it.

Now no car

No celebratory smiles.

Gone parents await

Small child arrival.

$7 cigarettes

A tidy nice relaxant.

Sweet-looking girl

Two rows ahead

Fixes her short blue skirt

And smiles quietly at me.

Jerusalem long gone

Holiest of holies far out the window.

Memories of bus rides

Crowded with rabbis and soldiers and tourists and me.

Golden city stone

Reflect deep-seeded desert sun.

Where am I headed?

Where has this course turned?

The young woman

Keeps looking back.

Before we boarded

As I inhaled a cigarette

She said goodbye to her father

And asked me for a light after he had left.

No more 20 cent cuba libres Allen,

No more Cuba.

No more book advance,

No more book.

No more Burroughs hiding in Mexico City,

No more junk-infest.

No more fake instruments,

I beg you I cannot take it anymore.

Driver sipping coffee cup reeking of gin

I myself reek of a drink-filled night.

The rain arrives

By it's side is the black-horned cross-bearing jesus.

Monolgue in my head

I go over various accents.

Road adventures no longer

Keruoac lost forever in the early winter Denver snow.

District I leave you behind

Endless parties and drugs and novelists.

West 70th in the Broadway crosshairs

Midday telepathic powers amongst the midday changehounds.

The same continuous strain of thought

From Lexington to Jerusalem to District to New York.

Lexington weeps at night

For her fallen hipster past.

She closes her lakes and mansions at night

Her lost son not to return home.

Early morning Jerusalem semetic sunrise

Wailing Wall habitated man and woman alike.

Soldiers gun toting

Fathers child toting.

New York City firefights

Jersey border in the August haze.

Young black boys masquerade

Around the wooden mid-avenue benches.

No more Havana

No more drunken street dances.

No more "meet-me-by-the-streetlamp"

No more drunken apartment-by-the-lake orgies with never ending breasts.

Cathedral painted glass illuminated nighttime moon

Solitary Father Hail-Mary-ing into the dawn.

Magical tunnel rides

"Oohs" and "aahs" under the mounting pressure.

Mystical Time lost in Chelsea

Always on edge against the backs of the barstools as Last Call hits.

Simple younglings perversed

Whoring downtown cars passing by.

Ghetto District in flames

Just as I left it.

No more 20 cent cuba libres Allen

No more soul.

Richard

2009-08-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

Hide me dim light 'neath the narrowest of minds,
Drunk young Lionheart beside me 'twixt the oriental moon and sun,

Most beautiful solo train car ride amidst the lights and the uncomfortable,
Good friend, what do you say?
Shall we rendezvous tonight amongst other junk-hooked revellers?
Time short against our addict odds,
Long live the king fiend,
I myself revel in your presence,
Drunk orgasmic instigations,
neal cassady trunk be with it hold up head high wandering cat,
Quick night wonderous horned young buck adventure out young buck,

Quick come young women we are a rendezvous in any hour,
Late night midday early morning abolitionist!
Sweet young buck revel in your monstrosity!

Short lived infused provacationalist ending in the never long gone beyond,
Not gone not here not home not far away,
Middlest cares past the hour at which the sun sets,
Forlorn cause not withstanding junk-hooked,
Junk-fixed,
Junk-induced crawlers crammed creeping cross the convent,
Journeymen we cross the conventional,
Music spread the faith improper prim young things,

Stage crossed we coerce,
Acoustic erotica,
Sweet voice vociferates us complete junk-filled daze,
Open-eyed analogies long gone lorded over,

Stormed poetics proposals in the mid-year,
Forlorn you lost in fray,
Happy gorge,
good day.

In A Corner

2009-08-13T16:50:00.000-07:00

Half-smoked cigarette flow from mouth,
Homage defacate who it was,

Here the end of all
tries to fit normal tongue,
Stalk devil his arm hidden inside me,
Blackened skin smiles in the mirror,
Burnt crisp branded I smile back.

Quick fix bucko lain to rest daily,
Agonized sternum beating whole,
Run before
it is done.

"Unwrap me like a present",
She seduces easily here,
Quick fix bucko back to life daily,
Context faraway closing in fast on me,
The Law forms circular inside my head.

Morphine hook
inside the addict,
External Providence,
The burgeoning man
intake child,
High at the flame,
Cool slow motion injection,
Stop time junk lives,
Goodnight again, Bill.

Lay down dirty floor graciously awaits,
No more chips to cash,
Beauty,
oh beauty,
Don't ever leave again.

Wisp

2009-08-13T16:09:00.000-07:00

Walk long legs in the haze of a summer's rage,
Creep throughly.

Again come around I am to you,
Again speak into microphones,
In an extraction you find me.

Close thought,
The sleek sexuality
of the end of heat,
The beginning
leafy brown showering the streets,
Horned devil stalk with his sons.

Edged alliterations,
Tipped tongue
programmed,
Old timers mumble
"Back in my day...".

Dope fiend lost,
Expressionless
without meaning,
Needle inside,
Tracks bellowing opera
into the veins.

Orgasm day
into night,
Morbid aftershocks,
Your bones
shaking steadily,
Timid you
lie in plain sight.

Risen anger spider-like
crawling,
Inspiration stays intact,
Up
Down,
You middled out,
Legs instituted
for me,
Up
Down,
The risen
Have fallen.

On One Day

2009-08-12T17:09:00.002-07:00

As the smoke hovers just outside my lips,
An eternity arrives and twists and turns,
It breaks in and out and I see it in its entirety,

As the dawn sets upon the forest,
I arrive home and peek through the closed blinds,
The colors thriving in their cloudy late summer daze,
Lazing to the horizon,
Like I laze to bed,

As the moon hangs high and trusts the nighttime clouds not to break its passion,
I lay next to you and trust you not to break my passion,
The slide of your late night debauchery is a revelation,

As you close your eyes and breathe heavily,
I lay quietly awakened in this pristine silence,

Forget my never ending pleas,
Forge inside the depths of the world,
Remember the words you never said,
For I will forever know you.

On One Day

2009-08-12T17:09:00.001-07:00

On One Day

2009-08-12T17:09:00.000-07:00

A Portrait

2009-08-08T18:26:00.000-07:00

In your royal blue sweater you lay out on my tan and tattered couch,
Your black lacy underwear creeping out from beneath your faded jeans as you close your eyes and stretch your legs and arms equidistantly as far as possible,
Your nose moves up and closer into your eyes and it sends a ripple of lines from in between your brows to the top of your forehead,
Your tan skin is in fact more bronze than my old tan couch and I notice that,
And I appreciate that because I am deathly infatuated with your tan line that is becoming more evident as you stretch further and your body escapes inch-by-inch from your clothes,
I am left with your torso left for me to gaze and gander at and feel bedazzled in a queer way at the way the royal blue of your sweater so eloquently contrasts your bronzed skin,
And how your bronzed skin in turn contrasts with the white beginning of an area I am not acquainted with yet but do plan on befriending quite soon,

But there is a subtle evil to your current state of lying alone and without a care nor request for my legs to pretzel with yours,
I wonder as I gaze intently at the intersecting pattern that has become your cross-legged stance if you might ever have me inside of you,
I feel queer as I glance at your closed eyes in a longing way and pray no others have seen me do so,
This is one emotion I enjoy with my entirety and I delve into it as deeply as is possible,

You throw your head back as you continue your stretch and with it go your arms and suddenly you are a headless and armless torso,
And your breasts are portruding with force out of your royal blue sweater and I find it hard not to gawk at the beauty of your royal blue and simply royally bestowed feminine gifts,
Your stomach ignores the restraints of its covering garment and peek-a-boos its way into my sight and it is smooth to my imaginary touch,
Just like the area directly beneath it,
Anatomically speaking you are da Vinci's equal and maybe his better,

Sinful I swallow my pride and eloquently stride next to you,
You still mid-stretch just a momentary lapse in all that I perceive,
Probationary periods have become me and I want you to become a part of me,
And indulge yourself in the desparation in which I have plunged myself,
I do not mean to intensify an abritrary sentiment of love and all those required emotions,
This is the emotion of the moment and this is how I choose to portray it.

Where The Fuck Is The Rain?

2009-07-28T17:34:00.000-07:00

I am standing straight,
Upright like the ancestors before me,
My head tilted back as far as the bones in my body will let,
Staring haphazardly for the grey clouds promised to me today,

The sun is out and the sky is blue,
While it and you are beautiful I am not wound correctly,
And I need to be compressed under this small ledge,
Sitting like a ball on the top step waiting for the first drop to fall,

And with it come many more,
Each its own prism of a happy low,
The way I feel when I hear a beautiful voice sing a sad song,
A paradox all too forgotten by everyone - yet not me,

Sing sweet for me god,
Unleash your sorrow through the clouds so that I may be your friend-
The kind that accepts your tears and wants to bask in their beauty,

Others might run inside for fear of your wet wrath-
I am not them god and I never will be,
The blue is too perfect and content with the lazy wind,
I am too content with the lazy wind bearing cold on my sweaty forehead,

Your loneliness is not forgotten,
I stand upright head tilted waiting for you to give in-
How can you listen to me weep and not let loose yourself?

The heat of the day with its massive energy,
The heat of me with my massive ego,
Together we beg for a rain cloud that might cool us,
Or temporarily bring down our temperature,

Bear down on me like the passing of time,
We are intertwined lovers and we need a slice of potency,
Engage me the only way you can and let down your guard,
The way I have for you,

Invite me into your portrait of trembling lips and red eyes,
Open god and I will hold back the residents of hell,
For they care not of you and your burdens,

Give me one boulder that hangs impressive on your shoulder,
I am Atlas today and forever more,
The constant sorrow of your being will transplant itself to me,
Finally,
After so long.

With a Bullet in the Chest You Cannot Run

2009-07-18T13:37:00.000-07:00

Call me the king of sodomy,
I am me and me is you and we are all one big ancestry,
I fear not you and your mother and father and how you earn,
I come to you with an olive branch painted on my brother's urn,

You bleed and so do I on the battlefield red,
Screaming and scathing are all of our collected dead,
They sigh in hell as we breathe in on earth,
Cursing that fateful day of birth,

Moaning painstaking moving for cover,
Grasping bloody grass groping grieving for a lost homo lover,
Above the Angel of Death smiles and thanks Ares for his feast,
Spite and Shame cast the golden apple and left us to fend like the beast,

You aiming one-eye-opening lining firing missing by a hair,
Me ducking diving twirling in mid-air,
You re-arming heaving breathing behind thick grass blades,
Me cussing yelling at each bullet my hearing fades,

Deafening defining deriding the bullets flying,
Left flank broken limbless men I preside last rites over dying,
Right flank frozen fearing trembling at their knees,
They pinch themselves and wish it was a dreaming tease,

I am me cruising comforting consoling brother-in-armsing to my best,
The lot of the injured has a die running red across their chest,
Sticking locking rocking back and rocking forth and holding brethren I stay,
The night winds are cool and beneath the nearest tree I hold comrades and sway,

Soon crying bleeding bloodless wounding others,
We stare down across the field as we did when we were brothers,
Booming swooning sworn-in and born-again friends,
The stars behind the moon curve around and our perceived light bends,

Thwarting aborting adopting the losers as our own,
The bones in our body now crushed and bullet-ridden sending us home,
Staggering streaming bodily fluids all around,
Unsure of where to crawl for all the bodies and limbs on the ground,

I lay whimpering whispering to noone as my time ends,
My body is failing blood pours sinister ruby reds,
There is a light shining shimmering shaking me whole,
It must be the Angel of Death awaiting my soul,

Afterlife coming me its newest guest,
In the afterlife will you still shoot at me like all the rest?

Sweet serenity as I close my eyes with one last heave,
Darkness now forebodes that I must leave,

Move me not from the blood-stained grass,

I shall be a reminder to you of the mistakes of the past.

To Live And Die

2009-07-17T17:08:00.000-07:00

I sit anxiously on this cold concrete park bench,
Listening to the pre-dawn chatter between birds and crickets,
Finding comfort in the misery that is an insomnia infested night incarnate in morning.

I rub my palms together as the chill of the morning dew gathers itself inside me,
Pausing as I feel the scar located directly in the middle of my left,
The one I got from running into the bushes that bordered our house as I chased down a fly ball you hit that last summer we were home together.

You the older brother,
Calm and cool in the futuristic tenses you talked about with mom and dad,
Me the younger brother,
Who got dad's mental issues and mom's lovely quiet stature and deena's femininity,
Always wanting to feel more manly and be strong willed in the face of adversity like you.

We spent our days learning the ropes of summers come and gone,
You were interested in girls and drinking and therefore so was I,
Following your advice with the girl who lived around the block that I had always had a crush on,
I asked her out on a date to our backyard and let childhood insecurities portray themselves in adolescent improprieties,
And later when I told you we got to second base you said you were proud of me and that I was becoming a man right in front of you,
And I always wanted to be a man, from my very first memory,
So I felt like I was myself an accomplishment.

If you remember correctly that was the summer you met the girl of your dreams, the one you're about to marry,
I think you know how happy we all are for you,
Especially me,
Especially because you're my older brother and have always been there for me like when I got arrested and kicked out of school and you told me I was always welcome at your place anytime,
And all I want to do is stand next to you at your wedding and smile at you smiling at your beautiful wife as she walks down the aisle,

And maybe someday the tide will be turned and it will be you who runs into the bushes and scars your palm,
Or gets arrested for something juvenile,
And I can call you and listen to you like a brother should and tell you everything is alright.

And when the day comes that we have to arrange our father's funeral,
I will volunteer to speak like he did at his father's funeral,
So that your wife and children won't have to see you so insecure and so vulnerable at the lectern,
And so Deena can cry on Sean's shoulder,
And so I can write a poem at dad's bedside and read it as the eulogy in a way that makes it seem like I am okay with eulogizing my dead father.

Or one day when we are both much older I will buy us tickets to see the red sox play the yankees and we can be the old guys we always laughed at when we went to the ballpark who scream "jeter, you're a bum!" and sit back resting their beers on their guts in the mid-summer haze,
And you can talk to me between innings about your grandchildren and what schools they've applied to, or how one of them just dropped out of his university because he wants to be a writer and I will tell you to give him my number so I can let him know what it takes to be a writer and once he answers correctly give him a job or publish his book.

And once you get old and I find myself at your funeral I will stand silently at the lectern with a eulogy typed and printed sitting crisp in front of me and I won't be able to stomach myself for being the one eulogizing you and dad, the two men I admired and respected the most,
And I will stand there crying to myself in my own insecure way with the crowd's eyes focused on each tear as they fall from my bowed head into obscurity,
Mumbling the words of the poem I wrote to read at your funeral so softly that only I can hear them,
And I will find comfort in knowing that it is just me hearing those heartfelt and soft spoken words, that those secrets we shared together will never be broken out of our brotherly bond,

And when we meet in the afterlife, maybe at a social event or mixer between heaven and hell (me in hell and you in heaven),
We will pick up a pair of gloves and a ball and toss it around for a few minutes,
And we will be happy reminiscing about that summer when I ran into the bushes that encircled that old house and still have the scar to prove that we were brothers.

On The Passing of Time

2009-07-15T21:01:00.003-07:00

Maybe I am supposed to be a more sophisticated gentleman in this new day,
And new age,
The passing of time generally constitutes a swelling of egotism,
I define myself with no gauge,

The trees are still old and so are my mother's parents,
I apparently grew maniacally in one hourly sentiment,
The man at the bar next to me is also growing,
I am nervous in a homophobic way at the way he finishes each sentence,

Yet perhaps I am now supposed to engage this bartop conversation,
And not feel as though death hinges on every word,
The beat of the music in the background is progressing,
And with it I find each drink going down absurd,

My stupor is now grown and that is the purpose of the passing of time,
This is what they said would happen as day grew into night and my hair grayed in a metaphoric way,
That the things I appreciate would diverse into worldly beings,
A celebration so insane for just one day,

Come to me now in this converted basement,
I appreciate such a celebration now that I am here,
Come to me and have a seat to my left,
I am good conversation and will maybe buy you a beer,

This is the passing of time,
There is no stopping it except the consideration of how inconsequential we are,
Yet that is itself too surreal,
So instead we drown ourselves in our favorite spot at the bar,

Me at the end,
So that I may be alone and without the need to speak,
I am not one to strike up a falsity,
And I know Richie will say that is what makes me weak,

But the solitude of myself is so beautiful,
It hits me hard and without a merciful thought,
Through the strings of the universe I careen,
Only content with the newest drink I've bought.

We Can Drive it Home With One Headlight

2009-07-11T14:09:00.000-07:00

If you would pause a moment and walk backwards as the music plays in reverse,
You might notice the way things are better the second time around,

How the newborn is so quickly an impressionist and professionally grown,
How the car whose tires screech at the intersection in the early morning hours upset the birds posted in the overhanging tree,

You saw me and I was technically yours,
Technicalities never being my forte and that's the way things tend to go the deeper I delve down into dormancy,

And you are the girl of my dreams but don't take it too seriously,
There was one yesterday and will be one tomorrow,
If you play your cards right I'll still love you after the sun rises,

Come to me in bed naked body sulking under the sheets,
Open up legs up me up,
You in motion and so is the world,
Take a break from that moment and move on to another one in solo,
You tangled in your own bed later at night,
Me the freak show running through the ring of fire,
Your skin smooth to the touch,
My fingers imaginary tracers up your legs and down your shoulder,
Tingle sweet lady with the fake feel of my sensuality,
I move inside of you to the drum playing in the background,

You and I are naïve and have perhaps forgotten to grown up,
You more so than I,

The real tragedy lies in the fact that you left early last night and now you're pausing,
Walking backwards,
And you find you can see reality a little better.

You're The Priestess, I Must Confess

2009-07-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

You in the water and me laying on the beach,
The sand and the way it feels against my pale naked skin corrects how much I hate the ocean,

I love the way your hair sticks long to your back when it is wet,
And how as you exit the water and walk towards me your skin bumps from the air freezing your dripping skin,
And you lay next to me and we act carefree and drink beer in the late spring on the beach in tel aviv,

You smile at me as I look out longingly over the horizon as though I can see the back of my head from around the curve of the earth,
And I am morbidly interested in being able to see the back of my head from around the curve of the earth,
I look at you and feel content in the moments that are coming and going with the in and outs of the ocean waves,
The sound of the crush of the tide on the edge of the beach provides a symphony in the background,
And we are orchestrated to a perfect tune from a brilliant conductor who somehow found you and me to make this music together,

And I cannot help but recall that you wore that wonderfully revealing bathing suit that made the hair that lies delicately on top of my skin tingle with delight,
Later in the water you twist your legs around my hips and kiss me with a real lover's passion,
And you are a real lover,
And I love you like a man should love his lover,
And you are the perfect lover as your lips cross mine and I feel like a king like we did on coke when we were stupid and thrill-seeking,
Your tongue darts inside my awaiting mouth and I graciously caress it with mine, slowly and calmly,
And I feel the way I imagine a father would hold his newborn's hand,
With an awe inspiring wonderment,

The gentle touch of the waves against our bodies moves us in motion,
Together we are one,
I bite your bottom lip softly and our mouths part,
Each smiling and collecting the thoughts that are entirely too inappropriate for this beach,

As we lay back on the sand it sticks to our naked backs and we close our eyes against the shine of that tel aviv sun,
And our eyelids shut play the same movies and we are both content,

The waves of the ocean moving our bodies in unison,
You smiling and me always thinking,
Our lips intertwined the way they should be.

Faking A Diatribe

2009-07-07T23:39:00.000-07:00

I stand in the middle of heaven and hell like a young boy torn apart by war,

These are those that thrive theoretically throughout thought,
Like me,
Who washes brains clean and perpetuates himself with a ritualistic sense of nakedness inside communal gatherings,

The young religious boys in their religious clothes and religious hairdos and religious tongue,
Everything religious down to the tips of their pubescent manhood,
Everything is bloated to them as god eyes the tips of their tongues and blasphemes his way into a blasphemous portrayal of humanity,

The blasphemy lies in you and I,
In how the world wonderously makes its way about and our story,
This story,
Is supposed to be the greatest told,

Until it ends catastrophic and armaggedon,
And we lose our books amidst the fiery storm that is to come,

The beginning middle and end of everything that is ceases to be while we explore extraordinary replicas of ourselves in faraway galaxies,

All of this that is apparantly biblical binges itself everyday in and out of our morning walk,

I am a failure and haven't the power to keep you in my mind throughout the evening,
I apologize to god for not being like isaac and having enough faith to metaphysically (or just physically) kill my first,
I have not the strength of being to forego the foregone conclusions that he peripherally put inside of me,

This is my prayer at night as I anticipate the day when you realize the world is more than just love and peace,
The day when you will cease to forget the fucking and loving and sand-filled feet thriving and growing and making your green smile turn into a ruby frown,
You might remember what innocence felt like as you played in your mother's garden and never thought of politics and careers,

Come to me now as you find yourself floating into the great beyond,

Come to me in the land of liquored haze and drugged up fray,

We will appreciate the fucking and sinning and beach sports like they are something to be voted on and debated over,

The way things should have been.

A Mental Purge

2009-07-06T00:21:00.001-07:00

I am everything you dream about at night and forget in the morning,

I am you as you walk by me ignoring my very being on your way outside,

I am the gathering dark clouds unleashing their will,
I am each drop of rain as it hits your forhead and silently streams down your face,

I am the sadist as he lowers his eyes and marks his next victim,
Shaking from the fight he has within-
To kill or not to kill,
To live or to die,

I am the moments in between revelations,
As you press your mind for further discovery but find you have reached your capacity,

I am the collection of songs you listen to alone at night,
And sing in your head all day,
Every day,
Just to pass the day,

I am the cocaine driven biographer sweeping lifetimes of memories into 300 pages,
The apex of civilization lying at your feet,

I am the alcoholic man,
The blurred recollections of blurry nights past,
The forgotten sex scandals of last night that left clothes strewn on the floor,

I am the insect crawling haphazardly on your arm,
Unsure of you and who you are inside but quite certain this is where I should be at this exact moment,

I am your hesitance as you reach for the next round of adultery,
I leave my loved ones just as you,

I am the explosion that shatters the dowtown coffee shop,
The travesty of such a tragedy transfixes itself in between you and I,
Somewhere in a dimension lost to the eye-
Don't you feel it too?

Somewhere inside of her I am convicted of treason,
To a loyalist which I never knelt before,
I kneel before not one,
Nor do I discuss one,

I lie in the middle of a saint and a beggar,
I am doted on and confessed to,
I am shat on and cursed too,

I am a microcosm of you and all your naivete,
I am the greatest mind of my generation just as you are,
I find you insane as you neglect to discuss my genius,
As I am insanely genius,

I am the orgasm at the end of the night you feel all alone as she lays tired next to you,

I am the excrement of a creator who left us to be forgotten forever.

The Airwaves Are Clean, There's Nobody Singing to Me Now

2009-07-02T17:05:00.000-07:00

I've got this one cigarette dangling between my lips,
My feet drag as my body weakens along the trail,
The smoke I spew is slow and exotic as it timelessly threads its way around my fingers and into the beyond,

Do me a favor just this once my oh-so-precious savior,
Listen to me hear me now on this night you overbearing mistress,
Send me a taxi and I will forget the insults you threw my way last night,
Just a ride home and a place to rest my weary legs I've been pushing far too hard in this delirious chamber of air that is my aura,

success!

Suck this god as I fly away with my head turned over my shoulder for the flashing lights of the ever-fucking-subservient officers of the law,
Always out to find me,

Get me home mister driver man,
I've got a pang in my stomach and I think I can cure it right away for the rest of the night,

With the window down and the wind biting my face I am an epic hero,
An oedipal tragedy set with a background track that sings by itself,

The journey almost over and I am almost the winner,
A smile creeps across my lips and I feel like I have cheated the uncertain fate of god,

Please let the memories of missed sex and profane drugs commiserate inside of me and the edge of my mastery might return into my view,

Let's pull back into earlier hours and sing an ode to maybe,
Let's pull ourselves back to the electric guitar performance and let it more permanently transcend our beings,

The song is upbeat and stephan might actually be the perfect voice with which to be flying so high,
I know I shouldn't be this happy with such a tortured soul,
But the timing and light is just perfect and delicious and subtely evil,

And I can't help but feel evil as the cab stops and I pay him and I walk through the door and I smile at the security guard,

And like I had planned in my head before I even started I briskly and strictly walk right to the elevator,
Me raising my hand in triumph and letting out a yelp as I nearly cross the finish line,

The door to my apartment opens and there she lies like the image of jesus we all bowed down to when we were younger,
Angelic and ghost-faced like the most perfect piece of ass and I can see the entirety of our box of memories in that moment as I quickly get naked,

With a youthful stupid fucking exuberance I jump into the couch that should be a bed but I am genetically too sad to feel like a real person and sleep in a bed,

Yes,

The realization of the night is that I am sad after all and even though it is doing its job and taking me out of my own head it seems I've found another head that is equally sad,
And that is just so typically me,
And the memories running out of their purgatorio are bearing down on me and my only option is to give up,
And I lay my head back and do my best to embrace them as they purge my naked body,
Flinching every so often as the heaviest trample their way over me,
Bloodied and beaten-looking just like I was a birth,

I have no choice but to let the music fade,

And his voice vanishes more and more with every breath,

The silence begins to take over,

Beauty in the sun rising peacefully,

Another trip come and gone.

Where The Wild Things Are

2009-06-29T12:38:00.001-07:00

Where the wild things are,
You will find fiendish foes,
The bottom rung residers,

Where the wild things are,
You will encounter the excrement of society,
The ditch-digging indiscriminates,

Where the wild things are,
You will see silent seraphims strolling in the streets,
The almost deceased living in full body and picture,

Where the wild things are,
You might get a chance to see me stark naked and raving mad running down a boulevard,
Laughing with the monsters you love to hate,

Where the wild things are,
You should not be afraid to go,
They hold costume parties and get addicted to drugs just like you,

Where the wild things are,
You will find freakish fucking people forgotten and forgone,
Giving in to the evil you bestowed upon them in your nightmares,

Where the wild things are,
You might witness a death or two,
Don't be surprised if you see a little blood on the ground,

Where the wild things are,
Is where you ought to be,
The wild things and I,
We will not forget you.

A Far Cry From an Incarnation of God

2009-06-26T22:17:00.000-07:00

The rich white young man stares egotistical at the poor hispanic young woman as she walks around him,
Devilish ideas better suited for drunken encounters meandering their way about,

The group of teenagers in the background rambling gossip in and out of ears,

The sexy middle-aged woman saunters in sleek and sensual,
Ravaged by years of sexual abuse in the form of inconsiderate emotional abuse,

Because all the good guys want the nice girls,
But settle for the easy whores,
And the nice girls can't get the good guys,
And they settle for the bad guys who won't hold them at night or kiss them when they cry,

And the homeless man rambles in,
Lost and alone in a big sea swimming with big fish,
He the constant rambler of freedom that he never wanted,
He had dreams of parties with clean women who loved him,
And he reeks of years without life inside him,
His eyes shrouded by the bags below,
Which are filled to the brim with memories of treacherous nights past,

She eyes him scared up and down,
And he does too,

And he turns to leave without saying a word,
The rich young white boy inside himself,

He remembers a time when he forgot his fellow man,
That sweet bond between brethren that hides its face all too often,
And he smiles at his metaphorical friend beyond the closing door with a sense of kinship,

And his analogies of love and lies and hatred are nothing as he blesses the ground they walk upon,

An far cry from an incarnation of a god,

Just a rich young white boy who eyes the poor young hispanic girl,

Who falls asleep every night,

On the same floor as the homeless man.

How He Began

2009-06-26T16:25:00.000-07:00

I find myself back at the beginning of my existence as the tidal wave of smoke folds itself over my body,

It seems every day now has one moment of travel to the past inside of my imaginarium,
But I can't control it like I wish I could and I find that memories are just other ways my mind fights my heart and I stand caught in the crossfire continuously,

And I cry out in vain for a savior as I lie in the middle of thunder road,

The kiss of a mother on her newborn son's cheek finds itself filled to the brim of the barrel of emotion as her husband watches in the distance,

The moments that stay peripherally moments forever are actually never-ending sequences of love and beauty,
And mothers kiss their sons like they should too infrequently,

The way of the child as he grows up characterized by each time his mother kisses his cheek,
And he gets older and finds himself yearning in an oedipal way for more,

He comes home after long trips abroad,
Sitting on planes and trains only thinking about the feel of his mother holding him like she did when he was seconds old,
In the way a nuclear physicist loves his reincarnations of the big bang (and every birth is one big bang in many aspects),

He sits on the porch with his father feeling grown-up and discussing politics,
For which he does not care anymore,
For which he scoffs at and despises any association with a higher power-
But all he wants is a higher power to look to.

A man old and gray like the cenile clouds spread above his head,
He looks back into his imaginarium and dictates the times his mother kissed his cheek and smiled bright and proud at his stories of grandeur,

And he finds peace as he strolls along the shores of the river Styx,
Putting one foot in and quickly pulling it out,
Over and over again,
Until he sees her waving from beyond the mighty Cerebrus,

And he emerges into the underworld.

A Drunken Picture of The World

2009-06-25T18:32:00.000-07:00

The way you look at me
Late at night as we both stagger home is as intoxicating as the liquor flowing,
It is the way you swing your hair behind your shoulders and hook a thumb into the belt loop as I decline an invitation for further debauchery,

The way I am so selfish
Suffice it to say I sometimes wish I didn't believe in who I am,
The same way you once told me that you hate the way your hips look,

The way I feel after an acoustic set,
A beautiful voice penetrating my ears and taking me into a far off world with musical cascades,

The way a man feels when his woman brags about him to her friends,
Like I did that time you didn't know I was within earshot;

How I thought I'd be a beggar- and be good at it in a way that revolutionized the art of begging,

The way the wine tastes on a summer night,
Flowing from bottle to cup to mouth (or for the drunkard from bottle to mouth only),

The way the attractive blonde is only attractive because she looks like a whore,
And she loves the attention I give her as I pass her by;

The way that sandals make you feel carefree in a beachbum kind of sense,
Like when we stroll around the park in the early summer afternoons with their penetrating suns,

How the old man in the wheel chair sits outside the elevators for hours looking for conversation,
And the way I am his target but silently circumvent his orbit,

The way I desperately want to be a rock star and fornicate fictitiously with wandering wenches,
And be able to forget you and all your youthful aphorisms,

The way the gnome on my desk that I painted with emotion smiles at me,
And I wish it were alive and could keep me company,

How the girls at the parties eye the boys eyeing them and they go home together later at night,
And the carousel of sex and drugs and quick speedy erotic recovery continues to revolve and reconcile itself,

And the way the mothers drive their vans with their kids in the back eating yogurt,

The way I can never be content for it is the bane of my poetic existance,
And I pray every night to god that I never lose my passion,

The way I hate the young jehovahs witness propagandists spreading lies about the path of god,

The way I throw you on the bed at the end of the night,
And take you sexually to places and altitudes unheard of as the moonlight shines through the blinds,

The way you wake up with my arm still around you and smile because I never hold you at night,
And how you interlock your fingers with mine and pull our hands up to your mouth and softly kiss my thumb,
Sending a thunderstorm of sensation throughout my body,

The way the world moves perfectly in orbit of the sun,
And how you move perfectly in orbit with me,
And the drunkard sits in unison with the pigeons,

And I look at you in the way a man should look at a woman,

And the music starts,
And the way things go will never cease to be.

A Night, In Depth

2009-06-23T22:53:00.000-07:00

You standing in your loose clothes looking cool and relaxed after last night and I find myself wishing I didn't have such a strange mind that let's you make me feel so insecure,
And I want to get out of here right now and be able to walk these streets smoking cigarettes and feeling lonely like I so love,
And even though after I left you last night I went and fucked that girl who I hate but loves my dick,
I still can't get the imaginary feel of your hand holding mine out of my mind,

And I stand alone pretending to be interested in other things around the room like the music or throwing the football while keeping you clear in my peripherals and I tweak in my uncomfortable and anxious way,
You the coolest and by far most classically beautiful in the room and standing to the side talking to someone about which I do not know but wish desperately that I did,

And I walk onto the patio and smoke a cigarette noticing the view and noticing that it reminds me of jerusalem at night and it makes me smile,
That I had a past that was filled with smiles and good feelings because even though right now I don't smile too often it is possible that the future will be happier and more smile-filled,
I remember how today at work the accountant walked by me and said "you got to smile more man!" And how that made me moderately upset and I stared at him as he walked outside thinking about his head under my foot in the alley outside because I hate smiling when I am not happy,
And because I hate who I am today more than any other day,
And because you wouldn't hold my hand and to some people that is meaningless but to a romantic like me it means the world,

But I have faith in you and me and that what you are might change and that I won't change but be happy that you did and think its for me but maybe for someone else,
And I stand happy because you followed me outside as I stood up and left to smoke a cigarette and even though you just wanted a drag I can still put my lips around the butt and in a semi-weird way feel like I am feeling your lips and it feels great,
If I can be upfront and honest with you,
And in the interest of full disclosure I know you will read this later and feel awkward and strange but I swear that is not my intention,
I am a writer and I take my inspiration from who I am and who I see and speak to,
So therefore you might feel like the other girls and smile that I wrote about you-
Or maybe you won't smile and you won't talk to me anymore but if you knew me better you'd know that I am too egotistical to not write this and let everyone read it,

And the tentative and hesitant smile creeping across my face isn't because of the fake feeling of your lips feigning intrigue across my lips,
But because I consider you reading this and either way feeling emotion and that is what anyone wants out of life,
To make someone and anyone feel something other than what they felt before they read,
And so I have accomplished the task set before me by god.

A Meditation

2009-06-23T13:34:00.001-07:00

This morning I fell asleep just as you were waking up
The sun almost peeking its way through the morning fog
Your alarm on your side of the bed blaring comfort noise as I lay my head down and thank god I made it through another night,

I awaken after you shut the door on your way to work and set about enjoying my time alone
Turning the television on high and the radio higher
Pulling out a cigarette from my jeans pocket and lighting it as I bounce around the room
Jiving with the music and feeling terribly alive,

I stand in front of the mirror with cigarette dangling between lips and that good feeling cross around my neck the only thing clothing me,
I twist the shower knobs and jump back sharply out of fear the water might douse my cigarette
And I lay out a blanket on the floor of the bathroom and grab my newest favorite book, a collection of Rimbaud's work and lie down letting his lovers quarrels bathe over me and drench me in misery

And I turn the lights off and shut my eyes and meditate on the sound of the rushing water penetrating my ears consistently and it strikes me that other than you, this water is the only constant in my life
And that strikes me as okay and something to maybe even appreciate as I lay back and blow smoke rings and watch as they die under the pressure of the water,
I meditate on the memory of when I first learned to blow smoke rings when I lived in that dingy apartment in beer sheva and stayed up late every night smoking nargila and trying to figure out the physics of smoke,
And how happy I was then with my roommates and our love of scrabble and exploring the desert we occupied,
And I meditate on the memory of my mother and when I was having trouble discerning "desert" from "dessert" she told me,
"A desert has one s because you're always stuck their alone - dessert has two because its always nice to eat dessert with someone else",
I am happy that I have you to eat dessert with yet sometimes find myself wishing it were spelled with one s so I could eat it alone and not feel like I was in a desert,

And my meditation goes on,

I light another cigarette and drag,
Letting the smoke form a small cloud just outside my mouth and then quickly inhaling- a trick I learned from watching noah smoke all those times,
And I close my eyes again and go over each girl I've ever had sex with and how many times,
And if its one I really loved I put a little mental asterisk next to her name because I hated doing those sexually explicit things to her,

I think about our first date and how happy I was walking away from your front door with my lips still tingling with your touch,
And how I was so tempted to turn around and make my way into your bed and satisfy my manhood but decided not to,
Because you were the girl of my dreams and I didn't want to ruin it with one of my typical fuck-and-leaves,

And how on our second date you held my hand as we walked the path around the pond and couldn't stop laughing at the way the ducks clumsily made their way about,
And how I thought then that you were beautiful and I still do today, and I appreciate your beauty like it is something godly,

And I meditate further,

On when I took you home for passover to meet my family and you were so sweet to my mother and talked red sox with my father,
And we sat in the garden until the late hours of the night drinking wine and talking about life with my siblings and their spouses,
And how you and my sister bonded over girl things like which straightener and hair products you both use or the best way to convince a man you're right (which you do oh so well),
Or how I still felt bad that I hid my smoking from my parents because I knew they'd disapprove even though dad used to when he was younger,
And I told you to forget what I'd told you about how I hated familial constructs and that they made me so insecure,
Because after Zaide died we all realized that our family is unbreakable, even as death attempts to tear it apart because the lessons we learn from those who live before us are priceless and beyond measure,
And at the passover seder you were the hit of the meal and everyone loved you and told me as they were leaving that you were a keeper and I told them I already knew that,
And on the ride home you couldn't stop talking about how amazing it was to meet anita and finally talk face to face with your favorite author and I felt like a man for driving the whole way back and listening to you go on and on about my family,
And I told you that it would have been even better if Rimbaud were there and I could ask him once and for all if he was actually gay,
And that way I could have also beamed like a schoolgirl the entire trip back,

And so I meditate further,

Wondering why poets used to stick to such inane structure,
Because poetry itself is something too strong to be bound by any type of choreograph or word or stanza limit,
But then I realize that the beauty of poetry as with man is its ability to evolve and to begin anew like allen ginsberg did when he spunked out howl,
And I wish I could have been around in the 60s to promote marijuana and read at big halls like allen and lawrence and the others did,
That I always had a hippie soul but loved money too much to really get into it and join the chapter of SDS at college because I liked nice things,

And I meditate,

On the times when I lived day to day and was okay with that kind of living because it made me feel existential,
Or how you never really could understand my obsession with not reading other poets out of fear that they might be more brilliant than I, because you thought I would find better inspiration reading them and I will keep telling you that my inspiration is from within,
Each fiber and particle of my entire being makes up those words I so crazily enhance in print,
And I am glad that I have no poetic mentor or someone who can stake a claim to me and what comes from me,

And as I realize I only have one cigarette left I try to force one more drag out of this one and it burns my lips in an awakening way and I lick the lower lip to soothe its pain,
And I feel my sexual drive begin to stir as I think about the first time I saw you naked and that even though we didn't fuck because your roommate was nextdoor I was quite outwardly impressed with your tits and how you got me hard just by lowering your eyes and looking at my dick,
And I feel bad that at this point in my life I still act naïve and childish when it comes to sex but I am who I am and I guess that's why you still give me those eyes when we are naked together,

So I light my last cigarette with the hopes that you will bring more home with you,

And I can't stop wondering why lately everything that I write has been one big splurge of exacerbated mediocre feelings and that maybe I have simply delved into the realm of mediocrity,
But even so you stay up late with me and pretend you don't mind the smoke all over the apartment and listen to my newest piece with loving attention,
And it makes me sad that I might never be the man I promised you I would be who doesn't cheat and not call and get upset when you don't go down on me,

Because like I said I am who I am and in the end I am the only thing between me and something much worse than this limbo between heaven and hell called earth,

And I hear you closing the door behind you and calling my name and I realize its been an entire day that I've been laying down in the bathroom with the shower on meditating and smoking cigarettes,
So I come outside with a towel on and tell you I had a productive and fulfilling day and accomplished a lot of great writing and I kiss you the way a man should kiss a woman when she gets home from work
And I walk into the bedroom to get clothed and I lick my lower lip no longer burning but more tingling from the feeling of yours and I smile because after a day of meditation and a kiss from you,

I just might have had the best day.

The Metro Crashed

2009-06-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

Today at work dad called and because he never calls this early before I call him I knew something was wrong,
So I quickly made my way to the bathroom and listened to his message and heard his voice filled with fatherly concern telling me he was worried because he had heard that two subway trains had crashed and people were dead and injured and chaos was the name of the game,

And I sent him a message telling him I loved him and I was okay and then I called deena to make sure she and sean were okay and she said yes but still sounded scared in that typical feminine way,
So I told her everything was alright and hung up the phone,
But knew in the deepest part of my gut that everything was not alright because so far there have been three confirmed deaths,
And in my typical sociopathic poet's way I began to wonder who they were and if they had husbands and wives and brothers and sisters and sons and daughters anxiously watching the local news to see if they've released any names yet,
And I would wish that they had released the names so that at least some people might feel comfort,
But those who have lost will sit silently with tears streaming from their face because maybe this morning one of the dead got in an argument with his fiancee, and never had the chance to tell her how much he actually loved her and he didn't care that her father thought he was a bum,

Or maybe it was a mother who yelled at her daughter before she left for work this morning because she was wearing clothes too revealing and the daughter will spend the rest of her life knowing that the last words her mother said to her were "you look like a whore".

And I stand next to the chinatown metro smoking cigarettes and waiting for maggie to show up for what just might be a non-date,
and I hate myself for being so egotistical that my nerves are high not for those who just died or almost died or saw someone die but for whether or not she will hold my hand during the comedy we are about to see because I haven't held the hand of someone and felt special about it in entirely too long or whether I'm just not her type,

And after taking a break from writing and moviegoing I am drinking with my three friends who each have a different way of making me smile in a college kind of way,
Phil with his terribly awkward drunken stature,
Stuart with his cockiness that pereptuates itself after more liquor loses itself in his body,
Richie with the way he is a predictable stoner but isn't really such a stoner after all,
And they stay up with me into the night and we hear the birds begin to bring in the morning so the general feeling is that of accomplishment,
And I am happy that the way I saw myself living hasn't changed so much in the last year or so,
Because even though I am not who I used to be I still am in one of those inexplicable existential ways,

And the two guys around for orientation are so young and naïve and beautifully dumb in the way they act around cigarettes and weed and pretty girls who wear all too revealing clothing and probably argue with their mother about revealing clothing,
And I decided to never be a mother who let's her girl go outside in skimpy fuck-me clothes or who let's her daughter swear because those girls are just asking me to use them and it needs to stop,

I remember what dad said after I told him I was okay,
That he was only concerned about me and deena and sean and I think to myself that the real tragedy would be if one of those dead from the subway car accident had noone to carry on their name or remember them or a memory of a time they laughed with them,
And I decided that I would be the one who mourns for someone who's memory will not be lived on or who's father beat them and doesn't care anymore or who got hooked on coke and lost everyone that ever cared about them,

Because I care for them in the same way a good father unconditionally cares for his son no matter what transgressions he accrues,
The way a shepherd loves his flock as his livelihood,

I am those undefined indefinitely in the pages of history.

A Life in Conclusion

2009-06-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

You the never ending string of nonsense exacerbated into the wee hours of the morning by small finite words
Me kept alive by the thought of you waiting at home in an apron readying dinner plates,
Or we could even switch places- as long as my day ends with you.

You getting pregnant and nervous about how big you're going to get while I find ecstasy in the thought that I might get to teach my own what my father taught me and his father taught me,
You giving birth and me (in a typical male fashion) almost fainting at the sight making sure to forget it as soon as possible - lest we never have sex again.

Me playing catch with the kid outside on his 5th birthday with the little baseball glove my brother bought him,
My parents evil-eyeing your parents for the "gross catholic shiksa" they raised,
Us later laughing about how old they're getting and then finding ourselves sullen and somber about the fact that they've gotten so old,
Me telling you about the time father arrived home from work on a monday night in may and bellowed throughout the house, "who wants to go to fenway park tonight?", me and noah rushing down the stairs like it was a jewish christmas morning throwing on items of red sox clothes as we bounce off each step,
And how we didn't even have time to eat at home so we ate chicken nuggets my mother made out of plastic cups on the way to the game.
You smiling and stroking my forearm hair as I tell you my deepest and darkest thoughts like that one time I swore I had lived a full life, or how I never felt like I measured up to the standards my family set for me,
How being the youngest was too much pressure and I cracked every second of every day until I met you but even when my career took off and I finally had the life I envisioned I could still hear my father saying "there's always something better to do" and how I always agreed with that but could never practice it.
You still smiling softly and twisting my arm hair like you so love to do,
Me wandering about my mind trying to find the reasons I started to write in the first place.

You crying as our first kid goes off to college while I strike a manly stance and take after my father with just a handshake never saying those words every son wants to hear from his father,
You excited to be empty nesters while I craved solitude all along until I met you,
Me smiling as I look up from my newest poem and see you happily watering your garden,
Me writing furiously every night after you go to sleep and I sit up conversing with the demons that are so revealing.

You getting older quicker and us both chuckling like old grayed out people that you started feeling it first considering my insane cigarette consumption,
You lying in the hospital as I read you the first poem I ever wrote for you back when we were so young and the summer heat forced us to stay inside all day and do nothing but probe the depths of each others entities.
Me reading slowly trying to hide my quivering voice by stopping every once in a while to look at you looking at me,
Me letting tears begin to drip from my eyes to the old and tattered and crumpled page that you kept in a book next to your nightstand so that every time I made you upset you could read it and remember that you were the only thing I ever truly loved,
Me reading the last line to you letting my voice slow as to savor the moment:
"In the end
There is no god and no devil
Just you and I
A couple of midnight summer lovers."

Me pausing for an eternity and then finally looking up to see our grown children with their arms around their children all looking desperately sad with crying eyes staring right at your crying eyes,
Me addressing each by their first and middle names telling them how much we both love them and that even though we are on our way out the love is so strong that its energy will never subside.

Me reading that same poem at your funeral while the crowd stands in silence appreciating the fact that I was in love with you and you were in love with me and that the sexual innuendos in that poem were enough to continually keep us vibrant and feeling young,
Me standing at your grave as the rabbi sways back and forth in prayer feeling as defiant towards god as I did when we first met,
Me smiling knowing that the last poem I will ever read is the one you loved and cherished so much.

Me losing myself in spending my remaining days missing you and the way you would twist my arm hair as I took you on trips into my guarded soul,
Me in the grave next to you wishing I could extend my arms just a foot and hold your hands,
Me wishing I had just one more chance to read to you,

"In the end
There is no god and no devil
Just you and I
A couple of midnight summer lovers."

I Love That New Car Smell

2009-06-19T16:19:00.000-07:00

You've got that new car feel as I ride you for the first time,
My roller coaster emotional ride seeming to echo that of yours,
As we drink into the early morning with a menage of malignant other friends,

You quiet and reserved just how I imagined,
Plain clothed with minimal makeup yet still looking like you just emerged from the sea-
A modern day aphrodites,

I stand clear,
Concerned that my mind wrapped up in you
Will distort the words from flowing correctly in the path from brain
To vocal chords to lips to air,

I send you
Quiet messages later at night,
Analyzing each letter as though each is my own newborn babe,
You respond in turn and I picture you,
Laying in bed analyzing yours like I mine,

We both close our eyes for the night,
Satisfied and content that tomorrow we will be quiet together,
And walk around town smoking cigarettes with an existential state of mind.

Its not my fault - you gave it up too easy

2009-06-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

Every night
As I lay awake
Recounting sexual conquests
And sexual defeats,
I come across your face
In my mental memoirs.

I doubt you would believe me,
But I can promise you
I still remember
Exactly what you were wearing
When I first
Penetrated you with
My eyes.

Me the ever egomaniacal eccentric,
You the beautiful young woman,
Covered so minutely by
A lusciously revealing dress,
Red lipstick speaking volumes
As you stand across the hall,
Mouth closed and eyes half shut.

I presume
You are a sweet seraphim,
Sent by God to indulge me
In his most sinful of sirens.

See me,
Pretty lady,
In your arms tonight-
I pray quietly to myself,
Eyeing your every move
From the corner of the room,
Desperate to find out
If your mouth moves the way
I'm dreaming it does.

I play the memory in my mental movie machine,
Vividly in high definition I see you and I
Smoking cigarettes
Sitting on the bench outside-
Really, me smoking cigarettes
And you sitting,
You desperate to pry
Into this reserved exhibitionist's poetic mind,
To see if he would write an epic poem
About what trespasses you will allow him tonight.

You inhaling smoke,
Flawed non-smoker habits,
You exhaling slow and steady,
You desperate to prove
To this mental extravagandist
You, too,
Can theoretically die
And come back to life
Every day.

Me still the egotist,
Withholding words still reserved in mind,
Stay moderately silent in conversation,
Defiant to the end
To find a way into your sheets,
Playing out sexual scenarios
On the screen in the back,
Most distorted section of my head.

You finishing your brazen
And typically female
Attempt at convincing me
Your intellect is on my level,
I make an attempt at convincing you
To come home with me,
Promises abound of romantic movies
And bottles of red wine,
All a ploy to get to that
Ever escaping point of climax.

You lying
Intoxicated and intoxicating in your figure,
Your intoxication itself an aphrodesiac,
Me pretending to care
About touring you around this amalgamation of child-like living.
You approaching me sitting in the one chair I have to offer,
Me feigning interest
As you talk about your family,
Me finding space between your legs
Me attempting to turn off your conversation,
Me attempting to turn on your sex.

You naked
Straddling me naked,
You closing your eyes,
You holding on to my feigned love,
Me prying every ounce of your sexual energy from you
Devoting it to my satisfaction.

Me moaning deriving climax
From your submission,
You holding my hands around your waist as I fidget oozing uncomfortable,
You having given in too quickly,
Me wishing I no longer knew what you felt like in the deep dark crevasse of your sex,
Me formulating time travel in my head,
Me going back and reminding you mouth to mouth that sexually is the only way I will have you,
You making cute and innocent movements as I watch you in your sleep from the chair we know so intimately.

Me sleeping on the floor,
Fully clothed for fear
You might take me naked as a sign of comfort around you,
Me waking you up as dawn breaks to tell you to leave,
You strange-faced and confused,
Your hair a dazzling mess and body naked arousing me still,
Me ignoring my manhood in a ploy to get you out,
You propped up on one elbow,
Lying sideways and touching yourself,
You desperate to convince me to let you stay,
Me adamant in wanting to write this poem so you will understand.

Escalator Dreaming

2009-06-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

Later,
As I lazed my way
Up the escalator,
I happened to stand
Just at the right spot
So that I could just make out
The bottom supple part of her ass.

I,
Pretending to be
Virtuous like the knights I read about,
Immediately turned my head
90 degrees towards the sky,
Imagining
That the concrete ceiling
Was now an as of yet
Undiscovered
Constellation,
One that certainly
Gave me a false
Sense of intrigue.

Still,
My inherent manhood
Took hold,
And my eyes wandered
Back to this
Beautiful girl
With her beautiful behind.
I closed my eyes
For a moment
And wondered
What the front of her
Looked like.
I pictured
Stunning blue eyes
And perfectly-sized,
Perky breasts-
The kind that invite
Any man
To stare at
And wonder why
He isn't in bed
With her.

I pictured her
Naked body
Lying in bed
As I stood over her
(Naked myself)
With glaring,
Penetrating eyes,
Desperate to find out
If she could
Live up
To my insidious
Dreams.

After
A ravaging replica
Of what my
5th grade sex-ed teacher
Told me not to do,
I quickly dress
And,
After taking one last
Mental picture
Of her lying drenched in sweat,
Eyes closed and
Savoring her release,
I return back
To my spot on the escalator.

I reach the top
And enter the
Rained out streets,
Thankful that now
I have something
Warm and exciting
To keep me distracted and dry on my way home.

Ungodliness

2009-06-09T20:47:00.001-07:00

I court
and leave
woman
as my
ego
sees fit.

I am
not a
man necessitated
by pretty
golden hair,
I appreciate
an array of lovers
who may
console
my insatiable
appetite
for wonderous,
exploratory
sexual
adventures.

Like the
death
I have
seen,
as I am
inspired
to inquire
of God
how His
means
justify His
ends-
much like
those who
I have hurt
in the past
ask me
in the present
how I
bear the face
in the mirror
every morning
after waking up
on the floor
next to you
laying in
my bed
every morning.

A Man on September 10, Part 2

2009-06-08T21:33:00.001-07:00

As he went up,
floor-by-flooring his way
to another mindless day,
there was a quick thunderous sound,
like the one an Ancient Greek
heard when Zeus was enraged.

Now not moving,
he felt a warm gust
of air
surrounding his environment.

The elevator lurched,
and all of a sudden,
he was encompassed
in a fiery hellish hole,
a carrier of death,
no longer connected
to the strings holding
the keys to his life.

As the elevator bolted down
at a torride pace,
he felt his skin
singed in the burning fire.

Almost calm,
as he thought
of what his priest used
to describe as heaven,
he thought to himself,
"This is
the most exciting day
I've had
in years".

A Man on September 10, Part 1 (they are one big poem)

2009-06-08T21:29:00.001-07:00

On Monday night
he got home late,
argued with his wife
about the droll
of their life
and fell asleep
next to a half-full bottle
of whiskey.

His sleep was restless,
it was caught in a fence,
unable to move on in consciousness.

The next morning
he awoke in a sweat,
alone on the couch
and begrudgingly donned
his unwashed work clothes.

Letting his tongue
wash over his teeth,
he grimaced
at the taste of
overnight liquor and cigarettes,
yet realizing his inability
to make the office on time,
he neglected his grooming procedures.

The commute was an apparition,
something unworthy of his mind-
yet something to be expected
in his monotony.

He arrived downtown,
and glanced way up at his office building
right before submerging himself
into the parking garage.
As he entered the elevator alone,
he pushed 26 and fixed his tie,
checking his appearance in the glass walls.

Thanks For The Company

2009-06-06T23:55:00.001-07:00

This is awkward,
to hear from you right now,
after discussing
wedding dates
with those soon-to-be-wed,
and the others more intrigued
in my love life.

You haven't known me
in years,
since the last mistake
we made together-
sure enough
of our love,
we transmitted
ourr love through
sexual tendencies.
Though you haven't
known me,
I can feel
that when I say
something typically insane
you do understand;
like an english to spanish translator,
you can still dissect my most
antiquated words.

Earlier
I did
one of those
things
I tend to do
with girls,
coming
and
leaving without
hardly a word.

It is strange
how,
whenever I come,
I think
of you and
that night
we went out
with your high school
friends.
I was nervous
at first,
yet my
geneal charm
was so
overcoming,
you told me
the next day
"they
all loved you!".

Maybe
when I
am older
and less
self-involved
with my own
sense of kingship
(for I am
a lord of
debauchery),
I will
kiss you
with teenage passion
on your lips.

2009-06-04T01:04:00.001-07:00

I hope you
anxiously await my arrrival
with every last
breath you have,

With each exhalation
closer and closer
you will come
to the realization
that I'm
never
coming
back.

2009-06-03T21:58:00.001-07:00

WHAT IS THIS