When You

When you look out at the wide blue sky

and everything is fine

what is there to write?

Words are for darkness

when it is not all blue and light.

If you want words

then tell someone that

you love them and

mean

it.

Informed Delivery

dis
jointed

this
drama

smells
like

lies.

dis
jointed

these
lies

smell
like

drama.

They Called Her Vanessa

She went by Vanessa
when she spun around the
center of the neon universe,
stars flying from her fingernails,
two planets in front
two planets behind.

Wherever we would go
all the women rolled their eyes
and the men snapped their fingers
and gave me a wink.

She left little to the imagination
and you can imagine
what I mean
by
that.

At the bars
they would line up in great number.

They always seemed to know her -
they called her Vanessa.

She said,
"Don't worry daddy,
its just 'cause I give out fake names
on the
dance floors."

Here they would come:
frat boys,
financiers,
bikers,
bloodsuckers and
brawlers,
all lining up like bowling pins
waiting for a turn
with the
knockout.

My only job was to
feed her drinks
and try my best
to keep the drugs
out of her hot
little
hands,
always keeping
one eye open,
in case I needed to reign it back in
when she eventually
leaned toward
the
edge.

Once,
she brought a young conquest over
for me to inspect;
this one was dinner and
dinner was apparently
served.

I lost my legendary cool.

I tore into the both of them
with an alcoholic rage,
scaring Vanessa's trophy and
sending her into a
fierce and
unreasonable
fury.

She screamed bloody murder until
fire
spewed from her nostrils,
the many onlookers shifting nervously
in their heels and loafers.

When I'd heard enough I
exited stage right,
leaving her to her entourage
and buffet of earthly pleasures.

It's alright.

These days,
I think about it all and
smile.

She had some guts.

She was mostly breast and thigh
but she sure had some guts
too.

She was full of guts and chum
and she laid plenty of both wherever she went.

When you're a shark,
you don't fear the spear
or the propeller.
But the hook -
the hook is far
too much
to
bear.

a little bitter, but nonetheless true

I know so many
and I so often forget
who are so unhappy and
only have themselves to
blame.

and they get real literary about it.

they splash around in their woes
and still somehow manage
to be so
dry.

endlessly dry.

they masquerade as
the broken and the damned
with their designer problems
woe is me
why am I so alone?

they martyr themselves by the hour
trying to convince heaven and all else
that they are not like the rest of us,
can't be like everyone
else.

psychosomatic ailments
psychotic delusions
hypochondriac
snake oil
folderol.

the worst part is how they always find me.

they always seem to think
that I am just like them,
they lick their lips
at the
MYSTERY
until I tell them about jail
and addiction
and dead children
and then suddenly,

"oh look at
the
time!

see,
I was in this relationship
with another one who cared for me
but the grass in Ireland is emerald
and I heard there are men
in Denmark who will carry me on their backs
and its just all so
domestic
and it gives my inner author
the blocks
and I was born to melt my eyes
while staring at the sun
and
realize while dying
the real poetry
was in front of me
the whole
time."

then they run back to write
about how artistic they are
how no one understands them
how they cry into cornbread
and how they panic alone in the dark.
such great thinkers
such victims of a cruel and
indiscriminate
universe.

all the while,
the broken and the damned
(the real ones)
buy the store brand shampoo on discount
skip dinner
and wake up when
its time
for
work.

Ever Since Clarity

Ever since clarity
I have seen my skin tighten
my joints ease their ache
my muscle return from bone
and I finally am
as I had always
been.

And I have taken
to going on very long walks
during these summer
Jersey
afternoons.

I walk and I think
and I do not think and
I
remember,
regret,
laugh,
listen,
and
dream.

Today,
the sky was clouded
grey and ominous
with a stern wind
that knew where it was going and went
there.

I walked among the trees
I touched the leaves
I felt the pavement under my feet unforgiving
and I swore I heard the waves
even though I'm quite far
from
water.

I walked through long soccer fields
devoid of sport,
under massive lightposts
taller than a half dozen me's could ever be,
and I felt the grass coarse and green
reach out and
brush my
ankles.

I sat down and the world happened all around
me
and I was so overcome with gratitude.

I saw faces and heard their names
and I reached out by phone
to thank them
for always being with me
in my
heart.

Thanked the ones who
as we've met
have transcended bodies
and felt our souls
irreversibly
entwine.

This is my greatest newfound treasure,
this is what I hold closest to my chest:
an abundance
of gratitude and
love.

I feel like I can barely be contained
inside of myself
that I need to exist as the purest utterance
of this stardust that I so imprefectly am
and lift others up higher so
that they can see beyond the horizon
without limitation,
bias,
or
pain.

I crossed the water before them
and I have built a fire on the other side
so that they can see their way across
whenever the time comes and tide comes
to lighten their boats
and likewise
heavy
burdens.

When they arrive there
I'll be waiting,
one if by land
two if by
sea.

With all that I am
all of my heart
all of
me.

A One Track Mind

She
like a one woman pride
does as she likes
with utmost taste
devoid of regret
swollen with composure
a portrait of pharaohtic poise.

I think the loveliest things about women
while simultaneously
wanting to do the most depraved things
to
them.

A couple I have known for years
aren't doing so well,
or so it would appear,
as she has taken to leaping
onto other men's laps
and thrusting her tongue
down other men's
throats.

I don't really blame her.

I have known her dreamboat
for years
and he and I were partners
in the proliferation of
late night drug plans
and
purchases.

Its hard to get it in
when there's all those lines
to cut.

I hate to admit it
but a part of me
would love a crack at her.

The farce is that
when I said she was sending
the vibes my way
they nearly swung me
from the
rafters.

I'm rarely wrong.

I was graciously given
several talents
and the discernment of overtures
is one of
them.

But these days
I'm a man in a desert.

One gets used to having the
female form
for dinner
seven days
a
week.

I used to think such romantic things.

We lose our minds in all that flesh
once we pull it onto us
that fateful and damning
first time.

Then everything that comes after is
just the insatiable appetite for
more.

On Saturdays I go to the market;
there is a girl who works behind the meat counter.
She has the most beautiful eyes,
so full of kindness.
Inside her there's
not a single rotten
bone.

She is always smiling,
always helpful,
and always so eager
to
please (naturally I like that most of all).


I look forward to seeing her every week
but she's Amish,
and I never learned to play
the
plough.

I'd give it a shot
but she aint' ready.
Her bonnet is too white
and her dress doesn't have a single
crease.

I need a little dirt under the nails -
a little wear and tear,
I don't want to be saved
I want a
wingman.

A rock to roll with me

and break apart
the
plough.