Headlines
The ecclesiastical elastic band contacted the
Reactive sieve live-in vintner tern takers
Caroling heirloom room hymns with inimical
Kerosene spleen reapers leaping under
The leaves of belief ridden rhododendron
Engine makers mistaken for miscreant tenant
Bakers surviving in nincompoop compactors
Post with 2 notes
Syndrome
I am sitcom tongues.
I am agitated plankton.
I am a bad dancer, box-stepping around crumpled balls of paper.
I am matter in uniform motion.
I am long dark nights driving winding roads.
I am the question: “did you shave your head today?”
I am a flock of crows dancing above a business park.
I am a light show of dust motes in the kitchen.
I am a plate of pate, salami, and prosciutto.
I am a greasy cheeseburger, side of fries, and a Coke.
I am a schizophrenic screaming at a bus stop.
I am seven years of sobriety painted with tones of guilt.
Birthday Card
The stitches that held together
The sides of youth
Are coming undone
Your avant-garde
Indie rock is top forty
Your skinny jeans are too tight
For your stretch-marks
NPR has replaced Built to Spill
On the morning drive
And that Shepard Fairey print
You loved so much
Is hanging on the wall
Of a hotel lobby
Or gracing the t-shirt
Of a kindergartner
Your early evenings are spent
Waxing poetic about your salad days
You like to recall the time
You sat naked in K’s living room
Sharing an after-sex cigarette
Her full round breasts
Draped in a thin veil of morning light
That teased its way
Through the curtains of her apartment
Like a voyeur
While you smiled like lunatics
You smile sadly at the memory
Of watching the Desert City Soundtrack
Play a set at the Café Du Nord
While Z flirted
With eighteen year old girls
Smitten with his
Holier-than-thou cool
You recall all of those
Early morning colors
That seemed so vivid
All that deep purple
And rich amber that glowed
While you crawled home
To the futon
On the floor of your studio
Drunk on cheap beer
And high on cocaine
Nowadays aches begin to throb
In invisible spaces
A lack of sleep robs you
Of the verbosity
That used to roll from your tongue
You enjoy the brief silence
Between your cubicle and the parking lot
Outside of your building and
Coffee stains of various shapes
And sizes magically appear
On your dress shirts
Instead of poems
You write grocery lists
You inherited your father’s
Famous wagging finger
And you pop Ibuprofen
To stanch the tide
Of a headache
That won’t seem to recede
Tonight you feel
That strange percussion
Of age rattling through your bones
The old man is finally emerging
From the cocoon of the young man
He has been living inside of
All of these years
SOME THINGS MUST BE MADE OPAQUE TO BE SEEN.
Photo with 4 notes
SISYPHUS ON UNIVERSITY
There, in the distance
The red silhouette
Of a body walking
Away perfecting
Its melancholy
Sisyphus pushes
Shopping carts
Past locked doors
For eternity
Sisyphus wears
Shit stained
Sweat pants
And rots inside
A sleeping bag
In search of relief
In the red light
Of the liquor store sign
Everyone’s skin
Is stained crimson
Revelers and the destitute
Bathe in the same light
We share the same pallor
And for a moment
There is no difference
Just a sea of red faces
Just a sea of Sisyphus’s
Passing each other
Pushing the same burden
Up an invisible mountain
For eternity
Photo with 1 note
SNAPSHOTS
A tainted cherub
A cardboard distress call
A half-eaten superhero
These are the fleeting
Moments that appear
At ten till midnight
So I spread the spine
Of this scrapbook
And savor the clippings
Before I arrive at the end
Photo with 1 note
ACCOMPLISHMENTS
He is fluent
In disaster
To his credit
He is accomplished
In short wave
Brain damage
And still connected
To his digital
Umbilical cord
One day he
will be remembered
For his anthology
of detritus
And a colloquialism
on a t-shirt
Photo with 1 note
UNTITLED
Long after the
Elegance has died off
We roll out
These red carpets
And let special guests
Become lingering
Memories
Memories that haunt us
Bleary eyed and half-asleep
Staring
Out of windows
Of passing cars
Lurking under street
Lights & standing
In darkened doorways
Of residential hotels
Holding cups of ash
And crushed cigarettes
Between lips
Sealed like tombs
We wave at disappearing
Skeletons
Ducking through alleys
And smile through heartbreak
Reminded that laughter is
The best disaster of them all
Photo with 2 notes
GROUP EXERCISE
I thought
“addicted to misery”
was a good line
in the heat
of the argument
at which point
you said I was writing
even when I wasn’t
you said that writing
is my crutch
my vice
my excuse
you wrote
the best lines for me
without realizing
you had done so
so I wrote those lines
down for you
so we can limp around
on the crutch together
