The thumbprint stays behind
Wrapped in crinkly paper
Four fingers beside it
Filing cabinet cold, the thumbprint's gold
If you know the story
Black if it's all a myth
The thumbprint's in your mind
Cold in the corner, cringing
Cement underfoot
They hooked the boy to sensors, damn torpedoes
Flying in the sun
Soaring from the magic hills
I wrote a riddle
I read someone else's
The rough knight cradled
His dancing girl
Her hair on fire
Gelatin and cellular
Scarred and cultured
She claimed the hills as hers
Demolition, marriage ended
Streets on fire, merry widow waltz
A parade of little cars
Down the hill, to the canyon
He grips the wheel
She's got a feather touch
And in the plastic pitch of all that's lost
He screamed the names of silent underdogs
Who won the waltz but lost the dancing queen
His fingers touch the gypsy skin of a raging libertine
Her arms with tracing tracks of old regrets
Her balance off, her hair an impish mess
She shakes her hips and hangs her head
Down so we see the back of her white neck
In the little village beneath her hair line
Is a circle, all traversed, a dropping hint
He put it there one night, wearing shoes without laces
His final remnant, his random right thumbprint
December 18, 2007
12.27.2007
11.06.2007
Middle L.A.
It's as if the weight
Isn't heavy enough to feel
But massive enough to see
Clearly, on a cloudy day
Like today, in Middle L.A.
The kids with cameras
Follow the kids with skateboards
The dogs on leashes
Obey the cats on cell phones
The rain looks as if it's coming
But it won't
The sun will win out
The sky will break out
But weather is weather
And irrelevant
So let's go
To a path of razor blades
To a field of gopher holes
To a river running through
The cities east of here
The continents west of here
The earth is shaky
My eyes are open wide
Let's go on another ride
Demolition derby
County fair and crushy stares
From girls with funnel cakes
But now's not the time for regrets
It's as if the weight
Has bounds and limits
Maps with insets
Here on a Saturday
At ease and play, in middle L.A.
The soundtrack has been silent
Since the broken down version
Of the laminated streets
Put their hex on us
But it's cool
Fires have burned out
Albums have come out
Sequels have panned out
Little lost kids
Have turned their tears to food
For a minor revolution
Marching on City Hall
Misbehaving on the bus
Losing their siblings' trust
Reading books and seizing lands
Writing treaties, breaking treaties
It's a trajectory
It IS a better day
Than the blue black yesterdays
Or the tow trucks in the haze
There are no alleys on these streets
Just the blind and blank at play
In easy breezy middle L.A.
Everything makes more sense
And holds less truth
In the plural
October 27, 2007
Isn't heavy enough to feel
But massive enough to see
Clearly, on a cloudy day
Like today, in Middle L.A.
The kids with cameras
Follow the kids with skateboards
The dogs on leashes
Obey the cats on cell phones
The rain looks as if it's coming
But it won't
The sun will win out
The sky will break out
But weather is weather
And irrelevant
So let's go
To a path of razor blades
To a field of gopher holes
To a river running through
The cities east of here
The continents west of here
The earth is shaky
My eyes are open wide
Let's go on another ride
Demolition derby
County fair and crushy stares
From girls with funnel cakes
But now's not the time for regrets
It's as if the weight
Has bounds and limits
Maps with insets
Here on a Saturday
At ease and play, in middle L.A.
The soundtrack has been silent
Since the broken down version
Of the laminated streets
Put their hex on us
But it's cool
Fires have burned out
Albums have come out
Sequels have panned out
Little lost kids
Have turned their tears to food
For a minor revolution
Marching on City Hall
Misbehaving on the bus
Losing their siblings' trust
Reading books and seizing lands
Writing treaties, breaking treaties
It's a trajectory
It IS a better day
Than the blue black yesterdays
Or the tow trucks in the haze
There are no alleys on these streets
Just the blind and blank at play
In easy breezy middle L.A.
Everything makes more sense
And holds less truth
In the plural
October 27, 2007
10.28.2007
Devil Got My Woman Part 2
Among the dropped papers
In the long night of demons
In the short drive from moment to next
A girl, with her hand, in the salad bowl
Recalls the name of the man
In the vision she had
Before she stopped having visions
She shudders because
It’s clear to her now
That the man’s name
Is on both sides of one page in the pile
No picture
No mention of no children
Just his name twice, once in bold
In the long night of demons
In the short drive from moment to next
A girl, with her hand, in the salad bowl
Recalls the name of the man
In the vision she had
Before she stopped having visions
She shudders because
It’s clear to her now
That the man’s name
Is on both sides of one page in the pile
No picture
No mention of no children
Just his name twice, once in bold
And her earrings
And her feathers
And her beads
In the bowl
She doesn’t use it for salad
For a song about kissing cousins
A charmed man and a charmless woman
Their doomed love, their devout air
Rumors tossed to sea overboard
Grown children skipping through forests
Where snow falls instead of leaves
The charmed man forgot their kisses
Deflected her love like a moonbeam off a Toyota
But the charmless woman never forgot anything
Except forgetting
So she jumped off the bridge
Near where the poet jumped and died
24 years earlier, a year before she was born
The charmed man, her third cousin
Read at her funeral
Like he was the smartest kid at a small town poetry reading
Rhyming “stop the bleeding”
With “5 a.m. feeding”
Then he turned her life into a song
About the deadly perils of doing wrong
It had a melody like a flock of geese
The woman with the salad bowl
Finds the page and files it away
She walks outside for air
And for the opposite of air
She presses shuffle
That song, like a beast of a love gone north for the spring
Plays first
She practically skips down Wilshire Boulevard as she hears:
“This river’s not like
That river, I like
Both rivers until
One takes my true love away”
Because practically skipping makes no sense
For a song like that
Notwithstanding facts like
“I like his voice”
“She had a choice”
In glorious noise there’s often the absence of nowhere
The opposite of light deflected
Off the dirtiest greenest dirt-green
Lake of the Isles gosling
Spring, 2006
10.19.2007
Far Away From Polk Street
soft hair and hair gel
fuzzy sweater sanguine
sweater sad and selfless
they glide and glide and fall
but not too soon
gray brick wall break free
brick wall stained and star-struck
they fell and now they hurt
but not too much
San Francisco
gone to walls and flowers
ivy and the end notes
staying on, fading out
just long enough
black scarves out of attics
black scarves sold a fortune
on falling and hurting
and now they’re gone away
toSan Francisco
January 5, 1999
fuzzy sweater sanguine
sweater sad and selfless
they glide and glide and fall
but not too soon
gray brick wall break free
brick wall stained and star-struck
they fell and now they hurt
but not too much
gone to walls and flowers
ivy and the end notes
staying on, fading out
just long enough
black scarves out of attics
black scarves sold a fortune
on falling and hurting
and now they’re gone away
to
January 5, 1999
10.10.2007
Milfwaukee
The trains were loud
The people were coughing
The city was waking
In time for sunset
The parking was rough
My head was pounding
The gerunds flew by
Like oxidized remnants
Of a decade on hold
This is what it sounded like
(Silence, white noise)
This is what it felt like
(Textures, rough patch)
This is what it looked like
(Girls in circles, white lights)
It's all I can do
To remember falsely
The city returned
To its sleeping weeping state
I should have gone home
I would have been happy
But I stayed 'til the end
The echoey blather
Rang in my head
As I drove west with the moon
And listened to The Life Pursuit
October 10, 2007
The people were coughing
The city was waking
In time for sunset
The parking was rough
My head was pounding
The gerunds flew by
Like oxidized remnants
Of a decade on hold
This is what it sounded like
(Silence, white noise)
This is what it felt like
(Textures, rough patch)
This is what it looked like
(Girls in circles, white lights)
It's all I can do
To remember falsely
The city returned
To its sleeping weeping state
I should have gone home
I would have been happy
But I stayed 'til the end
The echoey blather
Rang in my head
As I drove west with the moon
And listened to The Life Pursuit
October 10, 2007
8.08.2007
They All End Up In Glendale
They all end up in Glendale
Where the land meets the higher land
The first one came there with her mother
Their dream home, a small apartment
Two bedrooms and concrete steps
She left, she's on an island now
The next one, it looked like it couldn't end
But it did and now she's in Glendale
With more concrete and more desires
Silent in their immensity
Immense in their clutter
The third one, she's an anomaly
It didn't last enough to count
But I liked four more than three
So in Glendale, she sleeps
Ever the pessimist, she's the happiest one
They all end up in Glendale
The fourth one shouldn't count, she's in Eagle Rock
Which is just down the street, so I'll make an exception
She should have waited
It was a bad week
July 13, 2007
Where the land meets the higher land
The first one came there with her mother
Their dream home, a small apartment
Two bedrooms and concrete steps
She left, she's on an island now
The next one, it looked like it couldn't end
But it did and now she's in Glendale
With more concrete and more desires
Silent in their immensity
Immense in their clutter
The third one, she's an anomaly
It didn't last enough to count
But I liked four more than three
So in Glendale, she sleeps
Ever the pessimist, she's the happiest one
They all end up in Glendale
The fourth one shouldn't count, she's in Eagle Rock
Which is just down the street, so I'll make an exception
She should have waited
It was a bad week
July 13, 2007
Hat
I put on my glasses
I don't wear a hat
I won't wear a hat
Back at world's end, I wore green
Slept on a green bed, with green and white sheets
I'd take it to the suffering streets
Nodded in that direction
Cringed at the fault lines on every sidewalk
It didn't matter
I didn't live there yet
Or ever
June 16, 2007
I don't wear a hat
I won't wear a hat
Back at world's end, I wore green
Slept on a green bed, with green and white sheets
I'd take it to the suffering streets
Nodded in that direction
Cringed at the fault lines on every sidewalk
It didn't matter
I didn't live there yet
Or ever
June 16, 2007
8.05.2007
Late July
They closed the bookstore up the street from where I lived
They gutted its housing, kept the barbecue place
They, I don't know who they are
But the bridge fell into the river
I didn't love that bridge, didn't hate it
But I love the river
I prefer the east side of it
Mainly the land close to the water
You get too far, you get too close
I was surprised she had so much to say
In the kitchen, at the party
There are so many songs I remember more
So many books I understand better
Than her and her odd stuttered manner
But it was good to see her, it had to be done
I may never go back again
I could live there tomorrow
I hear sad news from there
I miss the good times
I miss the escalator
Up from where the dead bookstore used to be
To the old gutted restaurant
That hasn't been there since 1991
When the girl said
"He sings about rainbows and dreamers like me"
She was talking about Dio
There's a bridge falling down
A riot going on
And I haven't slept so well
As that night on 43rd Avenue
August 4, 2007
They gutted its housing, kept the barbecue place
They, I don't know who they are
But the bridge fell into the river
I didn't love that bridge, didn't hate it
But I love the river
I prefer the east side of it
Mainly the land close to the water
You get too far, you get too close
I was surprised she had so much to say
In the kitchen, at the party
There are so many songs I remember more
So many books I understand better
Than her and her odd stuttered manner
But it was good to see her, it had to be done
I may never go back again
I could live there tomorrow
I hear sad news from there
I miss the good times
I miss the escalator
Up from where the dead bookstore used to be
To the old gutted restaurant
That hasn't been there since 1991
When the girl said
"He sings about rainbows and dreamers like me"
She was talking about Dio
There's a bridge falling down
A riot going on
And I haven't slept so well
As that night on 43rd Avenue
August 4, 2007
Ringing In My Ears
There was ringing in my ears
As I came down the canyon
As I crashed thought the city
It was a song about a system
Let him run wild
Yesterday, today
Let him run down
Until he puts every box in its place
I left Milwaukee with enough cash
To pay the tolls back to Chicago
I drove, dreaming of the words
I could write to Summer Guest
I thought of 18 years before
Walking through the forest in Fridley, Minnesota
Writing movies, pornographic poems
Imagining shipwrecks, leading the way
I travel
I write in threes - verses, thoughts, plans
I wander in two of four time zones
In a dozen area codes
In the shadow of the valley
That falls, twinkling, from Los Angeles
I know where the curves are
Even if I haven't taken that freeway
All that often
Since that cold sweat January day
August 4, 2007
As I came down the canyon
As I crashed thought the city
It was a song about a system
Let him run wild
Yesterday, today
Let him run down
Until he puts every box in its place
I left Milwaukee with enough cash
To pay the tolls back to Chicago
I drove, dreaming of the words
I could write to Summer Guest
I thought of 18 years before
Walking through the forest in Fridley, Minnesota
Writing movies, pornographic poems
Imagining shipwrecks, leading the way
I travel
I write in threes - verses, thoughts, plans
I wander in two of four time zones
In a dozen area codes
In the shadow of the valley
That falls, twinkling, from Los Angeles
I know where the curves are
Even if I haven't taken that freeway
All that often
Since that cold sweat January day
August 4, 2007
The Music
I listened to the music
Because it was written: That is where the answers are
I found them, some of them
Like the heart is bottomless
But the will can end
And in the country darkness
You can call your friends
They can answer without wanting to
Or ignore you with regret
I didn't know
That the pain in their voices was uncommon
I thought I'd get that way
If I waited it out
But my words came out deeper
And my longings, stuck on paper
Were the strongest
I listened to all the music
Because I could hear it
The sugar, the venom
The south central rain
The love and the heartbreak
The not getting fooled again
But we all do
We're prophets, we're ancients
We got there from here
We'll do it again
August 4, 2007
Because it was written: That is where the answers are
I found them, some of them
Like the heart is bottomless
But the will can end
And in the country darkness
You can call your friends
They can answer without wanting to
Or ignore you with regret
I didn't know
That the pain in their voices was uncommon
I thought I'd get that way
If I waited it out
But my words came out deeper
And my longings, stuck on paper
Were the strongest
I listened to all the music
Because I could hear it
The sugar, the venom
The south central rain
The love and the heartbreak
The not getting fooled again
But we all do
We're prophets, we're ancients
We got there from here
We'll do it again
August 4, 2007
Pink Broken Sky
Pink broken sky
Sleeps into storm fronts
Bedroom water glasses
Condense into falsehoods like:
It will go on forever
It will end tomorrow
Like nothing else but hope and hell
It almost as if
Someone doesn't want it to be named
August 4, 2007
Sleeps into storm fronts
Bedroom water glasses
Condense into falsehoods like:
It will go on forever
It will end tomorrow
Like nothing else but hope and hell
It almost as if
Someone doesn't want it to be named
August 4, 2007
7.23.2007
The Family
They traded in history for the colors
The colors for the rare books
The fishing trips were memorable
The creek beds dry, from the accident
They were the kings of the subdivision
That hadn't been subdivided
Yet, though it was scheduled to
They built a border around the woods
Turned it into a ridge and a valley
The vacation days piled up slow
They went to Arizona in winter
Switzerland in summer, the city never
The city was for government services
And that part of life was over
Today they each sit near umbrellas
Thirty feet away, twenty-five if you're tall
The umbrellas cover the darkness
On the longest Saturday of the year
Sunny like someone declared it and dared it
The umbrellas are different, one is in the suburbs
The other two in a magic city
They boarded a plane in the ancient world
Got off near where the seagulls ate garbage
The seagulls looked like tiny people
Flapping and surging, ignoring the jet fuel
The family lived in a room in New Jersey
Then two rooms, then three, and finally six
Suddenly it ended, black sheep strewn
June 16, 2007
The colors for the rare books
The fishing trips were memorable
The creek beds dry, from the accident
They were the kings of the subdivision
That hadn't been subdivided
Yet, though it was scheduled to
They built a border around the woods
Turned it into a ridge and a valley
The vacation days piled up slow
They went to Arizona in winter
Switzerland in summer, the city never
The city was for government services
And that part of life was over
Today they each sit near umbrellas
Thirty feet away, twenty-five if you're tall
The umbrellas cover the darkness
On the longest Saturday of the year
Sunny like someone declared it and dared it
The umbrellas are different, one is in the suburbs
The other two in a magic city
They boarded a plane in the ancient world
Got off near where the seagulls ate garbage
The seagulls looked like tiny people
Flapping and surging, ignoring the jet fuel
The family lived in a room in New Jersey
Then two rooms, then three, and finally six
Suddenly it ended, black sheep strewn
June 16, 2007
7.18.2007
Zero Comments
Zero comments
I get zero comments
On my poetry
Why do I continue to post?
Even haphazardly
Intermittently
Is it all worth it?
Or is (are) my reader(s) shy?
You'd think Dirty Brea would get some attention
Or the Leonard Cohen poem, or the one about the Cities Of America
But all I hear are heartbeats
And all I feel is fleeting
As modern poetry
Falls on deaf ears
Or no ears
Zero comments
July 18, 2007
I get zero comments
On my poetry
Why do I continue to post?
Even haphazardly
Intermittently
Is it all worth it?
Or is (are) my reader(s) shy?
You'd think Dirty Brea would get some attention
Or the Leonard Cohen poem, or the one about the Cities Of America
But all I hear are heartbeats
And all I feel is fleeting
As modern poetry
Falls on deaf ears
Or no ears
Zero comments
July 18, 2007
7.03.2007
The 3
I'm 3 weeks behind... so here are 3 poems from the first two days of July 1998:
Plural
by making the singular thing
plural
I increase its value
I make it seem
that some things happen twice
when really
something only happened once
the “s” at the end
is a very good friend
to me
You Like
I can’t help but
eke out a
day or two
all about you
dreaming who
you look like
you smell like
you feel like
you like
but all in all
fantastical songs
make me winged
and dreamlike
dreaming who
you love like
you look like
you smell like
you like
Four Colors
hair of red and gold and missionaries
this is the thought that I hold
as I wait for the better shoe
to drop, all along, I’ve waited
and true, you only have to die
once
but you have to live in fear of it
every day of your fucking life
so raise a hand
to more easily understand
the cryptic message waves
as your slick hibiscus fades
from view
6.14.2007
Elevators
Freight elevators
Drive slow, sluggish, surging
Up, so that wasn't the problem
Strained looks into digital lenses
Friends of mine notice the difference
Rayguns and metal legs
Kick in doors and dazzle
The night sky, the river lights
There is no order
In the disarmed city
Disorder, old, incapacitated
Hotel elevators
Are smooth like silk
On a baby baby seal
Actualization, mortification
Case study in apples vs. oranges
Lemons in the dirty city of Brea
Mangoes in Los Angeles
Blueberries in Olmstead County
That's enough for now
Hunger is relative
Then the photographer leans in
There's a vision there, somewhere
Close-ups show blemishes
Panorama City is the nexus of the Valley
News to me
Pod elevators, blue and white devils
Had enough of them
She showed me the pictures
Of house by the ocean
I would live there in a heartbeat
Thumping between each wave's crash and spill
I'd change the curtains
I love her pictures
Love her in elevators
Cameras in elevators
She flashes a smile
From across a living room
And I'm in it again
June 13-14, 2007
Drive slow, sluggish, surging
Up, so that wasn't the problem
Strained looks into digital lenses
Friends of mine notice the difference
Rayguns and metal legs
Kick in doors and dazzle
The night sky, the river lights
There is no order
In the disarmed city
Disorder, old, incapacitated
Hotel elevators
Are smooth like silk
On a baby baby seal
Actualization, mortification
Case study in apples vs. oranges
Lemons in the dirty city of Brea
Mangoes in Los Angeles
Blueberries in Olmstead County
That's enough for now
Hunger is relative
Then the photographer leans in
There's a vision there, somewhere
Close-ups show blemishes
Panorama City is the nexus of the Valley
News to me
Pod elevators, blue and white devils
Had enough of them
She showed me the pictures
Of house by the ocean
I would live there in a heartbeat
Thumping between each wave's crash and spill
I'd change the curtains
I love her pictures
Love her in elevators
Cameras in elevators
She flashes a smile
From across a living room
And I'm in it again
June 13-14, 2007
6.12.2007
Visible
I want to feel my hand
On something stark and soft
I want to cure my pain
Break my back in half
Sullen, soldiering on
Soldier, shrugging at dawn
Rain covers the sun
I sleep until it's over
The arch pulled me up
I bent, then I broke
I got back up in California
I'm invisible, then I'm seen
Bought the new car
Easy as nothing
It won't kill me
Keeps me stronger
I want to run outside
Don't want to say a word
I say too much as it is
I leave, I look away, I love
June 12, 2007
On something stark and soft
I want to cure my pain
Break my back in half
Sullen, soldiering on
Soldier, shrugging at dawn
Rain covers the sun
I sleep until it's over
The arch pulled me up
I bent, then I broke
I got back up in California
I'm invisible, then I'm seen
Bought the new car
Easy as nothing
It won't kill me
Keeps me stronger
I want to run outside
Don't want to say a word
I say too much as it is
I leave, I look away, I love
June 12, 2007
Under The Rug
I've had to sweep the narratives
Under the rug that isn't there
(sold it, didn't want it, want a new one)
I tell familiar stories
Can't say I'm wrong but I'm bored
They could be bitter
Go in new directions
Cross the unwalked intersections
These aren't the stories I write
They're the ones I tell, I sell
Under pressure, no paper, no tiny keys
Just a mouth and a heart and eyes that seem
Too red when I wear orange
May 28, 2007
Under the rug that isn't there
(sold it, didn't want it, want a new one)
I tell familiar stories
Can't say I'm wrong but I'm bored
They could be bitter
Go in new directions
Cross the unwalked intersections
These aren't the stories I write
They're the ones I tell, I sell
Under pressure, no paper, no tiny keys
Just a mouth and a heart and eyes that seem
Too red when I wear orange
May 28, 2007
1985, 1987, 2005, 2007
In that drive, 1200 miles
of which I remember 35
I'm sure there's a story
I believe there's a way
To get from the turnpike
To the prairie
To the foothills, to the grave
To whatever it is you call
The house on the top of the hill
Above the too-small garages
Neither of which is mine
I remember the Minneapolis flood of '87
The south side streets got the worst of it
I drove there to check things out
While my parents were packing
Boxes for Asia
I was listening to "In My Tribe"
Driving slowly through the water
I know I live near water
In the end there had better be
More than music and perjury
More than changing our minds
At the least convenient times
Only I can make it there
A small climb up a waterfall
Dry in summer, dead in fall
Lush in winter, winter's all
Summer works its body for
June 10, 2007
of which I remember 35
I'm sure there's a story
I believe there's a way
To get from the turnpike
To the prairie
To the foothills, to the grave
To whatever it is you call
The house on the top of the hill
Above the too-small garages
Neither of which is mine
I remember the Minneapolis flood of '87
The south side streets got the worst of it
I drove there to check things out
While my parents were packing
Boxes for Asia
I was listening to "In My Tribe"
Driving slowly through the water
I know I live near water
In the end there had better be
More than music and perjury
More than changing our minds
At the least convenient times
Only I can make it there
A small climb up a waterfall
Dry in summer, dead in fall
Lush in winter, winter's all
Summer works its body for
June 10, 2007
5.18.2007
The Leaves
the leaves are hard and crunchy
under our sneakered feet
there seems to be an opening
to the other side of the street
the city is forgiving
when the city is asleep
but what we couldn’t steal
is what we’d have to keep
autumn is an archway
the element of sound
curved into our finger flesh
the savage is aroused
it wouldn’t be amazing
if the leaves had just turned brown
you can see the darkness coming
it’s just a short time now
the mornings have their pull on me
the blanket is my friend
though they are bad dreams
I don’t want them to end
though they are bad dreams
I can raise the dead
the leaves and wind are out there
but not inside my head
dinner has a first name
breakfast is a child
though it’s slow and plodding
you can make him smile
you can lift the covers
you can fall inside
open all the windowstake me for a ride
November 1, 1999
under our sneakered feet
there seems to be an opening
to the other side of the street
the city is forgiving
when the city is asleep
but what we couldn’t steal
is what we’d have to keep
autumn is an archway
the element of sound
curved into our finger flesh
the savage is aroused
it wouldn’t be amazing
if the leaves had just turned brown
you can see the darkness coming
it’s just a short time now
the mornings have their pull on me
the blanket is my friend
though they are bad dreams
I don’t want them to end
though they are bad dreams
I can raise the dead
the leaves and wind are out there
but not inside my head
dinner has a first name
breakfast is a child
though it’s slow and plodding
you can make him smile
you can lift the covers
you can fall inside
open all the windowstake me for a ride
November 1, 1999
5.07.2007
TGICF (Thank God It's Casual Friday)
The traffic was sticky and slow
I was listening to my morning show
The crew were wild and wacky
Like crack babies on crack
The man in the next lane was staring ahead
At nothing, his baseball cap was on forward
I said "Who do you think you are, Tom Selleck?"
That's when the week flew by
In my personal collective unconsciousness
Monday, I don't like
Tuesday should be shot. Twice
Dry hump day bleeds into Thursday's dirge
As the gods of the 10 freeway blessed our merge
And I really don't have a morning show
I listen to compact discs
Made by men who take medium risks
As I drum the wheel with two-fingered fists
Goddamn it's slow today
But at least I can say
Despite every delay
Thank god
Thank god
Thank god
It's casual friday
February 4, 2005
5.02.2007
No Hesitation
I won't hesitate
If you look back, you can see that
Although I run, I move, I shake
I never hesitate
Though I want to, at least once a day
I once held a picture
Of a girl who lived in a trailer
Her dad was dying of Vietnam
Her mom was sleeping, crypt keeping
The girl got out, it was the mid-80s
She went to college, she disappeared
But I held her picture for a moment
I dropped it silently
In a shoe box I can't recall the color of
Never seen her since
I tell this story
Not to boast, not to explain
I tell this story because it never comes out the same
Four years later (always later)
I drove from Brea to Bakersfield
I rode up hills and found the long driveway
Took a blonde girl to a horror movie
I don't know why
But I want to lie
And say we listened to her favorite albums
"Strangeways, Here We Come"
"Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me"
Instead
As the misty gummy sky
Couldn't stop her from giving me directions home
We heard Edie Brickell and it didn't matter
I never saw her since
Though when she caught my eye
In the mall video arcade
It was like she was telling me
That the movie saved her life
(her friend had died the previous summer,
killed himself in his sleep)
But I didn't pretend
Anything saved anyone
And I tell this story
Not for sympathy, not for symmetry
But for preservation
18 years later (much much later)
I sat in this very spot
Talking up my movie plot
To a stranger signaling her neutrality
I listened to her as well (I think)
Her father died too
She'd been to the desert
That all happened
We nodded as we said goodbye
And considered a second date
I've seen her since
One time
Across the street
By accident
It's a sign
This determined lack of hesitation
This jumping into a life
I've learned
The closest I can get
To peace, to stillness
Is in the water
I should have been baptized
Even if I didn't believe
It would have felt like love
I took her to the water
The water's all I want
Did I really just say
"It's a sign"?
I've never mentioned signs before
All I say is everything else
All I want is to look into eyes
That look into mine
All I want to do is see the movement
And return to stillness
Of those eyes
I can't explain
In words because words
Are moving trains
I say this with no hesitation:
You've got to move even if you're shaking
May 2, 2007
If you look back, you can see that
Although I run, I move, I shake
I never hesitate
Though I want to, at least once a day
I once held a picture
Of a girl who lived in a trailer
Her dad was dying of Vietnam
Her mom was sleeping, crypt keeping
The girl got out, it was the mid-80s
She went to college, she disappeared
But I held her picture for a moment
I dropped it silently
In a shoe box I can't recall the color of
Never seen her since
I tell this story
Not to boast, not to explain
I tell this story because it never comes out the same
Four years later (always later)
I drove from Brea to Bakersfield
I rode up hills and found the long driveway
Took a blonde girl to a horror movie
I don't know why
But I want to lie
And say we listened to her favorite albums
"Strangeways, Here We Come"
"Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me"
Instead
As the misty gummy sky
Couldn't stop her from giving me directions home
We heard Edie Brickell and it didn't matter
I never saw her since
Though when she caught my eye
In the mall video arcade
It was like she was telling me
That the movie saved her life
(her friend had died the previous summer,
killed himself in his sleep)
But I didn't pretend
Anything saved anyone
And I tell this story
Not for sympathy, not for symmetry
But for preservation
18 years later (much much later)
I sat in this very spot
Talking up my movie plot
To a stranger signaling her neutrality
I listened to her as well (I think)
Her father died too
She'd been to the desert
That all happened
We nodded as we said goodbye
And considered a second date
I've seen her since
One time
Across the street
By accident
It's a sign
This determined lack of hesitation
This jumping into a life
I've learned
The closest I can get
To peace, to stillness
Is in the water
I should have been baptized
Even if I didn't believe
It would have felt like love
I took her to the water
The water's all I want
Did I really just say
"It's a sign"?
I've never mentioned signs before
All I say is everything else
All I want is to look into eyes
That look into mine
All I want to do is see the movement
And return to stillness
Of those eyes
I can't explain
In words because words
Are moving trains
I say this with no hesitation:
You've got to move even if you're shaking
May 2, 2007
4.20.2007
Cities of America
They kind of look alike
Cities by the water
Little buildings, quiet corners
The days are almost identicial
April here, there July
And if I could, I would
Put it all together
Bottle the perfect weather
Take the time to make it right
Live and die a little each night
The cities of America
They're all the same, I love them
I walked away
I drove like thunder up the hill
Down another, around a bend
Kind of like the summer night
Back in '78
Dad drove us for ice cream
In the Pennsylvania countryside
While Prove It All Night played
For the first time ever, on WMMR
I had a job to do in 2006
Wait it out, until the show was over
Be strong and silent 'til the show was over
Be strong and loud when we went across town
To the Midwest bar, with the Midwest mouths
But I'd said all I wanted to say already
In the summers of '86 and '97
I had nowhere to go but down
The next day, she drove me to the airport
That felt like a bus station
Portraying a train station
And I haven't been to Milwaukee since
I feel better today
San Diego plays itself
Like a shadow of its former self
I remember back in '95
I got the phone call that Dad had died
And I don't know why but
The next day I drove and just kept driving
To the edge of town, past the edge of town
To the edge of big smaller towns
From North Hollywood to San Diego
In almost record time
Today, I broke the record
Down the fat and filthy 405
To the down and dirty 5
To the achy 805
Same towns, no darkness today
Just sun and good graces
Yes, I'll go places
I'll wait here on the patio
And write about another night
One I drove too slow
Ended up on the wrong side of Philadelphia
Followed the sun back to the north
Listened to Steely Dan sing of Haitian Divorce
23 years before I got myself an American one
Never trust memory
When it's only memory
Yes, all the cities look alike
When you're waiting under red umbrellas
That remind you of your family
That remind you of your honeymoon
That remind you not to speak too soon
Always trust your life
It's your only life
April 14, 2007
Cities by the water
Little buildings, quiet corners
The days are almost identicial
April here, there July
And if I could, I would
Put it all together
Bottle the perfect weather
Take the time to make it right
Live and die a little each night
The cities of America
They're all the same, I love them
I walked away
I drove like thunder up the hill
Down another, around a bend
Kind of like the summer night
Back in '78
Dad drove us for ice cream
In the Pennsylvania countryside
While Prove It All Night played
For the first time ever, on WMMR
I had a job to do in 2006
Wait it out, until the show was over
Be strong and silent 'til the show was over
Be strong and loud when we went across town
To the Midwest bar, with the Midwest mouths
But I'd said all I wanted to say already
In the summers of '86 and '97
I had nowhere to go but down
The next day, she drove me to the airport
That felt like a bus station
Portraying a train station
And I haven't been to Milwaukee since
I feel better today
San Diego plays itself
Like a shadow of its former self
I remember back in '95
I got the phone call that Dad had died
And I don't know why but
The next day I drove and just kept driving
To the edge of town, past the edge of town
To the edge of big smaller towns
From North Hollywood to San Diego
In almost record time
Today, I broke the record
Down the fat and filthy 405
To the down and dirty 5
To the achy 805
Same towns, no darkness today
Just sun and good graces
Yes, I'll go places
I'll wait here on the patio
And write about another night
One I drove too slow
Ended up on the wrong side of Philadelphia
Followed the sun back to the north
Listened to Steely Dan sing of Haitian Divorce
23 years before I got myself an American one
Never trust memory
When it's only memory
Yes, all the cities look alike
When you're waiting under red umbrellas
That remind you of your family
That remind you of your honeymoon
That remind you not to speak too soon
Always trust your life
It's your only life
April 14, 2007
4.16.2007
Natalie and Michael
Natalie spends the night
Walking country roads, taking pictures
Of UFOs and SUVs
But the secret is
Though the flash goes off
There's no film inside
No, she can't explain it
Michael's hotel bed
Seems sandy tonight
Like he went to the beach
And laid on the bed without showering
But that's not the case
It's just sandy
No, he can't explain it
Natalie asks her husband
Why she always looks better
In black-and-white photos
Why she looks like a spinster in color
But her husband's asleep
Dreaming of coffee and tomorrow's to-do list
So Natalie spits in his hair
Michael calls the front desk
"Can you send up new sheets?
I'll put them on myself"
The night-desk man, suspicious of requests for new linens
But obsequious to people like Mike
Sends up a fitted
And an unfitted
The next morning, at the stained glass shop in town
Natalie orders a new window
For the baby's room, "something with swans and hummingbirds"
The artisan nods and says what he always says
"How many hummingbirds? What color swans?"
"Seven and black"
Then she ventures to the pub for a hearty ale
And writes a song about a wedding veil
Michael stays on his new smooth sheet
And writes a song about the
For Natalie, for when she deigns to sing again
Back home, Natalie retires
To her Great Room
With her opium and apple brandy
She dims the light 'til there's one candle left
She grabs her notebook (college-ruled)
Tears off the page with the wedding veil song
Burns the song into a dot
Finds a fresh sheet
And, with her quill pen, writes the words....
“I see a white light
It looks like a circus
But it’s not a circus
It’s only a light”
The next morning Natalie calls Michael
To wish him a happy birthday, a day early
Michael says thank you, acts distracted
And hangs up without saying goodbye
These conversations with Natalie have been going nowhere for years
He retreats to the hotel café to meet an old college friend, a fire eater
The friend says “Mike, we need to talk”
So Mike and the fire eater take a walk around the city
Past the stump houses and the peeling, sweating mansions
Past the girls on bicycles
And the boys on bicycles
Past Old Joe the Jazz Hippie
Past the garage where they worked on Mike’s Volvo
Back when he could still drive
The fire eater, a bowlegged woman with tattoos of volcanoes
Tells Mike to rest until he could sleep again
To stay quiet until he could sing
To travel the world and not trust
“People who look in yer eye when they speak”
Mike heeds her advice
But Natalie he can’t shake
When she calls back and says
“Must have lost reception”
He hangs up again, unplugs the hotel phone
Spills into the Pacific night, walking the low streets
With his Kangol on but no sunglasses
Nodding at those who recognize him
And cursing those who don't
4.13.2007
Seven Poems
Today, you get seven poems because:
-Today is Friday the 13th. "Lucky number 7" erases "bad luck 13."
-I haven't posted for a while... I need to catch up.
2. However Far
6. The Mortal
-Today is Friday the 13th. "Lucky number 7" erases "bad luck 13."
-I haven't posted for a while... I need to catch up.
1. The Galleys
The galleys are shut down
For President’s Day
A marker for a dollar waits
Where a deck of cards will sit the day
After next
What a mess
The sky makes when it’s blue
One ship’s gray and withered
Another, spit-shined, waits for its crew
They call her Patricia
She doesn’t want sympathy
For beauty bleeds
What it fails to blur completely
Anyway, she’s a ship, not a person
At 4:00 PM, these places become each other
As big sister turns into little brother
And the buses roll on home
Ahead of schedule
The galleys are boarded up
For February
Tomorrow’s promise broken
Too soon, it’s not time yet
Patience is a pretty thing
A promised kiss, an open field
The ingredients are kept
Cool in the ocean realm
Until leap year’s extra pocket hides the keys
To the battered locker where they store the open seas
And the old men’s childhoods
Merge with the younger men’s thirsts
And the women hold the stature
In the minds of every man
Mothers, wives, and figments
Of scrolls of names misremembered
The galleys may never open
Again
February 2004 - Santa Monica, CA
2. However Far
The fear will skip generations
If it moves at all
Otherwise it will die a death
Typical of its ilk
Crying out for sour milk
And doubling the beauty
There’s a trembling before you
A treble full of bass
The lower notes hanging
From balconies
2004
3. Creature Names
Loud enough, you conjure a scene
Where the landings are hard
But the sinew is tough
The prehistoric places
Are sick with forgetting
And full from the passing of years
We met at the mall
The one with the roller coaster
She explained it was halfway between us
Dinner was brisk
The movie, a risk
The walk to the parking structure a scene out of place
But we weren’t going anywhere
From the pit of my brain
I’ll find that the knives
Cut on both sides
And the ministers are ladies too
That’s the brilliant truth
4. The Beautiful End of the World
This man to be your witness
To candles blown as rush to judgment
To sheets pulled tight like victimhood?
As you tour the streets of your town
Its meddlesome reminders
That time is sinking?
The dirt of love
You look, you see
Curdled milk, a stray apostrophe
Seven hours to the rush of light
Shrouded by fog, the light becomes the color of your hair
Is he in September as he will be in June?
Does he forgive the passing of the gentlest moon
Uncorrupted and sad as eyes
But still the color of morning light, your hair
Fevers in and up
Like fireworks in church
A million lesser evils
Than the circumstance of love
Did you/did you see the moss
As it cradled every rock
You came across in your latest pretty shoes?
If you did, you’re loved and if not, then
Love is a delicate curmudgeon
To a circus of cooing children
Or a carnival of kittens
Or three men at a table
Holding court on the end of the world
The beautiful end of the world
You’re tired, we can see it
You shake as you press the keys
You’re calling with news you can’t remember the name of
You’re calling someone you once loved
He’ll tell you to cover your flowers
But your flowers are dead, let them lie cold
You miss them but then
Death is your witness
That time is no trickster with sticky cards
Or lopsided dice or hollow head hats
Or bent pens
You remember when they offered you cheese
And a free check-up
But your back was free and flexible
And cheese and you disagreed
So you smiled and thought
“Ill remember this later”
Now it’s later and do you?
Don’t nod, speak with words
Do you/will you?
I think you just did
And so all truths are evident
5. There Are Amusement Parks, Patrick
Where the lines are as long
As the street that winds around
The reservoir near your house
In deepest, fiercest New Jersey
But the rides, they are fun
And the nationalist sun
Shines through cotton nicely
Where the traffic lights seem
Like they’re hanging from heaven
God’s up there controlling the flow
Of cars on the streets with the names
From the middle 1960s
But the left turns can get risky
God gives no arrow, you’re on your own
I’ve learned from my travels
I’ve gleaned from my readings
I’ll send you a list of indexed experience
You’re a trusted friend
It’s the least and the most I can do
The Ninieties, Minneapolis
6. The Mortal
He could have been affixed to boards, a Christian death
He could have been punch drunk dead, a victory
He could have choked on almonds and Christmas cookies
But he had none of that
He walked off slowly
He fell in circles
His eyes were ancient
Before they were shut
7. Seasonal Affective Disorder
She’s got Seasonal Affective Disorder
She keeps the shades drawn, pretends it’s summer
She keeps busy but mostly counts the days
Until the last snow melts away
Dead presidents and aging teen idols
In February she watches late night TV
She forgets the best jokes by morning
She’s got Seasonal Affective Disorder
She takes pills but they don’t do a thing
She shouldn’t be living in Minnesota
But the challenge is half the fun
Abraham Lincoln never wrote a will
David Cassidy wrote three
Did you hear the one about the President
Playing golf with the Partridge Family?
In darkness it’s colder, and coldness is death
She’s got Seasonal Affective Disorder
That's fascinating to me
1998, Minneapolis
3.20.2007
Dirty Brea
Dirty Brea, filthy Brea
Your streets are paved with Robert Smith
Your trees are trimmed with amethyst
Stumps forgotten, leaves gone rotten
I love you Brea, I hate you too
There is no order but there's always you
Dirty Brea, filthy Brea
Lambert is lined with broken tiles
Shattered tables for a quarter-mile
I swore I'd never go back but
Poolside, we drank the sweetened iced tea
And the carport holds the deepest memory
Dirty Brea, filthy Brea
Your mall is built on wishful thinking
Your canyon's dry for teenage drinking
Date Street swoons behind Imperial
And dead ends at that little house
The purple house, the perfect house
March 20, 2007
Your streets are paved with Robert Smith
Your trees are trimmed with amethyst
Stumps forgotten, leaves gone rotten
I love you Brea, I hate you too
There is no order but there's always you
Dirty Brea, filthy Brea
Lambert is lined with broken tiles
Shattered tables for a quarter-mile
I swore I'd never go back but
Poolside, we drank the sweetened iced tea
And the carport holds the deepest memory
Dirty Brea, filthy Brea
Your mall is built on wishful thinking
Your canyon's dry for teenage drinking
Date Street swoons behind Imperial
And dead ends at that little house
The purple house, the perfect house
March 20, 2007
3.08.2007
Flashback Caruso
I didn't know
That a German wrote that song
It makes sense, the funny English
The poetry, the fatalism, the existential hope
All of 20th century Europe
Distilled into three short verses
In retrospect, it was obvious
That it wasn't written by anyone
From San Francisco
But still
She brought it home
She sounded less tentative
More grounded, dreamier
March 8, 2007
That a German wrote that song
It makes sense, the funny English
The poetry, the fatalism, the existential hope
All of 20th century Europe
Distilled into three short verses
In retrospect, it was obvious
That it wasn't written by anyone
From San Francisco
But still
She brought it home
She sounded less tentative
More grounded, dreamier
March 8, 2007
3.07.2007
Franklin
through the undead part of Hollywood
castles, cabs, and carnivals
abstract national holidays
a cave-like colony, a setting sun
tell me you’re the only one
tell me you’re the only one
held together by mottled skin
said to me “remember
the glorious past, the levitating,
the parties, the retirement coffee
remember, please remember”
where the hills are hamstrung by the trees
here, take one of these
something real is happening
a ceiling, shrouded, gilded
pretending that there is no sun
tell me you’re the only one
tell me you’re the only one
May 5, 1997
2.28.2007
Shape of Anticipation
There are a few little things
I notice when you're sleeping
One, I see a pull toward warmth, a closing
Two, I see a twitch, a tic, a stir, a stop
Three, I see stillness
I'm asleep myself before there can be four
Instead of running away or taking away
Let's call it something else
Like making songs or raking leaves
Or writing histories
Big things up close
Small things from far away
In the moment before
We speak of belonging
Or the moment after
We speak it again
I hear in the exhalation
A sweet anticipation
If I had to guess its color
I'd say orange
If I had to guess its shape
I'd say a bendy line
Two sides meeting, closing
Into a barely open eye
If I had to pick a place
I'd want to see that orange shape
It would be a finger length above
The smaller of the two big planes
February 28, 2007
I notice when you're sleeping
One, I see a pull toward warmth, a closing
Two, I see a twitch, a tic, a stir, a stop
Three, I see stillness
I'm asleep myself before there can be four
Instead of running away or taking away
Let's call it something else
Like making songs or raking leaves
Or writing histories
Big things up close
Small things from far away
In the moment before
We speak of belonging
Or the moment after
We speak it again
I hear in the exhalation
A sweet anticipation
If I had to guess its color
I'd say orange
If I had to guess its shape
I'd say a bendy line
Two sides meeting, closing
Into a barely open eye
If I had to pick a place
I'd want to see that orange shape
It would be a finger length above
The smaller of the two big planes
February 28, 2007
May Not Have Been An Oak
the kindness you think is free
is broken glass to me
stained but shiny still
the kindness won’t, history will
the tree that stood forlorn
may not have been an oak
the words were not heartfelt
the poem was a joke
in strands from your white sink
glistens and meanders
its death a dollar drink
I will pull along for you
until the first desert day
when we reach the mystic spot
I will pull and turn away
is broken glass to me
stained but shiny still
the kindness won’t, history will
the tree that stood forlorn
may not have been an oak
the words were not heartfelt
the poem was a joke
in strands from your white sink
glistens and meanders
its death a dollar drink
I will pull along for you
until the first desert day
when we reach the mystic spot
I will pull and turn away
the picture frames you build
from clear glue and trees killed
have grown weary with age
old wood, decline, rage
two spirits, deserted in a bleak sun
screaming “I’m the only one!”
but one of you is wrong
the older sister, all along
you tumble, gravely, to the soil
and listen to the dead ones
gravity is the enemy
the fallen freaks the poet shuns
and I know your eye shape
changes with each day
but that will mean little
when the loved one is away
Your First Time
you came to Chicago, a child almost
is a brittle sky, a breakable one
tell me all you know
about why you are this way
was it what you were given
when you landed in O’Hare
with a ribbon in your hair
and a suitcase full of summer clothes
even though
it was November
you made a hopeful gesture
you thought you could handle
both spirituality and mayhem
you almost pulled it off
it almost came alive your hands
you’re so polite
from your first time, there are movements now
in neighborhoods, all over town
movements to make changes
small revolutions
international city
no place is as vital
in the way it moves
both for peace
and distance
cynics forget that distance makes the dust
irrelevant
distance makes the day seem a proud thing
April 16, 1998
Technology Drive
for the pleasure of your regrets
I will claim the system
has a root in the dead ground
of Technology Drive
when we were alive
it was all too good
it was all we wanted anyway
I will deem you weak
I will make your noise
turn inward on its late lost self
it was a different kind of home
leave my monkey alone
April 15, 1998
I will claim the system
has a root in the dead ground
of Technology Drive
when we were alive
it was all too good
it was all we wanted anyway
I will deem you weak
I will make your noise
turn inward on its late lost self
it was a different kind of home
leave my monkey alone
April 15, 1998
2.21.2007
I See the White House
I see the white house, I’m hard of hearing
this angle, it’s a new one
the sun is bright, the sky is brilliant
the blue looks like it’s made of tin
and you as high as tusks of elephants
and you as low as limbo down
and you as warm as bread and flowers
we washed our hands of you
we washed because our hands were washed of you
I see the white house, I’m hard of hearing
the crowds have come to hear us
the claws of indignity are out and we have nothing
you think because I called out, I have a plan to carry through
but folks like me, we call out, we have no plan, we have no secrets
no secrets like some men do
I see the shambles of your roaring years ahead of us
you fell with trumpets blaring nothing good and nothing new
your shiny ways, your paste and cardboard, you should see it now
but you’re alone, asleep in gardens
asleep alone, you’ll wake tomorrow
I see the white house, I’m hard of hearing
goodbye to all that, sometimes it’s the truth
this angle, it’s a new one
the sun is bright, the sky is brilliant
the blue looks like it’s made of tin
and you as high as tusks of elephants
and you as low as limbo down
and you as warm as bread and flowers
we washed our hands of you
we washed because our hands were washed of you
I see the white house, I’m hard of hearing
the crowds have come to hear us
the claws of indignity are out and we have nothing
you think because I called out, I have a plan to carry through
but folks like me, we call out, we have no plan, we have no secrets
no secrets like some men do
I see the shambles of your roaring years ahead of us
you fell with trumpets blaring nothing good and nothing new
your shiny ways, your paste and cardboard, you should see it now
but you’re alone, asleep in gardens
asleep alone, you’ll wake tomorrow
I see the white house, I’m hard of hearing
goodbye to all that, sometimes it’s the truth
September 28, 1999
2.19.2007
From Somewhere
Once not enough, too much
Light and wrath and comprehension
The thin line of dissension
The colors of the artifact
Its diagram pulse, the ratcheted rush
A call to weak arms, a warning
That marking the walls
With words like tragedy
Is a mistake
Unless you mean it
Stemmed from the moments
In between its pulses, its beats and fake movement
It was over
Before it felt it
Light and wrath and comprehension
The thin line of dissension
The colors of the artifact
Its diagram pulse, the ratcheted rush
A call to weak arms, a warning
That marking the walls
With words like tragedy
Is a mistake
Unless you mean it
Stemmed from the moments
In between its pulses, its beats and fake movement
It was over
Before it felt it
The dynamic inside
The room caved me in
It trucked my intentions
Over the highway, over the country
Until the dam stood
Threatening to break
Breaks when spoken to
Speaks when broken through
But loud is good in silent springs
When cats and dogs and goats grow wings
To warn of
The end of time
The look of love
The book of days, a round world
Of emeralds, stars, and oil
But then, who knew?
The third page of the book
Breathed enemies into fire
And sold amateurs the secrets
Solutions for the last revolution we would know
But lifetimes
Roll over
And nothing dies, nothing is the last thing
Just the first thing or the worst thing
They called the rookies over
And read a list of grave mistakes
Heads nodded, throats cleared
Spires gleamed, truckers trucked
So the room, the party, got crowded
Breaths met breaths, cookies crumbled
Drinks were celebrated with clinking plastic
It was a beautiful moment
Until the mood changed
When the man in white mentioned
That the women in black
Looked like she was
From somewhere
Twice seems right
The second time for ruing
The first time’s regrets
October 12, 2003
2.18.2007
The Fiercest Horse
I am the fiercest
of the dull horses, their sparkle
tainted by years
aristocratic years
of harsh words
savage, arthritic meditations
ones without vowels, no pauses
allowed
the guttural shaming of a language
has ominously
arrived
respected but derided
because of your shocking
cover up, the courage felt
is heartrending
but meaningless to riders
imprisoned
by the shame of a language
of the free horses
run to valleys, forget
what makes you run
your weakness real
your hatred strong
but I am more fierce
it is a bell that sounds
eternally
of the dull horses, their sparkle
tainted by years
aristocratic years
of harsh words
savage, arthritic meditations
ones without vowels, no pauses
allowed
the guttural shaming of a language
has ominously
arrived
respected but derided
because of your shocking
cover up, the courage felt
is heartrending
but meaningless to riders
imprisoned
by the shame of a language
of the free horses
run to valleys, forget
what makes you run
your weakness real
your hatred strong
but I am more fierce
it is a bell that sounds
eternally
2.16.2007
The Only Two Poems I Wrote Between July 19 and August 20, 1998 (an otherwise incredibly prolific year for me, poetically)
Trouble
and it’s those desires, the ones that get you into trouble
that you need to be wary of
no point in discovering
that you are weaker than you know
or
no need to hesitate
jump in, swim around, and soak in the colors
dream it out
dream the trouble out
until you’re weak from squirming
The Youngest Spinster
today, black, yesterday, bandages, tomorrow, not to be known, I am only guessing here
flowers growing on her legs
flowers growing, with a flourish, on her legs
and it’s those desires, the ones that get you into trouble
that you need to be wary of
no point in discovering
that you are weaker than you know
or
no need to hesitate
jump in, swim around, and soak in the colors
dream it out
dream the trouble out
until you’re weak from squirming
The Youngest Spinster
today, black, yesterday, bandages, tomorrow, not to be known, I am only guessing here
flowers growing on her legs
flowers growing, with a flourish, on her legs
2.11.2007
Palminteri
Taken less seriously
Than the old sincerity
He’s a man, he’s a boy, he’s “what the hell is this?”
Of blood to the heart
Bushy haired and bloated
Like his father, like his son
Like the shrill of his voice when he’s angry
Descending upon our valley
Its mountains and pointy trees spotting our sight
Boulevard warehouses, boxes on wheels
A new generation, it’s time to change formats
“they promise me nothing these days”
His mother says “Charlie, I told you this years ago –
Bastards underestimate beauty”
He remembers hell
He remembers pentagons of trees
He remember garlands
‘round necks of Girl Scouts
Sadly
There’s nothing to do about that
But slam shut the memory trap
Says “where’s my goddamn paper?” To the sticky sky
The sticky sky disgusts him, so he runs back inside
Says “coffee for me” to himself, as his runners sleep late
Of numbers encoded
Of meetings in mornings
With agents of his own decline
‘til they finally get it right
One day in the bulk canyon light
His is the celebrity
Taken like parody
Given like sanctity
To the women, once scouts, now old like him
Of hockey shirt Saturdays at work
Sandals on sand, a fake gun in his hand
The dolly jitters, to suggest tension
As he says to the bleached woman in black
“Can’t I use my prescription sunglasses?”
She looks away
And defers to a higher power
Of what he sees there
On the folding table, uneven on the beach
As the sun shrugs its shoulders and slumps for the night
And the men with cargo pants pack up the machinery
He looks to both sides before wrapping
The blotched Thin Mints in his handkerchief
He looks again and then pockets his prize
Thinking “they can fuck me, they can fuck me, they can fuck me."
2002
2.05.2007
Wrists
Wrists
Are resilient
The neck is a blank slate
The street where you live
Is quiet enough
To get caught
But loud enough
For a squeal like that
To go unnoticed
The night
Is still young
The day
Is still dead
Sunday goes to Wednesday
Like
THAT
And then the sleeping is
Good, the dreams and interruptions
Are serious and fun
All at the same
Time
And in between there's a tap on the shoulder
A twist of the arm
Look up, into my eyes
There it is
No
Don't look away, not like that
Because if you do, remember
Wrists are resilient but it still
Hurts and blank slates get filled
And nothing's too loud
With the music turned up
Like this
There's no such thing
As a quiet kiss
Are resilient
The neck is a blank slate
The street where you live
Is quiet enough
To get caught
But loud enough
For a squeal like that
To go unnoticed
The night
Is still young
The day
Is still dead
Sunday goes to Wednesday
Like
THAT
And then the sleeping is
Good, the dreams and interruptions
Are serious and fun
All at the same
Time
And in between there's a tap on the shoulder
A twist of the arm
Look up, into my eyes
There it is
No
Don't look away, not like that
Because if you do, remember
Wrists are resilient but it still
Hurts and blank slates get filled
And nothing's too loud
With the music turned up
Like this
There's no such thing
As a quiet kiss
2.01.2007
Axl Stole My Braids
In 2003, Offspring lead singer Dexter Holland vowed to steal Axl Rose's proposed title of the new Guns 'N Roses - Chinese Democracy - for his own band's next album. Holland was quoted in the Los Angeles times as saying "Axl stole my braids so I stole his album title." Immediately upon reading this, I wrote the following poem:
Dexter makes his grand entrance
To the House on the Rock
He says "Is this place for real?"
The tour guide tells a story
Of a man with a wife and a fetish
But all Dexter can think is
"Axl stole my braids"
Dexter remembers his mother's reminder
That milk is for cookies and cookies for girls
"But Mom it doesn't matter
Because rock and roll lives on
And shadows make the sun
I don't blame the victim but
Axl stole my braids"
The next day Dexter visits John Ashcroft
And asks him what he thinks
About the future of punk
Ashcroft says "No good punk"
Dexter says "You're right
But did you see, did you hear, did you know
While you were rounding up immigrants
Like in my most famous song
While you were pissing on the constitution
Like in my second most famous song
While you were bemoaning that Carnahan's plane went down
Costing you the election
Axl stole my braids"
Then, a knock on the door
The man from the House on the Rock says
"Frank Lloyd Wright never built his own grave
Doesn't that make you gentleman think?"
Ashcroft runs into traffic
Dexter says "See you in hell, motherfucking patrician!"
Stephen Malkmus appears on the scene, wincing
"Did someone call my name?"
Dexter thinks "Shit, these guys out-talent me
But they'll never outwork me
Axl stole my braids"
On the plane back to John Wayne
Don Henley introduces himself
Dexter says "Eagle, I remember when
You signed your letters to the editor
With three cities after your name"
Henley adjusts his toupee and says
"Ah yes. Santa Monica, Santa Fe,
And I don't remember the third"
"Aspen and Axl stole my braids"
Back home, Dexter takes a day trip
To go see the master, Lindsey Buckingham
Over stale Turkish coffee, Lindsey says
"Man, you had some hooks
But you got stuck in all that rage"
Dexter laughs
Lindsey says "It's not that funny"
Dexter says "Isn't it?"
Lindsey shakes his head, sending spirals of stringy hair
Into what's left of Dexter's Turkish
Dexter cries, runs out of the compound
Into the Malibu half-dusk
He screams, to the coyotes
To the mountain lions
To the heathens and the architects
"Axl!
Stole!
My!
Braids!"
(postscript: The Offspring, perhaps reacting to Rose's cease-and-desist order called their next album Splinter. Guns N Roses' Chinese Democracy has never been released)
Dexter makes his grand entrance
To the House on the Rock
He says "Is this place for real?"
The tour guide tells a story
Of a man with a wife and a fetish
But all Dexter can think is
"Axl stole my braids"
Dexter remembers his mother's reminder
That milk is for cookies and cookies for girls
"But Mom it doesn't matter
Because rock and roll lives on
And shadows make the sun
I don't blame the victim but
Axl stole my braids"
The next day Dexter visits John Ashcroft
And asks him what he thinks
About the future of punk
Ashcroft says "No good punk"
Dexter says "You're right
But did you see, did you hear, did you know
While you were rounding up immigrants
Like in my most famous song
While you were pissing on the constitution
Like in my second most famous song
While you were bemoaning that Carnahan's plane went down
Costing you the election
Axl stole my braids"
Then, a knock on the door
The man from the House on the Rock says
"Frank Lloyd Wright never built his own grave
Doesn't that make you gentleman think?"
Ashcroft runs into traffic
Dexter says "See you in hell, motherfucking patrician!"
Stephen Malkmus appears on the scene, wincing
"Did someone call my name?"
Dexter thinks "Shit, these guys out-talent me
But they'll never outwork me
Axl stole my braids"
On the plane back to John Wayne
Don Henley introduces himself
Dexter says "Eagle, I remember when
You signed your letters to the editor
With three cities after your name"
Henley adjusts his toupee and says
"Ah yes. Santa Monica, Santa Fe,
And I don't remember the third"
"Aspen and Axl stole my braids"
Back home, Dexter takes a day trip
To go see the master, Lindsey Buckingham
Over stale Turkish coffee, Lindsey says
"Man, you had some hooks
But you got stuck in all that rage"
Dexter laughs
Lindsey says "It's not that funny"
Dexter says "Isn't it?"
Lindsey shakes his head, sending spirals of stringy hair
Into what's left of Dexter's Turkish
Dexter cries, runs out of the compound
Into the Malibu half-dusk
He screams, to the coyotes
To the mountain lions
To the heathens and the architects
"Axl!
Stole!
My!
Braids!"
(postscript: The Offspring, perhaps reacting to Rose's cease-and-desist order called their next album Splinter. Guns N Roses' Chinese Democracy has never been released)
1.31.2007
Shadow and Peek
I could write books
with my serious looks
or sonnets with 13 lines
but I prefer to speak
as I shadow and peek
into rooms I was in
a moment before
A kiss is a word
A word is a promise
The palm of my hand
lands in the space
I preordained for contact
it's nice there
I like it
I could hold hands
and then let go
but then who'd know
about you
but me?
So make a sound
audible, memorable
I'll be above, I'll be around
looking inside, holding you down
January 31, 2007
with my serious looks
or sonnets with 13 lines
but I prefer to speak
as I shadow and peek
into rooms I was in
a moment before
A kiss is a word
A word is a promise
The palm of my hand
lands in the space
I preordained for contact
it's nice there
I like it
I could hold hands
and then let go
but then who'd know
about you
but me?
So make a sound
audible, memorable
I'll be above, I'll be around
looking inside, holding you down
January 31, 2007
1.22.2007
The Squall
the squall today is a sorry one
a slap in the face of the lot of us
a pinch of the lobe with a brush-back vibe
so don’t hate the sunshine ‘til it’s gone gone gone
the left side of your face is a subtle one
raising an eyebrow just to make a half-heart whole
and that’s the woman I remember
long before the picture-cropping days
if I’m too coy in my one-track way
I promise to liberate my messages
from the page to the mouth to your feet to the world
can’t help but love the way it feels today
January 22, 1999
a slap in the face of the lot of us
a pinch of the lobe with a brush-back vibe
so don’t hate the sunshine ‘til it’s gone gone gone
the left side of your face is a subtle one
raising an eyebrow just to make a half-heart whole
and that’s the woman I remember
long before the picture-cropping days
if I’m too coy in my one-track way
I promise to liberate my messages
from the page to the mouth to your feet to the world
can’t help but love the way it feels today
January 22, 1999
1.09.2007
Movie Marquee
the cherub wore white walking shoes
singing the silly Willie blues
as he chased the city buses by foot
the cherub wore white walking shoes
spilling the secret agent news
as the buses beat him every time
butterscotch, strawberry, and peach
the mermaid loved her taffy recipe
handed down from mermaids before her
I put up A, I put up B, I put up C
I did it all and then it all
disappeared like midnight into moonlight into you
from the man who loved her the best
in the winter of ’56
the spinster wore her special sweater vest
from the man who once confessed
that their one winter felt like spring
the fairy had never been kissed
years of promises never kept
the fairy dreamed of kisses from gods
and frogs and demons and sprites
on that movie marquee
I put up N, I put up O, I put up P
I did it all and then it all
disappeared like midnight into moonlight into you
singing the silly Willie blues
as he chased the city buses by foot
the cherub wore white walking shoes
spilling the secret agent news
as the buses beat him every time
butterscotch, strawberry, and peach
the mermaid loved her taffy recipe
handed down from mermaids before her
I put up A, I put up B, I put up C
I did it all and then it all
disappeared like midnight into moonlight into you
from the man who loved her the best
in the winter of ’56
the spinster wore her special sweater vest
from the man who once confessed
that their one winter felt like spring
the fairy had never been kissed
years of promises never kept
the fairy dreamed of kisses from gods
and frogs and demons and sprites
on that movie marquee
I put up N, I put up O, I put up P
I did it all and then it all
disappeared like midnight into moonlight into you
1.05.2007
The Decree of the Universe
The Kings of Convenience
Meet the Queens of the Stone Age
Halfway between
The desert and the fjords
In two old beat up Fords
Fiestas, of course
It's all they can afford
In this age of illegal downloads
Meanwhile, back at the Stereolab
An Audioslave toils the day
Converting Excel to Access
And back again
His only friend
A beat up Discman
His favorite lover
A discarded box cutter
The Go-Betweens go between the motions
Grasping at paychecks while Macaloon, blind
Envisions a comeback called a resurrection
The megahertz is trawled upon
>From sleepy dusk to singing dawn
And everyone Holds their head Steady
Until the mountain earthquakes itself
Into the glorious ocean
The Queens of the Stone Age
Meet the Kings of Convenience
On a dusty cat-haired window sill
In the one shady street on Potrero Hill
It's too crowded so they reconvene
On Billy Joel's old Village Green
But Bill can't drive anymore
On paved roads or dirt
In his punk rock T-shirt
Not to worry, the universe
Still has room, the universe
Never sends the songs back
The universe says bring it on
Break it up and hey hey my
Send the best hooks to the sky
Drive the trucks through, make them fly
The fjords will melt into their hallowed ground
The desert evenings will cool the festive sound
The blondest boy in Alexandria
Will shake the trees of all their mangoes
And eat until his eyes turn orange
May 27, 2005
1.02.2007
Rubber Shoes
rubber shoes are getting old
summer blues are getting old
higher noise is getting old
bitter air is getting old
love fools are getting old
“Sara Smile” is getting old
walking trails are getting old
pine needles are getting old
wounded sky is getting old
rubber shoes are getting old
April 5, 1999
summer blues are getting old
higher noise is getting old
bitter air is getting old
love fools are getting old
“Sara Smile” is getting old
walking trails are getting old
pine needles are getting old
wounded sky is getting old
rubber shoes are getting old
April 5, 1999
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