Wednesday, January 15, 2020

dues

We talked for many years. I moved from a room into a room that became another room. The last room. I was until then not accompanied by many voices. Now I was alone. The bodies were still there. They were still aging but they made no sound. I tried to groan. The empty space around me filled with furniture and mirrors. The room adjacent had opened. From it came the light. I entered backward into my former self. I had many more years to go. I smiled like i was the same. I pulled down the windowless shades. I laughed at the smooth beige walls. We talked again for many years. We buried the house without touching ourselves. We had never reached the point.

drag

arc ack
the drag out back
wouldn;t you know
it; clean
like an alleyway
from above only
the slightest hint of
cracks if you
focus right on the
periphery no bottle
is broken
underfoot or pressed
to mouth
they're all perfect
gourd shaped
heaven UNYIELDING
nature growing from a
concrete schism like a yard
sale;  this alone
does not prove the version
seen is fake just RELATED to
other static commas
coughed out onto that field
between sidewalk and street
a NATURE of problems
growing trash
hack watered down
with acid rain

Tuesday, January 7, 2020

drum

a few more broken bottles kissed
by the digital clock

that night you said throw
a 40 out of the window
on the second story and
I did

it crashed on the balcony below
between bodies     shattered on concrete

that morning you asked me to
wait as you vomited whiskey and
port wine onto south philly
streets

mixing your innards with oil
and spit     painted on the curb

that night you looked up
and out of your frames and said
you thought you were
a bear

shivering in the acid revere
of your imagination    tasting metallic tinge

that morning I crawled into
the bathroom drinking
half a can of beer left over
from days before

watching my face age in the
mirror before me     wondering if will die


Thursday, January 2, 2020

dream of a dream

this event is taking place
in a spasm of time     unlike
a dream    i can walk up stairs
without leaning against
a wall      feeling the cold wet
paint against my cheek    carrying
a son to bed    there's a man with a
large feline head waiting in
shadow     this place is carved
out of a nook in my memory
i have been there daily
but here it is never the same
it is unnerving    without
footing     purchase    relief
concrete    there is a realness
to it that is grating    like words
whispered in the dark    failure
fatherhood     around each turn
the hallway creaks    yawns
air heavy and black felt-like
and suffocating     heat
regrettable death

Monday, December 23, 2019

RAT TRAPS FOR SWEET MEATS

waked by mother jones
entombed on sigh post
faced to national guard posts
back against the combined might
of the Pentecostal awakening
broken by the sea of automated engines
selling their gooey insides to to
the lowest bidder
balanced on one iron leg she stands
CHAMPION OF LABOR
a block away the US army
barricades itself in
protected the most important
AMERICAN ASSETS
its PRECIOUS WALLS
she is unaware of the years slowly eroded
or the yellow grass beneath her
the doldrums of Mays forgotten
half lit on radiator screens
brushed over by calloused finger
she was MOTHER of ALL
the sad chain gang of FLESH MACHINES
bred in factories
worked in conveyor belt fields
dreaming fabulous MECHANICAL dreams.

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Gone

my grandparents house
still exists.

in the drawers in the bedroom
upstairs
facing out toward the street
my pop's impeccably
folded clothes

his musty forever smell

the orange carpets
that quiet the stairs
remain there

the railing that shook
but never failed.

the mirror along the living room
wall
reflecting the circle coffee table
the two lounge chairs

the kitchen directly behind

the space between the oven
and cabinets still slim
enough for only a single
body to pass

to the basement steps
just and inch or two
too short

and noticeable

the exposed basement ceiling
the sound of my nana
walking slowly upstairs

heat from the oven working
its way though the floor

she is there missing my
pop

she is there being alone

they are there at the table sitting
at each end

my nana is placing my brother
in his high chair

my pop is feigning disgust
over my sister's laughter

my grandparents house is
still exists.

my grandparents house is
still there.

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

a mushroom grows in winter

last seen
in empty street
hands on crooked chin

just vanish

old island junction split

heard a witness screaming
consumed in lives

a number of years
strung like murder

investigations

unsolved reunion cases

not long after
abduction border lines
decomposing

no body knows

just jump off rutted roads
no tires to churn
the light

Friday, September 20, 2019

Cat

and with the sun tucked under
your arm,
you carried my eyes before
the dawn

when i woke up i had forgotten
where to go

because there was no there
where you left me

that was many dreams ago

the last time we talked
you would never close your eyes again

or breathe

'dying is like going to sleep
and never waking up'

and i was there
where ill be

when im the next to find our dream

and we can say good night
forever.

to mourn the loss of the sky

but i was born after the fact
and when i landed you would have noticed 
my eyes were gray
If you had watched where I fell 
instead of looking away 

Monday, September 16, 2019

Blood for money

i push my fingernail against
a broken tooth

but the nail bends

maybe i am left behind

a body of broken star systems

defunct
starved of calcified bones

ground against the
wiper blades of time

i remember when the insides
did not mold and degrade

when i could see within them
the tenuous blue sky

the limitless progress of age

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Rooms devoid of light

wind up the
             harmonic
blades  fundamental to
our vibration memory

vultures sitting on propeller
fern trees
                drooping over skid row alleys
of future LAs

a chronicle of walking without
shoes
           played on repeat
rewound in VCR type

static board and frayed

the aftermath pre-
recorded      for laughs

perfect symmetry

overtone of darkness
paints the sidewalk black
invisible cigarette butts
in invisible hands

only the broken teeth
tear the page

lost in rooms devoid of
light in almost readable text

total blackout last breath

life memory prior to the end

Friday, July 26, 2019

little boy

off

where pain shifts like the ping
of engine

the sound of
                  a thousand cats puking

I

perched on a tree branch
outside your mind

      a mountain top
is flat

if you sleep upon it

think about it

the sky is a blanket of dewdrops
that are vast stars
                               of the void

and you are cold in your sleep
so I cover you with my dreams

wondering

what will you look like in
20 years        I can't even imagine
what you will look like   tomorrow

when I am an afterthought of time

when I peer down from the
blank clouds
that are the deep black
ground

eyes

ivy white and homeless

trying to catch a glimpse
of your mind

no matter how often
we disappear

forever

my little boy

Monday, July 15, 2019

the american dead sea

a neatly folded roadmap
california
sinking into the sea
carmel guilded walls
puzzled pieces
crushed by automobile waves

sitting upright
they discovered the body
shoeless covered in a makeshift
shroud

stomach pumped with military rations

no fire to keep its stiffening
bones warm

long into the summer
they watched it
                          until the morning
they slowly faded into
snow-like debris      leaving the body's
remains to stare off unsolvably 
into the oncoming sunrise         alone

Thursday, July 11, 2019

the problem will not go away

it was a nothing vote
banned in the crosshairs
of permit relations
no dance license

sensationalized official releases
running smoothly thru news boxes
heavily sedated radio waves
convulsing on the street
under the lights of the iron sweeps

no eyed glasses
lined up outside
     blue rats in military formation
formal head gear
broken lifeless teeth

they hung their smiles
from lightposts died out
gleaming like triggers
gun pushers drugged engines

no widely released lineage
steeped in rotting cords
clueless memorialized slime

full of shit

Railyards and YouTube plotlines

they coalesce

in the monitor rays       unplugged

a pine cone lodged in our throat burnt open by canned heat      blue lubricant
expelled for lonely hours
  ozone stench of mucous membrane

sounds of laughter wafting thru headphone  doorways

           pause by unresponsive fingerprints