Old Joe, new nights death and jumping

"What if I just dove off this balcony?"
He said,
"You'd be dead, " I answered.

He was standing in the doorway
drowsily, old Joe drunk, sorrowful,
lamenting, that layer of phony happiness
and smiles torn away by scotch and
beer, we were bare-chested, bastards, fuck-ups
in the summer's heat, the party in shadows behind us,

"I'd rather jump off the Whitman,"
I told him, and truthfully told him,
"Yeah," He mulled it over sloppily,
"The Franklin seems too popular,
everybody is jumping off there, you can't
just walk up on the Whitman, that's determination,
if you did it you'd have to stop traffic, even swerve
your car into both lanes and jump out,
run over the hoods of cars,
climb up to the edge and just go,
and when you're floating between the
bridge and the water, with your arms
outstretched like this, forcing all those
idiots to confront the end, mothers
holding their hands over their children's eyes,
that's when you're truly, finally free, that
moment is it, the only time it's
possible to escape this...this shit.
I'd like to walk the Appalachian Trail,"
He finished.

"And when we do finish," I figured,
"We fucking jump off the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Yeah! And we keep detailed notes, and
take our poetry with us, send it all, send
everything out the day we jump, to
publishers, media, everybody."

"Man, if we did that," I said musing
over my empty beer, watching his
dulled eyes, "We'd
be read man."

"We'd be dead," He was reeling
in this thought, the possibility.

"Yeah, but we'd be read," I repeated
and we smiled at each other through
the years and the trust and the pact,
through the meaningless nights and sounds.

Joking

At night wishing I could film this image
open (tore back) ceiling where I'm asleep
(no death from sudden adult death syndrome fears)
waiting for someone (Joe, Tif) to climb stairs and find me
alone on white couch under handing light serene,
but I'd have ta play two parts like Lon Chaney or
crazy fool Lindsay Lohan teen remake, ugh
what a thought, right...I sorta entertained it for 20 minutes
reading Book of Dreams I'd be asleep
but flash so clear in mind's-eye what a view from heaven
what a joke without a punch-line clever spin

Official Work

syncronized coughing
she goes ahem sarah and
I, maybe before or a little off key
after, ahcahhr, ehemm follows hmmr
there's that awkwardness where we both
know we have to cough but it's like a song
and she's on drums or clarinet

it's warm, spring-like sun shines
on my tinted glasses- I move Jill's shit
out to the street down n up ramps on sidewalks
pass hotdog stand and subway hoagie
weird city M street smells

back to computer office lights
clicking mouse,
"'yeah that was all ad libbed' and
someone's gonna say 'yeah, i can tell'"
at 1:30 USIP

For Joe

The wretched little blue light purple
sky is falling yellow upon us,
tipping the scales and rewriting our losses,
closing up our gains
behind us, sometimes before us
though she doesn't tell you why
or for whom,

leaves pulling past us in the
somehow cool summer
sweating hot and melting ice cream
over your hands and its sticky and soft
and tastes different
when you really think about it,

it's not like it was when we were kids
and didn't know each other
and lived so far apart,
infinitely far flung doubling back over universes
that the world had to bring us together,
making faint noises
like bells ringing or horns honking
megaphones humming pop-goes-the-weasel,
the the scar opened up
at its center and
unknowingly sucked us all in.

June the first

You watch me sleep,
with innocent glances
and mouth wash tinged smiles,
sitting still like
dormant volcanoes,
plotting the destruction
of ignorant youth.

$4.85; A Novel

He lit his cigarette,
took a drag and threw
the match to the ground.
In between these lines
there are pages to read,
You can never touch them all,
there is no ink to dry
and no corners to bend,
Bukowski filled a book
maybe several books,
I haven't got the time,
So I'm leaving the novel up to you
Because I'm sure
if you're reading this
you have even less
to do.