Tuesday, October 27, 2009

A Childs Question

Where will I be,
when you call on me again?
My childhood is the bride
of corporate interest
re: Mikey mouse and Double Dare.
So what will I do,
when you ask of me,
knowing all our magic
has left, that what we had
meant nothing to you
but dollar signs and stock options?

Monday, October 26, 2009

This is your Brain on Graduate School

Retractable parts
in composition,
innate responses
humanity misspelled,

A collection of words
aesthetically pleasing,
arduously placed,
perfectly planned,
and to wit--

I've run out of space,

A copy of Been in the Storm So Long
motionless next to me,
aging, yellowed and unread
yet, there is a certain serenity
in sleeping words
carefully configured with the meanings

of love lose love lose love
and lose
but that's the most important
to tell us how much we've lost
and how little we've gained,
before we cross the
first page,

the true muses song,
or do they sing?
is carefully relayed
I've forgotten--

and so have you,
don't remember
the words have been planned,
selected, arranged, sealed,
the 4th wall overrun
and unbeknownst (archaic)
to Leonard Litwick,
who sits on my mental porch,
the eggs have begun flying
the damned are still waiting,
recall them forever inured
and entertaining
that we'd ever extend a hand--
even as the fields are burning

and you're struck with yellowed
thoughts, folded corners,
underlined sentences and marginal notes

all of us reading
forced to follow left to right
a less then tortuous course
without a clear end,
and when you look back it's blank
and before you is too,
and by then Dr. Litwack has gone home,
and no one is left to explain

Bombing Demogoblins: the Untold Story

In the world of text based hockey
a Mike Ortz save is the smallest
possible statistical outcome
of any equation and its most rare
and maddening quantity.

Friday, October 23, 2009

$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.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


Today I am reminded of my best friend,
he died looking into my eyes
He was strong, and he took care of me
He got old and frail
and I took care of him,
He had orange hair and a wonderful smile
He slept at my feet and
made sure I had enough sleep every night
We grew up together born only months apart
He died when I was 15,
I held him and felt his final breath
He was scared but he waited for me
I watched him for a while and
I gave him my favorite shirt
He looked peaceful
as if he were sleeping,
I sometimes hear the sound of his voice,
recall the touch of his fur,
I pat my bed and wait for him to jump up
He rubs against my hand
We fall asleep.

And Jesus says...

We turn slower than before
knowing remembering
what we saw, what we heard,
you are reading this
in wonder, it is a poem,
it is meant to grasp at some greater meaning
some silver lining, some pretentious
universal truth,
we are all erudite fools,
words meaning nothing
deeds meaning less,
we are born we grow we shrink we die
the universe laughs
the insects chew on us
recycle our eyes our hearts our lungs
our memory our triumphs our failures our life
and the meek shall inherit the earth

Time of Death: Tuesday, October 20, 2009; 2:00pm

I had already taken those steps,
sat idle on turning wheels
and gliding rails
walked steps through streets of urban decay
and into the light of walled academia,
before I heard the news
listened to the voice
read the pain in those words, still
There was nothing else to do
but move on

Autumn Girl

There is a girl,
she draws attention
she sparkles in the sun,
under moonlit nights,
and artificial skies,

The streets move
with her legs
like the eyes of passersby,
men drunken with her image
wage invisible wars on their sanity,

I am a falling leaf
wrapped in the cool air
over a clear crisp pond,
it is mid-October,
a thin layer of ice
clings to its hardened banks,
at the mercy of the wind
I tumble, a solitary leaf
a moment green then
red orange yellow brown
all at once
once green,
and tumbling

There is a girl
wrapped in her coat,
hidden from the world,
the October air, victorious
over summers magnanimity,
beats against her figure,
she is walking home,
by a pond,
its icy banks glistening,

by her feet
a leaf,
the scars of
spring summer autumn
dull its color
she reaches down
her soft fingers weightless
over tired brittle skin,
the others look on falling around her
too late-- she places the leaf
in her pocket

the water ripples with
her echo, we are tortured
by her distance,
elusive, he clings tightly to her
the envy
of watching eyes
passing gazes.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Good Bye, for my Grandmother and Mother

Time is near its end
a hard orange brown light
and my mother by her side,
I have barely known her,
always on the periphery,
outside, strong
hard, unyielding

now the light clings
to empty glasses,
frozen mirrors,
reflections of a life
soon to pass;
clustered on the walls,
clinging to the furniture
of a single room

a heaviness
weighing on us all,
my mother holds her hand,
dried tears, but through the fog
I can hear her crying,
them crying, together crying,
playing years like movies
before their eyes,
changing, interpreting
in the end there is no bad,
there is only good,
time memory hello good bye

I say good bye to her
a woman I never knew
will never know,
wishing I could have known,
standing walking running
the rain beats down on our heads
we don't lift our eyes,
time stops for but a moment
yet we miss it,
saying good night
to my grandmother.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Breakfast, a Play in One Act

A slogan?
I've got one,
she said, and
it's exactly what you
should live by,

the court adjourned-

It doesn't matter
how mediocre your writing is
just keep doing it
for yourself
because no one else wants
to read it.

And...? When they reconvened.

They threw the book at me-

She smiled.
I tried to smile,
poured a glass of
orange juice,
watched the pulp
forced to the top,
struggle, and finally
sink to the bottom of the glass
I sat awhile thinking about how sad
that color was.

My Friend

The sweet wine,
neck of the bottle between
my fingers, crystals
of ice, slowly dying
circles below my wrist,

A drowsy morning night,
coming to its end,
Jimi Hendrix
bleeds in and out behind me,
he is dying, like the ice
he is always dying,

And you are there,
almost my friend
There, here, gone
to war, to fighting,
to dying,

I drift in and out of consciousness,
his guitar calling me back
for another sip, the warm morning light
acting a play performed by swirling
beads of water,
when the night begins
it is already at its end,

Jimi Hendrix,
my friend.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Minus the Iphone

Unseen stars
smile through the bluest skies,
The sun shinning brightly
to keep them away,

Time is a constant,
yet operates inconsistently
is whimsical however

All these pieces,
in their perpetual motion
or infinite stillness,
compete for you.

At your desk,
guarded from all,
save the draining sand,
I type to you
over distances
though surmountable,

in a contest for your attention
in a battle for your smile
in a war for your kiss,

Invisible to the stars
outshone by the sun
outmaneuvered by time

and keep this very secret,
I like to think
I've won.

October 13, 2009; 3:32pm

I took a piece of paper,
she told me
"On it,
list your fears,
all of them."

Several minutes elapsed,

I passed it to her
She turned it over,
it was blank
on both sides.

"Very funny,"
She replied amused,
"So you are afraid of nothing?"

On the contrary I told her,
does not imply nothing,
it implies

Saturday, October 10, 2009


She stopped to drink
the dim bar lights
and empty stools,
the rain approaching
on a cascade of
purple clouds
marking blood red skies
what does night bring
but darkness and regret?

October 10, 2009; 2:38am

she kisses me good night
bathed in unnatural blue light,
drifting over distances instantaneously
but never crossing over
we stand alone and together

whispers distorting forever
until the footsteps bring us closer
the marching phantoms
their world is colder
as we rely and beg
for loves cybernetic shoulder
to this end we sink older
never aging it watches over
bathed in unnatural blue light


Thursday, October 8, 2009

October 8, 2009; 1:04am (The Ram)

Abraham and Isaac

I think if I could have been
anyone on that mountain
I would have been the ram,
innocent, austere, righteous
the perfect (in)human sacrifice;

for Isaac's place he took,
Did he waver? Was he bound and gagged?
did he ask his father why?
Did he know he would come to prefigure
the crown of thorns
and its wearer?

To submit is to have faith
to be obedient is to die,

Isaac was unaware
Abraham all too prepared
and the ram, twisted in the thicket
the property of angels,
watched quietly
as God forsook him
and his seed.

Yes I would be that saintly ram,
and I would run away
and leave Isaac to face the fire.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

I am

There is this insufferable sadness
it clings to my breast,
in the darkness,
turning corners, gliding behind me
silent, transfixed
a location a beacon
moss covered trees, glow
green, unearthly

a clearing lifeless,
teeming, a clogged artery,
a crumbling artifice,
table for the sacrifice of youth,
unknowingly innocent;
does she realize?
would you tell her?

that sadness is me is you is me,
walking toward you,
in the darkness out of darkness
into light, blithe nothingness

a collage of colors
meaningless, deprived of meaning
spanning time
from time, out of time, around time
turn the corner,
a dark corner
bright shinning light, please
shield your eyes,
there is a figure waiting-
not for you,
you are alone.
all alone.
I am left,
left forever.

October 6, 2009; 12:04am

Joe: why doesn't mine work tom
what the fuck
can you hear me typing
listen to how fast i can type
(fingers: typing fast)
me: are you really standing there playing guitar
Joe: !!!!!(hahahahahaha)
me: i can hear you
(Joe: that's my gmail profile picture)
well its called video chat
so i assumed
Joe: lol
(let me see if I can fix this thing)

into- (incoherent)

You ended video chat with Joe at --:--pm

Monday, October 5, 2009

October 5, 2009; 11:43

I don't mind it,
You may think I'm obsessed
You might say it,
but I'm not

I'm just...uhh
thats technically
the same word, right?

the world is awash with
knee high socks.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

October 4, 2009; 10:04pm (or Deadlines)

2 hours...
counting down,
made up of minutes

sixty after 60 after sixty
upon 60 upon sixty upon 60

counting (118)
counting (101)
counting (86)

toward an end,
that has no end,
men age and-
suns grow, shrink

space remains,
bereft of color
a bleed
A clock without a face,
an absent maker


weeks      (5)
days        (4)
hours       (3)
minutes    (2)
seconds    (1)
Us            (0)

[without end.]

Saturday, October 3, 2009

October 3, 2009; 5:51pm

5:51pm is when I open the document
my phone is charging for
the second time today,
It scolds me when the battery is full,

I leave it plugged in to
teach it a lesson, lingering
over unfinished
papers, papers, papers;

walk with me
there are trees I remembered once,
nothing truly leaves you
nothing is ever truly retained,

Like a flower I gave my mother,
what color, what fragrance? we know
because we never knew
we create it
I create it
the document is closed at 5:57pm

Friday, October 2, 2009

You Know... (October 2, 2009; 7:20am)

I don't like (him)

does it seem to be

all the time?


Thursday, October 1, 2009

October 1, 2009; 10:10pm

An iphone in motion,
an omen,
a sigh,
a southern twang 
and sorrow
and anger,
a locked unlockable,

      to think, undreamed
of something, anything
to do
to see,

              to be uncertain, a credulous 

whisper of certain terms,
a capricious mistake,
of technology
of technology
repeat(3 times)repeat,

And there must-

o she's sad, and 
her sweet voice-

distorted by the future
and screens obsequious,
begging(lying) for human touch-


and they tempt,
                       tempt us
give and take us-

leaving us