outro

one day i
will hear no
quarter and think
of jimmy or
john instead of
yosemite and you

fist full of roses
fight in your teeth
ugly love
the water looks deep

our house was
unholy, a den
of spoiled seeds
sprayed with physical
graffiti mixed in
the kitchen sink

this fight smells like roses
there's ugly in your teeth
watery love
four fists, knee deep

being trampled under
feet after kashmir
kisses on your
sleeve was a
stairway to hell
with no railing

a dozen ugly roses
salt water drips towards my teeth
i wave an angry fist at love
but you fight back, dig deep

white petals wilted
on the flower
in my hair
the levees broken
and the black
dog don't care


the water filled with roses
as your fist hit my teeth
we were fighting for love
but the ugly got too deep

liquid measurements

it's 54 in Newport

and the locals are dressed for snow

their insulated gloves 

grip ceramic mugs

full of 5 dollar foam

this place is a safe haven

for eye rolling

they are too wrapped up in 

cashmere and self loathing 

to ever notice me

ordering an ice coffee

on the 26th of December

if I wiggle my toes 

I can feel the last sandy whispers of summer 

shake free from the souls

of my sandals

and then you slip into my thoughts 

like white wash

slowly rolling in at first

but then in waves

a tsunami of 14 line sonnets  

that I've begged my mind

to un-memorize

sipping liquid life through a straw

that I've already bitten into submission

I watch the carbon copy aliens communicate 

through my foggy windshield

they are smoking

excuse me, choking

on cigarettes they don't inhale

dripping in name-brand nothingness

they emulate the rec-room at rehab

coffee, ciggs, and bullshit banter

their heads are balloons painted with promises

steadily filling with helium laced lies

worrying which one of their friends

holds the needle that will deflate 

their rubber dreams

and someone everyone knows

must be having a '60s moment 

on the cover of Vogue

because all the girls

are wearing fake flowers in their hair

ten feet of memories 

come crashing over head

when you made me laugh

daisies grew from my scalp

and eyes and ears

I was a bouquet of happiness 

watered by your quick whit

but the warmth of your presence 

was stolen by the seasons

and as green turned to grey

the petals browned

and lay wilted on my shoulders

so I plucked each stem from the soil of my mind

tied a ribbon around the dead memories 

and hid them in a shoebox 

under my bed

along with everything else

that reminded me of you

the lights are warm and wet

my pulse is the current

in a lazer-bean stream 

and

I'm jolted awake 

by the sudden spill 

of ice-cubes 

now permeating through my tank-top

I pillage through a bag of old clothes 

collecting mold in my backseat 

and pull a ripped flannel from the sea 

of things I've been meaning to throw away

slip out of my damp shirt

and back into the depths of you

with the touch of a dial

Bon Iver is dripping from the speakers

like a sweet opiate river

the purple noise inflates my car 

and becomes the life-ring I need to stay afloat

in the rough waters of reflection

stoplights look like jewels in the rain

rubies 

emeralds

canary diamonds

I never wanted diamonds

I have too many rings

my gypsy fingers didn't need adorning 

like Lennon said, "Just give me some truth"

people can't drive when its stormy here

so I'm even later to work than usual

slamming on my breaks I grab the wheel

with my free hand

which was busy gripping 

your shirt

rubbing the worn fleece back and forth

between my finger and thumb

which are now both muddy green

from the grass stains we acquired

at that festival sometime last April

the flashbacks come hailing down

thousands of angry ice stones

piercing through the skin 

of my life preserver 

until all the air escapes

and lifelessly

I sink back in time

this shirt was our pillow 

with the ground at our backs

we poked holes in black canvas 

so soft yellow light could leak through

and everyone called this stars

but you told them it was music 

and I mumbled something about love

whatever the name 

it got louder 

and stronger

until no black remained 

on the canvas

so we rose 

and started swigging fire water 

from a sunscreen bottle

when out of nowhere 

a stranger appeared 

drenched in a waterfall of white 

and handed you a note 

that read,

"plastic causes cancer."

Tripping

She's whispering, "give

into me," knowing

full well that

you're in too

deep. Knowing full

well she's stollen 

your sleep. Along

with your thoughts

and desires. Sitting

next to her

skin on fire

she's driving you

nowhere fast with

her left foot

propped on the 

dash. All four

windows rolled down

in the middle 

of December. She's 

out of gas

playing DJ with 

her finger as 

you try and 

take the wheel. 

From Old French

you're one who 

lies in wait, 

to see: Voire.

Both up close

and afar. Her

legs slightly ajar. 

She's made you 

a voyeur. In

other words you're

voyeuristic. She makes 

her prey a

statistic. She's an 

angel with sadistic

fears that make

her favor flight

over fight even

though she's strong

enough to win

or lose she 

will never draw. 

A quintessential princess

on a lily

pad whimsically tipping

diamond dotted dominoes 

with her tip 

toes that are

painted different colors 

like the prism 

beams that reflect 

from her eyes

which paralyze your 

intention. To collect 

from her bank 

involves an interest

of time. Barbiturates

taste like candy

in comparison to

the way she 

holds your hand 

under the table 

while you watch

her lashes dance

in the candle

light at dinner. 

She's made you

believe in science

over Jesus and 

it's only the

first course but

the way her

sleeve drapes off

her shoulder is

a touch of

Venus and you

want to connect

the dots of

freckles on her

unveiled skin to 

create constellations more

genius than Orion 

in your night

sky eyes which

have become two

microscopes scanning an

organism more complex 

than the atom. 

Eve looks like 

an angel compared

to her mischievous 

glances that suggest

you're wearing her

down. And out

of no where 

she looks like

a child, yet 

another trance she 

uses to transfix. 

She's a sip 

as strong as

brandy and a 

hit of something

unknown. One dose

has got you

dosed is all 

you know and 

you're hoping this

trip won't stop. 

Table Manners

I want to dive into white noise

the vacuum

the silence

dig in, tastes good.

But I keep falling into blue mistakes

wrong answer

stupid question

can I have seconds? no.

Its hard to uncover

the tarp that shades our fear

And even harder to discover

the bones that build our soul

But I’ll be damned if my life’s etiquette

is transcribed with a silver spoon.  

  

So I’ll keep running from this table of comfort

plan murders

start religions

dinner was lovely, may I be excused?

Climate Change

Stepping into the muggy haze of 14th street 

I was overwhelmed by the stench of food trucks and fruit stands, 
hoping you would not rot in this climate. 

I paused to listen to a charming harmonica player 

who reminded me of Bob Dylan, 

hoping you wouldn't be disillusioned by such men. 

Purring men who graffiti, "will you marry me," 

over the "Post No Bill," signs 

and then carry you over the threshold 

of a fall out shelter they call home.

I want to chain you to my rib cage, 

like the rusty bikes with no wheels 

that are trapped on sidewalks. 

I want to make you my eternal gargoyle, 

preserve your no-moss mind, 

and feed you with shelves of $2 used books. 

But your slipping like the L train, 

sliding from avenue to avenue 

quicker than my feet can take me.

Sitting on a bench in Union Square 

I stare at the Metronome 

thinking about the passage of 8584 days.

You are indeed the worlds most confusing clock... 

fifteen big digital numbers 

ticking farther and farther away from me each day.

A red cross blood bank truck has been moaning on the corner 

but no one is in line... 

I want to ask them if they can extract a pint 

of mother from my veins 

in case someone hurts you 

and I'm too far away 

to do a love transfusion. 

There is a tree that stands proud 

in the middle of the street, 

harassed daily, from every angle, 

by this city's moist hum... 

I watch the traffic bleed in front of my eyes

hoping I planted my seeds of knowledge 

deep enough in the soil of your mind

to keep you rooted in this harsh climate. 

his

he wrote me a few days ago

therefore

i still need to rid myself

of my soar throat

nothing worth speaking of

yet his absence continues to weigh

i went out twice

to parties

i have gardened 

called Don Giovanni

met his muscles

dared to not approve

I cannot dance

the consequence of his eyes

his half year

and self possessed tragedies

his family, religion, and politics

his value

his writing

mess after mess

his repent and wishes

beautiful enough to make all the world

fall in love

his blind consequence 

hatched from nuances 

his defense

opposite of Shakespeare

his wet burial ground

his temper in any shape

his stupid expression

his Man's mind

his cheated esprit 

his uneasy letters

so arbitrary

his glasses of wine

his sensual vine roots

go down cool and feverless 

his guilty presents 

how pleasant 

in any letter yet a word about my affairs

hold me silent

forsake my spirit

preserve indolent mens' minds

they are like superstition

powerful in proportion

how can he expect to write letters about friendship

apropos

teach man romance

he who abuses women and slights them 

loves them the most

continual allegory

few eyes will believe this

figuratively 

keep on breathing