a first supper

17 Aug

death and its crown,
worn like a rat’s cocksure waddle through a trash heap
a pile drive promise,
of exclamation point last breath ends
and yet beside its thorns,
lives a noise,
of kids,
of their undecipherable jungle gym joy screams
and crickets,
their electric siren from such a small creature,
all of it vital signs,
mocking that death crown

hitchhiker spits

6 Aug

it was there,
buried in one of those abandoned piles of clothes on the same street corner that a few kids waited for the bus. i never knew where the clothes or the kids were going and on some old country road beside a rusty engine, a school bus passed and in the windows were the mug shots of children.

they both had ERASE EVERYTHING in their symbols
a greek destroyer god
a tsunami
a biblical monotheistic wrath wind that makes sure to fuck up EVERYONE in its route.

yeh, i’d served the fire a few times.

but most of the time the fire was not only far away, but impossible to know… so i stared at a seagull, all alone, perched on a suburban roof gutter and then the gush of we came and it was strange thinking about someone else before worrying about me…yeh, it had me paying attention to things, beer bottle labels and flower pedals, but then i found myself drifting off into tv sleep and waking up in the middle of a show and deciding the hell with brushing and flossing and the hell with tomorrow too because if i do it, if i go in that bathroom and do what the dentist says i should, well then the light will poison my eyes and they won’t shut and i won’t get back to sleep….
to sleep…..to sleep…and i like sleep.

the first of days

4 Aug

my messiah,
the next one i meet,
a human,
with a million hidden potentials
to save the world or at least save me…

that old story

23 May

there was a first gush of humid air here,
and with it, came some familiar smell,
maybe it was a flower blooming or maybe some passing perfume since no one wears coats anymore,
this the true revelation, this season again, this spring summer, this return,
this memory of that lethal love you injected in me
your smooth hands and words and dance and ideas,
but for you it was in the way of things, in the way you are with everyone as
you turned and walked away,
a raccoon waddle strut as if you’d done nothing wrong,
you’re more than a memory.
you’re loud in my gut.
i still want you by my side every second of the day and especially the night when all i can do is not sleep.

i was almost enlightened

20 May

it was a never before morning, unlike any other one, no car sounds outside my basement window, no upstairs neighbor footsteps. i couldn’t even hear my beautiful dehumidifier.

had i reached a state of nothingness? negated my ego? was i becoming a mushroom, a tree, a street lamp, content with my inner being?

it was 6:30 AM and this serenity bliss lasted until 7:30. then i had to go to work so i walked up the steps to the door and opened it to grass and trees welcoming me to an ancient home and that’s when it all became clear. i had an itch in my ear and realized i had not removed the ear plugs from my ears, the ones i sleep with so i removed them and soon the soft wind whooshed and the cars whizzed by and in the cote des neiges street distance, the bus expressed its squeaky brakes and there were noises confusions and guilts in my head too…..

i have so far to go.

discovering bukowski new friend hero big brother

12 Apr

i’m not too confusing when it comes to words probably because i don’t know too many but i know enough to get by during the day to day conversation at work and grocery store cashier and writing my blog posts and baseball short stories and i did learn a great new word a few days ago. it was on the back cover of a henry miller book. the word is jeremiad and if you’re so curious to know what it means, well, i’m not gonna spoil it for you……..go and look it up and have a sudden mind bottle rocket. so anyway, yeh, i know enough words to read a book and i like to read, all sorts of books from henry miller to viktor frankl to arnold hano and i’m glad to say that i understand a lot of them or maybe not miller…he’s a bit confusing at times, but then there’s charles bukowski. i recently read my first bukowksi book. i had previously read a bunch of his poems and he is great because he’s so straight forward and easy to understand but that’s not why i love him. it’s because in the videos I’ve seen of him, he strikes me as a bad ass and in the movie about him with Mickey rourke playing him, he gets into fights and so he’s like a big brother to appreciate for me because i’m kind of a wimp, backing down from confrontations and kind of living like a slave with an 8-4 warehouse job so i can get insurance and pension and all of that and a tombstone and some stupid epitaph on that stone. and i’ve only read that one bukowski book – ham on rye so i got a lot to look forward to and since he’s dead i guess i have a new drinking partner. bukowski might be a ghost but he’ll be an ornery one and that might be better or more real than me drinking alone and getting too sappy or erudite.

psychotherapy and bumper cars

1 Apr

yes, we could talk, it’s been many years…we should talk…we will talk,
i will say things up and you will counter with things down
and we will, without really thinking about it,
hold hands and stop talking…

yesterday root canal

26 Mar

dear anaesthesia
you magic numb
i love you!

a short history of locks

23 Nov

i forget which king was obsessed by locks, but it was a while ago, but it’s also today. i mean whoever trains to be a locksmith must love locks, the whole concept of them, the keeping strangers or demons or thieves outside the door and/or outside their minds. and the keys for the private party allowed in. it’s like keeping kids from reading jean genet, to make sure they turn into citizens that don’t corrupt the youth, but corrupt shut up, not all kids are destined to be angels. just look at halloween. way more kids dress up as scary skeletons or ax murderers than jesus though there was that crazy judah from the old testament. his son died and he slept with this son’s wife. i forget which son, but the wife’s name was tamara ( i love that name tamara like a boston way of saying tomorrow) and so after the son died, she, the widow, lived i think on the other side of some river and for some reason or no reason at all, she was dressed up like a prostitute one day. (back then they called a prostitute a harlot and on some websites they probably still do) and judah slept with tamara and she got pregnant and if you follow the line of births after their newborn, it leads to king david and that leads to jesus eventually ( you can look it up for yourself) so the whole world is built on some lock that was unlocked, some moral broken – to not sleep with your son’s wife even if your son is dead, but of course judah had no way of knowing that the harlot was tamara, his dead son’s wife but that goes to show you that teepees had no locks on them and anything was possible or i don’t know what i’m talking about….i’m a little bit drunk as all that liquid stuck in a bottle, stored on a shelf, all locked up, just waiting to be adopted and owned and then have its cap twisted off, its neck massaged, its liquid contents drained into thirsty mouths, bodies and brains enjoying a vacation.

mystic pervert

3 Nov

i was walking to work and i saw something beautiful and i thought about stopping and masturbating and then i saw a beautiful statue and i thought again about masturbating again and then i went to work and then i walked home from work and turned on my computer and looked at some pictures and yeh, again, i thought about masturbating, but i didn’t.

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