Friday, June 29, 2012

Holy Mañana

Everything smaggle-spratted
Along that blessed lane of
Crazy eyes and goner real estate
With the running girl, running mad,
Running in circles
With her hair following behind
In a close second
While the father of someone who you used to forget
Digs his life and digs out a grave
For himself
In the day after day after day
To the monster purr
Of a motorcycle
Then stops to watch
The little boy skate by
With baseball bat ski poles
That carry him through the floating years
Of hooligan smiles
And ice cream pie rewards
For a good deed well done
Before the tugboat flies
And the fireworks shower ashes
Upon them all.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Combat Zen

Sitting in the midst of chaos

In the lotus position

Trying to ignore 

The battle and the shakes 

And the thunder of the debris

Scattering and blanketing

In dust and plaster and fear

Ignoring the societal crumbling outside

And the trepidation on the inside

Peeling back the tremors

That coincide with the world

Through traces of a blue sky, blue mind,

Blue visions embanking

Support of an inner river

Bringing the satiating peace

That pours out before

Being swallowed through

The fangs of death.

Friday, June 22, 2012

scratch (for friend? for brother? for lover?)

Would that I could reach
but the air, too thin
and the bridge, too long
and the skin-thin veil of this present world
(this present, current world)
(this layer of life-onion in flesh-tone thunder)
the skin-thin veil of reality
(the current reality)
does not permit my trembling touch
(my nerveless grasp, one day)
(on that day that the chill dews glisten)
the trembling touch to relieve and to soothe
ignite and burn
with open mouth and breathless word
to be the balm

The veil pulled back and
pale skin flushed
a shallow grave
marked with a dry, force-fit acacia
never forfeit
trembling touch pulled back and the lion's paw held tight
blue is the starry-decked heaven
blue is the vein
blue the heart
eternal the burn

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Girders and Gusts

The gray dreary industrialist

Clamors to hang on to

A breath of fresh air 

That never arrives

With the current,

Only a cloudy hangover

From a glut of excessive thirst

And hunger for one last nickel bolt 

To hold it all together

Before he rusts 

And crumbles and fades 

Into another era’s dust of a memory,

Her ghost arrives with a sparkle and a spritz

To generate one last quiescent charm

To spark a white hot regeneration,

But the shivers numbly pass through the cold ambivalence

Forcing her to gasp and move onward 

As she passes through Gary.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Verve and Nerve

Spicy rancid lilacs
Removing the sweetness from the day
Mixed with the chicken fat, chicken grease fried smell
That makes him gulp and swallow the morning
Face the unwanted obligations
As the sun drops blind through
The reflection on a shiny cane
That hits the pavement with a thud
And yearns for a hand carved
Sleek, polished walking stick
That he will never see
Because of the wretched
Sweet and bitter
And the noise inside the silence
Cannot be contained within
That fragile eggshell
Of a life that wants to escape
And move on to a greater destiny

An impromptu bouquet
Of color in galvanized buckets
At the storefront
Under the striped canopy

With a shopkeeper that smiles
And hums a wistful tune
But it’s always a mixed bag
With the weeds in the cracks
And the rancid oil in the air
Getting more notice than the
Shopkeeper’s pure white apron
And the hospitable invitation
For a cup of the intangible.

Monday, June 11, 2012


Nobody’s hero 

Don’t believe a word of it

Nobody’s angel

Just a broad on the lam

With a good luck streak

And a charm in a tattered pocket

Keeping on the right side of the wrong tide

With an accidental good intention

Never been a role model for anybody

On this side of the universe

The garbage pickers of the underworld
May glance sideways

Only to find competition 

For that cement shoe fitting

With some rhinestone toe clips

And a halo made of someone else’s

Drunken alley delusion

The shattered neon is

Just a buzzing distant reminder

Of some other irritating soul

Like a sad clarinet

With broken trill keys,

Without a reed,

Nothing of quality,

Cheapening the dream

With no cloud and no sheep

Just a frayed bat-wing sleeve

And a constant smudge of mascara

Across a porcelain veneer.