Thinking on my feet at Target

I have this tattoo of a cat in a shoe

and below it reads CAT GOT MY TONGUE.

At the time, I was young,

Now I've grown and it's shrunk,

and THAT's why you don't get tattoos when you're drunk...

Messed up

Well wouldn't ya know it, I messed up again.
One chance and I've blown it; I let down my friends.
At the start it was great
then I made some mistakes,
Now it's getting quite late,
think I'll cancel my date.
Boy I really do hate messin-
What's that you say?
You like my cake!?
Well never mind, let's celebrate!

American Promiscuity

American Promiscuity

Farewell America,
my land, my love
my first kiss
first sip
first hit.
my old hag, my nagging school teacher
my giddy child.
enough, Lady Liberty,
LET ME BREATHE!

Could you leave this taste in my mouth
until I land somewhere; a place where I'm left
only the right to liberate myself.
You whore yourself to the oceans,
so let me touch,
taste,
grab whatever shore I can reach.

Wait till the sweaters come out of the drawers
and rest around necks in knots;
box my ear, embrace me with your copper arms,
and by the light of your torch, rejoice
at how I've dragged my feet!

Phnom Penh from above

The rooftops of this city can be deceiving.
They turn on my imagination
and whisper disillusionment, telling me that I'm in Arabia
or Persia- with the sweeping arches the massive pillars, the sandstone and the stucco with the verandas on the third and fourth floors.
Where am I? Cambodia? Ahh, yes. the sounds of hustle, the sight of small beautiful people, and the finest tastes of fruits imaginable remind me. And the mosquitoes wanted me to make sure that I included them.

The Bearded Man

There's an old bearded man who lives in my attic.
It sounds rather silly, but really it's tragic.
See, he keeps me awake with his moving about as he creaks and he squeaks and he moans and he pouts.
He's been up in that dust 'long as I can remember
just scaring bejeebies
and shivering timbers.

Then last Tuesday eve'nin'
I could hardly believe it:
he just got plum lonely and payed me a visit.
And as weird as this sounds, I swear that it's true
the old bearded man is no stranger than you.

The death of a tree and me.

In my backyard there’s a dying maple with dirty leaves,

at least I thought it was dirt.

After a closer look I saw green skin

spotted with illness.

How sad, I thought..

as I realized this “dirt”

isn’t something that rain and breeze can cure.

I looked at the burning between my fingers-

followed the plumes of smoke upwards

as they kissed the leaves of a healthy chokecherry above me-

I watched as the burning shed its own grey leaves-

watched them scatter on the green ground

-watched them swirl into dust

as each new breeze delicately touched everything.

Then I felt a single drop escape my eye

and tumble down my cheek- down my trunk-

and soak into the roots.

I was enjoying a beautiful summer afternoon, and after glimpsing at the sky, I started staring- like I often do- and this came out..

There's a Highway in the sky
with a great road paved with blue expanse
and the cars are made of moisture,
but these giants don't putter
they SAIL, drift, and c r e e p
in whatever path they please.

There are no red lights up there,
just green.
And in the traffic,when pavement's cluttered,
there's no honking- no exhaust-
plenty of room to breath.

There's an atlas in the sky made of dreams
and the pages are golden and red and purple.
Each of us navigates using the molten lamp that slowly sinks.

And when the power goes out above us,
there are softer lights that awaken.
And a sleepy, glowing Rock conducts our dreams
to the farthest reaches of the dark deep
and the glitter where we long to be.

My thinking's too loud for this library

My thinking's too loud for this library.
I need to go somewhere green-
a pasture- somewhere I won't be seen
for miles. Here I'll let my brain scream
as I watch the sun sink,
and just think.

Who turned summer on "high"?

May 27, 2010. 5:57 am

I saw it change from black to sky before my eyes.

What a busy world I’m slothing through.

I tossed a tired butt on the bike path

just to prove I was up first—

not groggy, just sloppy-eyed.

My final drag sends my gaze towards the glow

—those vapors are hard at work,

clocking in after I’ve clocked out for the last time.

But I don’t mind;

There’s no shame in this hike to bed.

I’ll split my pillow wide

once I pass this pathetic jogger.

“Deep”

Such a July night, it’s sticky.

not sugary sweet like Harlem- Sorry Langston-

think deep.

Get out the atlas if you need it,

and trace the veins from the heartland to the swampy toes

of “freedom”- see that they’ve been neglected

with snarling nails, and the burning crosses

just adds to the athlete’s foot.

Skip the scenic drive down the coastline;

there’s no (room/need) for your convertible,

not in this jungle humidity.

Stop tracing once you see patriarchy and mansions,

once you smell bourbon.

And remember, your cotton collared shirt

was picked from this baked landscape,

and ripped from its mother in the deep.

a haiku

Longboarding barefoot

I can’t afford to slow down.

No shoes, no service

Cincinnati Poems (written during our formal last weekend)

Synergy or something

I didn’t storm out

but there was thunder in my head.

I bought a pack of cigarettes,

that usually helps.

usually.

That’s why I started walking

to shoot straight

with these hungry pigeons.

There was this crinkly man

sitting against a Walgreens

who asked me for change,

said he hadn’t eaten in two days

so I shelled out a knuckle of quarters,

and gave him a fresh Turkish smoke.

I even lit it for him.

And as I was leaning over him,

tenderly holding the flame

to his shit-out-of-luck lips,

that’s when it hit me-

that’s when cliché materialized-

misery loves company.

Last call

Here I am again

wading through straw hats and jazz-

hailing the bartender,

spilling.

I’ve got last call to catch.

That firecracker with geraniums in her hair

is thirsty and wearing symptoms

of dance fever.

I’m doing a dance of my own,

holding my watery scotch over my head,

dodging sweaty shoulders.

I’ve almost made it back to Flower Girl

when I see a sight

that nearly jars the J&B from my hand-

I see you.

You’re waiting by the jukebox

for Baseball Coach to retrieve

dos tequilas

and you’re happy.

Dark side of the bed

When you’re in bed

and you can reach out

but you can’t touch her

and you can force a smile

but she can’t

and suddenly the bed

is way too big for two,

that’s worse than sleeping alone.

And it’s half past SNOOZE

when I wake up, gorged with sleep

while she's fast awake in dream land

so we clasp hands

from the dark side of the bed.

Couched

There's smoke in this room,
here where I'm sitting on a throne
wreathed in what my seventh grade
science teacher revealed as cooled ash.
and it dances on it's ascent
as my state evaporates.

My mind is everywhere.
I've got a passport to prove it.
I keep one of the ripped out pages in my shoe-
the one with a stamp that reads HEAVEN'S BASEMENT.
That's what I imagine awaits underneath our soles.
That's what your folks might call Hell.
I ripped it so that I'd never go back there.

The journey's more comfortable when you realize
that instead of above us,
Heaven exists all around us.
Even now it's clear to see,
through drooling, coughing eyes
soaked in drops of smoke.

I wipe my brow
after another epiphany
about nothing.

A rough draft of a Shakespearean Sonnet

What Dreams Become, and What We Make Them

At night when lights are lost we fade to dreams

Resist fatigue by reading all alone

The Tea is hot within the pot that steams,

While outside wind is dancing, cold as stone.

Succumb to sleep and find your bed with haste,

For dreams are what you’re longing to explore.

The tea has left a bitter aftertaste,

The ticking clock resounds beneath the floor.

Ideas, thoughts, and pictures flood the mind,

As you will drift away without control.

Hallucinations one cannot rewind,

But every rainbow road demands a toll.

Abruptly Death appears with scythe and hood,

You sweat, you shake, but pinching does no good.