i smell her breath as she exhales
the scent of tainted dreams
leave her then, beautiful and glorious
she does not remember his darkness
while dancing on moon rays of light
rain it will fall in the mid of night
love drives us to do things on waking
that we never thought we would
do not waken her mother
she sleeps under the eaves

To a friend who lost his pieces:

Only I can define the missing pieces and insert/reinsert

 

sometimes folks leave things unfinished by choice

like wars and conflicts, they are better when ceased

I forget often the moments that passed 

thank god, for I don't want their memories to last

my innocence lost was hard to ignore 

but the statements I've made have mattered more

I've smashed, burned and tossed out those unwelcome bits

I'd rather have holes, than lose my wits

sure others have brilliance in places I don't

yet I have strength in my trials when others won't

mysterious who? what? and why?

I have found no answers, of that I can't lie

they murdered my childhood and left adolescence for dead

should I mourn them forever or embrace now instead

do I grieve for the family I never knew,

polished like religion from my own jaded view

like black holes in galaxies missing pieces have power

to steal from my soul if my mind circles for hours

once the puzzle is filled will I be a contender

or continue to function in my role as pretender

all the scattered pieces lost on life's floor

dusty with age, bent, scratched and torn

by sweeping them up will I be disillusioned

still stalked by the sense of that "normal" illusion

if I misplace the bits in their place of origin

will I create new chaos in places where it might not have been

It isn't the gaps that confuse my being

it isn't the holes that give lonely a meaning

it isn't the illusion of not having a sense

of the flatness of the picture that is my content

boredom didn't spring from an empty space

fear's yet another demon I put in that place

If we are constant beings then yes, the holes are bad

or do we evolve to an intimacy of purpose that's not at all sad

Evil comes in many places

drops its zeal on democracy's faces

bloodied dust blankets rubbled Gaza streets

now clandestine, it hovers and creeps

and hides in the banks and the islands and fleets

next bold, foreign commerce sets to flame

roiling crude to boil in a tangible political game

that substance we squandered like children in energy races

more addictive than water, gangs roll dice for its places

yet we insist we are not fighting for oil

deadly rockets and media smokescreens

fall like pamphlets on the masses

desperation and greed are kicking our asses

but Baghdad was beautiful once

strong like Arabica coffee, peaceful and serene

Baku, Heglig, NYC, and Scarborough Shoel

the Negev Desert, Las Malvinas were and are more

than symbols of crude subordination

to privileged conflicts of advantage du jour

there was a day when wholly-formed children just played

and Yazidi's women walked city streets freely

strong voices proclaimed and debated their truths

only rains fell on crops when the skies were not blues

the forests of Afghanistan flourished tall without bombings

the leopards were strong hunters, not subject to hunting 

by the conflict sickened, homeless and hungered

and nature, she rested while morning doves sang

I'd like to see beauty like that once again.

girl walks into a drinkin bar
music on her mind
first thing that is asked of her
is to leave herself behind

"who you meeting with
hey girl, tell me
who is meeting with you?"

She sighs
you better leave that anger at home,
you better leave that anger at home
a skillet's hottest on a slow burning fire
you better leave that anger at home

girl walks into a drinkin bar
music on her mind
first thing that is asked of her
is to leave herself behind

"who you sleeping with
hey girl, tell me
who is sleeping with you?"
 
She sighs
you better leave that anger at home
you better leave that anger at home
a skillet's hottest on a slow burning fire
you better leave that anger at home

girl walks in to a drinkin bar
music on her mind
first thing that is asked of her
is to leave herself behind

You offer me sunshine, then bring me rain. You offer to listen, while you explain. I wait for a rainbow that should paint the skies. But no, you're probably right.

You offer me chocolates, then feed me gruel. You tell me you love me, that I'm your fool. I'm starving for sweetness, the cupboard is bare. But no, you're probably right.

Someday
When I find a way
Maybe tomorrow or some other day
I'll hear you
And fly away

You promise me roses, not dandelion yards. You ask me to wait up, while she steals your charms. I'm polishing tarnish from novel dreams. But no, you're probably right.

Someday
When I find a way
Maybe tomorrow or some other day
I'll hear you
And fly away

Fuck Y'all

Lyrics by Tambria and my Vacation Facebook Wall
Music by ?

Intro: Okay, so I said I would write my first lyrics for a song. I hope not to offend (too much) Y'all wrote it for me.

Verse I
> climbing ten flights up
> to the lowest feeling
> death play list
> for my head to be reeling
> pigeon headed ladies
> scattering their crumbs
> hoping for a wind storm
> or a hurricane to come

Verse II
> walking down State St.
> unlocked cell phone
> This is 'merica
> nursing at the drone
> hammer-wielding children
> don't lock their doors
> our goal is to stop politicians
> from being doctors

Chorus / Hook
> I'll go to my place, you go to yours
> If I ask, can I be your flower girl
> I wish we had been friends back in the day
> Mama wash this scent from me

Verse III
> texting while driving
> obstructionist jackass
> Obama's coming for your guns
> with soldiers and tear gas
> members of the union
> into mismanagement delve
> Joker and Harley
> murdered cops then selves

Verse IV
> Going out for beers
> with all my favorite peeps
> Happy wags his tail
> Even when he sleeps
> Vacation almost over
> Who ya gonna call?
> That's the end of my lyrics
> fuck y'all

Chorus / Hook
> I'll go to my place, you go to yours
> If I ask can I be your flower girl
> I wish we had been friends back in the day
> Mama wash this scent from me

Bridge
> It doesn't have to make sense
> I really have to pee
> Drop the jaw
> Drop the jaw

Freedom Was

Freedom was a hot house flower

desperate to wrap and twine,

to have the sun caress her petals

into sweet blushes like red wine.

“Send me springtime's woven blanket

of green lawns and amber stones,

I should be wearing sky's azure wrapping

feel dawn's kiss upon this rose.

My coffee-colored roots

mourn the dance within the earth,

petals flirting with a meadowlark

bullfrogs singing out their mirth”

Standing silently beside her

long-stem roses nodded in a row

they shared the wish of Freedom,

their natural right to grow.

Greed, he was in business,

he bought the roses for silver pence,

he sliced them down together,

stripped each one of her defense.

Freedom tossed and bunched with others

in a monochromatic jam,

stuck in poisoned water casings, chilled in boxes,

she was damned

Hot house delicate & exotic,

once proudly standing, now torn down,

Freedom cried to Zephyr's melody

under rain's percussive window sound.

“Oh nature's daughters I warn you,

work hard to wrap and twine,

or you too will be transplanted

to the 1-800 assembly line.

For greed will take your measure,

Silver coin pass hand to hand,

clippers they will cut you,

to be bunched in Greed's firm hands.”

Rest in the pod that is New London
We, three maturing
One day to scatter in the wind
To our own furthest reaches
Three seeds to be discovered
By children as toys
My friends.

walk around my block tonight
bring your shoulders close to mine
rest your fingers in my palm
match your cadence to my stride
orchestrate our pendulum song
walk around my block tonight

we drift in a womb
taking, just taking, all we need
"need", beyond "want"
want is a choice, a preference
any benefit to our host is secondary
thoughtless
we develop as we rape our environment
take nutrients, warmth, shelter
if we could, we'd consume all of this and more of the next
a virus
before any other experience
we take and leave a hole where life used to be
eminent domain

twilight

phantom youth upon park benches they are loath to leave
costumed seedy scholars weighed heavy by drab vitality
hideous humanity left frigid by rank criticism

all breath can afford - heroin whores go without

surrounded by modern cannibals and techno-terminators
confused by the drama of urban irregularities in which they too perform
their sin of patience demands struggle

soon
above this plain and frugal scene
the moon stares
clouds piss darkly down upon this menagerie

one by one
then two by two
bodies thrust quietly into granite corpses
darkened halls vigorous and dense with moldering plaster
the muffled rummaging of rodents and feral cats' sick cries

thin translucent flesh
pocked by social disease, knife fights, and festering acne shivers under the burden and magnitude of this endurance
each grasp for purity returns thick multiplicity
bulging veins collapsing veins devour memories of prosperity
copious shots of whisky splash fickle warmth over ever burgeoning depression

oh phantom youth
such anemic souls
starving on their past

street violence

ticky tacky playwright's nest
welders, pastry chefs, carpenters abound
macabre children
sustained by, stained by, survived by
Hennessy and Jack, meth and crack
cross, intersect, trace, crawl
Coleman, Bank, Broad, State
Jefferson, Willets, Green, Tilley
nicotine teeth bare
yellow incisors tear
white bones twist
evil
a darkened stripper exposed, manically dances
frenzy
stomach churn, turn, spew
murderous crimson and brass pools
by them, from them, of them, for them
chaos pre-sold-out to the masses
"Stop what you are doing!"
no one hears the screams
the legendary El 'n Gee is too loud
wring the mop slowly
again
again

new london
whaling city
yet see, no seal
ocean ave
ocean beach
not an ocean at all
river city
harbor of ships and ships' captains
destined to harbor in mansions
house hunters
you can't hunt whales
transient hunting permitted
housing by the hour
the week, the month, the year
year to year lease
lease to own
home ownership raises hope
raise walls
raise children
raise standards
raise taxes
raise the red flags
tax the poor
oh, give me credit
cards
credit me with one good thought
shop
shop the shops
shop 'til you drop
i'll buy that
break
the bank
break windows
if it ain't broke -- well it is
in a fix
i'll fix that
fixed income
fix the locks
fix the roads
lonely road
river road
tent city
wail for the city
new london

your hand caresses violence
call it love, this anger
tempered steel weighs in palm
balanced like bitter brothers
blade and rape--blade and vengeance
righteous caress upon the soul
left hand, right hand
repeat the quest
this, I, for my sister
lay ye to rest

age

12
the kitchen: giant green metal boxes of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, bananas, instant tea-rocks, coffee and cereal
behind the Safeway,
just like dad used to make
dad used to make me
stairwell of church
a bed of steps
"nearer my god to thee"
cast-offs
service, repentance, service
systems, rape systems

20
the restroom: a pair of polyester maternity pants blue, turned darker by hot itchy urine
the tub, a puddle of pacific tears
"no public restrooms"
god is in the children
cast-offs
service, confessions, service
systems, rape systems

30
god is in the schizophrenic

40

‎"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality."
~ Desmond Tutu

coffee moist lips hesitantly approach the microphone

almost but not quite touching its protective metal mesh

feet and legs splay to find balance on either side of rigid chrome stand

there is a hidden curling and uncurling of toes

tightness radiates in a perverse infestation to kink the nape of the neck

clench the jaw

play "twitches" with the eyebrows

shoulders hunch and arms origami downward outward

and upward toward sheets of vellum

fingers tremble slightly balancing the weight cradled between thumbs and palms

it makes sense at this moment
to sit and listen to the sound of the Acela going to Boston and all points north
to order a double shot of espresso and fill in the Sunday crossword
to go watch the woman collecting aluminum cans on State Street
to not be here

a writer's prayer is heard over the twin black-faced speakers

a breath whispered for inner peace 

recalled for outward courage

it is time

to undress private thoughts in this exposed place

eyes, incestuously promiscuous, caress WORDS as each page turns

until finding the just the right

VISION

DREAM

NIGHTMARE

OBSESSION

MASTURBATION

FURTIVELY-SCRIBBLED-IN-THE-NIGHT-SELF-CREATION

to pour public over chain-smoked poet's tongue

listen

I would love a dull moment.

The kind focused on fishing a gnat from between translucent ice cubes melting into lemonade...

When the loudest cries are from seagulls over the Thames.

A dull moment, when cigarette ashes roll lazily over flower-potted dirt, ashes gently falling from an ignored butt, barely held between two damp fingers...

When the only argument is between two squirrels on a roof ledge.

A dull moment, when my toes escape shoe's confinement, rest on iron railing and spread like fans to shiver from spring breezes...

When the only fighting is between the cushion melded to my ass, my poor posture, and the laws of gravity sliding me off the garden chair.

I would love a dull moment.

The kind when pen marries paper and creates a river of words...

When the only pounding tattooed on my heart comes from the bass notes of Harleys on Eugene O'Neill Drive...

A moment when unanswerable questions are heard...

I would love a dull moment.