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.