how fucking awesome
to be here again, to be
back.

each new quantum birth
of myself, in, and from
myself brings such
remarkable peace, such tremendous
ambition, such incredible
wisdom
and grace.

and i can't laugh too much
at myself, hell, i kind of dig
and respect the fact of how foolish
i am, holding on, believing so wrong, fucking
sharp fists cutting and kicking, backed
into the corner, refusing to let
go, even when we know
that it's only me
begging us
to stop acting like an ass...the next
new perfectly brilliant
is patiently
waiting.

and i am soaring
now, god how i've missed this, this pure
so god-damn fucking
pure, the divine and delicious flash
of the diamond kissing
goodbye to the coal state, and
i know that this is just the beginning
of the next chapter of, my growing, of,
my being, of my growing inside of my being, and that yes
this time ( like always ) will be so much better
than all of the rest, and that yes
each time it does get
just a little bit more wonderful, just a little bit
closer to forever, this time is just another
new beginning - i know - but just let me
enjoy this, let me just sing
how fucking awesome it is
to be here
again, how fucking awesome it is
to be
back.

and like i was with her, i seem to
realize the truth of things,
some certain things, long after
they already are and
have been.

( it is the year of the ox and ) i
apparently have misjudged this
to be some very different time, i am now
well aware and grateful for this season, with just
a few small months
left to go.

but she has always been
so much more
practical, and according
to schedule
than i am.

i
believed for several
many and long months that she
could still find magic
and laughter
in loving me, but that was ( if )
so very many
months ago
at best,
or
at all.

and now as i let her, my false
and beautiful version of her, fall
away and back into some
distant time, i wonder
who she is, or was becoming,
all along, and during the while
i so loved her, and who
if any or some real thing
was she or that, which
i had dreamfelt all of those
so many moments, that were truly elsewhere ticking
in such deep and far between
universes, where, with her back to me,
and moving somewhere so
curiously else, i was
just chasing
echo.

but oh well, better
great better late
than never, i
suppose.
and now i am
happy, happy to be,
building forward again, in love
with loving again, breathing in
the full awe and gasp
of the sun rising up
and with me, and breathing out
every stretch and flicker
of the stars floating down
and with me, each now
morning and new
night.

such a lovely day, so
warm so
quiet and
warm,
and such is the feeling in my heart.

i sent her delirious
love and support
in electric
sentences, it was
a sudden burst
of joy, of
my antique
and precious freedom, i
thought her ready
to understand it, but she
did not seem to notice, only
asking if
everything
was ok?

and it's funny now, how lost i let
myself become, how drunk
in my own confusion, ( after )
how numb i'd been
in my disregard,
looking back now, though
and smiling, she did
know one particular thing, such and
so much more than me,
that we
would not be together, and that
she somehow such
much more than me
knew that we
were not together
when we were, and silly, how silly
little me always thought that somewhere
we were, that somewhere
we could
and would be.

scissors in the sun
gentle as i cut the cloth
for this great new horizon.

triumphantly special and quietly delicious
tomorrow winks farewell at today
and neither are suspicious.

and as far as i know there is no cure
for the work and toil while in it
the bounty still glows -
endure.

love, life, grace and bliss
i hold the hug strong for a moment
on what i am departing, but sweetly, i know
none of this is a that to miss, instead it's more
the anticipation
( in a partially sewn horizon ) of
the next impending
newfirst
kiss.

and no,
i have no great
gospel or epiphany
to confess.
the metaphysical hubris of youth
has acquired the bounty of accumulated days, I have
aged, I am less quick, less incendiary, more
stretched, more lean, more inclined
to less talk and more, much more
quarrantined thought, and
i am quite at peace
with this.

and no no, i am still quite
religious and fervent in my
embrace of all that cannot be touched (
but touched in all feeling with effort )
it's just that, i seem to have become more organic, more
homogenous, more local in my relation to
all that is
and shall always be divine.

what i mean to say is that, i much
more care for the beautiful children i see wearing
the brilliant faces of my beloved friends, much more
care for the dream of my own children, my own goodness
to a bride not yet found, and to the revolutionary pageantry
of domestic paganism, than with dwindling
intentions left
to become the understudy
for the role of god.

things are
good, life is
good, and everything that i need to be i
can. everything that i dream will and might
occur and if and when it does, do not be alarmed if
there is no poem pursuant to, that blows
the balls or tits off your soul
to confirm it.

i wonder when i will think of you, years
from now and what
i will think.
i wonder if what you
gave was free from fear i think
it was, but you are
you, and that is
that.

little girl in so many ways and grey nun in
so many others.
no sundays left my dear in this old
church of me.
so it is a shame, perhaps, that
this is done now, or it is a shame perhaps
that this ever was.

but fuck it, all in the blink
of a day, in the sudden
and incredible flash
of a lifetime.
we were, and i suppose,
that
had it's reason.

and as i play in real time
the rewind of this
slow motion detonation, i have
to enjoy the absurdity of ever thinking
we could share
similar togethers
of any similar
and gentle
forevers.

and she likes me
only in circles
and only
on the whim of her occassion.
and as always if there is
much work for little joy
and there is no vlaue left for you to propose
then the circle
will not unravel will not
break linear.

and you are
a beautiful mess, to me at
least, bits and pieces of who I loved mixed
with someone that I do not know, and who cares little
for more.

and so I stretch, laugh-yawning, tossing
this silly leash into the fresh smile of the sun.

and it's now less riddle than history, less flame more
dim, as I watch you fall away, as I let you fall far
and away, and I stand
up, unclutter aching and sore
joints exhausted from months of bended knee, and
this freedom excites me, to be so free of you,
you who I would have given my world to, but with so many
stars in such great space, there is no reason
left, to wish
on any flash of light in your orbit, be well
my dear
be well.

if you get through it...I'm here.
if you make any further sense of you, I am
with that.
if you decide the clouds are someplace
you'd like to know, call me
I'll go.

if I can make your neck fall
back onto your back with the
fingers down the middle of your chest and
down, I will
love you, if I can whisper
the pirate volts of my hungry midnight
poems hot with the need to
scream them into your open and
swelling ear I will
be there.

if the lights pound you down back again
broken into a million melting and brilliant sparks, and you are
without sleep and sweating pure lightning from the twisting
inside of your angry and fire drenched garden, call
call on me, I will shower
your fucking incredible need with everything and every
secret favor and promise owed to me by this
this relentless and magnificent
fucking everything...

tonight ends this...this
most recent this.
exhale the smoke of the scar, hard blink
shut the days and look out
across the white filling in
with pre-color, truth, tomorrow
and now.

the lungs bite down around
the cherry-purple veins in the sunset and the river
grey wrinkles in the clouds, all folding
down into dust in the rising washing
off of this through my breathing.

everything is ready to move, the lights
from that life begin to diminish like a map
that no longer leads any roads left to be remembered, and
with that last look back, let it all collapse
this new now needs nourishment.

because you know what this is, you knew it was coming, you
have known this somewhere all along, you are just waking up
from the forgetting of this, we always forget that
it will wait to start again until
this completely ends, and that is
what this is, the end of what
has been, and the start
of what will soon be.

Chuck vs. Pat:
the difference between me and him.
he had it much harder, the drink was
the only constant clean'pillow
between shit spoiled blood
and piss broken
glass moments.

he fucking choked god, had god cough
up bits of breakfast toast on
his collar while god begged
for mercy.
he, well, he drank
in very certain bars, drank in
preferred and isolated rooms, and after
gods bile and toast stains had washed a bit, he
lost interest in any interest
to have a chat
with the devil.

he was alot more blade
to bleed, alot more just a penny and I can
feed, he played the horses, praying the locks keep enough
to keep the whores scratching at the door, he
saw the end early and was drooling, smirk and was
ready.

im a bit more of the creampuff, full of
love for the rest of you, hope and belief in
the rest of you, and thank god
he is dead.

his ridicule would really
piss me off.

and we are all so trembling inside so
are they talking about me what are they
looking at, when will i be happy, when
will all of this end, when did it fucking start, what
the fuck am i doing, what the fuck am i
doing here...

sometimes the greatest distance exists
between those most close.
sometimes the softest moments carry
the strongest sound.

and i would be jealous, full of envy
at the world spinning all around me, except
i feel the pain in your gears as they turn.
i would be beset by regret, drunk
in pools of mirrors and failure, except
i know how few of you
are at all
happy.

and,
i would be bothered by how great she might look tonight and
who she might look great with and for, i would be
worried with his bank account and vacation plans, if
i was unaware of how they stare into the shadows in stolen
seconds when they think no one is looking, looking for what
no one will give them.

and we are all so beautiful so full of mistake
and paper cuts from the bible, so cosmic
in how our perfect moments are pushed in on
like coal trying to rush out the diamond, and
this makes me hurt less, makes me hurt your hurt, makes
our hurt an opportunity for joy and for this
i love you all, truly
i do.

and at some point you give up
trying to be or find the person
you are trying to be or find.
more time to stare at the sky
and i find myself
doing exactly that.

the romance of the imagination and the
screenplay of memory is quite a terrible
addiction but i have been
sober before and i will be sober again.

you dream of her body, how you convulsed
along the electric pulling you built between
those Venice sheets when you both were still
strangers searching for a warm place to hide.
you dream of the clothes, the parties, the cars, the good
times for everyone, build the business live the life but
there you are, some coin in your pockets, pockets on pants
on a body still wondering what's next.

so, i'm excited for a party that i'm having, bring
all the kids to the campfire, see if anyone has the secret
or at least some new or better
questions.

but there will be some good souls that choose
to make it, and hell, what was not made then perhaps
can be made now perhaps we will even be able
to share it for a night, at least.

of course
it is literal
as literal at least
as literal can be.
its a diary
a summary
a soliloquy
of what i think see
feel and believe.
its a truth grenade
pull the pin
and the fuck it joy
when the fireworks begin.

simple notes in a bottle set
adrift in the oceans of space, rarely
expected to ever be found, so yea
its literal i guess, literal as much
as anyone would literally confess
to, but
that being said, it is a dialogue
with the universe that is
sculpted with the intention, but not
always just intended for the subject, but mainly
and maybe moreso sculpted
for the dreamed upon objective that may receive it,
objectively with no recognition or connection to
what or who has
launched the missive.

so take it for what its worth, what
it means to you, take it for any
worth or meaning it carries,
literally
or not
either is fine
with me.

behind my eyes
i am always
tilting left or right
pulled in wonder
hand on face cradling
with index
finger pushing
up on the cheek, smiling
hmm..

each challenge becomes
much easier or
less of an obstacle
to address...
each
broken heart mends
that much quicker...
each day becomes that much shorter
all forever spreads that much farther
each desire reveals its truth that much faster
all need illuminates its truth that much greater.

and as I listen to my cats claws
tick tack across the hard wood floors i
laugh that i almost threw up
after the gym today and
as soon as i caught my breath
i lit up a smoke.

behind my eyes
i am always
tilting left or right
pulled in wonder
hand on face cradling
with index
finger pushing
up on the cheek, smiling
hmm..

i wonder if i will want any more.
so far there have been two women
that i have loved more than any other
more than i should have more
than either cared for,
at the time, or
cared for as I had hoped
they would.

both so beautiful in the black
and white memories and most
beloved pitctures I have of them.
both so perfect in thier kaleidoscopic
occupation of my deepest and most protected
and beloved self.

i wonder if i will want any more.
so far they both reach out from
crumbling and brilliant free
falls through bliss, asking
for my hand to hold them or
guide a more gentle descent
to
much safer
ground.

i wonder if i will love any more, like
i do them.
i wonder if i have the strength to love
any more, like i do
them.

I am not the one, not at least to
either of them. If so, i would
be.
Such is this, and at least I am
forever grateful that I have left gardens
inside of them, beacons of yes you can
count on me.
but, I often wonder, if
I will want any more.

and against all reason
i would marry
both of them.

i would march
up the aisle, bristling
with bruises of ridiculous hope, laughing
at the steep and
obvious and unforgiving
cliff of tomorrow.

and when i was asked.......i
would say..
i will.
even though i cannot, i will,
even though
they would never
dare
to let me.

never mistake the willingness
to accept the bullet.
never mistake the desire
to accept anything given
from a specific and certain hand
as an act of the unwilling.
There are crazy people in heaven, and
i'm sure we all know a few.

sipping the mist off the outskirts again, must
be careful not to
become a planet no one has ever seen before, or
worse yet, has never
been wished upon ( all
light is relative ).

but,
i'm not the supermodel, the mogul, the genius that
i had hoped to be
by 34, at least not by
modern and scalable standards, but at least at 34, at
a relative half-way point of this life, toes
in the water and no mermaid rising
from the waves, i gotta laugh, yea
it's all allright, yea it's all
just fine.

and so with no wife, no kids, no vast
empire worth a mention, i'm rather ok
with it all, and facing little to show for this
far along, the view seems to broaden,
and the women, the family, the wealth seems to
release its bullseye on the horizon, instead
i see great skies, endless wind, and
an acceptance that is growling full
with deeper promise.

so,
the next step from here is just me, not
what you think about me, not what
i'd like you to think about me, just me, oh
yea and my cat also, this is about her too, can't
levae her out of
the true
big picture.

and i'm not sure why
i am like this.
and i am not sure
why you are not.
and most of all, i am not sure
why we cannot be
this both together.
i'm not sure why i am more often
than not,
happy.
and i'm not sure why more often
than not, most of you
don't seem to be.
and i am not sure why
i used to be afraid
to tell you my secret, and
i am not sure now
why it makes more sense than ever
to still keep it to myself.

if i cannot give away
my happiness, what a useless treasure
it suddenly seems to be.
if i cannot give my soul away
to heal yours, than
i might as well just be god.

but,

i guess i'd rather be
a powerless fool
always easy to find
in a small room, writing, and smiling, than
an almighty coward
hiding in heaven
unable to.

this belly ache
in the center of the earth
dragging orbits
and slowing down
turn times, the
sun
will rise again
but
differently
always differently than
the day before.

and so many of my dearly beloved
feeling so dearly unloved by all things, feeling
the hands of the gods squeezing
the air from their lungs, and
between each i'm sorry
they cannot seem
to catch a breath.

i can see through their faces
behind the muscles, underneath
the nerves, below
the emotions and just before
the soul..
their perfect
and lovely beauty
blinking
and going
blind.

and there is she
so busy
making the outside pretty
that she is now afraid
to go back in, so busy
keeping everything out
that she will not let
anyone and especially
herself
back in.
and there is he, whimpering
in the dark, unable to sleep
without waking up paralyzed, or
punching kicking pushing
all of his dream away, afraid
to rest for fear
of exhaustion.

and i smile for them, sometimes
keeping our tears safe, keeping them
ready.

and after our want
subsides, and after
the prince and the princess
have been found out, have been
discovered to be just still small children, and
alone, i
see how delicate the strength of love truly is, i
need the love, i
am love
again.

and if only love could choose who
among us will choose to receive it, now
that would be something
to write about.

I have a strict diet
of disturbed, delicious,
and dark women.
Like churches conquered by the elements
their
stained glass lies in
broken tears and ripped light
on the floor
around the altar.

and what it must be like, such
bent and sudden power, such
torn and sharp grace, and what it must
be like to be
a distrubed, delicious,
and dark woman.

it's almost as if
my heart weights the weight
of a benevolent forward in contrast
to the weight that pulls
from the rivers of the fractured
feminine and i
beg
to drown.

and so it is
that I cannot move
any love story past
this first chapter, and am left
with abandoned half-books filled
wuth disturbed, delicious,
and dark women.
perhaps one day
I will find my way
into the first sentence
of a second chapter and stop reading,
loving, or writing about
dark
delicious
and disturbed women.

all inside your head, all
inside your head, that black
thunder pulling down
your great skies, and why
becuase I know that you are
so god damn beautiful when
you've forgotten who you are and
your heart is given a quick
reprieve, from all of the hurt
hanging heavy on it, and you
actually
breathe
a breath
between
the terrified heaving
of your breasts, afraid
that you do not deserve
the air they
welcome.

and as I see you
in between
the balck and white shards
of you, while they splinter
into a bouquet of tears
that are too heavy
to plant ( even in
the most secret
of private gardens ).

and I just could not
love you enough to make you
love yourself, that
is my burden to bear, but where
we now meet and where we now can
find such new selves to find, it's almost
like we are new lovers, safe in the knowing
that whispers across heaven
and the winks smuggled between the lightnings clap
are enough, enough to thank
anything that gave us each other, and gave us
what this will now mean
to be.

not sure about anything except everything and
where do we go from here, fields of whoah
spreading in the palace of my belly, intoxicating
the limbs the veins the heart the percussion
surrounding the instinct with so many worlds
playing bumper cars in my universe and only so much
time allowed for this many carnival tickets, i wonder
what awaits beneath the canopy of the next lifetime, and
the cool shoulder-in huddle of and the barely lit postcard 0f an evening
at a quiet winter beach just stepped
into my head
for no reason.

i get
distracted
like that.

but back here in Venice making mix tapes or cd's
what year is it and what new world have we created to thank
this new god, or any new gods not scared by the worship of them, and my
black cat is fine with all of this, knowing the engine of my love
typically blasts far beyond the polite or acceptable standards for emission upon
this road, but we are not on the most traveled road are we, and a delicate
hammock of strings in the song that is now playing just threw me
onto a beach somewhere on a Tuesday at 4:38 pm, swirled in tropical
overcast and a life purposefully forgotten for a full crucifix-lengthed full body stretch
in the sand in a grey-rained paradise brush stroked with raw violet
and fluorescent tangerine sunsets and
sorry.

i get
distracted
like that.

broken glasses again, beginning to think
no frame or lenses
can stand up
to what's looking through them.

blazing with harsh and recycled lies
blinking in breaths before the tornado's rise
and what can we say, when we barely
say anything
when given
all chance.

and sometimes its just a sublte revolt
of the senses, sending
the spirit they surround
soaring, question
is towards what.

and I never have enough fists
to fight off every demon, guess
it's a good thing that
I don't believe in ehll.

and not every poem
is anywhere near
good.
take this one for example.

but when you're alone, trying to fix
a broken pair of glasses
something is better than nothing.

and so i won't
be taking anything back
that i have ever said, ever thought
for
or about you.

in ways that bodies
time, or names cannot
explain, you just reached
out through then, silently
into now, took my soul
close to yours, kissed
it with mist and mix
of breath and lips
gently
across the tremble of cheek,
and how fascinating to look at
the twinkling pieces of
this puzzle-story
like a star fallen perfectly
into unexpecting
and open
palms.

and thank you.

and so i won't
ever stop
talking about you, thinking
about you, i won't be taking
any of it back.

you have given all of this to me, this
telegram tapped out
unconsciously through
the alleys inside of hours, and around
the echo inside of the ticking of cities,
you have sent this to me
this strange song without words...
and i had fell to believe
it such a silly thing
to even still listen.

and so i won't
be taking any of this back,
anything that i've ever said
anything that i've ever thought
for or
about
us, or
for the rest of all
of anything too.

and in the great story
of this life, great in terms
of he who must live it, it's
always so much and not at all a surprise
when the world just up and bursts
into gardens of fire
and to always find
a bottle of suicide red
nail polish next
to the matches.

every great time, every great
tearing down and rising up, of
self, of knowledge, of grace, of
pain and want, of joy and giving,
every great life and death
has left this flattened
and gasping from the concussion
man-boy, looking up
at the radiant
blinding silhouette
of the great She, who always
with a new line, a new
design, always appears
in every act in this
great story of this
life.

odd how such power, such magnificent
force
can be so soft, so difficult
to detect.
one more reason why
i understand why adam didn't do anything, didn't
try to stop Her from taking that infamous bite, he
was utterly fucking frozen, watching
her in the awe.

and you asked, " why is it so easy
for certain people to get the best of me
when I can crush others with an
effortless blow?"

and i don't know how to answer that
except
that because the question came
from the lips of a woman, how bout
i close my eyes
hold my breath
and lose everything
to try
and find
the answer.

the sharpest smiles start in the dark
slicing through the wide curtain
cutting into your deep space suddenly
cutting into your deep space greatly
waking you up from the great
weightless womb-float through forever
ripping their way around the quiet
witness of the moments and planets that pass
breaking their first flash of light
around the angle you never thought to see
the three hundred and sixty first degree
and then you're all sorts of fucked up
and spinning in the brilliance.

and you just tore my night open,
(like god
unbuttoning the clouds)
said peek-a-boo, yea
I know me
too,
and
what are we supposed to do
from here? and even though
we know better
we know it never hurts
to ask, and that
we won't ever
stop.

and all i can say is
that the sharpest smiles start in the dark
and perhaps that's why
there are so many stars
to wish from.

Ha
damn,
you did it.

my most dear
and precious Alexandria,
and we're safe to use that name here
as it's been slowly wrapped
into a whisper over many moon
rises and settings
of the sun.

you
just
traced a circle in the wind
around 17 years, tied
the moments of that story
into the most amazing bow
and with a laugh the world will never hear
gave that back
to me.

so here's to you my
hardest and favorite fascination, my angel
in a crowd of thieves, my emerald pennace,
my porn star on a harley, my sweetest
little girl waiting to be loved, my brave mother
with a halo, and how much
you used to hate it when
i'd call you out
on how lovely you truly
are.

and look at how and where
and who we've been, with this
this incredible little life tip-
toeing underneath the blades
of grass, below
each and every of our confused
and clumsy
footsteps from then
to now, but with
and, don't forget
the swagger.

and it's been years since I said goodbye,
to the ghost you left
lying next to me, and what a delight
and honor, what a great amen, what a
right on right on, to know
that everything I've truly seen
truly is
everything I've truly seen.

wipe the smear
of the moonsuns brow
exhale the holy
shit laughter
and hell fuck wow.

amazing that
a good pinot still floats
under ten bucks
amazing the bouquets managed
after the ashes
and prior to
the dust.

my cat purrs curling
tornado coil and whispersnore
while alone I giggle
in the brightest light-
how dumb we are to wish for more.

while beneath the velvet gauntlet
my heart is stirred like concrete
generic compounds from moist to solid
and I still don't know what we call it
the image behind the comet
while in one gulped gasp we saw it
this fleeting grace that haunts us.
such fleeting grace it taunts us.

this vast great grace still wants us.

Don't expect to be understood.

who I am right now, burst
violently
out of some strange cocoon when
I was twelve
years old.

I had just lost my virginity, was
madly in love, had my heart
broken almost
immediately and then almost
as immediately found
"letters to a young poet" and thank
you RMR for that candle threaded
sinewed and titanic
hand from beyond.

at times I wonder how
I survived it.
such raw and terrible
beautiful everything erupting
from the inside out and the skin
of that shaking burning boy gasping
to somehow keep it
in.

it almost brings me to tears to
go back
there.
It so decisively informs me
that if any god does truly exist, how immense
the loneliness in such a soul, loneliness
in such a certain way.

I've been trying to make
this understood ever
since, and in
delirious and brilliant
and self-comfortilluminating
amusement, and
there are not millions dead
in my
name.

and I know my friends
know and
love me, and I know
that my friends do not
know (to) and
love
this.

and to be awoken
in the thunder and heartbeat of infinity,
to suddenly come to, in full choking beyond
full conscious in the birth and streaming veins
of eternity, can be
a mighty and fucking
startling experience.
and then, to have that
experience pound and stomp
in the echo and marrow of your molecules in every
limitless moment since, is a quite
and obtuse existence to sufficiently
express or adequately manifest
to the world or external
perception that is purported
or painted to be
life.

but, I would not trade this
for anything, it is my
and it is all
of thing(s).

so fucking strange though,
so fucking strange, if only
I could share the passing rushing
of this and the destination it achieves
which are both subsequently simultaneous, in
when ( the ) I look out out from, and am in
myself, in that quiet of myself, locked
and blazing in the utter-such being of this.

and
if any of this makes sense, you'll surely
notice it when I peel back from the breathing of my
presence in the present, and smolder soft in the
paralysis in the overwhelming
all surging of this, study
me as I meander our here, and
you'll see it, I
hope, but
then again
no shock and nothing lost
if you don't.

J PHX

dude
dont do many
of these, talking
about current
shit current
people, but
what
up joaquin
phoenix...

lets not forget
a bank account - that when checked
says
dont trip - is
a nice place to start.
bukowski never minded
money, be clear
on that.
he did mind
those afraid
of its absence.

so back to joaquin
phoenix
2009 ( in case
anything in the future warrants
research into
what the fuck i am talking about but
my gut thinks
that is highly unlikely )

he grew a funky
grizzly beard, wore the lady
shades laying
off eye witness of any
sort ( my guess would be pedestrian )
decided to rap
and the world
is waiting
for the rest.

i LOVE it.
i
absolutely fucking
dig it.

i get it.
ALL of us get it.
or at least, i think and hope
WE
do.

I
take it as this:
homeboy recognizes that
at best, in anything WE do, one
sentence, one phrase may
HIT
the center of the soul
the heart
the love
the life, and
STAY.
and if WE can achieve just
that stanza
in a poem, or that scene
in a film, or that spit
in a bar, or into
the whisper into
the ear of a moment
than WE can be
done.
and burst
in flames into a smile
goddamned confidence
fucking bliss.

and aw fuck
i gotta be
who again?

the 2012, the 36 inch waist, the 14 to
21 fags a day, the sentences lost
to the air, the tip
toe between paychecks, the 34
years of this life, the how many
bullets in the gun, the how many
drinks have i had tonight, the how many
lovers are left to have, the how many
poems
left to write?

and i go between
*flashing*
*montage*
fetus in an ultrasound
and
Auggie Rodins the
thinker.

guerilla beer poetry vs.
fireplace bong hit civility and
i am king, sunken
into either throne, warm
in the pensive self debate
with myself and myself as
the corporate board at LA-Z-BOY, screaming
in ponder why
has my ass not been offered
a cushion built
for both worlds to rest.

and just so you know, i
started writing again like
a few
weeks ago so
you will and
i am sorry will
have to deal with poems
just like this
until
i remember how to say
what the fuck
i have to say.

I have always been
dead.
I have always been
alive, and hopefully
my placement of the first line(s)
and the one(s) that follow
make no difference to you, because
they make no difference
to me.

but it has been years since,
I tried to explain any of that,
since
I tried to grab any metaphysical collar ( or
broken wing crest for that matter )
and shake out
the agree
the I
recognize
the confirmation,
it has been years since
I've made the kinds of mistakes
that got one jew
crucified, and
lost millions more
( jews and non-jews )
in the after-act.

no no no now
its a much more
quiet and exclusive cult
so much so that
often I disall0w
my own attendance.

but then joy
division erupts and
I'm taken to dark England,
his pain, the noose, and
a comfortable wish
to watch him sleeping.

love will tear us apart again, and
it has surely turned this poem
to shit.

2:16:09

go finding normal and
once I open
my eyes along on the arc
of the ferris wheels spinning
and while I stare
in such windows down and
music up awe
at the clouds on this
day, sliced hours after
the rain has stopped, I
swallow this anti-catastrophe
( el momento precioso )
through my pores.

back and without age again, again
its funny to find my voice
again, making hello, polite conversation and
wow
not much has changed
since.

drinks in the day
with a girl earlier, and
listening to myself, I
find no wonder in why
I am alone, and why
I am thirsty
to not be.

but that is a good one - me
not alone.
so much love for so much
and so many, and so little
to be in.

"thank you"

happy to be alive again
and what
the fuck was i thinking
big man
(little boy)
has a company
(president)
has a girl
(neglected)
has the want
to be the white american
money making
poet who got over on
poets and
what they write against
(self coup)
who the fuck did i think
i was
and fooling, and yes
and oh well,
welcome back
to nothing again
and everything.

" we missed you. "

and as I begin to scratch
peepholes through the bubble
in punctuated diamond breaths,
i am glad
for the want
to write again.
perhaps its because
i have recently began to drink again
apparently certain
friends are best not
forgotten
or else and perhaps
its a combination of this
and many several of other things perhaps
such as the life i just left
silly little poet boy playing
the grown up man, a business,
a she that if had been given some light
and that would have grown from it would
have nurtured us into a we,
and all the while
my moments here were silenced
told to shut up, still still, and wait, but
that life did not quite fit as I had wonderhoped it might,
that uniform and cadence
and all of the great gossamer of ego
has been shed
and perhaps that had just a little to do
with the cosmic F train running my ass over
flat in the path
like a gnat taking a bus
head on.
and yes so now
it is on to the next of any somehow
smiling with many lessons
crushed like bugs
between the spaces of my teeth, and
as i look amusingly from where i
assume to hope to be the middle of my life
i have yet to still become
any form of electric Jesus, or
winner of the global lottery, but
in this little apartment in venice beach, with
a black cat on my lap, and no
woman in my bed, the silhouette
of the dragon has begun to shimmer
in the periphery of my witness.
i wonder, truly
should there ever be more
for which to wish?

and the delight
shimmering like the penumbra
from the grin off of
this jack-o-lantern
with disowned
and noble birthright,
did I enjoy our(my) drinks tonight.

the orbits of our own self navigation and
the subsequent self coups engaged
and displayed to the adoring populace, well well
here we are across 3 glassesof Pinot on my
side, sparklingwater on yours, and
disemboweled edamame
in our contextual Switzerland.

and yes I can admit
to the fact that I am slightly
slighted by the fact that
you have gotten more pretty likeI have,with age.
but you dont have a penis, 1-0 to you.

and in the delicious spin of
moments, life, love, laughter, I raise
this glassto you.

Jim Morrison penned " fearthe lords who are secret among us" and
with this pen I salute the anatomy,
topography,and lineage of such lordly
intimacy my dear
cohort
and friend.

this poem was without question, much
much better in the blueprints and strategy
mapped out ( test & learn ) during
the drive home.

but

timing is everything and

love is tossed in galactic bouquets
across the red carpet of our multi-decade story

and across all of the time we've shared
including and arriving to
tonight.

2:15:09

and I believe its back again
the warm content.

like a great breathing photograph
slowly beginning to develop
out through my senses.

not the cymbals
and trumpets of success
not the confetti of victory
or the spontaneity of innocent
smiling, no
this is much thicker much
more rich than
that.

the welcome carving
out the hollow,
out of out from
the hollow.
cupping the familiar
open of the glow
and pulsing thump
thump of the dragons heart.

and as the lights on Lincoln
begin to sub-flicker
like freckles in my veins
and the strangely OK
settles in below the clouds
between the walls and above
the seeds waiting
to be bathed, I
know this, I
remember this...

...and this
will be again until
I tear it all down again
in some cartoon
of my existence
which will wash away someday
clean.

and I believe then it will be back
again
after that.
the warm content.