Hawaiian Shirts in the Electric Chair
that went extinct
with the letter
and the barn.
and i think “all
this animal has to do
is shit
in the right place
and it makes me happy.”
that’s it.
i’m pretty sure if there was a god
he would’ve stopped evolution
at the
dog.
of course, the dog can operate
with no regard because it
doesn’t know the greatest
fear- that someday
it will
die.
but as animals
grow weak,
and the weak
are killed
and eaten,
humans grow old
in community
homes. and sometimes
they’ve lost it, and drool
on bingo boards and smile
at the space between
them and time. but usually
they haven’t. and
because they
are old and
boring they’re
stuck away, to ride out the days alone,
and watch their roommates
drop out one by one.
and at the end, their very first
learned lesson becomes their last-
if they want to keep everyone
happy,
all they have to do
is shit in the right place.
My Friend Tom
my friend Tom always understood me,
even at the times
when I scared
myself.
I was always screaming for an audience
up on a guitar amp
and then I’d drink too much
and quiet down from the pills.
Tom just sat there smiling
sipping a dark beer
enjoying it,
watching me go sweaty and crazy,
knowing that we’d both end up at the same place.
and that’s what I learned after my youth passed me by.
I wanted to be great, but never proved it
with more than words,
and by 25 the only thing I was running
on was caffeine.
Tom wanted to be the best average person he could be
and always had been
since the day I’d met him.
and as much as I hate people
who have figured out how to be happy,
Tom is one
that I think deserves it
This Time, It Was
Going To Be Me
tonight,
I decided it
was time to be
the other guy.
some men
cannot
figure out women.
I too,
was one of those men.
and
in earlier times,
I would take the same
strategy of defeat,
“nice guys finish last”
I’d say.
“someday they’ll all want me
and they won’t have me.”
but someday never
came.
and
the bars kept closing
and the girls
never went
home
alone.
so, when a Slovakian girl
with eyes
like a blue hawaiian
lost
on a subway in the
cool part
of new york
looked at me and
said, “
i want the american
experience”, I knew
it was time to change
tactics.
we went to
st. marks.
even if
she
didn’t dig the freak show
I knew we could
find weed. bob dylan
lived here I said.
cool.
bukowski
wrote right here, I said,
on this stoop.
cool.
I pointed at
the st. marks hotel.
“and that’s where
sid
killed
nancy.”
I knew something
about my facts was
wrong but I didn’t
stop.
she held the flask up
to her mouth.
I took it and
kissed her
before she could
say
cool.
later,
we said
goodnight
and I moved
down
7th avenue.
I looked up
and
saw the hotel chelsea.
EVERYTHING
I told that curious
slovakian had been a lie.
bob, bukowski, dog diced nancy
they’d all lived here
not st. marks.
and then
I smiled
because
she’d
never know the
difference and
I
got to kiss her
anyway.
tonight,
I decided it
was time to be
the other guy,
and
I won
Turnpike Blues
he looked at me
as uninterested
and defeated as a 25 year old
on his way to a shitty job
in a shitty town
could, and asked,
“have you ever thought about a necktie?
I mean … why?”
it was a question someone
who hasn’t spent hours
driving alone,
to somewhere they didn’t want to go,
could never understand.
I looked at the landscape of the
New Jersey Turnpike, right at the
starting line of what was sure to be
another dead
and eternal winter, and
the air stank like a chemically enhanced
napalm fart.
then I looked down at my necktie
hoping, somehow, it wouldn’t be there.
it was.
I was a manufactured monkey like everyone else.
I lit a cigarette to dilute
the fart smell.
Ernest and I exchanged a silent nod.
we worked an
hour later than was scheduled.
I fell asleep
i fell asleep
thinking
about lorraine’s
toes,
and how she’d
never show
them to me.
but
she let me
see
everything no one
else is
ever supposed to
see.
now, at night
i don’t stay up
thinking
about our bar
crawls
or parking lot
sex.
i fall asleep
thinking
about lorraine’s
feet,
and how she
never showed
them to me.
Arrested Development
her parents said
-believe in God
-believe in yourself
-believe in family
-don’t have sex it will
leave you
empty
i thought of
these things, and
many other things
as she pulle
d into
a park, turned off her headlights
and lit a
cigarette
I said, “I
don’t think this is
a good idea”
she took off
her shirt
I said, “I can’t
I’m dirty”
she unhinged her
leopard bra
I said, “jesus,
if I ever have a daughter
there’s no way to stop her,
is there?”
she handed me a
water bottle and
said, Go Clean Off
her parents were asleep
when we got back, but the goddamn
brother-
3 feet shorter than me
100 pounds lighter, but
with a better haircut, said
“I didn’t say you
could come back over”.
he smiled to himself, as if
he had won something
I smiled back, and thought
if that’s what you need
then take it ... I’ve already
helped myself.
I Liked Her So I Never
Should Have Talked To Her Again
i’ve been tricked
before
“i don’t usually do this”
will make a man
carry you
down the street,
carry you
in
his mind
flat stomach
still
after all those drinks,
your help with the bra
“i wish my breasts were bigger”
i don’t
no age
pink
like you were born
yesterday
“i like you”, you say,
“let’s wait”
i leave
smiling
at cats on the sidewalk
a week
later
all i have
is a memory
and a cd with your songs.
i didn’t realize
you
were the
now or never
kind
i still carry you
hoping
you’ll
look back.
in my mind,
down the street,
i found a little bit
more
to give you
but time doesn’t
smile
when
you’re alone.
the only thing
left
is empty the ashtray
and
move on
to the next disappointment
The Things Men Say On
Their Way To Work
“I worked for
an airline
once. Younger
than you. Tix for $20.
Anywhere
in the world. I
went to
Paris.
With three other stewardesses.
Man,
you should’ve seen
me
then. I saw
Paris.
Sure.
I saw it from
the airport to the hotel.
I saw it on
the way back
too.
The rest of the
time I saw
Gail
Lily
and Katie.
I saw the places they’d never
even seen.
What do you think
about that?”
I think you
made the right
decision.
Paris has been Paris
for 700 years.
And it’ll
probably stay
that way until
the end.
But you saw
Gail
Lily
and Katie.
Maybe 100 other
men could say
that.
And I’m sure
none of them
will age
as well
as
Paris.
“I went
to Florida once,
too.”
Not
even Gail
Lily
and Katie
could make
Florida
worth while.
“I brought my wife.
I saw every
inch of
Florida, but I barely
saw
the hotel.”
See? I said.
You
let yourself become
one of those
and you got a 2nd
place story.
Florida
will still be
Florida
in 700 years
and it’ll
still be
nothing
to write home about.
What happened to
the passion? The stride?
God put his hand
right to his
head and saluted you.
Gail
Lily
and Katie,
for no damn
reason at all.
And you
traded it
all in
for
Florida?
Another one
sold his present
because
they told him
his life could have
a purpose.
And now
he’s driving
a car
with no
working windows
and two full ashtrays.
Waiting for the day
he can save enough
to see
Paris
again.
My Hallway
Hangs No Masterpiece
i thought of her young,
as a canvas
sitting
on a towel.
a brush with a fine head
a brush with thick hair
and
acrylic paints
(the simple colors
red,
yellow,
black,
etc)
form a circle around the canvas.
but the paint stays capped,
the brushes stay in their plastic,
no lines on the canvas
it can be anything now.
the artists waits
and watches
years pass.
first comes the
red.
the lines begin,
colors mix. sometimes
they mesh,
mostly
they mess.
the lines
don’t follow patterns
the foundation is covered,
the canvas stops drinking
the acrylics.
colors can’t stay clean
anymore.
they sit deep
waiting
for new
inspiration
oil.
it takes three
or four
layers
and then it’s permanent.
it spreads easily
and it’s expensive,
only a few
hands hold that brush.
but those
are the colors
that never fade
to
the periphery,
and they
shine
under museum
and gallery lights
until
the switch
flicks
south
i see
her
now, with a golden
frame and the strokes
of camel hair
from
corner
to corner.
and she smiles
as she is handed to me
with a ribbon
but no brush,
an ornament
without imperfection,
the priceless
painting
to hang
and to hold.
i’m worthy
to receive, but i can’t help
wondering why-
why was
there no brush for
my hand?
no space
left
for my
eye?
i saw
the other’s
vision
but they were all
wrong,
was i born
with
shaking hands?
my vision
so disturbed?
if i had the
heart
only
i could know
the concept
of
colors
and
lines,
only
i could see
the priceless
piece
hanging like an ornament
in a hallway
where all candles and
light
shine.
i think of her now as a canvas,
dealt and sold
to a patron
who
understands
layers and limits,
and appreciates
the paint
as it
ages with dust
and time.
my hallway
is
empty
with light,
waiting to illuminate a
gold framed canvas
that only needed
one make
of a dress,
one color of
paint,
no patterns
or lines.
I saw in its
infancy
an overall
concept of beauty
that no color
could define.
if it was
my
masterpiece
i might have painted
sunny
like june
or blue
like july
but more likely
i would’ve
left it
like the original
architect,
and
the canvas
would have stayed-
clean
and
white
Lorraine
I didn’t know she was drunk
until,
she threw up across her desk.
they say “don’t write about love
because it’s lame
because it’s all been said before
because by now,
everyone knows it doesn’t exist.”
but this was it,
the real thing
all the burning
and desires
the smell of rhone
the smell of rain
she wretched back and forth
(the fish tank lights of fluorescent classrooms found their subject)
the rest of the class sat in front of their computers
like rookies in a police academy
obedient
loyal,
sipping cups of coffee for amphetamine psychosis
becoming machines in hopes of not being replaced by them.
like the scabs who cross picket lines,
like the prisoner of war who builds bullets,
getting a paycheck today to extinct tomorrow.
but not her
she is a rebel
in a time
when only pop music is cool,
when the last revolution
wasn’t televised
but free wi-fied
and in an age where being dangerous
is supporting gays
and ‘liking’ France
on your Facebook page,
sometimes
all it takes is public vomiting