Monday, November 30, 2009

wait and pray

There is a language of existence.
An interpretation of what it is to breath,
eat, fuck, die,

then pass through the eye of the universe.

Born again of water.
Cursed again by light.

We learn of fire and sounds.
Rhythms of communication.
Consonants and vowels of earthly delight.

Water passes over our eyes.
Our hearts, open and soft,
become the vault and tomb of what was,
never to be again.

All is lost.

Blind. Only knowing IS.

The eye of the needle is infinity.

Again, forget the never was.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

ask again

Ask again, to hear the words
that the prophet said.

Ask again
for some kind of resolution
so this conflict may end.

Ask again,
this time loud enough for all of us.

You have been given the unfortunate task
of speaking for many.

Fail this time,
and you will never be asked again.

Monday, November 23, 2009



Wednesday, November 18, 2009

dream of life blues

These years are real.

The pile of old photos,
with upturned corners,

without lines around the eyes,
are not lies.

These days are invisible.

The moments obscured by overcast skies.
A handful of flowers.

If only my heart could talk,
it would say, “I wish I had you”.

These hours are for laughing in the night.

No longer hell bent, waiting.
Impending doom my mistress.

To the fantasy, I willingly surrender.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

these foolish things

That intoxicating moment
when you feel the sea
'neath you feet.

And you can run, leap,
to a better place.

One no longer under anyone's thumb.

Matters of the heart become more complicated
when the days grow dark earlier.

The spider lures in a prey it couldn't catch.

It's up to you to keep silent,
walk away

or come along for the ride.
We head out as the high tide rises
Chasing a moon, always out of reach.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

the dance

She bites my tongue,
then waits for me to speak.

Her intentions roll with a melody
that gives voice to suspicion.

She wants to begin,
what never ended.

Wants to end,
what never began.

Her erotic fixations,
make me want her all the more.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

'round midnight

Faint scent of vanilla
lingers in the darkness.

All those thoughts
I had tried to bury,
come back,
'round midnight.

She left this room hours ago,
but the taste of honey is still on my lips.

She left this room hours ago,
because closure is what she was looking for.

Already, I've draped veils
of sentiment over the memories.

Already, I've made excuses
for why I'll need to be with her again.

Faint scent of vanilla
still lingers in the darkness.

All those thoughts
I had tried to bury,
come back ,
'round midnight.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Fear Is In The Eye Of The Beholder pt 2

“You got another one of those?” I ask Gil. He pulls another cigarette out of the pack handing it and the lighter to me.

“What in the hell are we waiting for? You forget how to start the car?” I ask him, before laughing hard and heavy in his face.

He gets his piece of shit Corolla going and we get rolling. Gil's driving erratically and it's making me fucking tense. I hate it when Gil's stoned, the dope turns him into an old man with a severe head injury.

“Okay, I've had enough of this ride,” I shout at Gil. I had it together until we hit the highway, six lanes moving north to south, it broke me.

“Let me out of the car. I want to walk.” I yell in Gil's ear but he's trying to ignore me. “Let me the fuck out now!” I demand.

“Shut up. I'm trying to drive. ” Asshole snarls at me.

“I have to get out of this car we're being followed by a priest in a Lincoln Town Car, an off-duty cop in a Ford Taurus, and Dolores' first husband Daniel, in an Oldsmobile Cutless. This evil three are going to take us down.”

“Shit. Can you please just calm down. I don't think any of those people are behind us. Even if they are, they're not going to do anything now, this street is too busy.” Gil begs me, but he doesn't realize the trouble we're in.

They think I haven't figured out who they are, but by God, I'm on to them. I'm on to them like stink on shit. They're gonna catch up to us if you don't speed up, I can already taste the blood in my throat. I bet Dolores sent them, she's out to punish me.

“Stop being a pussy and speed up or we're doomed. The priest is gaining on us, I can see him in the mirror. He's gonna go around us and cut us off down the road.”

“Alright, I'll speed up a little.”

“You know, when I was a kid, my dad was a drunk, loved betting on dogs. Mom, well, she was sweet lady, but she died when I was thirteen. That really messed me up. Dad didn't know what the fuck to do with me, so he just left me alone. You know what I did? You know what the fuck I did? I ran away, just took off. I wanted to join the circus. When I was a kid, I read a book about a kid who ran away and joined the circus. I'd always liked the idea. Well . . . I traveled around until I found a circus . . . A guy named Lester gave me a job selling tickets and cleaning the animal cages. Then I met a girl, a contortionist named Sandy. Was she somethin' else. What a body. Not much up top, but an ass that could bring tears to your eyes. I traveled with them for awhile. Sandy and I became an item, which pissed off her parents and some of the other performers. Most of these people were circus folks for life, had been for generations, and they didn't care much for me. They thought I'd get tired of it and want to leave, taking Sandy with me. After a few months, we ended up in Texas. Man, Texas . . . God awful place. You know I have this fear that I'll either die in Texas or that when I die my soul will be trapped in Texas for all of eternity. It was in Texas that Sandy broke it off. That fucked me up. I left and went back to Missouri. When I got there I found out my father had taken off. I had nothing. But fuck it, I'm here now, drunk as hell. The big king or some shit.”

“That is a hell of a story. How come you've never told me that one before?”

“Gil, my man, it's too painful to think about for too long. You never get over your first love.”

“I hear ya . . . I think about mine more than I should.”

“I think we need to prepare ourselves.”

“For what?” Gil asks.

“We're about to go down. A cop and Dan Mankowski are right behind us, and the priest is somewhere lurking around and I'm pretty sure the guy next to us in the silver car is a narc.”

“What the fuck is a matter with you?”

“This is a perfectly reasonable freak out I'm having.”

“Shut up. There are no cops or priests around and you told me Dan is dead.”

“I never told you that, and I'm being very fucking serious about this situation.”

“Just calm the fuck down until I get you home. Close your eyes, pretend none of it is happening.”

“If you would drive like a man and not a drivers ed reject, we would have lost these guys already.”

“We're fine. There's no one following us.”

“You're not hearing me. We're far from fine, in fact everything is falling apart.”

“We're near your house. Just cool out for me. I'm too stoned for your shit right now.”

“You need to lay off the dope, you've gone stupid on me. They're going to nail us at my house. It's the perfect place for this kind of thing. They'll kill me and blame you. We'll both be fucked.”

“Jesus Christ Chet, are you out of your mind? What you're saying doesn't even make sense.”

“Listen to me, I know what the hell I'm talking about, bad shit is about to happen to us.”

“We're two fuckin' blocks from your house, shut the hell up you drunk bastard.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you. When we get to my place and they're waiting for us. Not a fuckin' word outta ya. Got me.”

Chet and I arrive at the house unscathed, but I'm now gripped by fear. Chet says goodbye as he lunges, propels himself out of the car, and unto the driveway, where he scans the area around us thoroughly. Panic stricken, I watch him walk from the driveway and into the house. At some point, probably within sight of my house, they will pounce. I take out a cigarette and light it, then turn off the car, recline my seat, and pull my t-shirt over my face. If I can't see them, then they don't exist. When I was a kid, I would pull my blankets over my head when something terrifying was lurking in my room. It was a move that worked for me then, no reason it can't work for me now.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Fear Is In The Eye Of The Beholder pt 1

“He can have all the Cuban sandwiches, pork and beans, and other crap he wants! I'm doing a holy thing! I don't give a damn! I'm from Missouri! I'm staying right here! 6'5” of me's still drinking; if the Sheriff comes, I don't care, you know damn well I don't. Fuck off! I'm staying! I elected the Sheriff. Not a fucking thing he can do about cold turkey and shit. Jesus Christ almighty, I don't care who he is. Fuck him for interrupting me! Where the hell are all the Cuban sandwiches? That good Samaritan fucker took'em didn't he. Fuck him and the Sheriff!

The night is crashing down fast. Chet, the man ranting, stands swaying on the lanai of my friend Mara's apartment. I haven't known Chet very long. I brought him to this party and now there are only four of us left, including Chet, and the rest of us can't figure out what to do with him.

Chet and I had become drinking buddies solely because we were two of a handful of regulars at the Nite Owl Lounge, and the others were assholes. He and I have been spending more time together since his wife, Gorgeous Dolores, had left him. Dolores wasn't much to look at now, but in her youth she was stunning, as the photos Chet carries with him in his wallet attest. Chet likes to tell the story of how the two of them met. They were in their early twenties, Chet had just started working for an insurance agency, and Dolores was a newly wed secretary in the office. After much cajoling he got Dolores to agree to have a drink with him after work. The moon was full, the perfect first kiss was had and her husband Daniel Mankowski was soon to be a thing of the past. Chet had become a successful and respected insurance salesman, well off financially. He and Dolores were happy in their marriage. The years rolled on and Chet was no longer the man she had married. Chet found himself in his fifties and planning for a long happy retirement in a few years. That is until the company he worked for went under due to criminal acts of insurance fraud. Unemployed, embittered by the fact he'd spent his youth working for a company that was stealing from people like himself, and unable to find another insurance sales position, Chet hit the bottle hard. His dear Dolores rolled with it for a few years but when the money was gone and Chet had no plans to make more, Gorgeous Dolores left.

Tony, Mara, and myself are sitting on the couch trying to figure out what to do with Chet. He's too drunk to confront, and the three of us are too stoned to do any confronting anyway.

“I'm wishing he would go away. He's killing my buzz.” Mara says.

“Somebody's going to call the cops if he keeps this up. We need to at least get him inside.” Tony adds.

“I don't need this shit. The neighbors already don't like me. Fuck Gilbert, you need to get your friend out of here or at least shut him up.” Mara isn't messing around now. She's off the couch, pissed off, and demanding in a tone of voice that would scare anyone, that we get the fuck out.

Cajoling, arguing, and damn near a punch in the face is what it takes for me to get Chet in the car. I'm in no state to be dealing with this. Had Chet not started his drunken argument with the night, I would be upstairs on the couch, waiting until I was not so stoned to be driving us home. The the situation being what it is, and Mara and Tony wanting us out, I don't have much of a choice. I strap Chet into his seat and hope he will chill out and that I will be able to focus on driving and not babysitting the drunk bastard.