...missing ends and pieces...

have you found the end

of your year yet I know its

around here somewhere

but it has gone missing

like the keys and wallet

events and occupations

photos and poems

all the days we have left

behind and all the narrow

paths that begin to widen

in the fresh start of a decade

the truly trivial beginning

of a numerical refresh button

we feel safe starting at one

like a newly created piece

...scars and gloss on Sue...

rain eats it

away from paint

and salt strips her

last bits of gloss

auburn burnt rust

metal bent and popped

into place, scars

of street sweepers

stains of plow

iodine in detritus

cracks in streets, wheels

rains eat it

away so she can

shine again tomorrow

--for Sue B.

...snow first...

if this white blanket

folds and it will

with the help of salt

and stone then

this renewal seems

false and this all

seems so not pure

and the blanket

becomes binding

around the feet

...cold air and dinner...

december is the cruelest brunch

and the "samich" stand freezes

to it own leaks and metals

so we'll go to the lunch place

with the soup and we'll go to

remember the dinner before

we have even tasted an appetizer

or a kiss or the first spoon

of our new year

and the anniversary

of my minor entree

into this air, vapor

cloud white

in this atmosphere

...white cheddar...

bye bye white cheddar

and dead mouse dying

at the hand of a butcher

who couldn't figure out

the simplest cut; he dragged

and tore at the meat;

breaking it down hard

as the drive that kept it living.

With the trails

of meat left behind

and the snows that are coming

the leopard will be along

to quickly clean

up the fragments

and bits of memory

...festival late...

in passages not taken

by these shoes

all of you will be welcomed

in by the mystery

of a cover and the promise

of a celebration

in the desert.

Be cautious: it's cold out at night.

...visitations...

no matter

how many times

I get to see you

folks I want to see

you folks even more

and more

...termination cycle...

hitting the door

faster than they could

hit the cold concrete

faster than the girl

could scream

faster than the traffic

that continued by

faster than it took

for the ambulance

to come faster than

blood that was running

faster than the thought

where I place ourselves

on their cycle faster

than the thought

that we are safe for now

...filling in what fits...

embodied in the red _____

cautious as the pink soft ____

she looks at ____

finds the mistake on the ____

and turns to _____

song called _____

says, "You still got ____!"

he leans over and gives her a ____

...home city...

rev the motor

city rival can't

beat the down

or back but

drip the night

into rainy religion

spin the disc

around me when

the pick up becomes

the finale

and we get home

...dr. dj...

you're turning the tables.

i'm siding the winder.

your plan is engaged.

i'm engaged to plans.

your simple torque.

my frenetic step.

your pretty little ditty.

my sad little pretending.

you're finding a song.

i'm singing your find.

i'm singing your song.

you're spinning it again.

...faces...

the fearful images

in my mind are created

by my mind

and by the exploitations

of the faces

seen in the past

(this is where

these fears stem from

I apologize

for their dictations)

...familial misnamings...

cousin is far too detached

sounding and I think

that had I called to you

as a brother, or

an uncle, maybe we

could've had you for longer

or just another day

for me to tell you this.

...sad song berry...

the sad part

is that we sit

and wait for a blip

on the radar

flicker of hope

red LED on

vibrate mode

the sadder part

is the chorus

but it needs

to be drafted

some more

...cousins...

never said goodbye to your son

and now you

with all the distances

that living

each of our lives

creates we seldom

see how far one ocean

is from the other

because it is a real space

unlike the kinds

I have created in time

and place

(forgive me for not

being graceful here

but I miss the hell

out of you guys)

In Memory of Bruce Schroeder

...listening to Embryonic...

one must start thinking where

you are and where one

is right now

the time that you believed

this to be true and real

not a figure in the sky

or a hand on a face

but a sense in the mind

or the ache in the knee

things that show passings

rings in the tree

grooves of the valley

the distrust in man's

inventions and facades

or how you've embrace them

here we are now

into the origins of this

playless drama

the queen's death

the outpooring of love

the birth of a new one

through time

see the sun

its trying again

but we are not here

to follow this tail

or toil in it's shine

we must raise it up

and prevent us from

dying again

...cultivated...

his discovery:

the planks are loose

out by the old shed.

when he tore it away,

a garden was left.

This he keeps up

and finds paths

to whichever sense

he wants to explore.

...back to life...

bring me

back to life

once again

into warm airs

and coiled sheets

sweet with sweat

and spilled glasses

of cool water

when this life wants

to end

once again

...missing points...

conscious of the fact

that words can damage

with equal force

fist or foot

I did not mean

to kick or scream

only to tell you

that you are beautiful

beyond your skin

and that this

is a fact

...domino...

2:30 am mind wandering

to claustrophobic tenant's sounds;

chains in the ally way?

long drawn out attempts

at low rent burglary?

bound slaves in shackles?

Stupid, stupid mind at 2:30 am

they say "Domino, mutha fucka!

Domino..."

...cats on Pine...

cats on Pine

need not a reminder

that we don't write

cat poems here

but we will take

photographs

of feral lifestyles,

lions in the ally

way next to Sect 8

homes who feed them

(the neighborhood

predators aren't packing tonight)

keep cool cats

keep cool

no words on film

just you and the night

and all that dissipates

into it 

...los nachos pollo...

los luchadores

flying in place

settling up to the bar

under-crossing the top

rope and deadpan

catching a wave

(afterwords

chicken nachos,

the American invention)

...plastic...

we haven't forgotten

to water the plants

nor have the dogs

gone slaking after

an empty bowl

we have done

what we have been

asked of and we have

been attentive

to each and every

need they may have

(the plants are plastic,

by the way)

...next to...

next to nothing

is not a comforting

phrase especially

if that is what

you are next to

...strolling Hoboken...

the lady in black

breaking into her own

apartment and my

instinct to help

brushed aside

by a guilty laugh

as she falls in through

window, big black back,

curtains throwing

themselves out

onto Washington Street

as I head down

to see another

women through

Maxwell's big windows

...corruption in Jersey City...

a 42 dollar ticket

a smashed and defiled

front driver side 

courtesy of the city

of Jersey City

and the street sweeper

with a grudge:

next you'll tell 

me that the university

gave my poetry class

to a full-timer.

They did? Do they

drive a street sweeper?

Thought so.

...about face...

there is a conversation

here and just

the words have

missed the medium

or taken the wrong

canvas through

the forced actions

of the fools we are

and the books

we face

...wondrous...

with this inundation

and welcomed overflow:

the beach-side-shows

stadium oversells

packed dirty loud clubs

one wonders

when will it stop

being wondrous

but is not worried

...vaporous...

the thickness

of water

in the air

finally your summer

of old returns

and the scintillated brows

glistening off

of all the people

in the park

shimmer

like we knew they would-

this is the air

we are used to

...no bodies...

nobody

awaits

the

call: Nobody

sending

one

in: No body

there

but

a

tone

...there...

prayer go home

we say stay stay

up with us but

pray to go home

divide the road

punish the earnest

reward the servant

take a swing

there prayer boy

there there

...forty ahead...

the woodblock

carved in forty year

fields, their home base,

familial food familiar

with legacy of discarded

wealth, the pursuit

of it, the hotel

torn down

sleeping in what

we have to,

pillowing whatever

we can.

...June 27, 2009...

I love to see

the both of you

smile really

really smile

(for Colin & Carolyn)

...unseen...

what is it about

sinew and muscle

meat and fiber

that makes it

cling the bone

so tight that it cannot

perform its duty?

...cover charge...

here we go go go go

the illuminations in style

the allure of an edge

in the single/double stitch

debate or climate

or the ornamentation

in covering your neck

the delicacy of a chin

the masking of eyes

slight lip snarl

snarl slight smile

tip of the hat

wage of the digger

going to bed

with a good humor

is elemental

in a sleep's soundness

laughing into

a nightscape.

...habits...

Old habits don't die

at all they just itch

underneath the surface

looking for that sensation

all over again. We've

made a habit of oxygen.

You've made a choice

about the molecules.

Our feet both agree.

...upstream...

being able

to swim again

means being able

to dance again 

and again until 

it looks like

I was swimming

not dancing

       again

...abbatoir..

mean errant bull

won't you ride with us

trot away from

the streets though

your urge is to

run through them

into them and reddened

by them

...new and old...

youth is the detractor

at this event and building

                              space out of lack there of

is a surreal art    age is a generator

something that cannot 

be machined into the archways

or coined/carved into familiar styles

any more than the black

gum that becomes black 

cobble along the hallways 

brand new and somehow distant

corridors throughout

a new chapter in this architecture

this young grass 

handsomely groomed paths

glistening windows

here you are not what

we thought you'd be,

    your better and that is

a shame because we shouldn't

have given up

just yet

...recharge...

inked into wavering

lines of blue sky

twining the night's sun

setting through stillness

they forget

that each change

in the shuffle of songs

sets the sun a little

lower lower

than the sky can show

before the orbit

finishes or the battery

loses all of its energy

until the next day

...flat, low-light...

the mild detest

of a priority escape

means that one

can never reach

the ground they

are tip-toeing on;

these four walls

repress any further

vision (or delusion

I estimate)

of truly escaping

and becoming

whole again

with pockets

and book-bindings

fully intact,

wallets and check

sleeves fittingly

available, next

to the fridge door

in the flat, low-light

of the oven-top lid.

...reaction...

the trigger in the clam

shell that shuts it suddenly

the sand granule in the eye

at the beach

the last little bit of popcorn

kernel stuck in the bridgework

the last straw or the wooden

bowl with crack allowing

the soup to stain the table

again and again

You always can react

to the fact that you will 

have to have a reaction

...single seconds...

*

he wanted to know

why he couldn't find

himself a fitting enough

bed realizing it was

actually the blanket

all along

*

he hoped that your eye

gets better and that

his mind finds itself

with that very same

hope of self improvement

*

the first songs of spring

are not bird songs

he said

they are really catchy,

from ice cream trucks,

that repetitious song

*

"Occasional Thoughts"

you can kiss my ass, but

then, I am a gentle man,

so you can kiss anything you

want to      but no marriage

                    ---Robin Blaser (1925-2009)

...weather girl...

I wanna be your local weather

girl tell you the temperature

that the day is running 

and the barometric indicators

in your knees and behind

your eyes;  I want you to be

my local Chinese delivery 

so that I can ask you

for more chili oil and tea

so that I can ask you 

what your family is like

when they sit around

the restaurant, dreaming

about the string bean's recipe;

I want you to be the local

pharmacy's delivery

so you can put me to sleep

later tonight, after we

finish the leftover Chinese,

and the rain has slowed.

...sun honey...

glad you should bee

little one stump side

jumping funny little bug

when the lights are so bright

the birds know they

are being watched

glaring sun with one wing

lucky to be in flight

a risk in the heat 

of the brightest path

get away with it

away with it

you go weathering

along today

...still audible...

that tearing, ripping

sound is still audible

(no pain is as brutal

as the last gasp of air,

the ending of a life)

shredded red fabric

strewn about the skin

marking and noting

each lost memory

of the whole that once

was our body

...paddle-less life-raft...

the way the storm

came up and out today

without leaving anyone

with a sense of relief

or restoration

that the minor floods

here mean anything

in lieu of the floods 

in the Plains 

and the disasters

of a failed economic

half century, our 'cents'

of worth, failures

to rescue anyone

during any of  our 

major catastrophes

except those who

already had more 

than enough provisions

for themselves,

but squandered it

away as fools always do.

 

...March 27th, 2009...

the bicycle eases 

back down the hill

and the clicking

sound of the chain

means that the air

is getting warmer

and that the clouds

will lift showing

your eyes to all 

quite soon

...back-up...

the bus is back

and it has parked

in my head

hazards on

just like the bus did

two years ago

and didn't get

a ticket

goddamn bus

...thought full guy...

how it happened was

he sounded it out

and flattened it out

on the thin thin white

paper plate like a smooth

soot silting in just 

the right spot 

on the page

this is what he said

became of the words

...mutli-ball...

the pauses and delays

only mean that a signal 

is not sending like it once

was and the receiver

or the router need reset

that little flashing

light in the heart

the things that occupy

the mind    working   

busy     please  wait  

that flash is lost

when the light turns

red and the text

on the other end

goes dead     cold

like the curb

...your dream...

I want to tell you

about this poem 

that he wrote

in the middle of the night

but I forgot

it when he told me

that he was going

to  finish it

when I went to sleep

...heroine...

tight inward film

the movie ties up to the book

lower freight fear

the acceptance of my crash

body lay body

the pressures of attraction

lie lower weight

the dream of being him

steel rail expressway

the days uneven thought

movie flashback scene

what do you fear to feel?

...big budget...

the aims are simple:

create giant not so unrealistic fabrications

elicit not so faux leads and characters

throw in the fears of a nation

and its shared unease

and we have box office

gold (or blue).

Are we up on the market

or down to the last

bomb dropped?

These the minor

details, the less 

than guided aims,

simple or not.

...white Brooklyn streets...

at 1:30 am

Union Ave took on a whole new glow

about it in the lights of the bar

shovel tractor high beams

and the fractals of light coloring

of the white white  

   soft     soft

late winter storm that we embrace

like an old album

or a record of the storms

we used to have in this city

before we changed the path

and its frequency

...pre-cap...

the party I am missing tonight:

the swoon the swindle the mingle the network

the piece the guitar the axe the lights in the bowl

the wine the witches the hipsters the bitches

the wine the women the men the walls

the taut pants the faux spike the red red souls

the instigators the tail chasers the requisite line

the poet the musician the singer's songwriter

the fire escape smoke room the smoke alarm

the mixing the taping the mix-taping 

the photographer the echoes in the green pale hall 

the clinking of recyclables

the hello the goodbye the hellos and goodbyes

the curator the cure the curious 

the end the ending the closure the closing

...pool hall rule...

the way word bird game

up up the upper fame of the deed

done dirt street cheap 

schlepped up up hills

and tossed down down 

societ-ill

sloped and slants

renovation and prospect

who will willingly fill the pool

so that I may swim 

swimmingly in the error

of my repetition ?

...loft...

even the greatest intention

is defeated by the longing

and despair of  being

the only one in the room

even when you are near

...forget the power...

the word I saw today too many times

power on and off on the tv   on the green

board we discussed it in class and I had

not seen the word on the tv

til afterward when I got home

the word followed me

then went into the tv before

I started to dream of the power

being yanked off by the electrician

in my nightmare   he tells me not

to go forward and not to pass the power

onto the next fortune teller

or gas god of the sulphur springs 

that re-emerge in the power sweat

dreams of mountains and hot hot

waters the way              the muscle releases

safety in that power 

we return to the core of the lecture

then the tv turns it off for all of them 

like the power cord being tripped over

and ripped out of the socket

...a loved letter...

dear valentine

______________

______________

______________

dear dearly deserted

______________

______________

______________

dear lost value

______________

______________

______________

dear dear you

______________

______________

______________

Love, as/is Always,

______________

...medium matter...

how to:

frame the words:

in the body:

of your image:

is it:

glass on mating:

on turned phrase:

on photograph:

these laws:

needn't be set:

just suggested:

black and white:

my letters:

in black:

...the height of the ceiling...

the height of the ceiling

matches the height

of the sensation 

that we are both

winding toward 

that we are both

afraid of achieving

hands in the air

the height of the ceiling

...about facing...

another intriguing reconnection

in harmony with this idea

of reconciliation and proclamation

of singleness and multi-syllabic 

conversations with the self

(remember her? remember

the library window? remember

that awful, mean town?)

In all occurrences there exists

a definitive truth of that experience

and that time does take its

toll but no more so than

the words we used to use

before we knew how to use

words properly and not

as the weapons of inarticulate

youth, swords of misuse

...knee-jerk hysterics...

its true about the ice

that you can't see how and exactly

when it becomes that slippery

slide that bumps you into the sides

of streets and students      slates between

the cities and the songs

we used to sing in crowded

arenas with hand-knit scarves

and grandma's hats, perhaps

her sunglasses, more likely

her joy in watching someone

bust ass on the slippery

ice on a northern Queens

still frozen night.

She told me she once danced

at the Roseland Ballroom

when it was still this, a ballroom.

I told her I danced there

too but not like she did

and that I was wearing

grandpa's scarf. And that

I fell and busted up my knee.

(She chuckled)

(I said that I meant to do that)

...winter's shell...

tell me

what you are

wearing

so I may 

gauge how cold 

we both are

...found phrase...

I had lost this phrase

for nearly eight years

until today's words

help guide them back

through ensuing tears:

I am American.

...44...

the history of this day

starts the realization

and activation 

that begins 

tomorrow

...rearview...

in the red mini

you took off like a laser

then slowed down 

to a smile before 

you shot off again

and out of my

field of view

the weather 

wasn't conducive 

to our conversation

nor were the traffic

lights on our side

the window

fog didn't help that 

   either

...soft focus...

in the angle 

you present  the wall

is just out

of reach

and we lean

against our new satin

finish         running

our hands over it's silken surface

the angle

I choose to present

         eyeing 

each stroke

and each extension

the corners 

you try to fill

with the metal edge

of your trowel

the curves you create

                           and I witness

...transformer...

the long pause

between each breath

is the day turning

to night and the thought

that keeps us there

...dance song...

if you fight with me

I'll tell you a story

about the last one

who fought me 

knocked me down

and come undone

...eye for a life...

you speak of the rules of engagement:

suicide bombings, IEDs, civilian casualties, etc.

What about this rule? If I throw a rock

at you, you may throw a rock back at me.

Please. I welcome it. You may get an eye

for an eye. A few teeth.  Nose broken symbolism.

But, if I throw a rock, and you launch a full

aerial assault and ground invasion,

laser guided devices and tanks

versus primitive bottle rockets and roman candles,

what is my rock to do?  What shall

I aim for? You have left me one target

and that is anything that exists on the other side

of the border, anything, that my rock may

inflict damage upon, that it may reach, blindly. 

And this is a history of violence, something learned,

this is a last ditch chance to keep my home

and my family safe. Please. Engage me. 

Talk to me. Do not simply take away

what little I have and what was once

taken from you. This must be acknowledged.

Neither of us can be victors, here.

...upper respiratory...

when the neti-pot

won't break through

you know the infection

is solidified and staying

longer than it is welcome

(get going would ya?)

...new year's girl...

first, the little bus was a hinder

then, the little boy who wouldn't dance

we both shared a few flashes

the bulbs blew brights and green

a light shared, a deep inhale

and the exhale close to the ear

speaks over the speakers

directly to the space where

one forgets to ask the right

questions and do the right

research so that the night

extends itself past what

the clock imagines for us

(where did you go, Jennifer from Dallas?)