...clouds come down...

clouds come down

and get off the sky's back

already get it over with already

down come clouds

...pop lines and empty tables...

how to fight loneliness

smile all the time

--JT

Where does one

go to eat

alone 

on a Friday

night when

the present tense

singular is only

a pretext for

this solitude?

All I can do 

is visit pop lines 

and empty tables

and have to stop 

listening to those songs 

(I don't want to stop 

but you 

are in all of them)

...ready to bolt...

there is no where to go

and there is always somewhere

to go tonight but the winds

they are expecting will howl

and you will be busy

taking care of things

and I will always want

to be going somewhere

ready to bolt anywhere

with you

...Cee-lo Reiter...

I don’t have any friends at all
Cause I have nothing in common with ya’ll
So who’s gonna catch me if I fall
My backs always against the wall

I don’t have anything to say
I want everything to go my way
Shut up mom it is not OK
I’m alone almost every day

But it’s cool (it’s cool)
It could be better (could be better)
I don’t care (I don’t care)
Whatever (whatever)

Lalalalalalala

Went to my counselor bout how I feel
Everyone agrees I could use some help
I love my girl more than I love myself
She’s going steady with someone else

I don’t know what else to do
Said fuck me, well fuck you too
I know it sounds real sad but true
Being alone is nothing new

But it’s cool (it’s cool)
It could be better (could be better)
I don’t care (I don’t care) …huh
Whatever (whatever)

lalalalalalalala


("Whatever" lyircs are from Gnarls Barkley's "The Odd Couple")

...even if you don't...

I'll keep looking

at you because

you told me to

and the music

we listen to

is an act

of willingness

of unification

and we shall

keep on listening

...you are pretty amazing...

for putting up with our shit

the children of the world

would like to thank

you for all your hard and tireless

efforts considering we have

hardly treated you the way

that we should have

but we love you

we really do




(happy mother's day)

...hope you are well...

I hope you are well

but I guess you are

because you haven't

talked to me

which means

that you are ok

(I still don't understand)

...deja Turnpike view...

on the ride home

two trucks kissed

and parted and the scary

part was that I saw

this before and didn't

heed the danger

they parted and kept

control gliding beside me

off to their charted exit

...damn yankees...

at the game tonight

Jaba blew the lead


with one swift kick

just like I did with you


lost the lead

by not delivering


the right pitch

and this may be the season


for "lasts":

last time in this stadium


last time in this house

the last last kiss this


just like the game

we kissed it goodbye


just like the fans

I am bitter about the loss

...short poets are epically sad and if not careful, lose their game...

peculiar reading:

lost in the space:

of my head:

(Where are you?

I have no one to talk to

and feel wanted in front of)

peculiar social maladjustments:

the guy standing in the bar:

alone: unsure of what to do

with his hands, his eyes:

I didn't even get to see:

Anne read: Only heard:

Through the poor PA:

At the back of the bar:

I sat in a chair faced:

the wrong way:

looked at this girl:

then at this other:

and didn't know:

what to do:

Do I keep looking?

She's looking back.

Do I keep looking?

What the fuck:

has become of this:

petty petty poet:

in this bar:

full of poets?

...doubting it all...

so quickly

you turn to other's arms

and I understand

that you need arms

detest solitude

but to know mine were

too short and that you

can find the same comfort

everywhere

is discomforting.


Just remember this:

You turn around

and someone is always

there. That is what

you have created.

When you need arms,

they are there.


When I turn around

they are not.

When I turn around

its just me turning around

and the lack

of compassion

in this

truly leaves me

doubting it all.

...lost birds and dogs...

the dog barks at the bird

in the rain

next to the garage door


the bird

flies away in the rain

into the trees


the man

with the dog

looks lost


he is staring

off into space

wondering


did the bark

or the vibration

send the bird away?

...really, go away...

when will he go away

really

(her version)

...go away...

when will it go away

...home at last...

a big day I'm sure.

I am worried, but confident.

Ones heart takes comfort

in the scenes of the familiar:

the dog, the cat, the yard.

I am sure seeing this

would heal my heart, too.

Take care of that little girl.

Take care of that little girl.

...calls your name in the nighttime...

do you know

how hard it is

to not call

you?

...the big joke...

with all of it

nothing was said enough

and everything was said

too much

and so the big joke

in the matter

was that all we did

was talk and talk

and the punchline

was literal, not

the traditional,

comedic sense

(self deprecation

not the depreciation

of one at the hand of the other);

the punchline

was four years long.

The realization, when

it comes to you,

will stick like a punch.

a punch line.

Sinker,

sunk.

...passed over...

uh, I know its an easy pun

(tis a tradition in the joke

of the reformed)

Call me Moshe

call me

...dizzy deck...

I asked them

was I really out?

Someone said

"hell yeah, hell fucking yeah."

Class dismissed.

...this is...

this is a fire:

it will end things.

Oxygen, for instance.


this is a nightmare:

it will fake endings.

Falling, for example.


this is codery:

this yes when no is meant.

Closing it all in.


this is open:

it will stay open:

Hoping, and such.

...minus...

2

minus

1

leaves

2

lonely

1s

...bullets over Bloomfield...

one shot after another

you kept firing

but at least the aim

was true

It's just a shame

you know

each one pierces

the other

as if no one

were even standing

in front of you

as if you never

even took aim

(I'm afraid to

know what else

you have hiding

in that chamber)

...return to sender...

this is what I have learned:

that the heart is more

powerful than the brain.

Think about all the innate

services of the heart:

blood flow and pressure

pumping and palpitating.

The message sent

from the brain is that

something is not right,

that someone is not able

to use the beat the same way we

are. This fear that the message

does not get sent.

But, this is thegreatest

fear: endings,

of poems, lives,

pulses, us.

this is the worst

feeling I have

ever had

...just Hackensack...

do they drive

faster because

this is a hospital parking lot

or is it

that this is

just HackensacK?

Why are there

so many nicer

places in the world

and why

oh why did Billy Joel

have to be right

this one time?

(this only encourages him)

...no right turn...

I don't like leaving

you there in the glass

tunnel taking turns

at watching each of us

walk away in the reflections

on the brown glass tint


I told you that this part

was the hardest

and you told me

that nothing


nothing

is as hard

as this

(and you were right)

...the light above the bed...

glows down on your head

shining through the silvers

in your hair and then

back through the tubing

and into your lungs

shining and open

accepting the glow

as if it were oxygen

as if it were the only

thing we needed

to keep us alive

...bellyaching...

it was either

something I said

or something I ate

(probably the former

as is common

as of late)

...easier than breathing...

there is nothing

easy about taking a deep

breath and slowing

down the world around

you but you try and try

and puff and puff

until it becomes easier

to feel relief and solace

in knowing the world

around you you created

...2:39 in the morning...

we can't do this:

no matter where we are:

we can be here:

instantaneously:

if necessary:

and if something did:

go wrong:

we wouldn't be notified:

because nobody knows:

we're here:

we're here:

but it is useless:

we might as well:

be at home:

ready to spring:

to attention:

to the upright:

position:

of the rest:

who walk with us:

at 2:39 in the morning:

if necessary:

...prayer and praise...

the softest side of the skin is unseen

the last wisp of hair glimmers without the sun

foreseen only in the distant detail

we look closer and closer at the clock

and hope it will stay still

no arm moving forward

or back to a false belief

but right here

and seemingly now

this will all be part of the cycle

just like the dismissal of cells

that appear as skin

when we fold our hands together

we pray that they cannot ever

separate or lose the other

this is not what we get

when we praise one another

when it is undue

this is what we get

when we finally get

what it is

that takes us over

...scurry...

are these squirrels

in my ceiling

or in my head

or is my head

the ceiling

I am thinking of?

...to rest...

the shrouded

to rest

eternally

in the warmth

of the soil

and in the warmth

of the wife's return

to the husband

like the child

to the womb

or the lover

to the embrace.





(in memory of Ann Nagel)

...2/22/08...

at long last

we have white

and piles of it

and prior to

the plow's first

salt and pepper

mow the dog

is pouncing around

like a mini-horse

and naturally

without a change

in aperture

or setting

or lighting

we have the perfect

contrast:

black black dog

on white white snow

(shutter closing

slow)

...illness in flux...

with each wave

you go in and out

of real and unreal

and question the nightmare

as if it were actual



that fear in your eyes

is the fear in your head

and that fever that

comes and goes

is as real as the needle



that they use to settle

the stomach or spasm

this illness in flux

and will be for a few

more days

...like everyday...

I love you

and miss

you so much

it hurts

to say

I love you

and miss

you so much

...miss piggy...

you used to

call yourself

miss piggy


everytime

you belched

while playing


scrabble

and tallied

triple word score


I need

miss piggy

back today


a belch

is a sign

of satiation


that's all any

of us wants

right now

...damn it...

just got

shut out

for MMJ

tickets

damn it

this feels

like the old

days

who's got my extra

...semi-final...

This is in Australia:

women in short skirts

hit yellow balls really hard

and my father is the poet

this isn't bizzaro realm

it is perfect karma, yet anti-spiritual

I can't decide

which stroke produces

the loudest grunts

two hands or one

and I can't figure out

which is hotter

watching tennis

or writing a poem

about it (not just making

a dumb ass joke)

injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere


--Martin Luther King, Jr.

...1 Mil Press Con...

check out the new disc recorded in lovely Bloomfield, NJ...

http://www.archive.org/details/1MilPressConference

...with the dogs...

Size matters when fear exists:

Take Noah and the cat:

Take Noah and the dog:

Please don't take them:

He crawls to the claws:

The fear only lives in the feline:

He shys from canine:

This is a learned trait:

How can he fill his boat:

If he doesn't get along:

with the dogs:

I would hate to see them:

Miss the boat:

Him, too.

...first post...

welcome to the new year

dog who comes to town

sad and wet and boney

hopefully this will be

yours as it is ours

and you will be

forever warm

and in the right place

at the right time

...american health cares...

the clouds must part

today they must do

as you say with vehemence

this too I shall do

because we cannot take this

beating any longer

like the dripping water

torture or the time test

and sweaty fists clenched

with fear and anger

coffee and starvation


except for us


no one cares

even the ones

who are paid

so handsomely

to do so

...singing in the snain...

singing along

to La Cucaracha

with new hope

I almost fishtale

off the bridge

thinking the snain

was just passing

through the grate

...tv news kills the romantic in Seattle...

the new ones

were darker even though

you don't think so

dreary is what you called

them but they were rainy

this has to do with locale

the fact that you mentioned

turning on a tv

which I never thought

was an option for you

was your downfall

and the reason

for this aggressive stance

(welcome to our world)

all poems are political

...sleep fight...

as soon as

I hit you

I wake up

...conjugations of conjunctivitis...

not the flight

but the battle

not in the hardest stone

nothing like this

and the bloodshot

worsened with withered hours

and the pins and needles

worked the cornea

(the tributary image

reappears in the once-white

of the eyes, creeping

and creek-like)

until the drops were

administered and I saw again

what you saw

when we got back

home and lit up

the office desk lamps

and wrote about

how irony blesses

us with coincidence

and illness seeps

through the thin thin

walls like the wind

(more ironic that chronic)

...thousands of feet overhead...

the white lawn speckled

with dead brown leaves

and branches veining,

creeping into shapes

similar to tributaries

and rivers

from thousands of feet

overhead,

we sit warm toasted

by the radiant heat

and the pulse of a square light

that singes the hairs

on both of our arms

telling us that we must

move around more

or we will miss

the little features

we used to watch

of each other like

little television episodes.

It snowed to white

and I still do not know

what the small

of your back tastes

like today.

There's no punch like

or catch phrase here.

This is just the age

of the docudrama.

...cloudy...

I thought clouds

were supposed to hold

rain up so that we

can get something done

like rake leaves

or make love

but I guess they

open up for a reason

which is required

of both

and that is sad

...anymore...

I cannot write

poetry anymore

unless it is snowing

and it is snowing

(or at least snaining)

and I have to go

to class so

I cannot write

poetry anymore

(until the snow

starts sticking)

...keeps me warm...

after I leave

what do i have

that keeps me warm

but the image

of you lying in bed

with that soft smile

on your face

Happy Birthday Mom!!!

...substitution...

six twenty seven

six forty six

out the door

and into the door

half asleep

half asleep

(guess then I'm asleep)

gas pedal dream

across the sludge

canal bridge

closed windows

mean nothing

when the vapors

seep in


(at this hour

I can't find a sub

to help me drive

this class home)

...passed you by...

at only eleven bucks

I should have taken you

with me and read that first

poem again and again

because it was your last

and yet I left you

on the shelf

where one leaves

the books

before going

into the bathroom

(you were hard

covered)

and I want to slam

my finger into the car

door for not making

you my own

...l'shanah tovah...

at the river's edge

I say I'm sorry

and think about

how things can only

get better this year

once I get rid of this

lint in my pocket

and this little shameful

thought that I can

make things better

...neglicide...

(this is our helplessness)


and no depth

of mine can

match that

of yours


this is part of the same

system that has failed

us and you and her


this is

"par for the course"

a phrase known

better to doctors

than "can I help you?"

more used then

"I can help you."


and all we want is some help

to make things easier

for those who actually need it


Where are the skilled doctors

who actually want to treat

illness and disease?


When did this take

a backseat to golf

and boats and trophy wives?


Wasn't there an oath involved

somewhere along the line?


Through neglect

we have bred terror

and the fear is that

we will all end up this way


irreperabley damaged

while the ones who have

studied the ailments

have given up

on the ailing

...roast beep...

smile again match

the sweetness of apple

and honey and

the year that is to come

and he is only three

(me only thirty)

but the joy is the same

he's gonna smile

like that forever

as long as he

keeps moving

...signs of the divine...

(these are signs:)

there are casualties and

injuries and upsets and

smashing and crushing


(Mistakes have been made:)

bombs and bullets and

blitzkreig and ballet and

wounded and wound


(Fighters have fought:)

boxer and bloodsport and

water and nurture and

nature and torture


(we've clashed here:)

testament versus testament versus

prayer versus prey versus

fan versus fanatic


(In the severity of each case
our cruel sense of import
tears at the very source
of the divine, what we are
as a whole.)

...scan-tron exam...

the microchip will be
eventually inserted just
below the skin

tomorrow's pain
will become a barcode
injected just below

the epidermal layer
into the veins
or deep tissue

in case of emergency
the signal wil be clear
and help appears

and the check
will be handled with a wand
and a long list

explaining why the exam
costs as much as a pill
that will require more tests

to seek more answers
that will require
more tests and pills

and nothing gets alleviated
or cured or even sustained
long enough to be sure

that the diagnosis
was as accurate
as the bill

D'oh!

...sweatshirt on the train...

she was some sort of test

I cannot discern between

want and need

but this is probably

part of the test


If I give her the long sleeve

and leave you in the cold

who will I be looking out for

me the guy on the spot

with the public display

of dupe or be duped


The answer was actually simple

you are the one

that I need to keep warm

because your hands

are always cold


and I need to keep

the rest of you warm

and hold your hands

if the warm blood doesn't

make its way that far


(called extremeties

this was extreme)


regardless of whether

it is July or January

the swearshirt stays

on your back

always

I promise

...porch sun...

the cities all mesh with themselves

this big red house is cool today

on the porch especially well lit today

the sun keeps asking questions

as if I knew the answers he was looking for

Oh, you know the answer to that

you are the sun and I am the spot

on the earth that you miss

when I go into the house

to sleep or den to feed

the parody of this is breakfast

cereal commercials or advertisments

from Country Life

but I am far from this luxury

far from Vergennes

far from the homes sitting

along the Champlain Islands

too far from the strawberry feild

outside Burlington

closer to the one in Central Park

and that hasn't a strawberry in it

The fears are quelled by the sun

today and the return to simple

becomes the truest aim

of sitting on the porch

...the wait...

patience

is the tricky thing

when the air is thick with water

and the sun boils the water

before it can ground itself

clouds

the wait for them

is unbearable

never wanted a western

front to come quicker

and the package of moisture

needs to finally open

and cool us all down


Are clouds of afraid

of freon


Are storms weary

of being saviors


Here comes the sun

again

but it isn't alright

it'll destroy us all


until the rains begin

I have nothing

and cannot breath

...sweet sweat...

I am sweating

you are sweating

the quiche is especially dill

the brownie you eat

you are sweating sweet

that is fitting for you

take a sip

berry soda chill

and sweating sweet


the body is still

...blown gasket...

I cannot count

the things I have lost

today on my hands

toes may cover it


the recent Harvard grad

in the waiting room

had just a few leaks

a few thousand miles

past due is an easy mistake

for a recent Harvard grad


for me however

on top of it like a tick

the greasy little men

all gave me the green light


and yet the smoke rose

and rose and resignated

some more and the prognosis

grew grim and grimey


what do you do

when you have less

than the balance requires


what do you do

when you can't get

to the job you need

to get the money

you need to get

to the job


the spine stiffens

the neck locks from the base

of the skull to the lower shoulder

blade is transparent


of something that has clearly

been wrong for a while now

and that the gasket

had already blown

...two days later...

the sun is still

in it's perfection

like you now sitting

across the rays


becoming highlights

in your novel

or explicating passages

about a child from Sudan


and how our oil leaks

and front door repairs

are nothing meaningless

in light of all


that was once beautiful

that now is not


words are humbling

when they comfort

but burn in the sun

if left out too long


we have a front door

we have oil in our car

we have each blackberry in the yard

we have each other


we are ok for now

we are ok for now

...summer solstice...

could it be

any more perfect

today

yes

but you are

at work

...stereo Television...

the park central astroturf

and the rain on the apples

lightning in the north

and the song to wish the sun out


over the city

the voices sound off

and this is theirs

the imperfection is beauty


with you to turn on

blanketed in yellow

opening up to skin glow

the angle of the guitar note


this was generous

the marquee was lit

during the day

for a few to see


and I was not

there inside myself

rather nostaglic

of the year of birth


and that comfort

of the womb

the closeness

of the belly


to the heart

to the breast

and to the ageless

song you sing

...over at last...

the complaint was this:

to describe where I live

my drive to work

all I had to do was tell

the person I was

talking to to watch

the show's intro

(ignoring the theme music)

see the Turnpike

see Pizzaland

see Satin Dollz

and now

in a tale's demise

Holstein's

I tell the guy

that's where I live

and it sucks

just as bad as that

stupid show did

...tending to the farm...

burning is the sky

tired is the muscle

dirty are the ankles

broke is the reality

soil in the savior

tired are the limbs

feeble is the attempt

lonely as the basis

corruption at the roots

broke is the situation

tired are the eyes

tender is the rootball

sweat in the soil

policy in the temptation

few in the many

leaves of the last

roots from the garden

sun in the spring

tired is the till

shovels are arms

warped wooden legs

(here in the garden

poets are merely

trellises for the vines)

...papers aflame in the park, midday...

Quisiera un poco de sol

Ok

well that's quite a bit much

but thank you

for the breeze as well

as the burn

the ten times ten

heat index

and the thinnest layer

of protection

we have isn't enough

epidermal warming

warning the masses

this pool of skin

is crackled and the lining

rubbed raw

no deseo que mucha sol

...stupid poetry game...

Tables aren’t for this heroine.


Trees build themselves up.


Dangerous Bees?


No more heroes for table tennis


in Bowling Green.


I don't want to be part


of your...





(for Colin)

...outside of the classroom...

the poor poor children

of Virginia

are crying

as nightmares

of coming to class

naked as the day

we came into the world

go out just the same

covered in blood

and the end of innocence

is nobody's salvation

but the damned

and the disturbed.


That man is inherently evil

and animal, territorio

clinging to the last of a kind

has been preached

that man must learn

to be saved through truth

beauty music and knowledge

despite the ease of the error

the laziness of the terrorist

and their affinity to a God


this gunfight is too easy

a poor man's fist

an uzi suicide

a penalty shot


and the kids

will never raise

their hands

again the way

they used to

and the end

of the system

we once knew

will be the end

of all that we

called the process

of education

now that it has

been taken

outside of the classroom

...new season...

welcome

to York

to Jersey

to Hampshire


welcome

to

New Winter

in America


(the kids now have

Winter Intersession

in April)



Welcome

to snowfall

on Easter.


Welcome

to Global

Climate Shifting

Gears of American

Cars


Welcome

to New Winter

in New Jersey


(Goodbye)

...shameless plug...

This is not a poem...but these are mine, sort of...check out my "erasures" at the Wave Poetry website. Try them yourselves. It's a shitload of fun! And, you can actually produce some great poems. My students are working on similar texts as well.

http://erasures.wavepoetry.com/poems.php


-mr

...in a shell...

tonight

and everynight

the turtle is not sure

whether he should come out

and explore for knowledge

or for food, merely for nourishment

of the mind, or body


(Do I apply for the job or for the degree?)

(Do I eat or do I write?)

(Do I sink or do I sink?)

(Do I shed or do I crust?(

(Hardshell or Paperback?)


tomorrow and

the next tomorrow

if the turtle isn't given

room to grow

he simply won't

and he becomes attached

to the feeder fish


(no longer my prey,

they finish my sentences

with symbiotic assonance)


in a shell

turtle or nut?

pencil or window?

fashion or fusion?

Can there be any

smaller being

than the one who can't

see that it's all a trap?


(in a shell in a shell in a shell

am I trapped in a shell?)

...#3...

meadow clever launch

pilots into definition

liquid still quarter

tubes riverdrum

stanzas swelter in

stride my stars

translucent scholars

corpses detonate

throwing dicey limestone

flicked grandstand flavor

meaty treaties fleeting

...a bus parked...

there is a bus

parked in my sinuses

and it shifts

forward and back

left and right

deviated septum

deviant disease

wanting to drill

a hole to let the passangers

out and liquidity

where's my neti pot?

where's my baby snot sucker?

where's the doctor in my network?

I don't live on the island

and the toxins

from the water

surrounding

couldn't burn through the bus

(even in the "Kill").

...shades of potato tycoons...

purple little chip

go away quick

cause I am hungry

and you are purple

and that means

you are organic

and you are organy

have a purple chip

in hopes that

the old yellow one

will wilt away

under Simplot's

uberflag megahill

green with chemy

goodness

thick like hair restoration

and just so astro-

turfy you big lug

nutty bastard

each a chip

and plant a tree

purple chip/green tea

oh forget this

Boise...

...stuck in the shovel...

the last time we talked

it snowed

but this time

the garage door

wouldn't open

and I had to go about it

with a shovel

Victorian Grounds

(the snow blower

stayed warm inside

the stuck door's

windshield)

worried about traction

they felt the slush

of the night's performance

dull but enough

to slow down

the cars and refuse

the drawbridge

the right

to close

because of the disabled

vehicle in

the right

lane

...what it's...

it's finale snow

it's hammer time

it's white chocolate love

it's glacial and spatial

it's going to be gone

it's situational sleet

it's chord-o-roy time

it's galaxies of snow globes

it's turtle tank clean-up

it's delayed school openings

it's libraries closing

it's mom's new foot

it's mom's new foot

it's a tennis court in Dubai

it's you typing up your poems

it's true there is no flu

it's snow and it's new

it's lunch at the Thai/Italian place

it's a big black furry boot

it's tea time

it's Davis Cup reruns

it's all day all Poker

it's getting hot in here

it's frothing a bit in the south

it's cotton-mouth memory cards

it's a 30 Rock episode

it's "happee vallemtimes"

...your sleeping smile...

I love you

good night

you smile like

you do when

you walk

in your sleep

toward the garden

in the castleyard

you sleep with that

smile while I watch

and so want

to make the magic

tale an actual

realm I lose hope

when you lose

your sleeping smile

to the disturbance

of waking

...disappointemnt in the garden...

the poodle

peed

deliberately

to break

the stride

of the

competition


the English

came in second

because

he picked

up the scent

stunting

his stumpy

gate


the French

akin to nothing

but the namesake

didn't make

it close

white

as ghost


but

the imperfect

poodle

pop-pom-ed

and piss-filled


baited

the breeds

and

broke

the leash

because

its butt

was bare


and cold

in the garden

during winter.

...traditionally, an American problem...

disease

spreads from body

to brain

by way of blood

rushing

to the head


the tragedy

is not Shakespearean

nor is it Grecian


it is all American

psychosis and addiction

blame and neglect


defeat at the hands

of the giant clown


his transfatty fry-guys

in three-pie(ce) suits


this not heredity

nor is it fate


it is negligance

at the hands

of the abuser


the ones who have left

her behind

those who have falsely

pledged allegiance


those who have

taken her too far

and left the impossible


task of regaining

solid footing

...emer-gen-C broad (casting system)...

it is incessant

at times

this ache in the inner ear

and the dog whistle

that will forever

take over the command

of all the puppies

in the golden country


for once in our lives

I wish the ringing

would just modify

or pitch bend

to add variety

to the song of the deaf


I am so sorry

we had to go this way


but this is what

we wanted and got


this is a test

this is just

a test

...dog in the next life...

in fact

the postures were that

of a timid hound

a bit scared of the shadows

and the light that created

them how does it feel

to have to hear everything

so acutely as the invisible notes

smell the pies of houses miles away

see the bird in the camo

of the spring dogwood branches

feel the continental ridge

shifting before we shift

taste a grain of sugar

as it were a whole pop


it must be so intense

that one must need to sleep

all day long

...safe bet...

If I would have bet

the balance of my education-

based financial debt

on the outcome of today's games

I'd be scott free

without a bill

or collector in wait



If I would have bet

my alma maters tonight

I would have finally

broke even



If I would have bet

for once

instead of playing it safe

we could get hitched

like the running back

and the cheerleader

and begin our easy life

with our fit as perfect

as theirs



If I would have bet

my life savings

I'd be up zero

but I'd be happy

I placed the bet.




(congrads Boise State and Let's Go Mountaineers!)

...apple a day keeps the _____ away...

good bye

personal crisis (pc)

it has not been fun


you let Enrique know

about my ticket fetish


the tree left fruit

it travelled from Newark

to Memphis and back


and will now

take control over this

will I've lost

or enlist methods


I'd soon forget

like how to compose

myself

...recovery...

when class ends

today

all will be settled

all will be contained

and for a few short

weeks I'll actually

write a poem or two

or twenty


Here's an idea:

...nothing can surprise me...

except for this


and you did it

oh so well

bringing back

the past with doctors

and programmers

computations

and lies to keep

me at bay

(and it worked)


I spent my thirtieth

thinking that I had less

than I should at this point

only to find the wealth

I haven't allowed to exist


(as a poet I'm supposed

to see these things

acknowledge them

because they are beautiful

and I dropped the ball

hard)


you clever clever girl

thank you

for the reconnection

of cut wires


I love you and

you all I love

...thirty...

on the day of the feast

nothing is immaculate

but this sense

that something will be

conceived like a creation

such as a poem or a song

or a life is comforting

and worried that this

might not be so

I am struck

by the intesity

of such doubts


foolishness

(I leave you nothing

but the wake)


instinct

(here we go again)


motive

(I see you standing there

ready for the take)


and all that will become

what they refer to as me

will become the reference

in itself

...two til' thirty...

under a stack of papers

I spend the last day of my twenties

contemplating revisions

not to the papers

but to my twenties

and I realize

It was written well already

...three 'til thirty...

yesterday

is creeping like

a receding hairline

(proceed with caution)

...four til' thirty...

the panic

won't set in

because the computer

will not allow it

to enter

or invade

just like the thought

of stem cell research

leading to newly pink lungs

or hairless backs

we flinch just a little

like it were a shot

of penicillin

just another shot

gun or otherwise

just another year

taken out of the barrel

anyone who mistrusts

numbers as much as I

should not be bothered

by the cornerstones

of numeric theory

cost age meter

but here we are

looking down the barrel

of a zero

second digit

...five 'til thirty...

contemplate

a smooth skin again

for the new decade dance

(it shouldn't be this tough

to take the razor to task)

always glorified

at these times

is lost youth

...six to thirty...

what the fuck

is going on here

I mean

seriously

...bats and cats...

i won't wither away

i will either be killed

by cats or bats

allergies or blood loss

so in both cases

you find my Kryptonite

and know what to do

to take me down

trapped and declawed

counting in dog years

...seven til' thirty...

in the stage

that preceeds REM

I saw you rapidly

chasing after the dream

that you missed

because I woke you

and I'm always so sorry

when I do that


I love you

good morning

...eight 'til thirty...

I hate countdowns

and all their falsely

obligitory demands.


Oh, here comes the New Year!

Oh, the New Year is here!


Last night with you and my jacket

I holding you

barely holding a note

with the most beautiful

inconsistency

those are the moments

in time that show

true passage

and innovation

We don't wear

watches because

they tell us

that we

have to be somewhere

we know better than that

we are that somewhere

and I fear eight days

from last night

will not be a mere

something