...plate...

groomed grasses

checkered the outfield

in a perfect angle

before and after

the inning is held

in each mitt

in each glove

in each player

trying to find home

...seasonal...

the sharp ends

from an uncoiled spring

of the clicking pencil

used to get caught

in the fingerprint

ridges of your thumb

pulling the skin

like a tentpole

or a carp hook

atop your school desk

as you looked out

the window wishing

spring would start




                       

...frigid...

close to cold

passed to frozen

lifeless in neglect

staying in place

too long or not using

them for so long 

                        out of practice

fears of lethargy....

                      There are immediate reliefs 

                       Try warming up the words

"Calisthenics of Cacophanies"

                       Try moving your hand over

The cold parts, the imprecise

Lines and passages, the belly

The fingers               the warmths

defrost the phrase 

in breath's warming kiss

...January 1st, 2014...

I.

even as I left

             I wanted to return but

something pushes 

and pulls in these kinds

            of places, kind skies

with wilder winds-

riptides

with rising tempers

          and temperatures

still a quiet cozy pocket

a corner tucked away 

                                    from the rest 

                                      of the world.

II.

This is the sifting shore

where we stand firm

    in our ways. Our differences are 

never concealed or calculated 

only exalted 

by our necessity-

           the one thing we need 

                              to breathe.

...obligatory morning song...

cold rain slowing soft

in the less than immediate

rise of a single sun

dashed by cumulus

tossed by nimbus

(in the fridge are two

empanadas, foiled in

their plan) I chose the fruit

Bill told me to do so

...stutter...

And the duties of letter

Patronage of pen

Worship of word

Has fallen into the white spaces

Below the deck              Past

The buoy 

Off the edge of the flat faltering

Thinning crisp of an earth

...firing blanks...

there isn't

much of this

going on

these days


(there is much

fear in this)

...clay nation...

shuffle and slide

into the skid and skin

while her feet

shaped the earth

in a wave of red

over the entire

feverish country

looking for the net

fishing below

the orbiting sphere

...flight...

i haven't gone anywhere

folks              just taking

flight

(briefly grounded)

(briefly deaf)

I haven't gone anywhere

few folks      just taking

inventory

(flight delayed)

(briefly delayed)

I haven't gone anywhere

faithful few  just taking

directions

(flight grounded)

(beliefs unfounded)

...nayam...

Good

Buy

Cool

Whirl


*

Itsy and uv th'worl s wee no et


*

Tomorrow no morrow

*

Good

Pie

You

Girl

*

Buy Buy Birdies

*

...gold...

the only other

gold in the world

was set upon her hair

and sun at the end of the day

taking her breath

and image of all the

gold in the world

with her



(RIP Sadie)

...crooked street...

single paved Pavonia

stinking singularly above

the former pavement

eyes glazed like turkey or ham

rain stained bags of trash

that didn't make truck

little dimes bags filled

with sidewalk detritus

cement smokers

the bulbous nosed men

searching for help

Black Friday flyers filing

into potholes to fulfill

other concrete dreams
                             
               of kids and cracks
     
               caught in the crooked street

...so long gone...

i have failed you

dear lover and life giver

to stay beneath your

feet and foundation

to hold ground

for earth not water

I have failed before

and will fail again

you must not be so

dependent upon me

do not stand upon me

I can only stay afloat

for so long

...management...

the green bottle

as the bottled up banger

beats along the street

to find a dime or pickle

out the barrel or feral

like a banger

of bottled up anger

(he is hungry

and wants to reflect

green light

...zooming in...

playing with your thumb

and forefinger, increase,


decrease the size and scale


fixing and touching up


an instant of gratification


is the only image 


during this moment 

...press sure...

you lay your hand

on mine and press it slightly

I look at your eyes 

and press them slightly

with my own

you feel this pressure

like a barometer rising

the nerves you get

when we kiss makes

you stiff

but I will come in

press my lips against

your pressures

and once again

to your lips

and they begin

to turn up

our bodies begin to 

turn down

MCA's Last Day

" Roses are red

Violets are blue

I got my barrel-action now

so what the fuck you gonna do"

                      ---A. Yauch, RIP



While I would love to write a poem here, I simply cannot. I will, just not here. Instead, I offer just a few words to express how important Adam Yauch's voice was to me as a kid. The Beastie Boys saved me from mediocre music. They made me rebel, rebuke, and revolt against things I didn't understand at the time. More importantly, they taught me that a one trick pony really is dead before it hits the farm. That you didn't have to be pigeon-holed and categorized from one project to the next. There was a core sound that is unmistakable in their music, yet each album tried different sounds out. Paul's Boutique will forever be the epitome of music to me. It is one of the greatest albums that has ever existed. MCA's unique scratch and rasp is unforgettable and he used that voice way more off stage than he ever did on it. Either way, he was one of the most definitive voices of my childhood, engrained in my brain, so clear I can conjure it up whenever I want. I usually use the lyrics above because they were just so badass. You will be missed. Namaste.

....of the world...

i'm not worried
about it wither
wane wand threshold
tune trimmed hellhole

the dirty doored studio

nor should you worry
about the weaver
whether or not
the weather changes
to morrow to day to never

the flawed floored floor plan

inside jokes with outside
jackets june bug joints
lit with wick windless
winding strand standing
stalled on the side
of the imploded ediface

the fresh desktop stop

don't be furious
with it wither it like flowers
and skin over bones
brandy dashed stones and rocks
falling over clefts and cliffs

the tall tall edge of the world

...wisdom and teeth...

if the lesson is not learned
then rinse rather repeat

we cannot help you if
you do not ask for help

thirty times a day
the time strikes timid

forty times a day
the tongue darts tough

differentiation isn't coincidence
incidence is never dental

or oral for that matter
but wisdom and teeth

cracked as they may be
seek truth and truisms

over bullshit, con-jobs,
ignorance, or fountains

of youth, gardens of adherence
to single paths, monosyllabic

lines of cocaine and zombies
that partake. The day is long

enough as it is. We don't
need to write any longer

than we should.

...stuck like lines...

dusty glaze on walls

have not picked you up

out of time and tune

nicks along the neck

small dents in wooden

body curved like hips

full and low toned

hands lie on inlay

and try to pluck

strum and play

but song does not come

so easy

stuck like lines

in the throat

unwritten and unwilling

vibrations along the bridge

and words that rhyme

with string

...seek threads stained blue...

seek threads stained blue

stand tall thin through

true to you

glacial falling

glottal stopping

global failing

these are what is true

there is no more you

seek threads stained blue

...the union is fucking dead...

the wick instead of the gas.

the stroke instead of the pluck.

the angle over the angel.

the in-motion over the stuck.

the kindness under the madness.

the strongest under the weak.

the daily image of fragility.

the costs of unsettled speech.

the county over the state.

the state over the fed.

the warnings lack transparency.

the union is fucking dead.

...warnings against passion...

don't love that too much

it/he/she/they will not bare it

Smother is your mother with an S

puppies will dominate you

don't love them too much

same with people you don't care

about because their opinions matter

most they don't love you

don't find passion in books

art, poems or song either

find them only in cooking

in making salts

making sauce

please

please do not find

passion in something that is

compassionate

you just may fall for it

..O...

O new this year

O throw this last one away

O shit there it is

O last of the rumors

O last of the civilizations

we we we

will will will

eject our overcoats

throw balls of rice

O shit that's what we forgot

O we will O

O shit there it is

O last of the rumors

O last of the civilizations

...returning to darker forms...

nice to see you white

page turned black with back

inking and slaughtered

to create the darkest dye

nice to see you with

your pen in hand

waiting for the next

message or signal

to leave marks upon

...waking feet...

with these dogs

aching and these dogs

waking you up

when will your feet

rest from working

we only have two feet

you only have one

dogs have four

they are better

than some

...equal...

you are either

in or out

there is no between

or betwixt

no kinda or sorta

no maybe or baby

you are either

in or out

those are the rules

...rain through...

still beating droplet

left untouched

unsounded by echo

left disturbed

in the natural

aqueous state

...new era...

we all need

the family discount

even if we haven't

been familial

in years

...shorts...

shorts show

short on money

pockets

that are empty

when cutoffs

slice deep like wounds

empty sockets

worn joints

seams holding together

only to keep your

junk about you

from losing that too

symbols of slump

economic downturn

we never inherit

full pants

always just short

...ninety-two at midnight...

of oppression

this thick warm blanket

of heat bricking

on us like a house

hot and moist

a deadly sadist sees

the heat in waves

the street

curls and cracks

the roofs are no use

the night is nothing

but dark and heavy

ninety two at midnight

is just not right

...two years ago today...

the back of the menu

had the names of all

of the night's acquaintances

but not yours, and that

is the only one I needed

...sans cloud...

sans cloud

sun mood

in flight

movie moody

stuffed stubborn

like butt-born pigs

them pregnant trees

sun move

move star

across the pie

the entire pie

...no other truth...

when the harmonium

plays we can hear history

as a clear signal

not the cluttered mess

we find in the books

we read or follow

as truth

there is no other truth

than music

...held court...

on the grass

the ball skids

a little

and the kids

slip up drinking

cup along

the painted lines

to be fair

it was a sprinkle

little bits

of rain

...city ocean...

to shake things we had not

shaken in years and not

stirring but shaking

like the waves collapse

or the beat of the drum's

kickback, echo, location

on shore

...auto-erotic...

in all repairs

aiding the band

still bleeding

leaking oil

breaking down

needing a tow

to the next gig

still managing

to crash into

the same garage

each and every night

...backlash...

the kill mission leaves

no words from the target

in that silence

the fear begins to rise

and the backlash

across the skin

is the true test

of the choice we made

...stop...

we can stop

fighting now

right?

...finale...

was it a firestorm

or a sniper rifle

a siege or a candied

apple with razor

was it quick and unexpected

or was it long and tortuous

as so many want it to be

if there is any truth in all of this

the world can't be a better place

but we will devise a new plan

to go ahead and try anyway

...shorter days...

if the children

knew that the days

will become shorter

and harder then

they wouldn't be so

quick to say that they

wish they were older.

...sun...

DeLaughter sang

"Hey, it's the sun

and it makes me shine."

on a day

like today,

but in Texas.

...fence...

when the dog

barks at nothing

it becomes something

material out of fabrication

ghosts in the walls

she knows something

about history

growls at the clink

of the fence

certain that there

is something up

in the corner

of the ceiling

...dog-like..

we sleep low

like lap-dogs

or land-ladies

into our heads

dreaming details

of distant stints

in different states

in Virginias and valleys

treasured, York city-tall,

Jersey back-yards

both the newer

breed and blood-line

but by the time

we are asleep

we've forgotten

where we were

...back into the grass...

back at my side

you lie next to the couch

needing nothing more

than the warmth of a body

close to you and the pressure

of a motionless hand resting

fully on your soft blonde shoulder

while the flashes from the television

go unnoticed in your sleep

and you dream of being home

out of the city

back into the grass

...fracture...

the unimaginable torque

it takes to fracture the bone

only imaginable

when the calf of the creature

one sees as alpha

once round and tomato-

shaped, but solid as rock,

spirals and splits

with one unknowing step

across the fractured ice

over the fractured concrete

...walk it out...

walk it out

the door then

step it onto the street

then swift step down

the block while whistling

past neighbors

a nod or smile

while fiddling

with ears and eyes

and traversing

the melting piles

this will become your habit

we will become this ritual

...hog...

intrusion in return

drop in pressure/

temperature/

barometric impetuousness/

the false start of spring

a hidden shadow

was already predicted

fooled we were again

pig in mud frozen

back in tempered time

lessened with each

wandering week

...thawless...

tempter seeks revenge

cold winded night

when shadows

are shades of grey

darker than seasons

that spawn cold cracked

opaqueness

(it soon changes

into spring)

(if not we stay thawless)

...parallel parking...

the spot in

which you park

is parallel

to the spot

within my heart

(for Steff)

....icebergs and assholes...

parking is the commodity

amongst icebergs and assholes

in giant tanks and gas guzzling

megaliths trying to parallel

into perpendicular spaces

in cellular time

...frozen puddles...

the cold starts thinking

about tin cans in the street

styrofoam islands in the frozen

puddles on Monmouth

the little girl shatters

with a pink skip fracture

(that sound always got me

like the sound of glass breaking)

her pink plastic boots kicking

into the groaning grey sky.

the cold starts thinking of sticking

to our necks, to our stiff

upper torsos, stale stale morning

breath and fractured

vapor foaming out of the exasperated

mouths of business men heading

to the business day, au pairs huddling

their wrapped white babies,

storefronts cracking the frozen lock

clicking and clanking

the sliding metal up

into its' housing

while the cold takes a crack

at each and every sense

of each and every waking body.

the cold starts thinking he has some

weight to throw around here.

...face to face...

simply do not have

means all weights

the world

falling shoulders

frayed bits of hair

trickle back

facing away

she faces today

when you do

not know which

way to face

to face

...intersession..

and go on vacation...

...sing...

in this new year

ketchup becomes mustard

skips become leaps

fours become twos

let us sing and chat

about the hot dogs

and burgers, falling apples

at the picnics we dream

about on these cold

winter white days

we sing to keep warm

we sing to keep our waters

from crystalizing

(even though that image

is worth the discomfort)

in this new year

we sing cause we have to

opens up the lungs

...blizz...

fall snow fall

keep the trees

in secrecy

the sidewalks

held quiet

drifting up

over the cars

dunes of soft crystalline

white gliding up waving

in the wind's curve

god's weathering example

in time lapse

(he has done this to geological

formations all over the globe;

this is just a microcosm)

..I'm hero...

in the blast

of cold you shelter

me in your shield

poncho-packed punches

hoody-fury and furry

holding in fear

that wind may

take me away

which is not an injustice

you could stand

idly by and watch

this is your street

too you know

...freightway...

subtle as subtlety

tipping slightly to the right

spirits (liquors?) sightings

tonight's quick stutter-step

and trip into the dream

the man walking behind

you talking to the gods

asking for some change

not the clinking kind

but a different path

something involving iron

maybe 5th Street

or 6th or maybe

in the dream

he is a shoulder closer

than he should be

and the shadows

of former alleys

and embankments are now

aglow with anticipation

and hope as she wakes

turns over

breathes deep

into the covers

on the morning

of the first day of winter

...twice before...

you said you would

never sing these songs

again but you reneged

and here you are

emotionally vulnerable

sexually frustrated

lyrically derivative

why bother?

It's gonna hurt me.

It's gonna kill when you desert me.

(12/18/10)

...the occasional applause...

heat being on

you: being of sound

knowing the bass

in my voice needs

to be taken out of

the subs and that wood

panelling on walls

creates thunderous echoes

the occasional applause

rumbles from bulky trucks

thrashing by and emergency

vehicles that stop traffic when

we are breathing too heavy

or need resuscitation

...wood floor...

image this:

the floor is covered in wood.

The wood floor.

Titans of indie ashtrays only sing

off key because it's cool.

THE WOOD FLOOR.

Last week, we made flowers

from our underwear.

This week we wear flowers

as underwear, but where

do you draw the string?

On the wood floor, of course.

On the stage with the wood floor,

of course.

...new one...

moving three

into the space

of one is not

as hard as it sounds

just take away two

and become one

...cellular light...

in the cellular light

the images of smooth

skin are actuated

by the truth of the curve

and the honesty

that brings beauty

into the light

into our images

into our images

of imperfections

...tryptophan...

I am the one

to blame for making

Jessica Simpson fat

when we really know

it's genetic (I mean

look at Homer)

...falls apart...

tomorrow butterfly yourself

call this season an "it"

eat more air than bread

kiss all the grills

with gold and spark

inlay upon lampshade

tomorrow's dearth of dark

signaling in the sons of sun

...collapsable...

move these bookshelves

with the tips of your fingers

move them like turning

their pages and riffling

though their stories

move these bookshelves

and dust them along

the spine, place them

in boxes

move these bookshelves

find new books

play with them

place them next to

new books just finished

which I guess now

are the old ones too

(repeat these steps)

...thirty five...

did you post speeds

bicycles are vengeance vehicles

cars are bullying fat kids

we liken transportation to sport

gathering titles instead of tires

points on pointed crosswalks

angles on the acute actions

of pedestrian antics and tourist

hips into traffic and rear views

we are closer than we appear

we were only doing thirty five

mothers and fathers feared

further accelerations

panicked baby buggies

teetering too tightly

in the traffic's tense flow

(I am always alarmed

by this lack of forethought)

...nestle...

nestle is the nicest

term to use when

the apple sits in the cloth

clinging to the water

from the wash

(wait til the juices

nestle into the buds

then this term

turns true)

...upkeep...

if the house is not in order

then the man of the household

is not a mirror reflection of his waste

nor the previous occupants'

soiled rugs, crumpled wrappers,

it is a promotion of the work

that has yet to be done

and the acknowledgment

of the approaching decades

necessary to undo all that had been done

when the house was neglected

when the house wasn't ours

to live in or maintain

...new sidewalks...

if you leave the page

for a moment you may

miss the first time

you fell for the line

that truly moved you

or the images

that stayed with you:

the dog with the look

(you know the look)

a family of geese

long in the intersection

children bouncing

the ball off the chirping car

lines of ants parading

into pillars of rusted dust

you see it a different way

because you see the world

is a little smaller each day

that there are a few less lines

left in the black ribbon

that dries too easily

in the drafts

through the window pane

ideas on the sidewalks

...paycheck...

pay the little poet please

he needs to feed his needs

she wears all of her wears

please pay these people

a little pay please

(it is starting to get cold out)

...after war...

these aren't questions of faith

these are questions of a record

of history and a map of a world

we haven't been able to chart

because of the divine hand

that continues to pull people's

pulses from each other

further from agreement

into the throws of war

after war after war

...first question...

can I have

a pen

and a piece

of paper

to write up

the guest list?

...alumni...

on that steep incline

the lawn it is called

I have the people

around me that I have

brought together

in the most beautiful

moments of their

sonorous lives

and those that you

four have conducted

in there nightly

dance rituals

...playground rule...

still by the water

she sits stares

wonders if the fabrics

will be for her dress

or her doll's

wonders why all the others

skip when they walk

when she can only

slowly stride and take time

with each line she has

to create or fabricate

out of those

moment's pure

sublime pause

...whatsisname...

if I ask them what school

you were from or

what movement you were

part of

they would not know what

to say

they failed the test

and failed it gloriously

...clocktower...

the clock facing the city

never fails to alert

those who work there

that they must come back

here to where the clock

stands and where the rent

and energy bill

is part of the the unending

plan to keep us at bay

...hostess...

in late spring

her black dress

takes its time strapped

tied in bow across the painted

mural between blades

of shoulders

showing the shadows

that the night

tries to hide

with its coy dark

absence of a light

barring the candle

which makes waves

of the air as visible

as the constant

shimmering eyes

...invite to a bbq...

we are invited to a bbq

in your back yard:

you ask us to bring a bbq

and a back yard:

Thank you for having us.

...constructive construction site..

when you bring the poem

to them and I mean by truck

by payload after payload

brimming in the bed

overflowing the hitch

taking each line

and lugging them

over the shoulder

over to the house

you are building

and show them how to

set the posts margins constraints

they will tell you

that they are grateful for this lesson

for bringing the poem

to them and reconstructing it

so that they too can go in

construct their own

drive their truck

...turn signal...

the threads of the blanket

tossed against the pillow

with her hair's fine silk

tracing it like maps

of highway service roads

is more than his heart

can take as she mumbles

something wonderfully silly

in her sleep, something

about his blinker being on

...missing dogs...

have you seen

my dog we haven't

seen him either

or her actually

we haven't had them

in so long

that my allergies

are returning

...one hundred and twenty six thousand...

this is my 126,000 miles

scar, spreading and spewed

across the southern sea

this is my 126,000 miles

of 'filler up...credit'

this is my 126,000 mile

road trip for seven years

this is my 126,000 mile

slick, up and down the coast

this is my 126,000 mile

stain, a strain on the shores

this is my 126,000

faults and flaws

this is my 126,000th

time I've put the mileage

back to zero

this is my 126,000th

fuck up too

this is my 126,000

this is my fault

...field...

field: there is not a vision

satiate: there is no free lunch

parody: there is no life real

sealed: the lunch is bagged

confrontation: there is no front

blasphemy: there is no belief

indulgence: there is no more left

acquiescent: there is no more refusal

field: there are no more visions

...tunes...

I tune with your tunes

and then swap spit

mac to cheese

cheese to mac

white to white

the log flumes

the shameless rides

and cornered DJs

watching the boots

the hot dog queen

the fiasco of the business-

man's hairpiece creeping

the unstoppable requesters

who fail to see

that we don't take requests

the Jewish girl

who feigns fervor

(tip your bartender

she's my kinda girl)

...bike o bike...

bike o bike

sun o sun

light o light

run run run

over the shore path

under the dirty bridge

behind the foundry

beside the edge

of the pot hole

porous pavement

save your tires

from bad behavior

...losing count...

there is nothing tragic

about a countess losing

count of her heirs

losing count of her wealth

losing out on this death

of a count

of an account

of a lifted pace or face

of course she is this disgrace

and the knife bring her stasis

cold cold normal stasis

level upon level upon level

of made up make up

countess lose count

of your break ups

fake cups

lips too

million upon million

into your counted oblivion

...ghost...

in abstentia

what can replace the body

or the sensual

taste touch tonic

the denile of essential

oils and fragrance

loyal to you and I

and afraid

of growing wilder

not older

in its absense

...grin...

a smile on her face

turning upwards

until it reaches skies

(that process)

...cold melt...

the snow left

behind is no match

for the sun that wants

to glare through

make the water

cold in the power

that it wields

even at this particular angle

and time of our day

...plight...

you can only

feel so much for them

before you start

to realize that you

are suffering just

the same as them

...white piles...

thank you for this white blessing

and this day of white reflection

as the white piles up

and the white pillars fall

all the way to the street

only to become grey

not the way it is supposed to

be not this white purity

that takes away this grey

pavement and dismay from us

so that we can blanket

today anew and start with

the snow, finish with calm

that it has brought

in the guise of a storm

...warning or watch...

never a surprise

even to the predictors

of depths and images

and snowdrifts

radars and crystal

ball rooms full

of white and grey and pink

clouds with latitudes

and longitudes for tattoos

salters and spreaders

to first instigate

then deaden the pain

that proceeds frostbite

and white out blind winds

...red night...

knowing that red

at the dance red at the light

red in Harlem dancing

to the cold fears that

are outside the buildings

and circling the streets

warm inside warm and red

on the side of the walk

and the tread of the boots

as the song sings its chorus

and you sway red to the beat

to the red light

and the red red night

...coin for candidate...

except for the language

what it is that we don't get

about this flawed communication

that is so infuriating?

I know this is theory

not faith or even morality

but you cannot give away

the password to the vault

or the key code to the file

to the one with the most

in the vault or least invested

in your time and word;

this is not a supremely made decision

this will be the birth

of the most false notion

of democracy, one

that is fully emblazoned

on the next pressing

of coin

...short and unsteady...

bicycle in the way

of repetition today

and all those gulls

that flocked to the sagging

spot by the water

cramped up in the cold

want my flight

not their own to take

them south or a place

where an organs can pump

blood faster than the cold

air next to the Hudson

will allow, shallow breathes

slower beats, wheeze

...page of the book...

Bookshelves are transparent.

I wish the books were.

They wouldn't weigh

so much. I wish that the pages

were as light collectively

as they are when they are lonely

when the reader takes one

into their hand, holds it there

wisp-in-the-wind light, no pounds

no hard cover to hide between,

revealing the weight

of the words. This should never be

with complete transparency.

...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