...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