1985th chorus
we sat slumped
impressionable
.lumps
.of
wine thinned flesh,
about the stoops and stairs
of financially impaired fall-
.outs
among particles
of brick and mortar
the buildings refused.
.collecting shoeprints
.on our moth-
.eaten shirtbacks,
.clicking
.our
.box-
.cutter
.blades
in
and
.out; or
.whistling
(fingers
curled ’round clumps
of stolen candy,)
at women old enough
to be our mothers
who taught us fresh swear-
words to spout in different contexts.
.we were cool-aid mustaches
.and filthy hands
.cut and scraped
.with lessons learned
.the hard way,
making cellblock reservations from the womb
and cramping
.in the growling guts
.of what
you would call
the ghetto.
I had to flush twice.
pulling the bra
from a fresh pack
of cancer sticks
bare assed and
on the wintered face
of a porcelain sanctity,
flame dancing wild
at the head of my cigarette
as it reduced to cherry
and I blew believable
smoke signals
to a human race
that couldn’t possibly exist.
correcting my posture
only to realize
everything,
everyone is dead and
the art is hung
.crooked.
( it looked as if christ and his disciples
were having the last supper on a hillside )
nowhere else on earth
could be this peaceful,
the churn of toilet water
was like a calm spring
flowing through distant
meadow,
until the shit escaped me
until the underlying truth of the world
escaped me.
Manifest destination
Winant BLVD (RT-46)
a school of fish flowed by me
as I stood waiting for the bus
(which would be a whale in this metaphor)
their current fed the gust
that sent embers sizzling
at my cheeks, as I lipped
a cigarette failing
.to keep ash
but rather,
embracing its own naked cherry
.like a dandelion in a hurricane.
NJTRANSIT 05:20PM 24APR09(168)
each blotch of earth
that slid past the window
bored me more than
the one before it,
until I saw this little boy
who looked like a king
on top of a flipped over barbie-
car, stomping up and down
as if conquering a world
waiting to eat him alive.
his mother watching
from their porch steps
her hair glowing sun-lit
like that of a doll
with a frozen smile about
her embossed face,
had her child not
been so alive,
I would believe
she never breathed
at all.
a mannequin mother
with eyes sewn into
the rest of her life.
Veteran DR /Bergenline AVE.
fresh from the belly
of a mechanical whale,
I watched the wind
molesting everything.
the trees bent away
in utter disgust,
some of their branches
reached for soil
as the sun kept track
of it all, with the same bright-
white beams
.that tried to blind me.
winter is dead
