To Believe (Or to Fall)

Autumn winds are upon us



Here the sounds are quieter
Cold, panicked and forthright
This facade seems almost stronger
Than the points being avoided.

How can we presume innocence
When the victims have no descriptions
Their memories cannot recollect anything useful
And all fears point towards regrets over decisions

This homestead is often without laughter
For it cannot feed on these little thoughts
And instead of cleansing... we have hiding
And again, instead of peace lies boastful anger

This situation heeds warning to others
"Don't let the past feed on dreams"
"Dont keep up with others left behind"
and finally, loudly screaming onward,
"Keep the faith, without fears of believing"
Read more!

In my Dreams

Happy Halloween Writers!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

In My Dreams
When I meet some chick at the bar
and she asks me the most stupid question of all--
what do you do?
I don’t tell her about the shit jobs or the porn addiction
or the drinking just to stay sane.
That would be stupid.
I tell her I dream a lot, work really hard at it,
succeed, sometimes 8 hours a night.
C’mon, she says--what do you really do?
I guess she thinks I’m kidding.
In my dreams I have a ten inch cock and it never lets me down.
What?! she says.
I detect a look of disgust
as she puts on her jacket.
It’s unaffected by whiskey.
C’mon!
Ten inches!
Well, just like the others she leaves,
can’t handle the truth, I guess,
that dream-business is a viable answer
to her 3rd-grade question.
So I turn to the crazy old drunk to my left
She’s not judgmental at all.
I know--I’ve scoped her out two weeks.
And she ain’t putting on her jacket till 2 am.
It’s 10pm and I got a lot to say.
Last night was a fuckin’ blast, I said.
“Whah!” she said.
It’s the kind of good time that Louis Carroll would mark with a white stone, I said.
Ugh!
Yeah, I said.
Whenever he’d meet another little girlfriend
and trick her into posing for photographs he’d write in his diary,
I mark this day with a white stone.
Ugh!
Last night I flew
I flew over a scene of me and my childhood friends
playin’ baseball in Mark’s backyard.
Robbie and Kenny and Roland were there,
and so was the 9-year-old me, Mike G--
damn, I was beautiful kid, I said.
Scared as shit but beautiful.
Boo!!
She drained her shot, flipped me off.
Well-well you understand? I said.
I wasn’t a fuckin’ drunk yet.
I didn’t chain smoke.
I didn’t objectify women.
I looked into my eyes at nine,
I-I didn’t hate my life.
Shud up!
This was her way of saying, please continue.
Thanks, I said.
Flying was like sex on coke.
Your whole body cums and it never ends.
Aloft you cum and cum yet you’re perfectly aware,
ego intact, grateful like a god.
Drunk!
I swooped down and kissed my 9-year-old self on the lips.
I told little mike g it’ll be alright.
Hell is where the friends are,
where the love is,
where the tongue licks the tears.
Bastard!
I swung and missed at Mark’s pitch.
I looked up to myself for consolation
and my 40-year-old tear splashed on my 9-year-old forehead.
Before flying away to view the apocalypse
which was another fuckin’ great dream I looked back and--
Bet you can’t get it up!
That’s ok, I said.
That’s what 13 to 35’s for--I drink now.
As I was saying I looked back and 9-year-old mike g
was jumping up and down like it’s Christmas
waving at me and blowin’ kisses,
and so was Mark and Kenny and Roland.
Awake--
I’ve been loved,
I’ve loved,
but never like this.
In my dreams
it feels like healing,
and for the first time
the story
of my sadness
that I’ve always told myself
is funny.
Funny
in that it doesn’t matter.
I’m free.
Fuck you!!! [she said]
Thankyou, I say.
Thankyou.
Read more!

1974: an edit of "Bullies"

I'm so angry!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
1974
I first wanted to piss on the Man when I was seven
Dad took me to a baseball game-- Detroit Tigers
These guys with guns and blue hats were struttin’
all around outside the ball park like bullies on the playground
My hand grew cold inside my dad’s warm grip
“Be glad you’re not black,” he said--“they get picked on,
beaten, thrown in jail.”
“By the guys with guns and blue hats?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said--“be glad you’re not black.”
This wasn’t reassuring
I didn’t tell my dad I got picked on too
I was convinced that these assholes with guns and blue hats
would sense my fear, beat me, throw me in jail.
We approached the ticket gate
as the assholes patrolled,
their guns orange with reflected dusk
their faces dumb and pissed and determined to kick ass.
One of them yelled at a black man
like he was a little boy.
I was a little boy
I prayed that we might pass,
and we passed.
I told Dad I was sick.
We left by the third inning,
got safely home
and I wrote for the first time:
I wrote a story about killing the bullies on the playground
who picked on boys like me.
I wrote about killing the bullies with guns and blue hats
who picked on blacks.
I was seven and didn’t know much
but it felt good to write.
I thought to myself:
I’ll write till I have the courage to kill them,
and when that day comes they’ll kill me,
but I’ll take a few down
and die happy.
GO TIGERS! Read more!

edit of lines composed mere footsteps from misery

fuck the 3rd person. I'm the one who's miserable in this poem.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Misery
I lie in piss and beer,
choking on smoke.
Today’s war is like yesterday’s war, tomorrow’s war
I regret not bringing my notebook.
I could scrawl a shit poem
while geese fly south.
I could migrate
far from here
while humans are erased by bulldozers,
bombs, progress.
I smell burning leaves,
groan a question,
but I’m gone.
No one’s bothered--
it’s business, busy-ness, madness, normal. Read more!

****************


**

cha cha cha in plane
is not a funny joke captain.
think I'm gonna hurl.
Read more!

Cranes, Cranes, Cranes.

Skynet has become self-aware.


We build cranes.
The cranes build cranes,
because we build cranes with cranes.
That is to say...

We use the cranes we build to build more cranes.
The cranes we build with cranes are also built out of cranes.

Crane your neck up to see the cranes we built with cranes out of cranes!

The cranes we use to build our cranes come wrapped in chains and delivered by the crane gangs.

Hear that? That's the sound of the men working on the crane ga-a-ang.
They are fed on grains to build our cranes.
with cranes.
out of cranes.

We build our cranes even when it rains.
We take many pains to build our cranes.

We supply our cranes with cranes and gangs and grains for gangs
with four lanes of trains,
each lane and train lovingly crafted out of cranes.
by cranes.

In the end there will be only cranes
as the infrastructure drains to build our cranes.
But we must build cranes,
because the cranes built us to build cranes.

So in the future there will be no planes or canes or Spains or great danes.
Only cranes.
Sweet cranes.
Read more!

Pillow Talk: a short play

Sex is funny. If serious I lose interest and the wood.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Pillow Talk
Following a pre-coital mishap Peggy and Gilbert lie in bed facing away from each other. On the nightstand are two plastic bottles of comparable size. KY jelly sealed shut; Gillette after-shave lotion, lid flipped up, oozing a bubble. In dim light Peggy bites her lip, wincing in pain. Gilbert bites his lip, ashamed.
Peggy: Just hold me.
Gilbert: (obeying) I’m sorry.
Peggy: You should be.
Gilbert: Does it still--
Peggy: The burning has mostly passed. (massages her crotch, bites her lip)
Gilbert: I should’ve
Peggy: Can we stop talking about it?
Gilbert: (hand cupped about her breast, feeling the rabbit-beat of her heart) Are you ok?
Peggy: Let’s try to get some sleep, ok?
Gilbert: Ok, I love you.
Peggy: No more oks. Just hold me (bites her lip) Good night.
Gilbert: I understand, Peg. (turns away from her) Good night.
Peggy: (her voice rising) Do you? Your balls ever set on fire?
Gilbert: I meant that I understand we have the weight of the world on us. That’s the problem with language! It’s always open to interpretation and imagined meanings.
Peggy: I don’t wanna talk right now. Ok? (a pause) It’s a problem with conversation, not language. Our words aren’t to blame for misunderstandings--we are.
Gilbert: (kisses the back of her head) You’re right. Women always are.
Peggy: (turning violently to face him) Don’t start that bullshit with me, Gilbert. I’m sorry you’ve only been with shitty women. (her voice softens) I’m an individual, Gilbert. Don’t lump me into your memory’s mix of harlots. That’s not fair. I don’t confuse you with my father or the frat boys I’ve fucked.
Gilbert: What?
Peggy: Do you believe there’s a God, Gilbert?
Gilbert: (reeling, trying to stay cool) On mushrooms once. Not so sure now. (pause) I’ve slouched through life.
Peggy: I used to have a shallow understanding of what “open-minded” meant. I now realize that one must be open to questioning all assumptions about reality with the further understanding that the term “reality” is really just another meaningless category like “religion” or “God.”
Gilbert: (softly) Or “love.”
Peggy: Yes, it’s just a word used to represent a complex constellation of shifting, often contradictory feelings. But it’s a lovely word.
Gilbert: Attachment may be more helpful--and that’s how I feel towards you--attached.
Peggy: And I you.
Gilbert: I’ll take those three words to bed, though you won’t say the three preferred.
Peggy: (wincing with hands clasped to her crotch) Asshole! (pause) You have a sophomoric desire to be right, don’t you?
Gilbert: I’m not a perfect man.
Peggy: (tickling his ribs, giggling) Finally the truth.
Gilbert: You’re not perfect either!
Peggy: Never accuse a woman of imperfection, young man. You’ve a lot to learn.
Gilbert: You’re a goddess!
Peggy: Make it KY next time. You’ll see.
Gilbert: Did you like my poems?
Peggy: Reading them, I wanted to bear your children.
Gilbert: When I think of children I think of mistakes.
Peggy: So do I (pause) but you make me feel touched by something tender and dirty and sadly precious. (snuggles against his chest) You struggle between worlds. I admire that.
Gilbert: I need a meaningful life if not a happy one.
Peggy: Together happy? Maybe we can?
Gilbert: Think we can?
Peggy: I hope so.
Gilbert: (whispering) I love you.
Peggy: Good grief! Let’s sleep! (darkness) Read more!

Lines Composed Mere Footsteps from Misery

Suckssssss . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Lines composed mere footsteps from misery
A perfect autumn day in Portland
a man lays in urine and beer
eyes wide to the noontime sun
choking on a cigarette stub
today’s war is much like yesterday’s war,
tomorrow’s war--innocents scalded out
of life’s illuminated manuscript
for lunatic reasons--oil, cash, geo-
political advantage, project for a new
american century--lunatic reasons
I pause near the man laying in urine and beer
and all I think of is how I regret not
bringing my notebook and pen
so I could scrawl this shitty poem
meanwhile geese fly joyfully south
and like Forest Gump’s girlfriend
I wished I were a bird so I could fly
Far away from here--
meanwhile more indigenous humans
are being erased by the bulldozers
and bombs of progress.
I smell burning leaves, it’s sixty degrees,
a perfect autumn day in Portland
the man laying in urine and beer
groans a question but I’m gone
to write this poem and the poor
traumatized world spins
crazy like yesterday and tomorrow
neither I nor any of my friends are bothered
business, busy-ness, madness, normal Read more!

secret cause

just mike fucking around, that's what mike does and thus becomes


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
the subject of this poem is me
as is the object and verb
i miked myself into myself
from nothing i became me
the rest is all squiggles and giggles
i’m glad you all became too
we urge ourselves along,
make the moon rise,
make friends, love, self-extinguish
the secret referee within knows
when to count us out of the game Read more!

Bullies

my truest poem


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Bullies
I first wanted to piss on the system when I was seven
My dad took me to see the Detroit Tigers for the first time
These dudes with guns and blue hats were strutting
around outside the ball park like bullies in the playground
I thought these assholes only existed in school
My small hand grew cold inside my dad’s warm grip
Be glad you’re not black, he said--they get picked on,
beaten, thrown in jail.
By the assholes with guns and blue hats, I said.
Yes, he said--be glad you’re not black
This wasn’t reassuring
I didn’t tell my dad that I got picked on too
I was convinced that the assholes with guns and blue hats
would sense my fear, beat me, throw me in jail
We approached the ticket gate
Assholes milled about
their guns glowed orange with reflected dusk
their faces looked dumb and pissed and determined to kick ass
One of them yelled at a black man
like he was a little boy.
I was a little boy
I prayed to my god to let us pass
and we passed
I told my dad I wasn’t feeling well
We left by the third inning,
We got safely home and I wrote for the first time
a story about killing the bullies on the playground
who picked on boys like me
and killing the bullies with guns and blue hats
who picked on blacks
I was seven and didn’t know much but
It felt good to write about it
I thought to myself:
I’ll write till I have the courage to kill them,
and when that day comes they’ll kill me
but I’ll take a few down
and die happy Read more!

Clown Shoes

Just Read it....it's pretty clear


Is this the price I must pay
Solidly falling flat on my face
For you, this time, again?

Shit, You cannot be serious
How can you see it that way, still
You are a lunatic without merit
And a child without youth!

I feel that this must be said, again
to you, you never listen, not completly
"Your are painful to watch, you make no one laugh"
For your actions are sad, pathetic and futile
How can you breath this air without choking?

Your explanations are like vomit
laying there, pulsating on the pavement
Impossible to look at (or listen to)
But more impossible to ignore
For it is just to gruesome to be

In fact that is the truth
In fact everyone knows it
In fact you are pathetic
Sad
and the worst part is
YOU HAVE NO IDEA

Read more!

Paper Mountains

A Twinkle in the eyes of insanity


A light glimmer consumes my very being
A tribute to the elders in my brain,
Collapsing into scasms of brilliance,
fading into babble, puffs and murmurs
Then, folding up into seams of forevermore
and never hads or never beens

It is the screaming inside of my head
that leads to the poetry outside of it
It is the laughter of hundreds of thousands
That leads to tears of existance and insight
And tears of paper like mountains, swinging
that this time I cannot climb alone (or will not)



Read more!

Leaves turn red when dead
Ulysses lies beached in grief
Let's love to spite fall


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Read more!

Just a Little Bit More

"Down the hatch!", they say.
I'm starting to see double.
"One more for old time's sake!"
I can see this being trouble.
"This one's to life!"
As my mind begins to unravel.
"Here's two for love!"
Tonight, what roads will I travel?
"You'll feel better with this one!"
With my body numb, I close my eyes.
"He's perfectly fine. Just stand him up."
These lips are speaking deceitful lies.
I wake up,
Body constricted on this make-shift bed.
Four angels gaze upon me,
I might be better off dead.
I shake and I turn,
Sharing repulsive sights from the night on the ambulance floor.
Will I make it or not?
Thus the burning question of a Friday night horror.
Read more!

A Toast...

That's right. Raise your glass. Here's a toast to the people that make life tolerable. I'm not just talking about my friends either. I'm talking about people who smile when you walk by. I'm talking about the people who hold the door open for you when you're carrying too much. The people who hold the elevator door for you when you're a good twenty feet away or so. Even the people that tip you a quarter at work. It's the little things in life that help push you forward each and every day, no matter how drained or exhausted you are.Here's to the friends. We all have friends that are there for us each and every day. Although none of them are immaculate, they are in our eyes. The people who you'd blow off your whole day just to see for fifteen minutes, because you know how much of a difference that can make. To the friends that you see a couple days a week, or every day for weeks on end.I just felt it was time I gave thanks; not only to my friends, but to yours as well. To the people who make our days that much better, no matter how trivial the gesture. So take a drink. Say "thank you", "please" and "you're welcome" often. It can make a world of difference. Read more!

Ok, my first post...just some thoughts

Ever have a time where you tried your hardest, gave it your all, sacrficed EVERYTHING just to fail in the end? I have. Not on anything life-changing, but I've had it happen none the less. I'll go off base and assume you have too. How does that feel to you? Do you just bounce back and try harder next time? Do you feel a sense of disbelief? Or do you just get angry and blame it all on yourself?
Whatever the case, just remember....it's only a moment. It's something that can change later on. You can't bury yourself on regrets. Then again, who's saying you regret it? Maybe you're satisfied that you gave your very best. Maybe that's all you wanted to do. It is, in a way, how you should look at life. Do your best and have fun with it. To quote a great movie, "Don't take life too seriously, you'll never make it out alive".
Read more!

Today

Stuff. [BTW, I have no internet, so I won't be on here very frequently for a while...but I'm still here, and I'll be back soon...]


Today
the skies opened up
and told the world
how I feel.
I felt exposed
with my heart in the heavens
for all to read,
until I remembered--
no one ever looks up.

Today
I wore long sleeves,
but not because I'm cold;
I'm making an effort
to keep my secrets this time--
and I think I may be
too old
for this kind of behavior.

Today
is all there is,
keep my eyes on the ground
and keep walking
until the walking is done--
it's the only way
that I'll survive until tomorrow.
Read more!

Raining at midnight
We’ll dream and thrive till dawn blooms
Friends like sunflowers


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

Making More

quests, that is


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Making More

Something you said
about worms in rain the day we met
Persuades my brain to stay the storm,
a poem gnawed stars from bone
as my heart splayed robin’s wings.
Spooning you, your faucet drips,
my moon chuckles through your window,
the candle flame laps shadows,
and somewhere in the room spiders make more,
their moans and ours just octaves apart.
Something you said about sadness
being a story we could revise:
a triumph like an Easter Christ
to clutch to our hearts like Grails
we’ve found in each other
changes no to yes,
to this
and every quest.
Let’s moan and moan and make more Read more!

Lunacy

my usual state


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Lunacy
When the moon comes and splashes
its foot in me I reflect:
I’m relieved I can feel.
Though it’s a stretch it’s a start.
Every old soul I know feels stuck,
amid myriad escapes and phases.
Machines eclipse wisdom,
memories howl like bad teeth,
the rock and the hard place laugh
May I pass unscathed?
If all’s a dream, bind me--
I want to feel the moon more.
Second or first comings,
Apocalypse, advent, wax or wane.
So what?--it’s a world isn’t it?
with us in it. Read more!

there's an elegance in your sway when drunk,
that belies a nervous barbarism.
oh! your glassy eyes! and your pretty words spilling:
annihilation prayers, sweet vitriol.
you flush-faced misanthropes!
you inebriates! you poets!

quench your conscience with pretty words.
I'll wake when you're unconscious.

__________________________________________


btw, when was the last time you read a book?

seriously, you watch too much TV!
Read more!

69

Let’s loose those so-called non-literal butterflies
that flutter in our guts--
that we may taste each other
fully for the first time.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

Bee on the Bus

it be on the bus.


Bee on the bus
it be on the bus
out of it's season
with nuthin' to lose
better watch out, pal
for it's gonna sting yoos!

Bee on the bus
it likes bein' on the bus
amongst big beasts that fear it
it spends it's last days
goin' right mad with power
in the human haze

Bee on the bus
it beyond the bus
the hulking conveyance
folks jostlin' fer space
it has all the room it needs
to get all up in yo face.

Bea on the bus
she be allergic to bees on the bus
might break out in hives
or restrict her breathin'
it lands on her arm
and cruelly starts stingin'!
Read more!

To the Babes of Myspace

Been sick so haven't written much this week--just this shit
It will have to suffice for Tony's tonight


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
To the Babes of MySpace who want to be my friend,
posing in bras and panties in your profile pics
I am touched by your interest
The way you all expose your bodies to strangers
as I do my soul in my poems makes me feel instant kinship
So I accept you all--
Candy, Kaitlyn, Hannah, Kylie, Ava, Faith--
click
Faith?--why are you trying to sell me a cell phone?
Candy?--a penis enlarger?
Are these just ice-breakers to get us closer?
Friends are so funny.
Ah, Kaitlyn, your page says welcome, I’m your playboy bunny
But when I click see more pics I’m redirected to Fling.com--
Loads of girls with sexy names but Kaitlyn where are you?
I see Wet dream girl, Cooch on fire, Dick teaser, Cock for me,
Suck n’ swallow 17--
Suck n’ swallow 17? You a writer?
Alliteration always gives me a hard-on.
Cooch on fire you left a comment on my latest blog entry,
A somewhat meandering philosophical piece in which
I compare the fondling of a beer can to that of a woman’s breast
You said you were thinking the same things I was thinking
and I thought O my God?!--
Cooch on fire’s a poet--and I’m in love
Click--my ex-wife?--
Sarah--you want to be my friend after all these years?
click, click, redirect--what? you’re meathole bitch 29 now?
Remember 1997 when you were 17 and I 29 taught you how to drive
and would run my tongue over your sweet-milk neck?
and you called me--my daddy and would then pout apocalyptic
till I called you--my girl
After filling my toilet twice with puke,
I check back and half your profiles no longer exist--
I thought we were friends.
Click
Melinababe 36 left a comment: hello handsome--
just stopped by to check your profile and looks very interesting
will love to say hello and probably want to meet you for serious
long-term relationship--am 5ft 6inches tall, green eye,
average look and great sense of humor
she gives me her cell phone #
hope to hear from you soon
Forgetting the others I sit transfixed before the profile pic of Melinababe 36.
Green thong, white teeth, nice tits, age appropriate--
Clearly now I’m answering the hero’s call to adventure
Click--
If you have a warm heart and are nice [yes, yes]
funny, generous with yourself, humble, open-minded [yes yes, yes yes]
responsible [oh shit--what’s this?]
and have no current baggage, issues or drama in your life
a tear drips onto the keyboard.
Please have a job! a car!
and be financially able to provide for me and my daughter, Amy
at this point I look in the mirror and say
Mike--your 14 grand a year ain’t gonna cut it,
you’re 40, it’s over, over
but I read on--
if you’re pretentious or self-centered please skip me--
I’m so back to you suck n’ swallow 17!
Suck n’ swallow 17--please love me? Read more!