cryptic

you woke me well after midnight

to complain that you weren’t awake

 

i fed the curtains to the bedroom window

while whispering, “oh for heaven’s sake”

 

i watched you flit about

like curtains at an open window

mimicking a midnight breeze

 

i found the formula that fabricated

the furthest star

while you looked over my shoulder and sneezed

 

band aids don’t heal or make you whole

yet you put them on everything

kiss the skin and enter in

to all that i believe

 

we were making out at an abandoned train station

when the ghost of the last employee

walked up with a pocket watch and a lantern

and said, “move along, the trains don’t stop here no more”

 

so we found a bed in suburbia

time clocks to punch

a place to have sunday brunch

 

and the passion that was haunted by chiding ghosts

haunts these hallways without finding a body to inhabit

 

and i find myself drawn to pictures of train stations

and memories that i’ve memorized into a definition

that no longer defines

while you encapsulate another collection of photographs

as if a scrapbook can really just be a hobby

 

and i lobbied at the lining of existence

that happiness would be defined

as a day off from work

where chores you shirk

just to squeeze new memories

out of the long discarded rinds

 

and sometimes you actually do

but you only prove

that all the clues are right before your eyes

convicting the day to day that we play

without a heart fashioned from clay

but from stone

or decomposing bone

 

and you think

before it’s too late

i should recreate fate

and find the fashion i want to wear

that which truly fits me

 

but one cannot live on popcorn

that falls on the floor of the circus

or can they?

 

do you call this living?

discovering your kiss

was all the bliss

 

but now the kiss has to be sustained

among the pain of trying to carry

all the casualties that came

when we slaughtered our innocence

preened ourselves with pretense

for…

you know what?

i don’t know what for

we just did

like every other kid

 

and now the ghosts no longer tell us to move along

because we are already there

 

***

 

 

 

i miss you

have you ever had an emotion

you redefined into a definition

of nonexistence?

 

you live as if the most important thing to you

doesn’t exist

doesn’t matter

 

everyone expects

an exact

 

so you act

spurning your nomination

your character creation

just got you more parts

 

and this rollercoaster ride

makes you hide

inside

a bottle your tried

and that bottle

and that one too

 

and when you are finally allowed one moment

off stage

the focus finally not on you

for just one moment

 

you arrive at the truth

the surprise ending

and the hidden meaning in the plot

and whisper while no one is watching,

“i miss you”

 

***

the miracle of multicellular organisms

it’s raining

they say l.a. needs it

but los angeles doesn’t know what it needs

 

anyway

that’s the end of my sociology lesson

i’m drunk, wet, walking around

smoking a cigarette

 

this all seems so familiar

 

and i’m not interested in societal reflections

or the manner in which physics destroyed

the best versions of reality

 

i’m just having fun

the rain put out my cigarette

so i find an overhang

and light another one

 

carefree

alcohol in me

watching everyone flee the falling rain

like it is the final judgment of god

 

before i went for “a walk”

jenny was on top

her swollen pregnant belly

looked like it was ready to pop

 

when she was done with me

she told me to make her a banana split

before she called the cops

 

i filled the biggest bowl we had

with all the ingredients

then slipped into the rain

the only degenerate

who knows the water will

never wash him clean

 

i unscrew my flask

white whiskey

sip and make a face

take another

then return to the rain

 

i think about writing another novel

then think that was what

the dark streets of decay was

a novel

each poem/vignette was a chapter

and this is its sequel

 

i stop at the realization

retrieve my flask from my jacket

unscrew the top

quote adam duritz,

“I wasn’t made for this scene baby

But I was made in this scene”

 

touch the tip of the flask to my lips

and let its entire contents

set me on fire

amid the rain’s impotency

to put out the flames

 

and you know what?

i just don’t care

there is no underlying thought

that one day i will stop

 

i continue walking

the end of this poem i am stalking

looking for that perfect line

that perfect rhyme

that will finally complete

me

 

but all i see is my reflection

in the store front windows

soaked

out of smokes

flask empty

 

and the only completion

will be a liquor store

where i can buy more

 

i guess if the devil can hide in plain sight

then why can’t i spend the night

drunk, wet, walking around

smoking a cigarette

 

los angeles, i can wager a bet

i am someone you will forget

but tonight i am a blood cell

coursing through your veins

 

***

 

 

screaming at the indifferent wind

it howls around my head

it howls around my hunger

drowning the sounds of my screams

that suffering has not made me stronger

 

dreams are our downfall

harbinger in a house of hope

who taught us to dream?

it’s usually not our parents

 

but is it worse to accept that which surrounds?

where the wind blows so hard

you can’t hear any other sound

i now understand why atlas shrugged

 

but it wasn’t a solution

so i don’t know

i’m sysiphus with a stone

and here i go with another day

 

dreaming, no wishing, there wasn’t a hill

curtailing consciousness with swill

if water finds its own level

i’ve evaporated

 

but do i have the kinetic energy

to overcome liquid-phase intermolecular forces?

after the replenishing rain

even clouds dissipate

 

the wind doesn’t care what it blows away

it is an unconscious current of air

but it is still powerful enough

to clear the landscape of your dreams

 

***

there is no reason

i don’t understand those who surround

and the sound

their vocal chords make

 

something didn’t go according to plan

and because you didn’t get your way

you rationalize by a concurrent event

 

this happened to keep something worse from occurring

endure with contentment

is an acknowledgement

submission to benevolence

ain’t i wise and worthy?

 

such a statement

requires a presupposition

that not only is there god

but it has my best interest in mind

 

there is no evidence in kind

things just happen

or they don’t

there is no reason why

beyond the reason you tried

 

and even that reason is laden

with a layer of perceptual lies

 

just quit talking to me

as if i am someone who could ever believe

in anything more than a nucleus at the core

and we can co-exist

 

you don’t have to stop believing

truth or deceiving?

these are things to me that are a non-issue

just quit talking to me

 

***

 

 

between the poet and the poem

between the poet and the poem

is a place of promise

a sade adu singing

“by your side”

holding you in a tender embrace

 

(seriously?)

 

i’m watching the cold un-calculating concrete

and the last thing i believe in are promises

 

a cop was driving by and saw me in an alley

urinating by a dumpster

i could tell he was coming back

i got urine on my shoes and leg

in my haste to zip

and disappear

 

the night is clear

and cold

my cigarette hates me as much as i hate it

but my beer buzz is professing undying love

 

my back against a concrete wall

crouched, a sidewalk fixture

watching

hands in hands walking by

 

they say one in five people

suffer from mental illness

imagine what they would say about me

but i’m not crazy

sometimes i feel as if i’m the only one

who sees clearly

 

and i really hope you are not waiting

for me to get to a point in this poem

because pointlessness is my pontification

 

that is why i like these dark cold streets

wandering

an animal on the prowl

seeking pleasure

 

it all appeals

no progress, no purpose

even if i really wouldn’t mind

sade adu holding me amid the hurt

 

but truth is not circumvented

when there is no truth

 

we’re just trying to rationalize

give meaning to the motions

“it all means something

so therefore it is worth doing”

 

have fun

 

i know i am

and yes

my reality isn’t real

just perceived

and yes

your reality isn’t real

just perceived

 

well, i need another drink

fill the emptiness

that most people try to fill with love

at least alcohol exist

 

***

 

 

 

 

written 30 years ago

walk down asphalt

littered with broken glass

walls are scarred with graffiti

and a car has run out of gas

motorist sounding his horn

to hurry others on their way

so he may have more time

to enjoy his day

 

yet somewhere in this cyclic maze

i hold you close to me

my head resting on your breast

i close my eyes to pain i’ve known

and reflect on years of sad seeds sown

 

i find no solution

no point

but to turn my face to your flesh

and cry

until the emotions are dry

when i look up at your soft face

i know they had it all wrong

but i’m told such is life

 

i just wonder what would have been

had we all stopped the motion

and held each other

but we didn’t

and look at our yesterdays

 

sound check

a friend of mine wanted to film me

on the dark streets of decay

some kind of documentary

 

i told him he was an idiot

 

the camera rolled in our one bedroom apartment

that me and jenny moved into on november first

but when i noticed the lens rarely left

my pregnant wife

i left for the streets

and he followed

 

people would look long enough

to see the camera

was on somebody who was nobody

 

everywhere i frolicked he followed

and i kept saying,

“shut that fucking thing off”

 

with my back against a building

flask in one hand

smoke in the other

he asked me to say something

 

“Like water spilled on the ground,

which cannot be recovered,

so we must die.

But that is not what God desires;

rather, he devises ways

so that a banished person

does not remain banished from him.

second samuel 14:14”

 

the camera came off his eye

“seriously dude

can’t you be cool

and give this a chance

to be interesting?”

 

i drained my flask

pulled on my cigarette

stared at that unblinking eye

and said,

 

“the only thing that has really mattered

wasn’t these dark streets

or the things i’ve written about them

or the things i’ve written about anything

but the women i have held

even the ones i held for just one night

or one moment”

 

the camera continued to roll

till finally i added

 

“that’s all i got man,

now can we please go

to a bar and have a drink?”

 

*

 

we found a bar

and the contents of my flask

had silenced any signs of sobriety

there was a girl on a tiny corner stage

surrounded by keyboards and synthesizer

playing original electronic music

that the sparse crowd ignored

but i loved it

and as soon as we entered

it moved me to head straight for the dance floor

 

lost in the music

and the moment

until i noticed that camera on me

and self-consciousness chased

my euphoria away  

like the santa ana winds blowing

on a hot august day

 

i flipped off the camera

and went to the bar and ordered

two shots and two drafts

“and whatever he wants”

i said as my friend joined me

 

my friend ordered a coke

and i almost decked him

i picked up a shot glass

he picked up the camera

and filmed me downing

both shots and both drafts

in less than a minute

 

then the girl in the corner

started playing a cover

of the smiths

how soon is now?

and i returned to the dance floor

 

i guess the rest you’ll have to wait

for the movie

 

i woke late afternoon

found a note from my friend

“thanks, got a lot of great footage”

the note was next to some document

i must have signed

giving my friend permission to use

all the scenes he shot

 

maybe if the documentary gets released

(though who the fuck would be interested)

we can go to the premiere together

and see what the hell ever must have happened

that night

 

***