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

 

***

low spark of high heeled boys 2

it’s that moment when you look at the empties

and know why the rum is always gone

 

stumble out onto the sidewalk

avoid the camera’s that are filming

the last dance of los angeles

 

start singing kris kristofferson’s

the pilgrim, chapter 33

and realize you are a cliché

 

stop, look at the city swirling

think about a book you read

the history of genocide

and mumble,

“there is no god, no good

and no guarantee”

 

“i’m sick of these thoughts”

you say

light a smoke

shake it off

walk

pass another bar

i think l.a. has a couple

and the house band is playing

“barely out of tuesday”

 

stop

realize you’ve passed this place before

sometime ago

heard them play this before

and it’s still a really bad cover

of a really great song

 

think about the song’s co-writer

courtney cox

and that paparazzi snapshot

of her on the beach

then chuckle a little

when you think

that there are people

who think you actually

have deep thoughts

 

got a royalty check today

realized how much i had earned

versus how much the publisher made

then had to remind myself

that books on a shelf

does not exclude me

from what i always sing

about there being no one

to make sure i get my due

 

though if this were true

i shudder to think

what a god would

say i truly deserve

 

so i cash my checks

sign the bar tab

hail a cab

then apologize to the driver

go into the bar

and sing along with the band,

“barely out of tuesday

seen seven hours of wednesday”

 

***

 

 

lingering in listless listening

last night i roamed with a shadow

a bitter man with nothing to show

kept complaining about all he had done

and how it had never been appreciated

 

i kept trying to get him to take another drink

my tongue always on the brink

of wanting to ask him why he had an expectation

of fairness, of justice

 

quantum mechanics is where i quandary

the only invisible thing in which i believe

acceptance of the accident

is my only mantra

 

live like life is short

the rest be damned

yet here i am

knowing that connection is out of reach

 

so few, if any, perceive that it is all perception

and this one truth will circumvent the deception

that disappointment is the result of expectation

that there is a dispensary somewhere with a distributor

 

he kept talking

i kept walking

with no desire to convey

that it was a life time of loss and disappointment

that lead me here

to the dark streets of decay

 

***

 

 

 

you left with what was within

i’m not really down

but the left hemisphere of my brain

keeps hanging around

reminding me that the present

is a result of the past

and making me fear the future

 

i’m not really alone

but the left hemisphere of my brain

makes me live like i am

moving away as fast as i can

from those who espouse the ecstasy

of releasing the right hemisphere

and the audience’s adulation and applause

for this scientific spirituality

 

no wonder i’m not popular at dinner parties

 

i deleted everything from my mp3

except counting crows

all their albums are in tow

as i walk with all the words in my head

 

reciting arthur rimbaud,

“one evening i took beauty in my arms-

and i thought her bitter-

so i insulted her”

 

and the bottom line is i know nothing

except that i want to be left alone

no purpose as i roam

except the purpose that is waiting for me

at the bottom of this bottle

of jim beam jacob’s ghost

 

stop telling me what is

as if what is needs justification

it just is

and one day you will die

 

everything else is a fucking lie

close your eyes for the last time

and you won’t even be conscious

of the darkness

 

anyways i was thinking of her who left

well, all the “hers” left,

except jenny

so far

 

and the “her” in my arms

was calloused comfort

meaning and motivation

empting like a flood gate

as she climbed on the back

of his white steed

and rode away

 

leaving me on these

dark streets of decay

 

i got patted down at a fucking bar

told i couldn’t come in

with my bottle of white whiskey

i walked away

 

the last one i saw leave

is still here with me

but the left hemisphere

is making it clear

that all that is near

are not just random atoms colliding

but a monument to the past

that nothing will last

 

and those who won’t pretend this isn’t true

are outcast

roaming this after life with jacob’s ghost

starting to forget who it was that left

and what they left behind

 

***

 

pardon me while i burst into flames

i was told as her fist came down

hell is where i will be found

 

“god couldn’t be here

so he sent mothers

 

sing praises to your mother

sing praises to your mother

sing praises to your mother

 

consequence

consequence

consequence

 

behave

behave

behave

 

the rules will change every day

enacted by my mood of the moment

 

it’s your fault

if you weren’t so stupid

you would know

 

oh god why have you burdened me

with such a stupid son

 

but i will bear my cross lord

because i am such a good christian

 

spare the rod spoil the child

spare the rod spoil the child

spare the rod spoil the child

 

can’t have you running wild

 

oh lord where have i failed?

WHACK! (no mommy!)

it’s your fault

WHACK! (please mommy)

i’ve sacrificed everything for you

WHACK! (it hurts! it hurts!)

you can’t do anything right

WHACK! (i’m sorry mommy)

why can’t you love me?

WHACK! (i love you mommy)

 

awe, come here

let mommy touch you”

 

***

 

 

the dark streets of decay 17

(And friendship it hath burned away,

Like to a very ember cooling,

A make-believe on April day

That sent the simple heart a-fooling;

Mere jesting in an earnest way,

Deceiving on and still deceiving;

And hope is but a fancy-play,

And Joy the art of true believing

-John Clare, from his poem Decay)

 

driving through the desert

(well she was driving

i was drunk)

 

middle of nowhere

we pass

a modular home

placed

probably sometime long ago

 

abandoned

decaying

it definitely had surround sound

if loneliness is a sound

 

STOP!

i requested

car off the road

 

i carry the heavy load

that is me

she follows

 

a couple hundred yards

of desert dirt

and sparse vegetation

 

we are by its side

i’m staring

she’s not caring

 

“can’t you hear it?”

i ask

“it’s saying, You left me”

 

she shakes her head,

“the shit that bothers poets”

are her instead

she turns and walks back to the car

 

i take a picture

whisper,

“and the only explanation they can give

is because one man sinned

therefore…”

 

i climb back into the passenger seat

the air conditioner lies about the heat

 

she says,

“you keep saying there’s just no reason to care.

who are you trying to convince?

me or yourself?”

 

she continues driving

my needs start arriving

 

the oven outside offers

nowhere to hide

from harsh elements

that hasten the decay

 

i need a cigarette

she needs a bathroom

relief will come

when relief is no longer

an option

 

until then

among this molecular din

the noise enhanced

by acoustical walls

 

will only be the noise of solar winds

that blow away

all that has decayed

amid the indifferent hearts

that wanted a new start

and abandoned in an act

of un-burdening

things that went from love

to just a responsibility

 

things left on the way

that now just roam

the dark streets of decay

 

***