if only still waters run deep why do i weep?

when people think that suicide

is not a proper compromise

they fill my brain with such disdain

i’d rather listen to the rain

 

pavlov broke everything down

to stimulus and response

it doesn’t become more meaningful

if and when you change the fonts

 

bukowski drank and joined the ranks

of waiting for the end

the only thing remotely real

is the moment we are in

 

give me graveyards and gothic girls

and whiskey on my lips

saying nothing ever matters

let’s take an acid trip

 

got fired for doing drugs at work

went home and just got high

i try, i mean i really try

but i can’t compromise

 

give me streets in cold or heat

i’ll walk them till i die

 

o.k. enough of this rhyming shit

i’m wasted

at one with the curb

 

came from a poetry reading

just listened, didn’t recite

people, not poets, trying to

be as relevant as bukowski

by borrowing from his borders

 

i pull up youtube on my phone

plug in my ear

tap my favorites

songs unrequited love

 

every lover since you

i’ve tried to make into

someone i could love

but you i just loved

for you

 

couldn’t help myself

from the moment i saw you i was lost

 

was it a moment in time

or the perfect rhyme

what’s with all this disquiet

writhing

the grim reaper scything

 

was it love?

was i really happy?

why are there days

i can do nothing but drink

and hate you

 

and yet everything after

has been a disaster

 

i try to be what they need

and tell them what i need

but nothing is you

 

i make contact

you react

and i glimpse gates

but can’t discern

if they will open

or  remain closed

 

and this is really the layers

peeled off the acrid onion

exposing the contents

that make me cry

 

i’m just a fool

who learned at your school

the meaning of love

but dropped out

before i could

earn a diploma

 

so i take the stage

an untrained actor

managing to factor

in the memory of

well rehearsed lines

 

but the critics accuse

my lack of sincerity

 

i read their reviews

and know only you

was what was real

 

the void of you i try to fill

with things that just enter

and pass as piss

into a putrid toilet

 

how do i get over this

jesus christ won’t answer me

so i ask my therapist

but how can she answer

when i’ve never been honest

and said i just want the sand

that has slipped through my fingers

not the sand i’m building castles with

so lost within the miss

that i just want to get

on my knees and scream

to whoever can repair the torn seams,

“tell me what to do!”

 

so sick of unhappiness

this emptiness

created by loss

i try to settle

but the kettle is screaming

that i’m just dreaming

but every reality i wake up to

is absent of you

and what i tried to brew

with scalding water

will not satisfy my taste buds

like the exquisite taste

i once knew

when it was me and you

 

***

 

 

 

whiskey when you can

you see

my therapist works with compassion

empathy

 

me?

i lay on you a slab of concrete

it’s cold, hard

and it hurts

 

a baby chimpanzee

devours a grasshopper

only to learn

chimpanzee don’t like

grasshoppers

 

because that’s how we learn

through the experience

of our senses

 

i think humans are

incapable of learning

that yearning

is an irrelevant occupation

 

we are not satisfied

with learning what we

do not want

 

but complicate

and masturbate

to a fantasy

that will rationalize

possibly cauterized

the nerve endings

that experience all the pain

 

i’m only bored when you talk

outline my mind with chalk

on the sidewalk

scene of the crime

i rhyme the sublime

while you scatter the chatter

 

chimpanzees realize

grasshoppers don’t matter

even the bible says

that when god looks upon us

he sees grasshoppers

and laughs with derision

 

scalpel precision

dissecting the diarrhea

that dances in the bowels

of your thought

 

(if you see me walking down the street and i start to cry

each time we meet, walk on by – Hal David)  

 

 

 

i want to be lady godiva’s horse

(but only for 28 days of the month)

 

the bombardment of senses

un-mendable fences

a chameleon on a plaid shirt will explode

 

stimuli invasive, nothing erases

all experience is personal

 

which is why it is an affront

pain or pleasure want

 

you try to control

try to console

soft music

soft lights

senses delight

 

not understanding the stimuli

of your senses

is how you interact with the world

 

a tilt-a-whirl is waiting

outside your door

unable to keep score

in a moment you’re sore

 

and no one understands the demand

placed upon your senses

is a burden no one can bare

 

you think no one cares

but no one knows the cause

not even a pause

the senses are how you interact

cause you to react

and use things to try and shut

the senses down

make the moment minimally invasive

but it is abrasive

as your psyche is assaulted

by the concussion bombs

blasting the bakeries

which fry the never endings

of your mind

 

***

everything else is shadows

when i think of you

which i always do

this all just seems so meaningless

 

the girl that i miss

never kissed

unless they were stolen kisses

 

it’s been so long

since you inspired the song

that got everybody caring about

what i had to say

 

the dark streets of decay

 

write a volume of poems

sell several copies

get famous

 

but beyond the celebrity

there is just me

 

the guy who spied with his little eye

his only glimpse of happiness

 

then created this long drawn out bullshit

to mask the pain

constant refrain

 

attaching to a philosophy

that decrees

nothing matters

 

i was shattered

in tatters

a vagabond

homeless on love’s avenue

 

everyone misconstrued

thought i viewed

the world through

the eyes of genius

 

on their praise

i couldn’t graze

i wrote metaphors

from my daze

 

i had never been in love

until you glazed

my honey baked ham

 

everything before was a sham

and everything after

a disaster

 

as i tried to replace

the face

with the disgrace

of sampling everything

but nothing tastes

like you

 

***

 

sifting through the shit of your lies

can’t call 9-1-1

nothing’s been done

spinning rhymes is not a crime

 

being at a bus stop

doesn’t mean you’re going somewhere

some sit and stare

cause they have nowhere to go

 

use to be a pay phone in a hallway

was for every apartment

their connection to the outside

neighbor would answer

pound on your door

“it’s for you!”

 

they kicked me out of the brothel

i just wanted the girl to hold me

while she sang, “everybody hurts”

by r.e.m.

 

the set designer hated me

every five minutes i changed the scene

nothing was green

even though that was the name of the play

 

tried another brothel

said they would oblige

then took turns holding me down

and spanking me

singing at the top of their voices

“everybody hurts sometimes”

charged me double

and threw me out

laughing as they threw my clothes

after me

 

walking past graffiti art

my shoes fell apart

the salesman’s voice

knew i had no choice

and charged me all the cash

i had on hand

 

all i wanted tonight

was to work things out

in poem therapy

 

this desire inside of me

diluted by whiskey

to be dominated by a girl

 

yeah i got my spanking

i got several

 

still i linger

wrap around one finger

summoning me to bleed

for her need

 

all my lovers hate my poetry

in fact they’ve never read a word

remain unheard

 

onto empty pages

in empty rooms

i scream

 

it’s better not to dream

cause dreams are the dance

of disillusionment

 

the journalist is in court

to report

the justification

of my sentence

 

they said i lacked repentance

love is never a victimless crime

 

poets and their rhymes

is a life sentence

 

and this poet asks too much

he thinks his taking is

legalized by giving

 

another idiot who cares

in an uncaring world

believes in empathy

confused by the lack

of sympathy

when he confesses

 

draining another pen dry

inventing teardrops when he cries

wondering why

alcohol accentuates what you’re feeling

 

otherwise you’re as silent

as something stalking its prey

everything runs away

when you make a noise

 

everyone thinks vampires are wise

because they have lived for so long

but when you reach a certain age

you realize a sage is not made by knowledge

and the final conclusion of knowledge

is you do not know enough

to ascertain

 

which is why you just go

outside and have another cigarette

everything is about your debt

for the accident of your birth

you were an unplanned pregnancy

and to this day no one really wants you

unless you can convince them

it’s in their better interest

to be inconvenienced by you

 

life is the misery of paying dues

never be you

this is not an acceptable payment

 

it leads to an arraignment

and you are discarded

no matter how much melon

is left on the rind

 

think for yourself and expose

the emperor has no clothes

who are you to usurp his authority

such deplority

will bring a rain of derision

 

so make a decision to endure

pretend you are pure

while you numb the nether reaches

of your mind

with whatever you can find

 

smile and nod

you’re not odd

everybody else is a fucking idiot

 

everything you believe is only perceived

therefore everything you believe is biased

and a lie

 

there is nothing wrong in a helping hand

but are you helping when you demand

that a person will only know joy

when they deploy your

line of thinking

 

anyways back to my point

and the reason i wanted to write today

this is the dark streets of decay

the bay in which i want

to anchor my ship

is within a relationship

that is equipped to supply

my understanding of love

love being defined by that

in which the me i be is accepted

but pounded into the obliteration

that is my mind

if this you can find

do everything you can to destroy it

 

rage against the quip

that one size fits all

it’s a blowup doll

that can’t give you what

you really need

because it doesn’t exist

 

so maintain and persist

that whether open hand or fist

you want to be struck by love

that only you have defined

 

***