the dark streets of decay: the aftermath

tenuous timetables tether

unmoved by inclement weather

gods’ fortitude have attitudes

though nothing beckons me but you

 

i am defined by all my flaws

i’m not expecting fawn and awe

i only gave up just one thing

all night walking which would bring

 

a modicum semblance of health

now i waste without any stealth

most of the time working with rhymes

till seeing double is my crime

 

i cough a lot, forget my name

on the bench in this losing game

too weak to walk the streets all night

mostly i lie that all is right

 

recent writings, still at my peak

the rest of me is an antique

uninspired, fucking tired

death makes everyone a liar

(“come on baby, light my fire”)

 

all will define what will refine

and make me more like the divine

in whom i say i don’t believe

there’s no love lost when you’re deceived

 

nothing’s more meaningless than words

when you click send nothing’s transferred

just limits of litigation

mastering mental masturbation

 

sonic echoes won’t detect

memories trenched in my last breath

published books, memorabilia

defining touch that can’t feel ya

 

assigning task all that i ask

let me for once take off my mask

so i can choose what now i feel

and know for once my choice is real

 

***

 

 

there is no exorcism for essence

i don’t think definitions are simple

clearly defined by labels

one size fits all

you are, because…

i am, because…

 

i am still peeling the layers off

my acrid onion

eyes watering from what is exposed

the understanding from what is revealed

brings no relief

no peace

no surety from a sense of self

 

in all my words i’ve never shared

the essence of a pebble

from the mountain piled on me

even though the stone is smooth

to the touch

from the erasure of time

 

which is why we never truly

feel loved

because no one knows

the name of the angel

we wrestle with

at the bottom of jacob’s ladder

requiring a requiem

before we can step on

the first rung

that leads to heaven

 

because none of us understands

the weight that prohibits us

from such an exertion

as climbing and ascension

 

***

 

 

 

don’t ask me to write you a love song so you can love me

was going into a liquor store

a guy was telling the owner

about his time in jail

 

heading around a corner

to go down an aisle

toward the check stand

i almost ran into that guy

he flinched

i stepped aside

while thinking

“yeah, you were in jail”

 

i didn’t tell him

i’m not a tough guy

i have four cats

love poetry

 

i’m the guy who opens doors

brings flowers

writes her poetry

just to win a kiss

 

yes i am an artist

i give it a 110 percent

smoke, anesthetize

and if she’s not gonna

make me a meal

i can barely be bothered

with the minute it will

take to microwave

 

i am not a slave to anything

that doesn’t make my heart feel

there is something more meaningful

than the scars we sacrifice

just to survive

 

i am not different than that guy

we all flinch when there is a lack of love

and all the lessons learned do not

lead to levels of ascension

 

we are all the same

all we really want

are arms strong enough to hold

our weight that is laden

with scars

 

***

 

 

 

colors

i looked upon the orange sky

with purple seagulls passing by

the ocean pink was in my view

the dress you wore a violet hue

the sidewalk stained with saffron sweets

the snow white sun was in defeat

an azure tree was next to me

planted in years of rainbow tea

bikinis fleeing jasper dusk

the wind smelled like crayola musk

magenta haze in this malaise

the blue sand blurred by marmalade

a silver lawn forgot the dawn

as yellow put the night back on

the gray was grinding out remiss

so jealous of your neon kiss

all colors pale like onyx veils

when your green eyes i can inhale

 

***

 

 

egos eking out an etch a sketch existence

“Old Newtonian physics claimed that things have an objective reality separate from our perception of them, Quantum physics, and particularly Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, reveal that, as our perception of an object changes, the object itself literally changes.” – Marianne Williamson

 

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – Shakespeare

 

i cannot experience truth without perception

because i am not divine

if i could i would likely lose my mind

my senses receive

but my mind accepts, reinterprets

or completely disregards

to keep what i perceive manageable

if i were to know the truth about

all that is around

about you

about me

i would be housed with those

who cannot handle

 

it is bad enough i studied neurophysiology

so when you tell me

your perception as an absolute

i don’t want to refute

i just want you to go away

let me be gray

amid your myriad of colors

 

like you i cannot know

i am not disposed to clarity

within my abilities

or lack thereof

 

but still i read

philosophical diatribes

about perception

as a protection

against the concrete molds you cast

to confine the causality of conundrums

 

the parts do no equal the sum

and the sum is not made up of its parts

until you confess we do not possess

unbiased probabilities

there is no foundation upon which

we can construct

further conversation

 

***

 

lingering tonight in little tokyo

it’s rare to stare at what’s not there

buying her drinks was truth or dare

she took my hand, a room upstairs

i would have followed anywhere

 

her hair was black, her eyes were brown

on cotton sheets she held me down

my hands were bound by both her breasts

i brokered words as to invest

 

her index finger on my lips

then quieted by a soft kiss

neon light flashing outside

like waves upon which she did ride

 

the crest completed in a crash

upon my shore a black eyelash

was left behind for me to find

a keepsake that will now remind

of cotton sheets seared by our heat

surrendering without defeat

 

***

a song i never meant to sing

(nothing makes me question the meaning of life more than meeting a past love)

 

their ghosts all haunt this afterlife

in tombstone love no longer ripe

pictures packed into a frame

different faces all the same

 

a bed to spoon feed all my lies

with words i always made them sigh

disarm with charm until they trust

convincing as i slake my lust

 

yet i believed as i deceived

that they were all i’d ever need

each grave marker contains a name

i view them all amid my blame

 

faces memorized and embossed

within a heart that’s tempest tossed

a happiness that calmed the sea

but one of us would always leave

 

but as i said their ghosts remain

i don’t question was it in vain

just remember all the insteads

of feelings felt when not in bed

 

yet here i am all without them

with all their ghosts that haunt me still

wishing we could begin again

but knowing that we never will

 

***