They were all looking/ for something

They all
point their eyes
in the direction
of where their
eyes
are directed
and observe
the next
moment
it/ is unknown
and in the blink
of their eye
they
may have
missed their
train of thought
only to have
it
come up / behind them
again

in the face
of the daydream
they
are
always
still

looking.

Nowhere, Particularly

I fall asleep to the
familiar sound
I know this place
this land,
is my land,
this land is our land,
and the grass- grows for us to simply lay
and watch
that rainbow descending
it–comes from a cloud
we see it under the moon

- we don’t ask questions.
time and irrelevancy are\hand in hand

i walk this perfect street
begging the scent
of a flower
i remember by name
the edge rough
the core a location
we fought to remember-

the alley way is a marching band
these abandoned arm chairs
a refuge
from
a fight against
blindness-

this is our/ hearts
this is our/

the sleeping bird
makes some
movement
and i don’t
ask
but simply
chirp
under this moon
with him,

this is our/hearts
this is our/

green grass-
beneath us.

(86 Poems, Not A Single One…)

86 POEMS, NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM RIGHT

i try,
daily
for every poem
to reverberate correctly
but each word is
slop

i can not explain this
-that’s okay

I didn’t try much anyways.

—–

YOU CAN NOT STOP

You can not stop
what has become
it is a part of you
this moment
in the silence of pure love
expired/ but waiting
to revive-

we wait to say
“i love you
i love you
still
and
always”

as simple as it sounds
-truth is holy.
-truth is all.

—

LOOK HERE

Look at Charles Bukowski-
simple as a young boy
-we’ve gone too far
into our syntax
begging recognition

when

simple word
is word

I am what you are-
-You are what I am.

—We are.

and there’s nothing
perplexing
to speak of.

The Bridge

Allow one foot
underwater
the other
above the ground
you find the balance
but
dislocate the sound.

Matchbook Poem

The Game of Chess 

          will not end.

The Spaghetti

         spoiled

in the intestines

 

I make fire without

     particle

   move pieces

 without proper reason

 

One day the Queen will Die

and The King   – In Check.

 

The Game Over,

The Spaghetti Gone,

 

(all is well.)

Oh! Illiterate Me!

Its TRUE,  all meat slicing

recurring dreams

walking backwards 

towards the sharp circular

blade-

(don’t allow the fingers too close, there is an art to this)

be aware

that,

all pickle slinging

sausage grilling

bacon fat exfoliating

appearing, but not actually underage

females

are surely

without doubt

entirely illiterate

 

when you see one-

do not say the following words:

college

anthropology

or kerouac,

simply believe that

this person

knows

nothing

about nothing

but the correct

percentages

for sloppy

cabbage

salads

with

an

excess of 

slaw.

maybe there was something to be said

maybe there was nothing to say

your streets were filth

your light shone

in 

no way that i could explain

and

the streets

oh your streets

were paved with the worst of golds

i only wish i could collect

tonight

oh we just

shrug it off

oh we just

call it apathy

no reason to ask more questions

reporter, sir

there’s nothing else to see

i’ve got nothing to say

of this world or any other

my cat 

and

i

oh we just watch the sun

set

and open

a beer

and wait until we can fall asleep

and then we wake another day

to see when we can fall asleep

next

and it goes this way

because we’d

oh, we’d spent so much time

trying to fill our days

with everything

but

now

we need a rest, 

good sir.

I told you,

put away the pen and paper

there’s nothing to see here,

sir,

i’d prefer you left anyhow

it’s time

to see

just how low

my eyelids get

before i decide

its time

to fast forward to tomorrow

 

yes, sir,

i insist,

its really time you

pack up

your things

and go on to your next story

we want nothing of you here

we call it apathy,

and shrug it off.

it’s time,

now,

please go,

let us sleep,

we call it apathy.

we shrug it off.

we fast forward.

 

go.

on.

now.

Poetry Assignment: War. The War Inside….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IF IT EVER HAPPENS AGAIN

IF 

IT 

EVER 

HAPPENS

it will change

it will be different

it will not feel like this

there will be the ability

to do it

as it could not 

have come through

before.

this

time

the smiling face

would be real

and not a memory

i have created

off of

the warmth

that once

lived

inside 

of me.

Next time,

there will be no absence.

5am, Night Rider

 

Sleeping on Trains,

I wonder sometimes

if when he dreams

he pulls the emergency break…