divided
the freeway born from the night womb into father mourning
time
atrophic heart of mine trouble beating an eternity waiting for
you
to come find me lost on the path of poet
madness
valley heat hungry eyes salty tears still trusting in love
-for Beatle John
beloved
first son of little lost girl with a lion heart
can
you see the sky goes on forever like your homeruns
when
you played dusty little knees bat nestled in tiny hands
green
fields and blue skies trees to climb yours now eternally
waking up mouth dry parched soul
death came to warn me
she was a great sullen oak
an oracle to the fallen
angels who peeked out from her
“be good or else child”
in life i had taken more
than i could really handle
although Baker beach rasped with waves swatting at the flat shore my mind was silent thinking of not being able to think shattered shells the broken bones of tiny creatures descendants of primordial royalty from Neptune’s kingdom some pelicans patrolled the bay sky looking for a bite to eat perhaps the hot dogs in the fists of the screeching kids with the loud mother my soul silenced by the wind with his whisper lilting in and out of my hair like a desperate lover i could not think my head was silent the stark white gulls and the gray elongated clouds tacked up randomly against the black sky felt like being in space or an early 80’s video game then as i turned my glance toward the harking sea lions on the jagged rocks frosted over by salty sea foam i thought about Holden Caulfield and this disturbed me the silence then brought on my transgressions in Cinemascope and i wept into the sand
there is something mystic about how you held your cigarette and smiled at me with soothing turquoise eyes and a twinkle in your tone the mere idea of your touch floods me in places that i cant mention while the lilies stand alone in glasses full of wine i still think of you at dawn and how you made me woman through your arms and your voice and your dreams and your thoughts i was every femme fatale sans the silver screen a dress up doll knitted in the silk of your tongue remember your company’s party we were better than the real Rick and Ilsa when did time go by Charlie now the moons have passed and people descend lower into madness and love is threatened by my not finding my place without you my Black Flag to your Rolling Stones my Smiths to your CCR but we both liked Kurt Weill and we both loved making love and greasy fries afterwards longing is hell am i that bad as to have lost you “he’s up in heaven so i’ve got to be good” every now and again i see your pea green fedora staring at me and it says ‘mornin, angel’ with that Indiana twang
shame nestled in my throat
as night’s soft charcoal gray skin
was wrapped with a lofty nimbostratus shroud
upon her moonlit shoulders
emitting sweet earthy odor
not sure of what i did
uncertainty about my heart
were my deeds the cause of it
like bullets from an ancient time
to kill the peace upon the paths
her tears fell down from heaven
now through the teachings of that lady night
and her dusky priestesses along with a few hard knocks
i’ve come to understand that it wasn’t me who made her cry
but that Nocturna was the mirror of my sorrows
Picture courtesy of The Poet By Day site
beloved little j
a few words that i want
to say
you are the bravest in the world
my world and that of God’s
you don’t even really know who i am
you like all the stuff others like and you eat
just like them too
you like mathematics which i don’t
but we sound alike when we speak
you count and you obsess with time
and allocation
i count and obsess with dispensation
j when you go Home
can you put in any word for me
i don’t know how to help you
or to be of service
i feel you on my face
when the tears roll down my cheeks
i don’t know if you feel me on your palms
you are my little old man
so wise beyond all time
i am angry at your circumstance
but your aura is all love
there were times that as a child i’d run away into my imagination especially when the adults would fight it particularly hurt to hear my mother give up on God because she was so fed up with my father at that time i had two safe havens God and my imagination i was confused i had no leadership no plan no order later as a teen i had too many thoughts but zero beliefs i prayed but it was hollow i did it for the same reason smokers smoke out of habit i further went into my head i proved to be too much for myself as well there was too much empty space in a 90 lb body and the space in the hole of my soul was even greater i would draw lines idly at times not really connected to the sensation in my fingers one rainy morning walking to my school ditching destination i noticed three perfect snails juicy full of ooze and as i crouched to get a closer look i saw their flat gill like body making slow waves on the pavement as they carried their homes on their little gooey backs and as they millimetered toward a retainer wall with ivy and empty Schlitz bottles i noticed a silvery slick trail it was beautiful i thought but alas my hooky buddy was waiting with booze amongst other things now that i am writing down these thoughts i realize that i was shattered banged up and at times beaten but had i been broken i would not have been able to see God’s covenant of a silver lining under the three perfect snails He was talking to me still
the wind swept my hair as the lady bug flew from my hand
the meager fist weakly swings at the face of unknown beast its always pathos in the middle of the ring high noon comes and no one yawns in excitement alas the night she enters the stage in my mind and the coliseum fills with eager patrons waiting for my show when the torments in my head become high end commodity at dawn washing the bruises off with rye found in the gutters i slip into my expat suit and hit the road with my naked feet because the convergence of the quantums weighs heavy on my soul
for Anthony Bourdain and me
words less spoken 