Well, this is in three parts

I

As fiction becomes fragmented
and truth becomes the vinyl,
The needle scratched my spine,
deep.
The ashtray on the table
gets knocked over--
up in the air!
Gravity brings it down
spewing
the contents
on the carpet.

It's a one sided saunter
like a ghost over the water.
Is it really happening?
No- no sir you've got me all wrong.
I want your scent
and not your touch.
He slowly slips his hands
down a cold beer bottle.
I see him stare through the glass
as his fingers swallow the curves.

The music skips
at the bridge.

For a narrow second
I couldn't breathe.
Focusing on the moonlight
through the window
I remembered his hands were
nothing like this before.
My fever broke
and it all made sense.
My eyes were meant
only to shut
only to shut
only to shut
shut shut shut

and he walked away.

II

you’re like the sunset. you’re like the comas that i remember to use. you’re like nothing ive ever tasted before. you’re like the fire in my throat, the ink on my paper, the looseleaf in my notebook as it unfolds my poor brain. the emptying bottle of perfume i spray desperately to my wrists. you’re like the first time i got high. you’re the feeling of my nerve endings, pulsing all at once. you are the time i forgot my name. you are the time i cried mercy. you’re like a wasted fuck. you’re like all kinds of sickness that makes my insides slowly rot. and when i came down from the ecstasy i bled all kinds of mistakes. if i could ever remember my name again, i would use it to wipe that smirk off of your face.

III

The center of this apple
has kissed the air and now
is slowly dying.
I wish I didn't have to see
the process before my eyes.
Cigarettes now fizzle
in the glory.
Deep inside potential once laid.
Seeds, stop pretending.
Because you'll be nothing
but dust.

Your violent hair
is hidden under a hat.
You're writing words
onto thin
thin
paper
to avoid even looking at me.
The letters look just like lines
connecting to other lines.
You're not a writer,
You're not a man.
You are only the silence
between sobs.
Keep writing.
As each word hits the paper
it dies too.

I saw you take your hat off
and your shirt.
Shadows from the blinds
cake your skin.
You cough out some
bullshit smoke
and have no apple to put the fire out.
I am not your ashtray.

and now
as the sun rises
the night dies too.

Balloons

What is a quote
If nobody has
verbally spoke it?
Just words on pages,
thoughts in the brain,
Awkward Language
breeds and stays here.
It is waiting to get out,
for someone to breathe into
the balloon.

Why do I ask so many questions
when I don't want to even know?
Words are our perfected
untruthful thoughts
Expressed to impress!
Curiosities stemming from
empty air.

I hold allotted words
in my pocket each day
and pray for a conversation
to expand.

Elements of a Smile

The Beatles said it was a warm gun.
Gandhi created a recipe for it
We're all on the search
for what we breathe in
unknowingly everyday.
I could drown in the vagueness
but I'd rather embrace the fire.

Let me see your face
free of shadows
in the sunlight.
You are warm
--relaxed.
Sunshine
drapes around
your neck,
the most delicate noose.
If this isn't happiness
what is?

Wake up!
Smell the citrus rays.
Carry it in your pocket
for days too fast paced.
Urgency is the worst coffee
so
slow
down.

I am wide awake
and I don't even need
another reason
to chase after stars.
I know they have been dead
for years.

But I'll dance for them
What other time is there
to do it?
We have the absolute right to.
You are the only person
in that very spot right now.
So take your space,
and smile.

Little Churches

We shake hands
and avoid eye contact.
We soak shoulders
while remembering.
"I'm so sorry."
"I'm here for you."
"She's in a better place now."
-- a phrase to mask the truth.
I don't know what to say.

Pews hold our shoulders back
pinned so we don't slump over.
Our stomachs scooped out,
clavicles exposed
as the tears
fall down.

Songs were sung that I didn't know
the words to.
Even worse, prayers I forgot.
Biblical figures names were dropped
like bombs exploding next to me
leaving my vision hazy.
I am in the wrong spot
but who's in the better place?

Is there allotted time to grieve?
Do we now place it in schedules
and measure time wisely?
I don't want to pen in my sorrows.
I'd rather really feel them
at ease of freewill.
Here I am though,
next to stained glass
looking at me all too happy.

I saw two young women
become blind by their
mothers' death.
Eyes grow grey with consistency.
All of our hands bleed glue
as we pray to god
who makes sinners pay
out of who's left

Grandfather

Follow me until sunrise
when darkness tips his hat.
The world remembers
--to remember.
To remember what?
Humans forget
We reset at 12.

I tip toe on tick marks
until I find my way.
Each digit leans
upon the previous
Hoping to avoid
a collapse of senses.

I trace gaps with my fingers
to the proper term.
And it lands at the edge of a smile.
The rest of the world
does not follow me.
I hang in the air
motionless with you.

The Irvington Swagger

I am from an amputated skyline
borrowing views from distant cousins.
I am from the heart of Irvington,
where bandanas wave from faded stop signs.
Chalky brown brick walls
turn bright red from his insides.
At night the cops come to find his body
dead in the gravel.
it's another name printed in warm black ink
for the paper boy to throw at your doorstep.


I am from
THERE ARE NO SECOND CHANCES
.. but there are.
Neighbors who shake our hands
and take their hats off in our presence
leave their habits in my yard.
He gets taken away
and comes back tomorrow
with an anger so hot
it hurts to think about.
He's just an Irvington man
who sings the blues even on sunday afternoons.


Elaborate frames cradle your smile on the wall
I was the after thought, with no space left.
But music cures all
Dusty turn tables know our favorite songs
Hey, Linda the Beatles are singing to you today
So swivel your hips to the beat
Cause you've got no time to lose
on August Afternoons.



I fall asleep to garbled yelling
under a sketchy dimly lit street lamp.
The moon greets me at my window
to tell me I'm safe.
Bunk beds separate dreams at night.
I slowly suffocate myself in cloth
on the bottom bunk,
until the oxygen wakes me up.


Leaders, who do you follow?
A gun who wears the opposite colors?
I watch them chase each other around
until one falls down.
He is wrapped in shadows.
Welcome to teenage wasteland.
The golden age is over.


They can walk the walk
and talk the talk
without getting caught.
But I am just a kid
who learned to run before I learned to cry.
I am running
I am always running from prejudice
It's just too slow sometimes.
It soaks into my streets
my lawn
my pores.


I am from stunned
and grieving parents.
Whose broken sentences
can never be healed.
The tall man opens and closes his car door
and falls
to his knees.
All he can say is
"I'm so sorry"
as he runs his hands through his hair.

Tied

I feel anxious when I see you
at night.
Headlights fade into the distance
and here we are.
Alone.
I try to turn my hands off.
When will we ever learn
to hold our own bodies first?