and sleep

don't delude yourself
behaving as though
something is at stake
in those little moments
when focus or
obsession
take hold

if the future is a place
we create
first with intention and
second with action
then strategy reigns
and effort is insect

stop
think
wait and plan and sleep
and sleep

made of tougher stuff

turns out she's made of
tougher stuff than i knew
existed

i had heard tell
of substances flame-retardant
and flourescent before

armor fit for re-entry
into volatile atmospheres
or swampy emotional murk

but nothing like
this ever shielded rasputin
or any of the risen dead

things tony taught me

remember when is the lowest
form of conversation
but still i envy
your nostalgia, and yours,
and yours, and theirs

my longing has
never been for the past
but for a thousand
unrealized futures

houdini's got nothing

I tried to speak to you this morning
there was nothing to convey
I’m going to have to go it alone today
another night with that fucking television
blathering away
I read two thirds of a book and
I have nothing to say - about
spending every moment isolated
until that great white someday
we need friends, conversations,
and dismal parades,
and real motherfucking
reasons to create,
so I celebrate my brain,
add chemical salts, deflate,
then start up first thing in the morning again.

a heart rather ripped

if I remember right,
fleetwood mac is one of
your anti-christs

even they are ringing louder
since I’ve been coasting
in this speedy wake

purified and sanctified, brothers
and sisters
it’s true
i’m her man
but you ain’t just a girl

I know love is a bad word;
four letters and all,
dozens of overlapping
uses and definitions

gordon and moore know
how to play it

“you won’t seduce me or attract me just ‘cause you’re a stray. It’s a perfect sin…”

“feel your wild heartbeat, lonely lover… your sweet lips on mine, like flowers and cream”

question the only pure motivations you've ever known, by force of habit, by threat of death

am I right back where this started
counting moments til I crack
a smile on that porcelain pout
or til I get to read a thought or two
from you
in your busy ways
counting how many days I have
kept out of the sun is
more fun than reading reason
from all that I have undone and
reasons for not doing all I have not done

Mistletoe Easter

“…at night she spoke to him of things heard only in hell.”
-Waits


bittersweet indeed, but maybe the most i have grown in a single bound in my entire life. i didn't realize how secure karen and i had become, i didn't know that alice could be gotten to, and i hadn’t expected my writing would actually push any buttons. karen is such an amazing woman to have held her ground and not exhibit any fear or jealousy. hell, just to hear me out about something that is completely universal, but still, so taboo… i hope that if she confesses a mad crush one day, i am man enough to encourage her to explore that. her devotion and maturity in this are some of the most remarkable human traits i've ever seen on display.

when alice received my poetry, she reacted very badly. she said i was mistreating my parter, and that as a man i was incapable of seeing how i was hurting her when we mixed socially. karen confirmed for me that this was not her experience, but the accusation of a brute misogyny was cutting. still, i was flooded with satisfaction to realize i had gotten a proper rise out of her. we're talking about a stoic, aloof woman who speaks very little about real, substantial emotional meat. she either won't or can't hug her loved ones… presumably for fear she will break the fuck down? i don't know.

we wrote a couple of times and she was eventually convinced that karen knew where i was coming from and had understood—even encouraged—my sometimes desperate and clumsy expression. as she cooled off, she seemed to appreciate my words, and hinted that she might not have blown up if it weren't such an impossible scene. i was unattainable to a woman who wanted ownership of a man. she had certainly been heartbroken before, and was maybe too traditional for all this.

i definitely felt at fault, but admitted to karen i was angry with alice for offering the token olive branch of maintaining a friendship framed with 'pretending it never happened,' and an admission that we ranked highly among a small number of friends, which, given the circumstances, felt like a selfish aside.

i knew the events, however awkward or painful, must inform our future. but much the same way i didn't ask for this ridiculous lumpy physique, she didn't ask to be built like a statue you can't take your eyes away from. she turns you to fucking stone, and if i had that curse myself maybe i would have a hard time locking eyes with anyone i didn't truly appreciate… when that gaze falls on you it is definitely a thing to honor, but the implication that after spilling my blood and tears on her reluctant altar and actually having chipped away at something of her shell i would still have to play completely by her rules... that was an emasculation of my work.

she had been 'teased' and 'flattered' by my 'very romantic' efforts. she no longer held all the cards no matter how guarded she might remain. it was my turn to set some terms. still, a few days later i wrote another apologetic and ginger message, analyzing things a bit deeper and telling her i felt awful for abusing her trust in me as a pal that she could hang out with a send innocuous texts to, which i did. but i left out everything about not being able to carry on as true friends without eventually discussing what had happened, and of course i held back my most burning allegation; that it was childish cowardice to run so far, so fast from anything resembling a real feeling.

in truth, she would always hold the cards, because she was so practiced in denial and avoidance. i really did miss chumming around with her, and after a healthy period of questioning my motivations i finally gave in to impulse and found a flimsy excuse to initiate some messages. she replied immediately. it was like getting on a bike. she was well-practiced at avoidance.

i assumed she had shared pieces of what happened with our friend, valerie, who cancelled plans with karen and i a few nights after the poetry fiasco with the cryptic message, 'i don't think now is a good time for tonight, v…' which seemed perfectly crafted to me. i had bitten off too much if some of our friends knew already. i had thought that alice was too scared of her own shadow to let on to anyone, but then again, valerie had known her longer. to make matters worse, i had popped into the diner once to find out if i was in trouble with alice. i suspected she had become visibly upset after i split, and that valerie, too, must think i was a stinking, deceitful cheat of a man for writing shameful love poems behind karen's back. i had no choice but to sit it out and see. maybe now that the dust was settling on alice, valerie would get an update that it was all above boards, whatever that meant… valerie and anyone else in the know, god forbid…

i texted bea to get hold of some pills on friday afternoon. she had been in touch two nights before to say she would be in the neighborhood for a tasting on thursday. i forgot about it and when she got in touch that day, i had to tell her i was off to a music lesson.

i got back from the lesson that night, karen was tired, we drank, slept, and when i woke up the next morning there was an old message blinking. it was from bea. 'still drinkin! oops.' this meant i had missed her at her loudest and proudest the night before. fuck. one thing that might’ve eased all this legitimate tension would've been to go out and meet her that night and make a real fucking mess. what rumors might have flown then? christ. then i remembered i hadn't actually gotten paid until that morning and that she had probably been drunk at the diner of my self-imposed hiatus anyway.

so on friday i waited for bea to get back to me, then we did the usual batting back and forth, not knowing how or when to meet up. she was busy hunting for rooms and--i would guess--too hungover to drink that day, but when i said i wanted some pills she shot back pretty quick. it’s odd knowing someone is using you and kind of encouraging it anyway. like women pushing a lap dance or a home cleaning service. or the customers who pay for lap dances and home cleaning services.

i was sat on the porch of the tavern under the spring sun writing some song lyrics about the naive and glorious concept of sex as a birthright when bea rolled up on her bike. she chimed her bell at me and i got her a pint. we sat down and talked about her search for a room. she almost had one secured when they rented the spot to an old friend who just flew in from wherever. this was the problem renting in shared housing, often with five or more 25-40 year-olds. everyone had a lifetime of friends from school and old lovers and old band mates and their sudden presence in a city flooded with more of this sort might change the delicate balance of your bedding arrangements several times a year. that is, unless you were in something committed. i thought of alice’s friend. the one who was scared to leave her unhappy relationship not knowing how to make her way alone in the economic hyper-shuffle of school and work in the city. i thought of me and karen and hoped she didn’t secretly harbor that fear.

bea had brought the pills. 'so you need to take both of these at once. one was a smaller dosage, but they're getting kind of old… so they're just getting weaker, so you just have to take a little more…"

while one part of my mind was tuning out and dismissing this vague alchemic logic, another began to remind me not to reveal anything about what was up with alice. it seemed like a stupid thing to be reminding myself of, considering i only half-trusted bea to keep her mouth shut in mixed company, and i didn't want to talk to anyone besides karen about it in the first place. then, when i became self-aware again, i found myself in the middle of explaining that i was avoiding the diner for my own mental health, and blah, blah, blah…

'so she knows?' bea asked me, knowing the answer.

'she knows.' i tried not to sound grave.

'awww, dave! your bottom lip is quivering!'

'is it?'

i cry early and often, but i actually hadn’t felt it. bea was in a fairly new relationship with this far more experienced polyamorous guy, and she began to grill me about how karen and i planned to make it work--if and when one of us connected with somebody we actually might love. i had to admit our discussion had only gone as far as being honest and direct about what we wanted and felt, and that we were on an improvised route at best. she seemed to genuinely sympathize with my crush and the anxiety i had been hoarding.

'anyway,' i said, 'it’s fucked.'

'…and i gotta go now.' she sang the words mournfully and looked a little guilty.

'no, of course. you've had your helmet on for like ten minutes.'

she gave me a comforting hug. another one crash-landed on the airstrip. pity and friendship and confessions… humbug. i walked alongside her on her bike back to the main avenue where she headed north to check out another house and i went back up the hill to the apartment to check my e-mail again in vain.



i hope you got into that sun today.
i am always still browsing my inbox
which means that i still need to be away.

missing your interest, is it a symptom
that i rightly cherish your friendship, or
am i forever storming that kingdom?

counting syllables and filling a page,
still as void of content as before i
began to type up this flat-ass champagne.

"oh, the cruelty's so predictable"

“whatdyouknow aboutit? Yr scared of yr own shadow”
-johnnyboy soprano

“I’d rather smother them with a pillow”
-livia

4/21, 4/18

PAPER MOON

on the way in this morning, “let’s just keep going.
I don’t want to stop looking at those clouds.
I want to go to southern oregon.”

they did look like 3-d watercolor paintings
strung-up cardboard scenery pieces
it would be a good day for it
just like each day would be
great for a lot of things
she’s been smiling
easier lately


YESTERDAY’S NEWS

wasting papers
my chest fills up with a
pounding pressure
sigh as loud as a
kid who has learned
to demand attention
I feel like a deaf child
screaming to feel
the vibrations
I must have made
a deep impression
cut off before even
sipping my first beverage
I will bury this in a
sweaty, torturous routine
until my body emits steam

soup or melodrama?

there is still a business plan
on my desktop
labor of lust

i talk shit about people creating drama
in their lives

i have a better way to fly

put it all onto a page
put those pages in a box
and drop it over baghdad
blast

the little stuff piles up
in weeks or sometimes days
ammunition for a
war on the ground
that i will win from the sky

i am Ozymandias stockpiling
words for retirement

i am the man
with a plan

a small distinction

i pop home from work
drain three glasses of johnny red
cackle maniacally at the mirror
showing my red little beard all gray
its finally on its way
the years rush ever faster
it feels as if i could follow the fuck through
before its literally pitiful

underbelly

I hope I haven’t abused the patience of a reluctant muse
with my stubborn refusal to accept what I am fed
underbelly white and fat and full of polite receipts
my contemporaries copy and paste each other
then breathe syllables of shit
I’m listening to their ludicrous love lyrics swim around, and
I know I have done the right thing
every curious moment is drawn into a tight focus, and
I know I have at least done the honest thing
no subterfuge in my game, 'cause
it’s all about self-deceit where I am coming from
searching for my own blind spots
changes the definition of blindness, nevertheless
I am still looking for my Achilles tendon
so I can cut it off and out, throw it from a bridge and
hide my soft spot forever

ethical is a warm gun

sex is not a lifestyle
sex is a nightclub
sex is a knife fight

work is for quitters, kid
pay me my fifty quid

service documents

the arc of this crush moving glacial
like the stages of acceptance
last night just another fun one that
turned serious on a dime
when I got near you and felt
the impact of my every word and tick
making impressions in a
long-forsaken lump of clay
I have documented each moment
my urge to know you spun out
of control and I want
so much to gift them to you, but why the fuck?
there was one where
your ass was a mushroom cloud: my salvation
and my hex
in another I saw you
on a gallery wall: a portrait
by one of the masters,
an angel prostrate and puking
these funny little
messages to myself
or to my partner to
let her know I am going mad
inside myself for a fantasy
but it’s alright, we can sit tight,
together as ever, and she fucking gets it,
so allow me to serve you
these documents
and any other favors you require
(no substitute service mailing will
be necessary all statutes having
been satisfied in calm
conversation between two best
friends, both guarded in our own ways, like you)

my trunk radiates like a nuclear furnace

spoon-bending isolation
warm hangover waves flushing my torso

its sunday morning and
its time to rise

meet the morning
meters or miles from your bed

self-editing all the way
to the bank

fiona

“I ran my hands o’er a strange inversion…”
and she made me hear
the tears in a woman’s climax
and the longing sensation
and the unique pain
and their smoky memories
how a person so young
spoke with such clarity
and honesty is beyond me
as I learn to respect the curt
and brutal, truthful messenger
pigeons of the word
so much rainbow oil in
windblown plumage
east coast jaw line set in
stout resolution, short sharp
sentences unlike the tripe
you’re reading now
I want to tear you apart at
the seams of those jeans
until I hear a tune so sexy
I almost cry at this desk
and I am at the mercy of
a teenage girl somewhere
in the past, penning music to
fuck and die to

don't call it karma

extraordinary gratitude
unprecedented magnitude of grace
sunlight beaming onto
my sullen face
no interstellar faith would
shake me awake
my woman comforts and
consumes me
she keeps me
in place
what luck or
reciprocal cosmic system
granted me this
unburdened fortune in a
world of distortions and
empty promises made
just for the sake of verbal sounds
she commands a
better class of reality
invites me to share
we embrace each other’s
sameness and weakness
with the same enthusiasm
and understanding as when
together we devour
our tastes and talents

lurking

pouring back the wine now
after skimming a gallery of you
all long and dressed in summer clothes

the night will dry up for me
long before you hit your stride,
nocturnal animal turning me delusional

primed in my madness until
its all self-destruction and escape
from imagined burnings, public yearning

faulty, guilty and burning down
anything i can put into view,
i want to commit arson out loud with you

a few older ones

*it's been a busy week of music and scrambling for cash, so in that spirit, i have scrambled not to write anything new, but just to post a few from months recently past. a dear friend read some of my stuff for me and inspired the confidence to go ahead and post these three. zonino.

REGRETS

I am so sorry for your loss

cross me again and I'll aim to get you fired

(no words, insert decisive sexual maneuver)

I need to be alone. In a crowd. Now.

I cannot say
these things to your
faces. Moment
won't come. Punch won't
land. I sink down.

I'M NEVER GOING TO SLEEP

orange sweater with floral embroidery
one-off design from a previous time
scream to a place far out beyond the gaseous
realm of coincidence and tainted luck
discounted salads, paradise, talk of lust
savages roused from a decade-long sleep
hair in a league of its own, in the cages
swinging weaponry, singing lazily
I want to pitch like a machine and sing to
a heated stick of butter on the dish
teach a man to act cause he has no hope of
grasping it by instinct at this late age
or come seduce the flower you look after
take charge and drive at high speeds, petals drop
to the floor, beneath your barstool, past the shore
around the corner in the dark we breathe
my dreams return even when sated and drunk
telling me to hunt, always hunt. "Go now."
relentless pursuit shaped only in words from
my lips, my keyboard, my instruments and
quietly in moments of shame half-hidden
indulgent and gluttonous every day
repeated echoes of jacob lyin' to
himself about lyin' to himself, all
of the practice is masturbation and all
of the masturbation: practice. "Go now."

BROTHEL STEPS

unearth my honesty
avenge my loneliness
burn my bridges for me
I would do it for you
tell me all about it
step into my office
another agency
would never have yielded
but I would do it for-
I would do it to you
don't tell me all about
how things are going
to be in a few weeks
just cut to the quick now
and spend your feelings here
tonight outside in the
pissing rain, wet bushes
cold sidewalk, brothel steps
repaired by the neighbor
on holidays he works
hammering, measuring
twice and cutting just once
but still the neighborhood
mocks his wonky staircase
rickety and new in
front of the alleged
whorehouse. lovely evening.