… (wip)
Filed Under: Poetry
they fixed your liver
but broke my heart
equal switch in the eyes of science
and my inner scars are deeper
than your outer memories of pain
I used to love you
and still do
but you killed me and us slowly
as you healed
and shrank
and stopped watching me
as I cried for help
but drowned in my own lack
untld (wip)
Filed Under: Poetry
No one can tell you when to grieve
Anymore than when to Love
Both rush in without the asking
Or creep upon you slowly with a dagger and a smile
The blade slides in smooth long cold and slowly turns
Giggle
Moan
Weep like a child
Vanity sports
to death … to death. (wip)
Filed Under: Poetry
Whiskey. Willie. Your god damned hanging on.
You look at empty spaces just as you look at me.
Nothing. Then Someth … No. Nothing.
Go on. Go. Please.
For your loving wife.
For your daughter. On the edge of a cliff.
For you. Most of all. For you.
To death, Father. To death.
I love you. To death.
some sketches….
Filed Under: Poetry
No affliction is so great
As the twisting tight
Of a bed without your lover.
Her slippers by the door
A strand of her hair resting on the empty pillow
The nest of blankets often put to the side
now wrap me in my solitude.
———
Lurching, suspended over chill depths,
I ponder my monolith.
Smooth and warm and heaven to touch, my monolith
Housed in the body of My Love, breathes and lives.
———
Passing over the Williamsburg Bridge (wip)
Filed Under: Poetry
Passing East to West to East Side
We’re always East or West of Somewhere
Delineations, small bits and digits
to give us comfort.
I’m East.
I’m West.
I’m I. Comfort.
Here, I say, take this finger. It’s a digit, too.
No thanks, you say, it’s shriveled and smells funny.
That’s true, I say. But that means its precious. One day we’ll be shriveled and smell funny, too and they’ll put us in fancy boxes or jars. They’ll throw flowers on us and bury us like squirrels.
Arriving to my East – my beloved East Side.
Vertical Ghettos bleed into the horizon.
The Teeth (work in progress)
Filed Under: Poetry
Perfect moments. Quiet walks through parks, Central and Hyde.
Remembrances and visions of ghosts.
The void was plain in those spaces and I embraced it as though it was the time of my death.
Death. Embrace of the void. Acceptance most plain and final and joyous.
We are nothing. We are everything. We are all and none and in between.
We drank and wept that night.
You wept for your missing Father. Last seen with Cancer.
Strong Bull of a Patriarch humbled and hobbled.
Your hobbled and humbled state mere hours from its appearance. It began instantly.
No water needed just time and drudgery. Regrets and realizations.
Prisons.
I wept for Perfect Moments. First kisses. Doomed Loves.
Weights still heavy on my mind.
The Lost Swede, coy and insanely passionate on the floor of her flat.
The Bird on Sauber’s lawn, young and insatiate.
Lady K, explosive and unexpected. Neon and electro.
Where are you all now? With lovers more correct or better hung or less broding, doting, attentive?
Less troubled, humbled and conscious of the whats? What whats?
Exactly.
But you had sympahy for me. My ragged drunkeness and pain
of lack-love laid bare before you.
We sang out loud. Father and Son together singing out our pain and longing – Singing Willie Nelson, prince of the blues
Genius of longing. …
Eulogy for a Friendship
Filed Under: Poetry
Shield and Armour – Mask of Order peeling away, blistered failing paint
And beneath, the rust and essence, hairy-naked-madness, lusty passion and lonesome Honesty
Broken, mumbling, solitary Honesty
smiling with broken teeth, arrestingly beautiful and stinking
I pray to my God – bent low, prostrate before It, pleading, laughing
Crying for audience – Please God! Stab my Loves to death! Smite them with terrible holy hands!
And I stab them too – with damned logic, damned reason, damned alcohol and damned bitterness.
But somehow my Loves survive
Malignant gorgeous mushrooms, passions turned in on themselves – the perfect inverse!
Hate! Anger! Rancor! The Worms of Hurt and Heartache!
You – Born on the 4th of July but no patriot
No allegiance to anything or anyone – not even truth! Not even Truth! Not even Honesty – earnest and misguided!
But no matter – now I pause with my knives and turn to memories
Memories denied, forbidden, concealed beneath our wreckage.
There is pleasant-ness in that flotsam, small and timid
Lurking like a beaten child denied toys – without the imagination or will for new games
Holy Fuck! The Dust and Ash!
The Dust and Ash of dead friendship, camaraderie wasted on lust, compulsion, instinct, bald-headed ignorance needing a bath!
Horse fetus kicked and killed and buried, these are your words, only to be exhumed and kicked some more. Furiously.
Verbose rantings into the void, eloquent destruction until only the dust itself is beaten and clouds of it billow about choking us both, covering feet weary from running, clogging nostrils, poisoning lungs until they can no longer draw breath to speak!
And now we don’t speak and we haven’t and I suppose we never will again, my dusty friend.
Brush yourself off. You need a bath.
Untitled (work in progress)
Filed Under: Poetry
Taking off
Solo Trip
Mission? Find.
Query Unknown
Meeting dawn
Speeding East
London town
First impressions
Wandering Thames
Riding Tube
Pub pints
English fare
Cured trout
Irish breakfast
Double espresso
Short muscato
Hyde Park
Perfect Moment
Reconciliation (work in progress)
Filed Under: Poetry
Reconcile all suffering
And temper it with Hope
This is the effort of all people
Both Awake and asleep
…
Trip Home to PA
Filed Under: Photos
