Suffering Pleasure I lit candles throughout my Studio apartment not so much as to create a romantic or Gothic ambience, but instead to be able to navigate around my four hundred square foot living space with a small amount of light. Evidently, it seems my memory has been on a bender. Once again it got drunk and forgot to pay the electric bill. The Electric and Power guy pointed out I've used that somewhat creative as well as almost humorous excuse far too often. The novelty has worn off with the consequence being orders to confiscate the Electric Meter and return it to the office. Which meant he couldn't just turn it upside down and push it back in. The company mid-level suits had become sabe to me pulling it out then placing it back into the service restoring my power after the power guy left. I guess I'll be playing pioneer for a couple of days. However, the neighbors are leaving on vacation for a month in two days, so I can jump their power and their Cable. Then I'll try to get my T.V. out of hock or maybe just borrow one of my neighbors TV's. This guy will be living like a suburban scumbag. "This has to stop Santiago. There's no future in what you refer to as a recreational activity." I said out loud. "Ya I know." I answered back with a four a.m. honesty. "When do you think that might happen? Do you envision it as a revelation or an epiphany? Maybe an intervention, or a never-fail cure, incarceration." "It doesn't matter. You've gotta get clean." My voice echoed in the near empty apartment "Ya it'll happen. I just can't say when." I answered back to myself in a sincere tone. I stabbed the syringe deep into my vein. I didn't even have to pull back on the plunger to register. My dark, thick, rich, red, blood billowed into it as a preview of the explosion about to erupt inside my body. Boom!
Immaterial Do you ever feel You haven’t looked At the sky Enough? Not taken in The stars? Or the mountain? Or her face Even though your eyes Find themselves Absorbed constantly Almost like Osmosis Sight loses to feel Like memory Impressionist Brush strokes Coax and tickle Senses With smatterings Of taste And tendrils Mental shards Scatter A reflection of Moments To chew And glue with Saliva And blood A collage of Sand In the shape Of a mountain, A painted sky, Her face Full of our life.
Guns ‘R Us “Your rights end where mine begin” The guns and ammo guy’s t-shirt said. Was selling targets of Obama’s and Biden’s faces with bull’s eyes dead center in their foreheads. Buy in bulk, or spend a yard, and receive, free, targets of #44’s and #46’s extended families, no extra charge. All persons purchasing items are automatically eligible to win a modified-for- maximum-effect AR. Void where prohibited by law.
the unwanted cloak while i shimmered in the milky way afloat unborn my birth waited like the gallows & at last they dragged me to the apparatus & looped a noose over my silver hat & the trap door flapped its dark wing & i dropped into a bone-lined cloak of terrible meat dangling by a red greasy braid of umbilical my blue tongue unquiet yr plans mean zero first day of june in the graveyard 6 feet above idle bones little islands of bustling anthills dot the plots
Santa hates the working man At my job they give you 100 dollars for each of you’re first four donations of plasma as long as your vitals are within an acceptable range to donate I laugh when we call it a donation since most people only come for the money two day before Christmas and a forty some year old has a pulse rate of 120 bpm I joke and ask him what he’s taking and he says I got fired from my job today I worked at that plant in town that’s been on strike for the last six months the strike we settled earlier this week and today I got fired for my part in the whole thing standard procedure in my job at the plasma center is to offer a recheck after the donor sits for 15 minutes so I ask him if he has time to wait around to see if it will come down he says he is pretty sure it won’t not two days before Christmas not with having three kids and just as I am deciding I am just going to change his number just pass him anyway he sees it in my eyes and says don’t no reason we should both be unemployed at Christmas then he walks back to the lobby and out the door while I finish my shift hating myself more and more each and every hour.
Me and Bob, Joe and Marie We sit like schlubs in the bleacher seats. Joe. I should have married Joe. Mother knew best. We’d be in box seats; even better those luxury boxes, with the giant TVs appys and cocktails, elbows rubbed with the ball players. Instead I’m with Bob in the bleachers. It’s loud and it smells; sun baking my head beer spilled all over, by the fat drunk that leans on me. Chick that he’s with, stinking like beans and green onions. Mother was right. I’m hearing her voice now. “You could love a rich, same as a poor man.” But I missed the boat. I married Bob. Joe married Marie. Mom preferred Joe, but I sit here with Bob - like two schlubs in the bleacher seats, while Marie lives my best life. Tampons and Tanqueray “Lay down with dogs, you’ll wake up with puppies.” “That slut in 4C, knocked up, having twins.” “Ya gotta get in there, scrub like you mean it, or your house will stay filthy” Bernice of the lacquered up beehive, cracking her gum while opinning. And the gals on the bench, while the men went to work, living paycheck to paycheck, with the dream to move up from the projects to suburbs. South side of Queens, the ladies speak trash talk, tampons and Tanqueray, stuffed bras and stuffed cabbage making me wish, that I’d snuck out to Woodstock.
Friday Night In Chicago Friday night in Chicago, I head to the salsa bar. I love the music and I love those Latin women, Eventhough there’s always the threat of you Getting your balls cut off…just a tradition. The party is lively, the liquor flows freely. And Juan says, “Let’s go home…Mejico.” The plan: load up on booze, drive all night, Cross the border in the morning, get home, Spend the day with the folks and drive back. Seems a good idea to everybody. My car, I drive. Four amigos and me race south on Highway 57. With any luck, John Law won’t slow us down. It’s a fiesta party on wheels. Music blasting, Laughter, dead soldiers thrown out the window. Fifty miles south, the inevitable starts to settle in. Luis announces that he starts a new job Monday. Paco says his sister said she could just watch The kids overnight. He needs to pick them up. Martin calls them pussies, then starts to sober up. To his horror, he realizes that he left his girlfriend At the club with the wolves and no way home. Juan don’t give a shit either way. He just wants Us to pull over somewhere so he can take a piss. I stop for gas, turn the car around, head north. No one seems to notice, they’re all too tired. We reach the bar early evening. Time to pay. Paco’s sister had been calling the club all day. He’s not in the ‘hot water’, he’s now in the fire. Martin meets his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend. Luis will make it to work, Juan buys another round. Months later, after the memory of this fiasco fades, We’ll be on the road again with the same result.
"Coming to Your City" Sky lit flash distant shake thunder bombs you know what's happening odds are you'll be deaf or dead trees already filling birds on every branch city graffiti soon blood wet basements and tunnels hopeful safety spots metallic whistling now overhead everyone praying even by those that don't believe.
Uncultured A static screen sky Takes pot shots at our sanity Tires burn on the horizon— Its only make believe I know This construct of words and images. Bad noise and bile Back and forth the blame bounces back Inevitably to your doorstep.
the endless question of why the darkness surrounds you all alone just the quiet and your thoughts suicidal sociopathic desperation desolation the endless question of why the one question your father never could answer the endless desire to never be like him and it's a subtle glance into the mirror and you can clearly see all the evil you desperately wanted to avoid you refused to see him before he died your remaining years will show you what you missed