The “Old City,” 1987
   

We’d dress in our best black
and hit the Old City,
first to Ella Guru’s, where we 
saw Sun Ra and then onto
Annie’s, a hip jazz joint where
we’d imbibe vodka tonics 
and scotch and snicker at 
the yuppies looking at us
from the corners.

Are those people wearing
black lipstick and nail 
polish with mascara?

Why, yes, we were. Not 
new or shocking, newbies. 

After getting toasted, we’d then 
cross Jackson Avenue
to Manhattan’s and
slam down tequila shots
while Frank, the 
manager, stood glaring
and grinding his teeth,
anxious that we not drive 
away the pretty people.

Soon on to Planet Earth,
a goth/industrial club
that catered to us like
other bars catered to
their own devotees
and where we spent
most of our lives.
Popping pink
Magnum 357s, 
we’d writhe to the
sounds of Bauhaus,
Sisters of Mercy, Ministry 
and Skinny Puppy. Fights 
would erupt, people would 
get sick and pass out, Chuck-
The-Owner would throw a
cokehead out the second
floor window onto a parked
car below on the street and 
once we watched Melanie 
get fucked standing upright 
on the back third floor landing, 
wearing a wig to avoid recognition. 
(Didn’t help and not that such
an act was remotely rare or anything.)

By 4am, sweating and
mascara running, we’d
head for Vic & Bill’s
to nosh with the drag
queens and bikers before 
going to Amy’s to fall 
onto futons, then get up at 
noon and move on to
another Knoxpatch party.

 

     Afternoon Sauté

 
Large pan, deep, decades of sauce and sausage
have simmered in this old friend.
Starts with extra-virgin, sweet, sweetened more
with thinly sliced white onion and thinner sliced
garlic, seasoned slightly with salt, pepper, that
helps the essence of the onion melt in the oil.

The room takes on a mediterranean aroma.
You are watching from the living room with a
favorite Pinot in your favorite goblet.
Carrot, red, green pepper, sliced carefully
with cutlery that you just sharpened. Basil,
oregano - the peppers soften, add the porcinis.

As the mushrooms cook down, splash with balsamic,
The browned sausage, sweet and hot, has cooled,
half are crumbled into the vegetables.
Alexa plays Billy Joel - bottle of red, bottle of white,
the mushrooms are releasing their liquid.
I sneak in, kiss your neck, steal a sip of wine.

You tell me it smells great, ready for tomatoes,
paste first, adds a new texture to the ragu,
then San Marzano plums, crushed slightly,
they’ll sauté themselves into sauce. As it melds,
the rest of the sausage go back in to flavor
the process, the simmer, the rest of the afternoon.

Alexa switches to Dylan and James Taylor.
We open a second bottle, you come in like Eve
approaching the quince and wanting a taste.
Reminding you of the rule of don’t taste too early,
I slither over hip to hip, bring the spoon to your lips,
it is clear your horizon has opened to future defiance.

When I Say I Love You

I am speaking
to an audience
of Onan

REPTILE BLOOD

 

I do not understand things like
Money, or at least not well;
I save it, am careful
About managing my paychecks
So that I’m not broke.

But she was an expert
In such matters—
Her job required her to be.

And her excision of me,
Despite past declarations
Suggesting this an impossibility,
Was as cold
As a fleecing
Of hard cash.

It’s in the blood,
I think;
And people with
That blood
Have, and
Always will,
Run others,
Casually,
Into the ground.

It Is Good

It is good that life
Sucks so much and
That there is a noted 
Plethora of assholes.
Otherwise, I would
Be running around
Constantly angry for
No reason.  They say
The Japanese have a
Word for it.  But, me,
Not knowing Japanese,
I got no idea what it is.
And that pisses me off.



We Saw the Postman

We saw the postman there
Stretched out on the ground.  
He'd been there for a while.
We called the cops as we
Didn't dare go beyond the
Fence with the yard full of
The neighbor's wolf-dogs.
I had thought it a bad idea
To begin with, wolf-dogs and
The mail box inside the gate.
I halted the ambulance as it 
Started to pull out.  Not to say
Goodbye.  I thought that that 
Was my unemployment check
In those bloody stiff hands.

What I know of inheritance in my genealogy 

My father christened me in names 
belonging to my grandfather. 
My grandfather has a history 
where his voice is drowned in his scream from sleep each night. 
The only time he muttered his nightmare 
it was his boyhood revisiting him like a god demanding an offering from a handicapped
because he wore the garment of manhood before dawn. 
If there's one thing I know about inheritance in my genealogy 
I'll call it Grandpa’s Nightmare. 
That's why Father has on his forehead 
a mark of the father that fathered him 
whose life orbited in the same cycle as the nightmare. 

The demons that masquerade my sleep each night, 
wear these names,
clamoring for my ownership, 
& in the chase, 
I shelter in this poem, appearing before God as a prayer. 
Dear Lord, purge me. 
Possess me. 
Rekindle the flame of tenderness in me 
and drench me in light. 

Today

 
Get up, my boy, it is today!
Whatever past is gone
That was yesterday
Hours spent right or wrong

Get up, my boy, it is today!
However regretful you feel
Won’t gain you an inch more
Wasting today kills another day

Get up, my boy, it is today!
No matter what you’ve done
Something you haven’t run yet
Miles ahead waiting for you there

Get up, my boy, it is today!
Forever last it won’t
Tomorrow will be today in a wink
Seize the hour, seize the day

 

All through my life 
I've thought myself the 
Good guy, looking back
In my 50's
After a few joints ?

I've been a bit of a cunt 
At times 
I've got to be honest 

But haven't we all ?

If you say not you're 
Fucking 
Liar

Why did that feel really profound 
to me a couple of minutes ago ?

I don't think weed is good for 
Poetry.

I'll just try it a bit longer 

“Cow”

black mound be crowned, remain sound
natural goddess to be milked and fed
not slaughtered in the garden,
to be spared by the son.
telephone generations learned the game,
rewrote your solid submissive dark
curves to be held in place, processed,
frozen. lean fat, make her in my voice.