News from Nowhere


The people who come walking
over the hill
come from nowhere.

We know this because
the tree on the top of the hill
is the end of the world.

Do not believe them
when they tell you otherwise
as they will, if you let them.

They'll tell you all sorts of stories
about life on the other side of the hill,
none of them true.

Some say their stories are dreams,
some say they themselves are dreams.
Whatever the truth of it,

they'll make it sound so good
that, before you know it,
you'll want to go back with them.

But be warned: if you go with them
back over the hill
you'll walk into nowhere,

become a dream.
When you see them coming
go inside and lock yourself in.

Old Couple


The young watch us with a look of pain in their eyes, maybe sometimes a look of pity. They watch uneasily as we take up residence in the lost jungle ruins of disposable culture. I share their skepticism of the long-term significance of greased-back hair and a shiny gold suit. Extinction beckons. The next life cycle is likely to be crucial. And then what? If love is an evolutionary dead end, it’s still your favorite dinosaur, the spiky, armor-plated one with the murderous clublike tail. 

Transitions

A premature hint of spring creeps into town overnight. Suddenly I’m aware of the dead birds hanging by their stretched necks like window ornaments. I started growing a beard as a diversion, for something to do, but have kept it as a kind of camouflage. Even so, an air of sadness clings to me like a gypsy curse. Or maybe it’s that words have begun to resist assigned meanings. My own countrymen prefer speed, directness simplicity – the booming echo of a gunshot to the eerie silence that follows.

"A Typical Guy"

I'm just someone that pays part of the bills
living in an apartment trapped in a city slum

my roommates are unreliable
sometimes checking to see if my room is locked

I've had three girlfriends in the last year
wanting to marry me until they knew me better

I'm a typical guy in these days of now
a little depressed holding onto a job that's meaningless

walking around and around the park at night
wishing I was a tree.

Co-Pilot

I’m a good driver.
God is my co-pilot.
He rides in the
Front passenger seat
Next to me.
But,
If He keeps grabbing
At the steering wheel
While I’m driving,
I’m puttin’ His ass
On the street.

Rabbit

 

Went to Thursdays with
a friend who quit boot
camp but hates this bar so
left. I am good at waiting in
darkness, alone, drinking.
Other friends come but are
clung on by creepers. I Woke
Up Today by Port O’Brien
plays and suddenly we’re on
the precipice of another Ohio
summer! I high-five Rabbit
AKA High-Five Guy who is
an Eagle Scout. He buys us
shots of Crown and Coke,
then throws his glass into
the air, aiming for the roof.
But there is a hole in the roof
and the glass follow’s gravity’s
stringent rules and shatters
on the kaleidoscope everywhere.
The bald, black-eyed bouncer
points a finger and we are back
on the streets, the future still
shards in our powerful palms.

way out of my league
 
i still remember your smile
 
the eyes that could melt
me from across the room
 
i always fell for the ones
way out of my league
 
there was a security in
knowing there was no
fucking way that was
ever going to happen
 
i think the first time
we talked on the phone
it was for over four
hours
 
i could have easily told
you i love you right then
and there
 
but i tried to play it cool
 
of course, i missed my chance
 
i assure myself that it would
have never worked
 
and the guy that you end up
with will be so amazing that
i'll know there was no
fucking chance
 
so, the ball is actually
in your court now
 
you stay single any longer
and my imagination is
going to start to believe
in hope again

The sound of the Ohio river__ 

 
Driftwood bones 
Rolling current 
Shiny diadem 
Of sun reflected water 

The river muddy brown 
Thick mucous of Dagon 
Bubbling towards 
The Mississippi 

Mind on skull raft 
Like a search light 
Strafing around in circles 
Looking for Tom Sawyer 
& Huck Finn 

The sound of the Ohio 
Gurgling rushing bubbling  
Plopping splashing  

The percolating tumbler 
Of dreams 
--- 

On Love's Street

"I have come just for a haircut," I told her.  
I lied.  
She wanted me to relax. 
Actually, the heat outside also  
Gave me shelter.  
She was my long-lost school lover
Trained with her beauty face
Like a smiling art drawn  
On a maple leaf 
To become a beautician 
Of a unisex salon. 
Biratnagar has changed its face 
Empty spaces 
Have turned into departmental stores. 
I don’t find fish in the pond 
The ponds have dried like sucked 
Blue Ink from an inkpot. 
I have no reflection 
On the street mirror. 
Good or bad 
Everything changes 
Like the surprising seasons.  
The highways have expanded 
And my love 
Has forgotten to cross the street. 

The Apples

I took a road trip to an apple farm
with my dying dad.
He wanted to see the orchards
and pick some apples. 
A father-son, last hurrah kind of
thing. We talked about stuff
I can't remember along the way.
Finally found an exit
and headed toward the mountains.
We turned here and there
up the winding road until
we finally reached the farmhouse.
When we got out of the car,
we saw the dirt road that led
to the orchards was gated
with a sign that said closed.
The gift shop happened to be open,
so we walked in and looked 
around. I bought an apple slicer 
as a souvenir to remind me
of what could have been.