City Claustrophobia

I take a leak in the alley
that leads back into the city

catacomb apartments
tunnel rows

doors locked and crossed with bars
chains hung more for alarms

baseball bats and tomahawks
swords and spears

twenty-twos and thirty-eights
Grandpa's brass knuckles hung on a hook

a polished bowling ball and a sledge hammer
and a bucket full of stones

around the arch of the inside door
ready for war

nothing bought recently
where they can track you

trying to live in dreams of yesterday
never wetting your pants.

Friendship 


You’re my best friend.

We sat on friday night 

considering dinner

and joking about doing Percocet.

But we just ended up

just lying in your room

soaking in the sacred quiet

as we both basked in penitent feelings.

You’re looking back and forth

between your ceiling and your wall,

and I’m watching the clouds 

turn black outside your window.

I think to myself

that I know absolutely nothing

and that I am inadequate,

and then you look me in the eyes 

from across the room

and we move closer to each other.

Aging Out


After seventy
years retirement’s
specter shadows my moves,
clouds my thoughts,
clings to wrinkled
skin like death’s plastic wrap
that pulls tighter
equal to pressure
exerted against it.
Equilibrium in effort
establishes status quo
survival in a transparent
jail, a translucent cocoon
that grows stronger,
thicker, with each layer.
It’s best
if I don’t squirm.

As Things Pass

A leaf skates across the sidewalk,
Caught in a swirl of wind
It lands with a sigh 
On the edge of a curb, unnoticed

A constant flow of people move beneath skyscrapers
A woman in a red coat pauses at the end of the street,
Her scarf fluttering in the wind
She clutches a small paper bag
(maybe lunch or a gift) tightly in one hand
She jaywalks against the crowd of cars
Like a true new yorker

Nearby, a man sits on the curb
Shoes untied, a cigarette dangles from his lips
As he exhales
The smoke slowly makes its way into the air
Across the street, a bike messenger cuts through the crowd
His tires spraying water from the recent rain
A pigeon pecks at an old napkin
Its head bobbing in sync with the others

The air smells thick 
Of hairspray, shampoo, or something chemical
A row of mirrors stretches down the wall, 
Each face with different emotions
A woman grinning, thrilled with her new haircut
While a young man forced a smile, his eyes cast down

He

He walks 
with eyes on the ground
Counting every crack in the pavement, 
He avoids all eyes 
He wears a coat two times his size
Lined with whispers that itch at the skin
And everywhere he go,
He trails a shadow behind 
He dines alone 
Picking on food he cannot taste
He sighs and pulls on his faded hair 
By night, he sits at the desk 
Hands pressed to his face, 
Replaying a scene over and over 
Like a broken film reel
But when the stars come,
He only turns off the light
Pulling the blanket up to his chin
he whispers,
Maybe tomorrow

Last Moments with the World

A mother’s wail drifted through the gust of waves,

beware of him who walks where echo fades.
Clung her tight from the
Devil’s hand–choking,
eating those
fleshes 

gargling Death before it spoke
hushed by the piercing wind
Is that what it feels like–to be
Justified? 

Kingdoms fall
like lullabies luring a child to 
marvel at the synchronous aurora and dirge 

Nature sings so calmly,
one day it will realize 
petals wither with with beauty too cold to touch

quivers of sand and wind 
rocked the ship 
side-to-side 
tilting the decks
until all that it left was the
vulnerability a human endures–how they 
writhed.

xanthic light flickers between the rumble while her
yearning carved on the woods
zipped shut by the deep hush.

The Times

It was the best of times,
It was the worst of times.
Then again, maybe it just
Took a while to figure out
This party actually sucked
Like a fridge temp chili dog.
You know, looks good when
You first see it but in the
Long run it just plane fizzles
Out to the usual ho-hum.
Dig Dawg, birthday party in
Between high school class
Reunions. Lots of folks there,
Old letter jackets and former
Prom queens longing for
Those days (long) gone by.
Snoots that are still snoots
With that shit on their ears
From having their head stuck
Permanently up their ass.
Saving grace are the regulars,
Real people with smiles and
Warm conversation glad to
See everyone with no claim
Of self-anointed deity. Stay
A while, exit when ready, no
Reason to stay till the last dog
Dies. I still have things to do.
My life ain’t over till it’s over.

Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?

Spin the carousel. Orbit
and drift, like a blinking lantern.
Chandelier wobbles. Volcano
bubbles like a skeleton cocoon.
Splash, spin. Prism shimmers.
Cathedral crumbles. Honeycomb
crawls up tower like a crimson
crown or velvet moss. Comet
tumbles. Mirrored scarecrow.
Eclipse.

Who

My body trapped in the mirror
Another me inside another mirror, repeating until
I close my eyes.

A thin, needle-like light of rainbow 
Piercing across the shadowmere color in front of me
I open my eyes.

Another me. In a sea of grass that rises above my head 
Her stomach has a balloon swelling,
Carrying her away from me, up to the sky until
I — She crashes down.



                       Pulse

                 You are   Are you
    a universe. Small in   in small universe? A
    front of a blackhole,  blackhole of front
        compelling world   world, compelling
           into darkness.  darkness into
 Stars collapsing inward   inward collapsing stars.
                —silence.  Silence—
         Absence of life.  Life of absence.