Routine

He puts the tears
back in his eyes
and heads to the coffee shop
on the corner
finding refuge
in routine

They make him his usual and
His name on the cup
Reassures him that
he is recognizable
on the outside
though inside
he's come apart

A Poem For Lydia

Mourn the storm once it's passed

It was destructive and frightening

But also electric and alive and I've seen what beauty that kind of energy can create

I've laughed in spite of myself feeling the raw power rushing past my ears

It's still

And quiet now

And so

I can allow myself

to appreciate what is lost

Consensus

 We reached consensus

Slavery is bad

and so is rape

and Royalty

we're getting there

on war

racism

and misogony

We still embrace poverty

because we're not willing to let go

of the flip side

of that coin

Some must starve

and die

that other's my live

closer to the sky

They told me I was special

Destined

I'm destined

its not supposed to be this hard

I'm special

I'm gifted

I'm meant to for something grand

My faults

they are quirks

Its all part of my charm

Pay me

Pay me

I can't work at Chipotle

I can't

just can't

It isn't what was meant to be

for me

for me

it isn't what I'm meant to be

Ground Chuck

Every punk in Sacramento

Every artist, and every kid

knew the legendary Ground Chuck

and all the things we said he did

Could it possibly have been true

was he cursed, was he blessed

with chalk or sticks or strings

hammering out a holy mess

Chuck the metalhead, punk, and artist

chalking sidewalks for a meal

running across the street to tell the awfullest joke

and my laughs were always real

He'd coax a racket from any instrument

or sing like a banshee's cry

the spirit of our scene, he was

and he'll haunt us all until the day we die

I know he got his fill of cold beers

and some other guy's as well

He was quick with an I love you

or to tell a prick to go to hell

Racists could get fucked

he was fearless in their face

we were his tribe, his club, his family

hardcore, punk rock, artist was his race

The Preacher

He stands preaching

not to me

but to the room

I’m the only one in the room

a wheelchair serves as his cart

that holds all his possessions

including an old bible

that he’s now reading from

and I don’t have anything to offer him

other than an audience

but I have work to do

so now I’m on the outside patio

listening to the traffic

and he’s inside preaching

to the walls

and empty tables

I Was Afraid Of Indians

 I was afraid of Indians

I had a recurring dream

they were parading down my street

and the rule was

white people were not to look at them

they would pass by in the night

so long as we kept our gaze turned away

but I 

could not

resist

the colors, the beads, the flowers

the beautiful men and women

with dark skin, and long black hair

I'd carefully lift the curtains in my dark bedroom

I'd watch the parade

until one tall Indian man

suddenly turned his head

and looked directly into my eyes

I dropped the curtain

and hid beneath my bed

so afraid of what was coming

I'd wake up

in that same bed

next to that same window

scared and guilty

the street now empty and quiet

An abandoned and neglected Indian graveyard

by my house

was abused by kids from my neighborhood

I never participated

in kicking over

or otherwise vandalizing a grave stone

but I did climb the fence

and I walked on that ground

that I was not meant to walk on

the guilt of my actions

and the actions of the other white children

turned beautiful dreams

into terrifying nightmares

When I learned to fly

When I first learned to fly

It wasn't graceful

 A bobbing spinning kind of floating

More frightening than exciting

I tried so hard to hide it

Desperate to go undiscovered 

I didn't want to be a superhero 

I didn't want to be a weapon

I just wanted to look down at the world

Like I looked at the bottom of the pool 

On summer nights

With the underwater light on

I no longer fear being spotted 

People, I've found, are only willing to see so much

The Drum Line

 The drum line kicked off the show

and I wondered

Why don't all shows

Start like this

The big bass drums in the back

Swinging, being swung

by girls with shoulders

that were up to it

pounding out the heart beat

The snares in the front

polyrhythm tapped out on the rims

in between the tenor drums

bring color 

all eyes locked 

on the conductor

as he pilots thunder

a storm for dancing

meticulously organized chaos

energy saddled 

and ridden

You live with it

 In the morning grief is real

Its not going to kill you

you're not going to die

It remains here

The night before it threatened

gnashing of teeth

screaming

headache

heartache

Pain that carried with it

the promise that it can't go on forever

a fire eventually burns out

In the morning light there is the absence

the loss

the emptiness

that is forever

the pain that stays

that you live with

reality

of something missing

new scars mark your face

this is your face now

you live with it

The City

When I miss the beach
and woods
I go
I get my fill

But the city
is my love
my one true love
and I'll always return to her

The danger and filth
desperation and failure
I know them by name
and they know me

I'm not a strong swimmer
I can't hunt
I'm a talker
words my survival skill

Walking around the park

 Walking for health

And for vanity

Not to escape aging 

But maybe to slow it down

Geese are napping

all around the path

One hisses at me

I call him a gangster

The geese and their goslings

The humans and their littles

Watching each other

And being watched

I pass an old man

Older than me

He says hello

I make an odd hiss sound 

I leave the path

To walk around the garden center

Back onto the path

Reversing direction

I make this same move

Around the rose garden 

Then switching directions

Avoiding walking by my car

I pass the old man he smiles

I smile

His path is erratic like mine

Is he also avoiding temptation

"He says I'm not being tortured

The HEALING process

What if someone cut your fucking head off

The healing process is a sin"

A man pushing a shopping cart is yelling

"He helps me to be electric

In sync so I can be

NOT PSYCHOTIC"

The old man approaches again

I'm determined to say hi

A loud motorcycle passes

I walk to my car

Soft

I’m soft.
My father wanted it that way.
Wanted me not to be hardened by war or poverty

I’m soft
and there are those who believe this is a bad thing
soft boys are the ruin of society

I’m soft
to the chagrin of uncles wearing scar tissue armor
who fought to earn me this privilege

We are soft
and we are resilient, and ready should we need to rise with the need
to take on that which would harden us

I’m soft
and will not waste that privilege
to love and celebrate and cry and care and dance

I’m soft
and what I want more than anything
Is that my daughter can be softer still

Gone

"Where are you?" 
Christian's mom wrote so many months ago
on his facebook page
Where Happy Birthday greetings from one year
bump against those from another

Where've you gone this time Christian
If you get locked up again
or buried
I imagine your folks will be contacted
so we assume you're still out there, somewhere, alive

You and I used to drink with Holy Rock
and his brother Billy
in the courtyard by the church
they must have had people somewhere also
wondering where they'd gone
gone
how can drowning take so god damn long

Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year
"Where are you?"
Where are you? 
I've waited to hear that you were gone
really gone
For 30 years now

VFW ABC

Walking while we were still able

table to table at The VFW Post

Grabbing  discarded glasses, beer roaches

and emptying them down our throats

Some fools had been dropping valiums

into the drinks they then abandoned

the beers Billy and I came to rescue

and later puked back up all over my spinning house

Steve was proud and boastful

of his talent at not giving a fuck

And truly he didn't

even when the Nazis showed up

As long as they were paying

He was happy to drink with them

I quit the alcoholic boys club in a huff

Steve smiled, poured another glass as he waved 'Goodbye'

Manny's skin was brown

and a few week later he face was kicked in

Steve eventually did time behind bars

He and Manny are both now in the ground

James got married

his bachelor party almost cancelled the wedding

and his new bride insisted

he find a better class of friend

Billy just up and disappeared

I don't remember the last time I saw him

But I ran into his jacket all the way up in Canada

being worn by a tough who must've rolled him for it

My girl named us the alcoholic boys club

We were living in the moment

outside of time or space or class

a thing not meant to last

For a season we held court

Ruling our corner of the VFW

Our throne the largest booth

where the booze flowed fast and sometimes free

Silver Lining

The silver lining is
the closer we get
to wiping ourselves
from existence, the
more comfortable I
get with seeing us go.

Trees

You've been told broccoli
looks like little trees

But when you're hungry it may be
That trees look like giant broccolies 

Darn Cat

The cat wants to cuddle 

The cat wants to play

The cat needs their

litter box changed

No matter what that cat wishes to say

He expresses it all in exactly the same way

Bite 

Clouds

Frozen explosions

Violence in silent slow motion

Breaking waves that escaped the ocean

Sin

If there is any kind of God
If there is a divine
I think the closest we get to it
is when we create
To honor a creator
and creation
create

And the biggest sin
ever committed by man
was using this drive
the desire and ability for creation
to infect our children with self hatred
in order to market 
false cures 

A Poem For Shane

When Shane Macgowan dies you write a poem 

What else is there to do? 

Listening to the Pogues and crying while driving 

I imagine the force that kept his heart pumping blood 

despite a lifetime of poisoning 

I imagine it as a star exploding 

It's shards lodging in the chests of poets the world over 

Infecting us 

Making us dance and sing 

driving us to put our tears and struggles and anger into rhythm and rhyme and verse 

to sing the pricks and pigs back into whatever hell they climbed out of 

and raise our voices 

as we raise our glasses 

and sing a song for Shane

Dead Friends

I unfriend my dead friends
on social media

Feels cold, but keeping 'em felt morbid.
Either way, I don't think they mind.

I smelled real wood smoke

Night isn't night enough, we've diluted the darkness
the fire in the fireplace is mostly decorative
An ever shrinking number of stars  are visible in the sky

but we're rarely eaten by wolves anymore

I wake up knowing most of my neighbors are waking too
We survive the nights for the most part
and die so very much more slowly sitting at a desk

wondering if an attack by wolves really such a bad way to go

My Dads Been To War

Dad's been to war
And he doesn't talk about it
Not talking isn't exactly a family trait
not at all what we're known for
this silence about what he saw there
words couldn't possibly say more

When I was a young man
Watching the politicians on TV
my dad pointed at the most combative of them
screaming America was worth fighting for
Every one of these hawks, without exception, he explained
Were men who'd never been to war

Old Men Talking Politics at The Coffee Shop

I romanticize the idea of old men sitting 

at the coffee shop arguing politics

but this morning I sat next to exactly this scene

as I drank my morning cup

and a more boring conversation I can't imagine

delivered somehow with great passion

I put my headphones on

and turned my music up

My Rosary Beads

I was raised a Catholic
and still a rosary hangs from my headboard
bought for me by my father
who is an agnostic

I tease him that he's just
afraid of commitment
an atheist down deep
in his soul that don't exist

He gifted me them before
I visited a war zone
He said "It couldn't hurt"
Feeling helpless, he hedged his bets

I keep my prayer beads
there, by my godless head at night
Connecting me to my childhood
When I loved and feared the Christ

Crickets

We brought my daughter home to a noisy four plex next to the railroad tracks. 

She taught me to appreciate our home. 

I thought living by the railroad tracks was awful, 

the train would go by and shake our whole house.

I needed my little girl to show me that it was awesome

“The train, daddy!” she’d holler

And we’d rush to the porch in our pajamas

And watch the trains go by

She’d call out the name of each car

Both the descriptive name, 

Hopper, engine, boxcar

But also their proper first names

Thomas, Spencer, Percy

We went from living next to the tracks

To having train front property

From there we moved to a duplex

Next to two freeways, and a busy street

With a big hospital

The train noise replaced

By the constant presence of helicopters

Police and ambulance sirens

Cruisin’ Impala’s with booming sound systems

And within this cacophony she found music

And she’d add her voice

The neighbors coming to know her as

The kid who sings

We continued our pattern

A one plex,

finally a home of our own

According to our postal address we were still in the city

But we were off the numbered and alphabetized grid

Only 24th street reached out to us

Like a tentacle from the noisy city center keeping us connected

And it was quiet

my first night in my new bedroom

I heard the crickets

I delighted to realize

I’d final gotten my little girl to a place peaceful enough

For her to hear nature’s nocturnal symphony of chirps

And as I smiled to myself, 

I heard her yell from her room

“SHUT UP, CRICKETS!”

 

The Weatherman

 The weather man said people are gonna die today

Not in those words

he spoke of freezing winds

and rain

and other reasons to stay inside

the weatherman said people are going to die

because they have no inside to stay in

so cover your plants

and bring in your patio cushions

Its Cold in Sacramento

Today I walked past a man wrapped in a blanket sleeping on the sidewalk. I walked past him. I can't imagine what his night was like. My ears hurt from having to walk a few blocks to work.

Did he have a tent at some point and our police cut it with razors and threw it away? I don't know, but I do know that they do this. They take homeless people's tents away from them, and cut them, and throw them away.

We have money to bomb other people's poor people but not to house our own, and then we go and we take their tents away and destroy them.
And I walked past him.

He was next to a gas station. Just a few yards away were houses, warm cozy houses like the one I woke up in this morning. If he broke a window to climb into one, he'd likely go to jail, and then be fed and housed. Instead he wrapped a blanket around himself, and lay on the cold sidewalk overnight.

And that's where he still was this morning, when I walked past him.

I don't know what to do. We complain, we demonstrate, we vote, we volunteer, but he still had nowhere to go last night, and it keeps getting worse and I can't keep walking past him.

And tomorrow, I'll walk past him again.

I'm Sorry

 I'm sorry

We just wanted to give you a good start

a jumping off place

somewhere safe to grow

to imagine dragons and be a tiger

to find that spark

and you did

and it grew

and you positively glow 

we succeeded

we can pat ourselves on the back

you're a gem, a truly unique, brilliant, beautiful thing

but we didn't warn you enough

we let you live in a safe world 

while outside there was ugliness and monsters

flame extinguishers

damaged, nasty things that hate the light

I'm sorry

I'm sorry we sent you full of stories

singing your own songs

into a world of marching to someone else's 

dull thud of a beat

I'm sorry

you should have to be the bomb

the solution

the revolution

the fight

thank you for being so strong

for taking on that struggle

for not bowing

I'm sorry

Family Value

I believe in hate

I am full of it

I eat it for breakfast

It's also my bedtime snack

I will not teach my daughter not to hate

I will instead practice with her her aim

We will hate together

Hate is our family value 

Hate is right

Hate for those whose selfishness, greed, prejudice, and willfull ignorance harms the innocent and poisons our world

Love is important but

It turns out

It is not all you need

Knowing is free

Knowing things, 

knowing every thing,

is free 

When you have no other capital 

You can at least hold knowledge 

and you don't even have to acquire it 

Just pluck it out of the air

Just know

Shout what you know at the sky,

as you push your shopping cart down the street 

Yell what you know, red-faced, at your TV screen or radio 

Prattle on about what you know to millions of listeners on your immensely popular podcast

Cuz when you have nothing else, you have what you know 

Critical thinking, research, studying, all overrated and wasted efforts 

mostly serving to make you aware of what you don't know 

Why waste your time 

Just know

It feels so good to know

Moment; Time Travel

 I was ten years old

I was sitting on the toilet

I was thinking about time travel

I thought "If I can will myself to remember this moment in the future, it's time travel. I will have sent this moment to my future self."

It worked

I remember that time

Sitting on the toilet

That's the moment I chose

My wife's dream

I was hoping to write a poem today
My wife tells me about her dreams
She had several last night, as usual
My wife is an epic dreamer
In one she dreams that she is a superhero
one of a group of superheroes who live together in a complex
They share a parking lot with a Catholic church
There are tensions between the neighbors
and the heroes have to go to the church
and apologize
And I can't see me writing a poem that's going to be any better than that

Come and Join Me To Make Love (a found words poem)

Come and join me to make love
see lonely onlyfans girls
want to see my nude photos for free?
Big Boss Porn Sex
Hi, I'm still a virgin, look at my beautiful nipples
My neighbor's breasts are very big 
I can't post my nude videos
I need someone to accompany me
Hi, no idea who you are but...

A love letter

 I love all the various versions I've known of you

Looking at pictures of you before I met you, and I love her too

My best friend, my girlfriend, my fiancee, my wife

My lover, my partner, my life

I'll always be there next to you

I can't wait to meet the next you

And I know I'll love her too

2021

These feel like imaginary years
A weird movie that is too long
I keep waiting to be able to emerge from the theater
To blink in the sunlight as my brain readjusts to the reality that was out here waiting
And not to find out it was only an intermission

My dreams and hopes are paused, on life support
Warped clumsy reflections of our lives unspool across the calendar
And we try to hold out
And to survive
Long enough to not watch the credits

Social Media

There are a couple of people who I've blocked on social media or who have blocked me on social media who I really enjoy seeing in the real world for hugs and coffee.

And there are some of you who I really like engaging with online and we just clam up and are awkward in real life.

And there are some of you I like both places, but in like, totally different ways, like I'm friends with the two different souls that possess your body.

And there are some of you who I can't stand, online or off but I like to keep an eye on you, or I like to have your eyes on me, to see that I'm doing cool shit, when I do cool shit,

but then I worry I'm not doing enough cool shit.

I gotta go. 

Got some cool shit to do.

Religious

It's been so long since I had religion

I don't know if I can quite remember what it's like

But I know that if I had religion now

It would have to be a spirituality of my own making

I know chocolate would hold a sacred position in rituals

As would coffee and hot baths

No stale wafers and chilly baptismal pools

The red wine could stay

I have fond memories of passing it 

mouth to mouth 

on the beach

This is how red wine is meant to be served

If I had religion

I would believe that any God

Looking down and seeing you,

Sweet Coal,

would have to smile at the way you lived the life they gave you

You would be immortalized in stained glass in any church of my making

The patron saint of life long adventure

Falafel

 Falafel, more like falawesome

A food good enough to start a fight

as Egyptians, Greeks, Israelis, Palestinians, Iranians, and Lebanese all claim to be

the only ones who make it right

We give Hamburg credit for the hamburger

and we thank the French for fries

But falafel is so good everyone claims credit for it's inventions

and to make it better than those other guys

The world's most contentious food deserves better

This lovely fried and crispy treat

So let's stop all this bickering and fighting

and sit down now together and let's eat

Get yourself some falafel 

Have it made every different delicious kind of way

Unless it's served with yogurt instead of tahini

in which then tell them blasphemous monsters to go away

Haiku

 Homeless

Fight or flight engaged

Always on

Sacramento

I sit at the window

listening to traffic

I can feel the energy of my city

I can feel a million souls

moving

fighting

playing music

making music

dancing

walking

drinking

drowning worries

building and destroying

I can feel all this energy pass through me

like electricity moving through a wire

so many different frequencies

so many different textures, colors, flavors

flowing eventually together

if I can keep it from becoming ticklish

if I can keep it from burning

if I can just hold it, it's building

in me

as it pulses and finds a rhythm

a symphony of human motion

and emotions

it builds

it lifts me from my chair

I float up in my room

I find the center

I am equal distance from each of my walls

from the ceiling and from the floor

I start rotating

slowly at first

then spinning

faster 

and faster

until all is a blur

all vision is blended, streaked, combined, overlapped until it is blackness

a living blackness

all sound combines, at first cacophonous

then droning, buzzing, tighter until it is silence

I explode

the energy of the city returns to the city

it takes me with it

I am part of it as it is a part of me

I wake up cold in bed

I step to my open window and listen to my city

I can hear the far off freeway

someone is singing

a car drives by with loud bass thumping

it grows louder and then fades 

I close the window

shutting out the sounds of my city

in my small room

four white walls

as close as I ever get to silence

and I fall back to sleep

My Type

 You

You're my type

When you were long and lanky and we twisted our limbs like branches growing rapidly together

When you're curvy and round and enough for me to get lost in

When you become old and so comfortably familiar it would be a struggle to recall what it was like not to have you near

My type is you

That Kid

 That kid I used to be

Sometimes he seems like someone else

Someone I can sympathise with

Someone I wish I could help

Poor little shit, he didn't know anything

Today though

On my 52nd birthday

He was there in the mirror

Looking older

But still that same kid

Those same eyes

Starring back at me

I can help him

I can give him love

I do love him

Poor little shit

He knew so much

Valentine's Day

 I saw a Valentine's Day post

"Every second of every minute with you has been wonderful."

A sentiment I find unlikely 

I argue reality is more romantic.

"The good times are so very good, they've made it worth getting through the horrendous times, and that's saying something, because we been through some shit!"

Victory!

 "Come Celebrate, Comrades! We've done it! We have remade America as a Socialist Utopia at last! I've got a peppermint mocha for each of you!"

"Um... like, thanks for the mocha but you know most of us still don't have health insurance, right? And I don't know how I'm paying my already late rent this month. Are you sure we've succeeded in making America a socialist utopia?"

"Hello!? Didn't you hear the barista say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas? Victory is ours! Viva la revolución!!!"

How can I read when there's writing to be done

I sit to read and the first page is brilliant and inspires me so, I hop up to write
I sit to write about life, and love and, reminded that these are happening all about me, I hop up to live

I spin in circles

possibility overwhelms me

I look at my phone

"Reading and writing today" I post as my status update

and just like that, I get several dozen reacts, likes, loves, and hugs

I'll try reading again later

Is It Cake?

Life wasn't hard enough, 

now we have to worry that things might be cake?

And I just saw a video of cake that was really a pillow.

So anything might be cake and cake might not be cake?

Why are we doing this?

Leave cake be; 

It's one of the few things we've gotten right. 

It's one small spot of joy that almost make life bearable.

Cake.

Limerick

There once was a man from Nantucket
who knew he'd one day kick the bucket
This awareness of his mortal state
a sense of foreboding did create
and also, he had a comically large penis

Success

 I've worked very hard

And become a moderate success

Which is a shame

I could've been an epic failure

When you die

Many songs will become sad, full of sweet memories of you
as will songs you never have the chance to hear, ones I know you'd have loved
or hated
or laughed at me for loving

I already think of you every-time I go out for pizza
Not delivery
Just the singular glow of a dimly lit pizza place, with a videogame soundtrack
When you're gone, first slices will become a silent toast to you

You will haunt bike rides, and road trips,
and the fact that I never figured out how to play pool,
laughable horrible vegan foods that we buy anyway,
and remembering the love that is shared even in the middle of fights

A significant piece of me only exists because I know you
And it's a piece of me I share
You'll live on in people who never knew you
Just as in songs you've never heard

In a hotel in Przemysl

Sitting in an old Soviet era hotel in Przemysl Poland with jet lag insomnia

2 planes

4 trains

3 countries so far

Crossing an ocean in pursuit of adventure and I only dare hope it's a fraction as memorable and delightful as times I've walked just down the road to take your clothes off

My coworker the accidental poet (overheard at work)

Had a couple of whisky drinks yesterday
Made me feel strong!
Now I'm tired

I like goosebumps

I like goosebumps
I like chills
Know where I can score some endorphins?
I went on an all night sleep bender
Now Let's Rage

Look at the sky

 Parent meeting
I feel like a student again
not a feeling I enjoy
The teacher is at the front of the class talking
I'm sitting in a tiny chair having trouble concentrating
"We need this form signed, and a volunteer to coordinate these events..."
My mind keeps wandering off
She stops... "I'm sorry but, look at the sky."
We look out the window to catch a fantastic fall sunset swirl of blue, and pink, and grey
I am filled with joy at knowing my daughter has a teacher who will interrupt herself to point out a beautiful sky

9/ll memory

Driving on the freeway, everyone going exactly the same moderate speed, nobody passing, very little lane changing. I'm crying. 

I look to my left and the driver of the car next to me is staring straight ahead, also crying. 

I look to my right, same.
In this broken hour we function perfectly, like a precision instrument.

I arrive home and park against the curb on the busy, three lane road where my apartment sits. The spell is broken as I open my door into a bicyclist. The car door makes contact with his pedal. 

He yells "Fuck you, asshole!" and flips me off. 

I yell "I'm sorry!" because I am, incredibly, but I also want to yell "Thank you!"

Campaigning

Vote for me
I've been lonely
Vote for me
I've been lost
Vote for me
I don't know what I'm doing
Vote for me
I'm helpless
Vote for me
My rent is late
Vote for me
I once ate at a Chinese restaurant with my last four dollars and when I found a hair in my food, I kept eating until I was almost done and then went and got my four dollars back, with my belly nice and full and I bought a wonderful cup of coffee and felt fine about myself.
Vote for me

Max in the window

In the backyard
with a leaf blower
Life is loud, sweaty, dusty
Hard to breath, hard to see

There's a knock on the window
and looking up, through squinting eyes,
There is my seven year old, Max

She is waving at me
She is grinning
a huge silly, happy, smile
Life is a miracle

She is inside, I am outside
but she can see me
I am in a storm of swirling leaves
and a racket of electric noise and wind
And she is in a still, quiet bedroom
and yet we are right next to each other
waving
Life is a miracle

A thing called glass exists
to allow us to coexist
in separate worlds
she's heard it's made of sand that's been heated
a magical process that facilitates this joy
she isn't thinking about that now
just celebrating the moment
Life is a miracle

She is done waving and off to create worlds
I am back to my chores with that grin
bigger than the universe
enveloping me
making me remember
Life is a miracle

You Can't Fire Me Because I Quit

So...
 there's this guy I know
and I can't stand him
I think he's a hypocrite
and a prick
and just so full of shit
And the last thing I wanted was to continue being his friend
But he decided to stop being my friend
before I got around to actively not being his friend
And instead of appreciating the favor he did me
and the trouble he saved me
It's
Driving
Me
MAD!
How dare he!

I honk at cats

I honk at cats
as I drive down the street

They jump
They arch
They his
They spit
Their hair stands on end

I honk at cats
and I terrify them

They run
They panic
When a safe distance they turn
They stare
with huge saucer eyes betrayed

I honk at cats
when they're near the road
because there are things in life
one should be afraid of

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American Exceptionalism

I was late to work again

because I couldn't find my shoes

How am I supposed to save the world

when I can barely function

I can't sleep at night

waiting for someone to come for me

because I know

someone should be coming for me

Not being a bad person

Takes so much energy

not being a bad person

takes so much discipline

Can I be one of the good guys

and still afford to have my cracked tooth fixed

How can I be a hero

When I require expensive medication not to shit blood

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Definition

A poem is a joke that isn't funny.

Left over

She tried to throw away the left-overs
They were only one day old
I stopped her

The next day
They were a day older
I tossed them

Not all Superheroes wear capes

Turn Off, Tune out, Drop In

She was sitting on the still wet ground outside of Peet's Coffee and Tea with several backpacks, a garbage bag filled with clothes and one of those silly plastic skateboards with roller blade wheels and a hinge in the middle. I figured her to be the child of working class parents. Maybe her folks were assholes, maybe they were very nice people who missed their daughter. They could even be both I suppose.

Her hat was flipped up and on the bill she'd written "Tune in, turn on, drop out."

I wanted to tell her "Hey, the guy that popularized that saying had a fucking book deal! And a nice degree to fall back on. Don't listen to that trust fund asshole."

Then I thought of her peers, most of whom were probably studying subjects they didn't care about on their way to work jobs they hated as they watched the years race by at amazing speeds.

So, I bought her something warm to drink and shared more practical advice. "Hey, having this drink in your hand they have to let you sit inside where it's dry and warm."

She said "Thanks man." in a really sincere voice that made me want to give her a hug. I drove back to my shitty job.
Fuck Timothy Leary.

They're gonna send a car

I have a day job
That I don't do
But they don't fire me
I don't know why

I'm gonna be interviewed
on basic cable
they're gonna send a car

I can't pay my bills
without this ruse
consolation prize?
They're gonna send a car

You may think I'm failure
I get older and older
I still have this day job
but they're gonna send a car

Sweetheart
love of my life
I know it's hard
but they're gonna send a car

Someday
we'll get there
believe
we're on our way
they're gonna send a car

(And when the interview is done
the car is gonna bring me back.)

Brown Colored Glasses

But master, the student whined, Why strive for enlightenment just to see that the world is shit?
"The world is shit"
The Master, whose real name was Frank, repeated
as he flipped an order of hash-browns, extra crispy, on the grill.
"You ever scratch your ass
and then pick your nose
and then wander off wondering why everything smells like ass?
Blow your nose
Wash your ass
Quit being such a party pooper
Bring the man his hash browns, and then lets go suck the nitrous out of the whipped cream canisters in the walk-in
Life is good."

That Smell

It's during those moments
When I'm grappling with a loss
and you're the only comfort
That the smell bothers me most

You hold me, and I am glad to be held
and it's just what I need
but the damned smell is there

The smell of rich men selling cancer to the poor
The smell of your life growing shorter
and our quality of life being degraded
The smell of stale cigarettes infused into your skin
overpowering the wonderful smell that should be there
and adding it's scent to our best moments

Hurrah

Driving home from LA and I see the first fall colors
a few touches of that lovely Halloween orange here and there
a tiny field of dry beige corn surrounded by still green trees
I cheer like sports fan at seeing Fall's first peek over the horizon.
All alone in a van on the interstate, I'm cheering and then grinning ear to ear
So excited because this is a fall I'll never forget.
This fall I will meet my daughter.
It makes it less painful to remember the other unforgettable Falls because gone is the anxiety that unforgettable falls are only behind and not ahead.
And I make a commitment to my daughter and my wife that there will always be unforgettable falls

behind

and ahead.

Brand Loyalty

I sold my soul for a profit
It says "Drink Pepsi" now, across it
It is hoped that I'll reach heaven
And God will thirst for the product

But I'll probably go
Down Below
And the devil will know
I cashed the checks from Pepsi Co
But I always drank Coke

Sullen

I see the sullen teenagers walking through the mall
I'd been sullen once
Adults would say to me, "Cheer up.
It isn't that bad."
What did they know.
It was that bad,
of this I was certain.

Now, as these sullen teens pass me,
I do not want to tell them to cheer up.
But I have that foolish thought
that they could benefit from my wisdom and experience...
"Hey, don't worry guys,
eventually you get used to it."

The Mayans

I was taught by Miss Shepherd that The Mayans were extinct.
But here they were.
Short, stout people, selling silver trinkets to tourists.
"My silver is not plated." they all repeated as you walked by their booths.
Pause in front of any of their tables and you'd be treated to the same joke.
"For you wife." as they hold up a silver necklace, "Not plated."
"For your girlfriend" as they hold up a pretty pair of earrings, "Not plated."
And the punchline, a giant machete, held threateningly, "For your mother in law." delivered with Henny Youngman inflection and a big silly grin.

Many of them spoke no English beyond these lines and you were forced to conjure an image of the traveling salesman that sold them these plated trinkets and bad jokes. Hell, he done more for them than I had or would. He'd certainly not cheated them as badly as Miss Shepherd had.

Step into a tent and you'd see that there were worse things than extinction.

The Mayan gods, represented in sculpture, fucking each other, doggy style, sixty-nine, missionary, wheel barrow. You'd pay extra for the threesome, sculpted in rough red clay, you know, to make them really authentic.

What should have happened

We were all gathered around, five generations present when you counted the elderly gentleman who had asked us all here.

"This is what should have happened." He began. "And don't take offense that if this had happened you wouldn't be here. You're all the product of my cowardice but you're not the punishment for it, you're the only thing that makes it bearable. The potential I've wasted is still alive in all of you, so please, don't fuck it up."

And here began the tale. The long twisted story of every orgy, every fight every suicide. He told of dying over and over, starving, fevers, he told of sweating, fucking, kicking. He talked of roads, roads that led everywhere and never took you to the same place twice. We all listened attentively to his tale of madness and gluttony and sweetness and indulgence.

When it was over the old man stood, and walked out of the house as we all stared in silence. He went to his room where he spent a few months reading and slowly losing his senses. When he died he didn't seem to even recall who he was.

It was another few months before any of us spoke of his story. Odd to discover none of us heard exactly the same tale. I seemed to have gotten the craziest version of it. My brother caught more about meditation and prayer. Maybe that was in there, though I hadn't heard it, but I'm quite sure my niece is wrong in thinking that the old man shared recipes with us, though I must admit the bread she started making was delicious, unlike anything I'd ever tasted.

Was it a peculiar magic the old man possessed? Or were we, his many descendants, just really shitty listeners?

Random Bad Thought

On November 30th I had the following random bad thought:

If I was going to go on a crazed killing spree, I'd probably go in to the co-operatively owned health food market, guns blazing. When the killing was done I'd climb behind the deli/bakery counter and eat healthy vegan cakes and cookies until the cops brought me down.

If you love something

If you love something
Set it free
If it comes back to you
It's probably hungry and confused
If it doesn't
Something else probably ate it

Bryna

Bryna unwraps her presents slowly
peeling each piece of tape
lifting and smoothing out the wrapping paper
each present offering a strip tease
the dance of the seven veils
the veils in this case made up of paper
covered in candy canes and wreaths

I have tried this technique
I have endeavored to savor the unveiling
I peel one piece of tape, slowly
until I hear a rip and
before
I
know
what
I've
done
the
paper
is
crumpled, discarded, the box upside down, the present revealed, and the next gift sought madly, to be consumed in a similar rush until at last, I'm done, out of breath, out of gifts, and
even
slightly
dizzy.

Maybe this year I'll let Bryna open my gifts for me.

I will enjoy the winter

This year
I will enjoy the winter
Not just the fall

This year
I will enjoy the winter
beyond the nostalgia of the first cold winds

This year
I will enjoy the winter
the city continuing to hum hours after the sun sets
the hats and gloves and coats
the sting on my ears as I pedal my way to work
the soups, spice cakes, pots of hot tea
and the warmth of your hand in mine

dialogue

"Yeah, where do you have raisins and babyfood?"

"They're not in the same place."

"Okay..."

"The raisins are in aisle 11, the baby food is in aisle 15, but you know, you can't feed raisins to a baby."

"Yeah, they're for me. I don't have a baby."

"But you asked for baby food."

"Yeah, I need some, aisle 15, thanks."

"Okay, it just seems weird, you don't..."

"Look, the baby foods for me. I'm shitting blood alright!"

"Oh."

The Socket

Six years old
a rare moment of solitude
a brief window of privacy

I unplug the lamp
sit on the floor, with it in my lap
unscrew the bulb and set it gently on the carpet

I extend my pointing finger
look at it
real
right there in front of me and then
I start it moving
toward the lamp
toward the socket

I know it's unplugged
dead
and unable to hurt me
there's nothing to fear
but I'm afraid anyway
and I love it

I push past the fear
inching, slowly, closer, closer
at last my my finger is floating in space
inside the socket
not touching, just resting in the middle
my eyes close involuntarily
as I push that last half inch
the cold metal connections against the tip of my finger

A charge rushes through me
a charge of exhilaration, panic, ecstasy.

The bulb is returned to the socket
the lamp placed back on the table
plugged back into the wall
and I get ready for bed

Death Envy

I felt guilty
for getting jealous at the funeral
But why should the deceased get all the attention
So many nice things they're all saying about him
What about me
You can start with, "Keith Lowell Jensen, he really knows how not to die!"

numb

I hadn't fought with you in some time
I had a good reason to now
it seemed

You'd gotten mad at me
I hate that

So I pretended to be mad at you
I went through the motions

I acted out the way I thought I should be feeling
making up for the fact that I wasn't feeling much

you of course didn't catch the game
responding with real emotions
the kind that don't go away when I want to stop playing, wrap around you and go to sleep

Poetry Weather

The wind is blowing like it does when winter is coming
It's a delightful tease as we've already felt the first hints of the coming oven that is this city's summer
I'm sitting outside and I'd put on a jacket if I had one, but I'm glad I don't
I drink my tea and eat my brownie
A small bird is having a rough day
The weather has tricked him and he's out in the cold
nobody is around to share their sandwich crumbs with him

"Sorry buddy, this wouldn't be good for you.
Ah, fuck it. It aint good for me either.
You can decide for yourself."

The wind blows under the blue sky and I sit sharing a brownie with the small bird.

The Rain

The Rain is beautiful
and it's beautiful when it stops
everything is clean
it all smells the way it supposed to
like it's alive
even the bricks and the concrete

If only it weren't so cold
I'd run out in the downpour
I'd open my mouth
I'd let the rain wash the blood from my insides
I'd feel alive and right

God Saves

I'm on fire
I'm on fire
for the lord

I'm spending money
I'm spending money for the lord

God saves
Leave the saving to him
Don't save your money
just have faith
Have a little faith

Name Tag

I have a little plastic nametag
On my shirt it sits
"I'll take the x-large, Ben" he says
Ordering as he's reading it

I did not give him my name
as is custom among friends
but I'm not offended by the yuppie
my name isn't really Ben

Danny

"My friend died" I tell Danny
It's a strange thing to share with a casual work aquaintence
but Danny's been around
and managed to maintain his innocence through a hell of a tough life

"Death is the enemy" he answers

The Hallmark Moment

A beautiful, cold fall day
a good day to not own a car
walking with my sweetie
a big pile of leaves
and she
can not
resist

She shoves me
and using kung fu
learned from sunday matinees
I whip around
and she
lands in
the pile

Her laughter was expected
His siren was not
The would be hero
stepped from his black and white
"You're lucky she came up laughing." he tells me, threateningly

Since she did
couldn't you have just smiled
and enjoyed the fall day?
I think to myself, but I don't say a word
Her and I stand
and stare
bewildered

He gets back behind the wheel and leaves
taking our perfect Hallmark moment with him

The Novelist

I have an unpublished novel
Yay!
I can sit and drink coffee
one more cliche filled

Product of an urban environment

Exploring a cavern in Belize
stalagtites, stalagmites
bats
complete and total darkness
"Cool,
This is like Disneyland."

I took off my hat

I took off my hat
And walked to work in the cold
as the sun rose behind the clouds
It was glorious

On Oprah Today

On Oprah today one of us was seated on the couch
She was there because
One of THEM heard her songs
And recorded them
And now she’s being welcomed into the fold
She says "I can’t believe I’m here "
And THEY both laugh, remember when THEY were us
And we feel that if she could be there, we could be there

But we can’t
And we won’t
The beautiful singer will will not laugh at our shyness
Oprah will not cry with us
Some day we’ll die
And our songs will be forgotten
Somewhat slightly quicker than THEIRS will

The Light

DON'T GO INTO THE LIGHT
I shout
to the unapproving stares of relatives
as my grandpa lies dying
Don't Go Into The Light
I've seen moths do it,
and the results are not desirable
And besides there will be time later,
the light aint going anywhere
The light has always been and always will be
So take your time and haunt this world
Never mind the well intentioned living,
who urge you on
They'll have their time

Alex

Alex has been calling me lately, or rather his voice mail has.
“Hi, this is Alex. I’m calling you through my voice mail.”
His voice is calm and soothing.
I probably owe him money.
I don’t know because I always hang up.
It’s a policy and one must stick to policy.
The United States of America does not negotiate with terrorists
And I don’t talk to machines

True Romance

She farts in public
I say "sorry, excuse me"
and I take the blame

The Comedian's Creed

My humor will not cater to the lowest common denominator
My act will not be made up of one-liners and cheap segues
My take on improv is that it’s little more than a cheap parlor trick
No fat girl jokes

No shock jock, morning radio DJ humor
No political, topical, hot button ha has
No fart jokes

I can’t stand comedy magicians
I won’t do impersonations
I do not juggle, I have no props, I’m not wearing a costume



Knock Knock

Someday

Someday

I’ll write you a love poem

And I’ll manage to contain

My excitement

And refrain

From calling you from work

And whispering sweet words

Just out of earshot of coworkers

I’ll leave it on your pillow

And let it start your day

With a reminder, that I am so thrilled

Everyday

Because you are my girl

Pants Don't Fit Me Right

As my head sped toward the concrete

My life flashed before my eyes

Just as I’d heard it would

But the scenes were not of my first love sitting in an empty apartment wearing white

Or of the pain as she drove down that ally for the last time

There were no scenes of the hirings and firings that had dragged me up and down the ladder of human accomplishment

Not a single image scrolling past held the face of my dear sweet mother

I was confused by image after image of various tailor shops I’d passed

My cloths, hairline and posture reflected the decade

Taylor shops have always looked the same

Friendship tailor on 16^th, Alterations while-u-wait in Los Angeles, The Tidy Tailor in Portland Main

I would never have believed that in one lifetime a body could have passed so many tailor shops

Some I remembered, having walked past them many times in my daily grind

Others were forgotten shops I’d walked quickly past, my thoughts not on my hem-lines

I inquired into the strange collage of tailors passed when I later had the opportunity to chat with The Creator

Though I suspect he was more of a department store Creator

On of The Creators “helpers”

Like Santa, he has many

He told me that the great slide show of death shows the dying only the defining moments of their life

And as I stared into his steel gray eyes I didn’t need to hear another word

Understanding flooded into me

Pants Don’t Fit Me Right

I never had the figure that pants on the rack were meant to adorn

Nude, I did not appear particularly unique

It was all a matter of inches

My ass started an inch to high

My pelvis tilted forward the slightest degree

I was a body in need of a custom fit

But I had not considered myself the tailored type

I’d aspired to transcend the vanity of those who spend their time and money on getting the perfect fit out of their trousers

My energies were spent on attempts at bettering myself

I read the important books

I watched my diet as best I could and jogged whenever I’d been seduced by a pint of Ice Cream

I worked hard and kept my eyes open to opportunity

Men with a better fit shot past me toward the executive offices

I turned my attention to my extra circular activities

I wrote my stories, and poetry

But I was never the darling of the café scene

Those with mannequin-like physiques stole my adoration

Men who’d developed a friendship with the Friendship Taylor had better adventures to write about

They’d been invited to taste of more passion,

had been let in on the secrets of every bar, beach and dark ally

Women, slave to the Darwinian impulses that govern us all had not been able to get past this defect that they were not even consciously aware of.

The sloppy way my pants hung, unevenly from my faulty waist had advertised to all “UNSUTABLE FOR BREEDING”

A bright neon sign, flashing on and off, all my life

If only I’d known

My Girlfriend is Gorgeous

My Girlfriend is gorgeous

With long luscious hair

She wears tank top tees

With low slung pajama pants

And she makes Iced Tea

Jackets

Every time someone dies I get a jacket
I’ve got more jackets than I can ever wear
From uncle Joe’s corduroy to Grandpa Eddie’s leather

If they go to heaven I pray it aint cold there.

I’ve been to my fair share of funerals
I’ve seen my relatives aged and bereaved
And though it makes me feel guilty
I’ve eyed all the jackets I’ll soon receive.

I Love Your Face

I love your face

When I can’t sleep

I’ll look at your face beautiful in sleep

When I wake up

Yours is the first face I see

I look at your face beautiful in that half dreaming morning daze

When you talk

Your full lips telling me of your strange nocturnal adventures

Your eyes widening

I look at your face beautiful in that state of wonderment

When we lay together in the afternoon

And your eyelids are half closed

I run my finger along your cheek and across your lips

I look at your face beautiful waiting to be kissed

(for Bryna)

I have an abnormaly large forehead

I have an abnormally large forehead

I’ve heard all the jokes, like;

“That’s not a forehead that’s a five head”
six head

seven head

Eight head ha ha ha

It’s been this way since I was a kid
In those days I looked like some kind of freak and people either thought I was one of those brainy child prodigies or they figured I was retarded

As an adult people just assume I’m balding
I preferred being a retard.

I Don't Go To Parties

I don’t go to parties
I only like large crowds when I’m on stage
Well lit, with a microphone in my hand
I know what to say to them
I know what they’re looking for
I give it to them
or I don’t
Either way, they leave
I go home
I don’t go to parties

Three Line Poem

How wonderful that
You’re caring for me and treating me sweetly
Has given me a sense of nostalgia for colds and teeth pullings

Fucking Neighbors!

I had not heard the neighbors having sex in some time
Then
Late last night
Or maybe early this morning
Something woke me
I was startled
At hearing any noise
So close
While the world remained
So dark
But then I recognized that wonderful happy sound

I listened for a moment
And then turned to press against your back

I wrapped my arm around you, kissed your neck and fell asleep smiling