Pete

Pete looked at me over the fire with a blank expression. "Dude, that's gay," his face breaking into a laugh as he tilted his back to the stars upstate in New York. I laughed too because I like Pete. I'd heard so many of his sensitivities that if I simply said, "No, Pete. You're gay," he would probably slip into a days long depression, isolating himself to his jerk-off chamber, only coming out to smoke two American Spirits at a time. A little glass house.
Peter didn't want to believe that vulnerability is the kernel that makes any kind of love real and worth the effort. He knew that's how it was but he also knew that it was the pinhole that meant the dam was going to break. He pined for the whimsical bullshit he saw in movies and television (and fuck he watched plenty of that stuff) but was too afraid of baring his throat at a woman. Of looking up at the sky and waiting for her to suck every drop out of your veins knowing that if she did you'd just stand there and then die.
"Pete, love is about cutting your heart down the middle and making a space big enough for someone to crawl inside and fall asleep for awhile."
He stared at me, the flames casting deep shadows about his eyes.
"Sometimes they've been running for so long that a place to rest is enough to make them cry."
He lit another cigarette. He knew I was going now.
"You look down and see them there, curled up, and it's enough to make you cry too."
I like Pete. He's been my friend for many years and will be for many more to come. But it will take him even longer before he writes a love note to a woman he thinks he loves.

Women like fat

Hank and I were sitting at
the kitchen table
of his place.
Passing his wine back
and
forth.
He was pissing as usual.
A mighty scowl on,
somewhere in between
the wrinkles.

"Bitches are like fat,"
He finally said.
"They weigh you down,
and when you're old,
you're expected to have it."
"I don't know, man.
I'm skinny as hell but
have always had a girl
around..."
What about now, you
arrogant shit?"
He was lonely I could tell.
"Nah, man.
She left with some guy
from Frederick."
He just looked at me.
But maybe this time
I'll keep it off."
Got a good laugh out of him at least.
Old bastard...

"Enjoy it while it lasts,"
he said to me,
staring up at the clouds.
I don't think he even
knew I was there.

Critics

"What kind
of poetry
do you
write?"

"My kind
of poetry
you fucking
dipshit."

The butter to my bread

I can hear
all my women
singing like doves

Friends, some half-lovers
calling to me
telling me, laughing,

"Come on, babe!
Get your head
out of your
lily-white ass!"

Goddamnit, I love
them so much.
The butter to my bread.

Howlin'

I leaned up
and put my
book down.

She was laying on
her side
enjoying the sun

Her eyes moved
sideways at me
calm
and I kissed
her on the
head

The most beautiful
bitch in the room.

It was about 11
and I wanted
a coffee.

I got up, picked
up my keys and,
without a word,
walked out the front door.

From the driveway
I could hear her
run down the stairs,
frantic, panting

By the time I
was at the road
I could hear her,
heartbroken,
barking and barking
like the dog
she was.

The Friend, The Fool, The Lover, and The One

When I walked
out of work
on Friday
I could feel
it in the
pit of my
heart that
I was
going to get
laid.
I was going
to have
them all.

The story goes
as a quatro
The Friend
The Fool
The Lover
and The One

I only fucked
one of them
but
for some reason
I'm okay with
that.

Still trying to figure
out
which one
fucked me.

Probably The One.

A real patriot

We pulled in the driveway
It had been a long
day of romance -
Smiling at each other
and laughing at each
other smiling
and sitting quietly

Calm punctuated
by
small kisses in
the river,
a bridge of flowers,
ice cream, records,
napping in the car
and signing our
names together twice
in the guestbook

We got back to my
place and I was
hot.
Ready to go
I had thought
about it half the
ride home.
It was going to
be raunchy
4th of July sex
like the Forefathers
would have wanted it!

I got out,
"shall we go in?"
and started to walk in.

"I think I'm gonna go home."

"Alright,"
I said.
"Happy 4th of July"
and turned around.

Walked up the steps,
laid down,
and beat off like
the dummer boy
in Concord.

Angels and Demons

It had been months
since I had
seen her
and fuck she
looked as beautiful
as ever.
The smock hung from
her shoulders like poetry
and the same for
her dark brown hair.

We hugged and sat
on the porch. I
had a beer but
she said she
couldn't stomach it.

We went 0 to 60
with the therapist
shit.
Her split
and all of mine.

It didn't take long
for us to start laughing.

It got dark
and we read poetry
to each other,
Bukowski and old Saigyo.

I apologized for trying
to kiss her on
New Years.
We were intimate but
she kept her foot
on the clutch always
(she knew I wouldn't)

She wouldn't accept it
"There's  nothing to
apologize for."
She said,
"It had been ages
since I'd been
listened to.
Really listened to."

I smiled and sighed.

"We'll have our day"
I promised her.

She had the eyes,
the face of an
angel,
But I could see
her get mad.

"What the hell
is that supposed to
mean?"

She knew what it
meant and I felt
bad that she couldn't
just accept me being
a chickenshit for
right now.

Real truth

Every poem I write
that turns out
longer than five
lines will inevitably
be >5 lines of
shit

Freedom

That engine would roar
beneath me
Like a demon or a beast
screaming
And I would take off
farther away than you
could even imagine
the front tire would skip
and I'm nothing but
the tail lights that
leave you
and everything
behind

When the young ones start to die

How sad it is
When the energy of beautiful
young bodies and minds
go to making statues of themselves.
Racks of polished ideas,
thoughts and attitudes.

When I wake up,
tingling, I shudder
and wonder, afraid,
"What kind of man
will I be
today?"

Love like water

Sometimes I feel
like water in a
bag.
And
the more women I
have, the more holes
pour me out.

Bitches

I've always loved bitches
Whether they had two legs
or four.

Bonnie & Clyde

She and I were
a catastrophic thing.

Two of the most beautiful
My dark eyes
and her bright browns,
big
always asking.

We laid there in the
bathtub in the middle
of the afternoon
White tiles under a
white ceiling

Side-by-side
one gazing, one sleeping

It would have only seemed
right for an end
as beautiful and level as our love,
a hail of assassins' bullets,
a quick blackness
filling the hot water
ruby red.
An end like Bonnie & Clyde
But in the steaming
serenity of a white bathtub

He is like a bird

"What a beautiful young man!"
She though, gazing at him
as he laughed.
"He is like a crow!
A hawk! A sparrow!

He is free and flies
and he comes down
and sits with me.

How I love him so.
How I need him with
me.

He will teach me how
to fly.
He will tell me everyday,
'Fly, like I do.
Go up and touch the sky.'

I will put him in my
home with me."
She thought.
"He will teach me to
fly.
He is so beautiful
when he flies."

Our dance

Here we are
dancing again
around and around
the room
Our feet slip back
behind our legs and
our knees buck like
stallions and our backs
bend and arch like
trees in a storm

When I look down
I see you in
my shadow.
I've been here
holding your hands
looking in.

Those tears that I
see you cry
I cried
And those screams that I
hear you scream
I screamed

I have been you
with
you then me
feeling nothing.

Love murder

Whenever me and my women fuck
for the last time
it is really a brutal one
(as in "brutalizing")
like gore or a horror

With Shannon
she had come up
and we sat shooting the breeze, laughing
and smoking a joint

We train wrecked for
three or so years and the
fucking thing still hadn't
pulled into the station.
When we fucked I was
massive looming over her,
her light moans becoming
deeper and her breathing,
staring had a resonance
I am big and did full
strokes, time warped by the
weed.

Yasmine wanted a wreck
from the get go.
The train hadn't even boarded
yet and she wanted it blow
sky high
I can't even remember the
sex from our first time,
just her saying, "slap me,
slap me, slap me.
Slap my face."

Sofia could always handle all of
me in bed.
I think her body was particularly
responsive to me, because
I am big.
Some people are born to
love sex and she's one of
them.
In our last fuck
she grabbed my hand and
moved it up to her throat.
"Squeeze," she said as her
eyes tried to be mine.
With the other hand she pushed
my fingers down her throat
and sucked long pulls
closing her eyes.

I never had a fetish for
this kind of thing.
I just became a little
less nervous about it when
I heard those long moans.
It was like murder they
all wanted. 

"Will you hold me?
Or do you want me
to leave?"

"I never want you
to leave,"
she said,
confused.

Redemption

From my window
a rolling crescendo
of cars passing
and swinging feathers
twirling lazily
in the breeze.
The burning heat in
this small room
is a compliment
for all my shallow sins
today and all my days before.

Backwards meditation

If I could choose I would sit in my room all day
alone on uppers drinking coffee writing reading for a
very very long time

Making sense of my reality

By making it very

very

small

Thanks for nothing

"You know, we should really call Trevor,"
she said righteously.
"He should be out with us right now."

"Why?"
I said because I knew she didn't like Trevor.

In fact, I know she didn't really like anybody.

"Well I don't think he's made many friends since
he moved up.
So we should call him."

"I'm going home,"
I said, finishing my beer.

"Why?!"she said.
I had offended her.

"I don't want to watch this bullshit play out,"
and I left with their eyes on my back.

"He's such an asshole sometimes."

I guess I really just missed a chance to tell
them they weren't being saviors.
And even if they were
that disgusts me.

Pity and love

I get so sad when I see
the tender hearted women
look at me with angel eyes
knowing.
Before they leave
they tell me,
"I love you, baby."

"Please!" I cry to them

Let me in
Let me take your eyes
Just to see me
Like you see me

Afternoon bath

A hot bath
salty with afternoon
sweat
sits and smells
like all baths
salty and sitting
it drains slowly
through
and when the
water is gone
I am no
longer heavy
In fact, it
feels like I
am floating

Morning on Grafton Hill

The motors and cars sing
Their morning ritual songs -
High ringing with low blasts
Trumpeting through the light fog

Henry Miller

The crackling of that
old Jew's voice
That ancient Jew,
speaking of his sex
and nightmares.
Another Buddha
come and gone.

Sitting in the morning
when sleeps has broken,
thoughts expand
like drops of milk
in a swirling pool

Sofia's confession

"It seams rare and strange
that I have only ever
been in love with you."
The words to me
but her eyes
in the fire.
"Why?" I asked.
I really wanted to know.
It didn't really seem that
strange to me, I mean.
The cookie just kinda crumbled
that way.
She paused for a long moment
and continued to analyze
the flames.
"I don't know" she finally said.
She was melancholy.
I was that way on certain
days too.
But today I was her
melancholy subject.
"How many people have you loved
before me?"
There it was.
"Sofia, listen to me -
I love you so much.
You're my women.
Let's go to bed."

Have respect for love
wherever it happens
whenever it happens.
It's when we hedonists
see God. 

I sit
in defiance of pain
and hopeful
acceptance of suffering.
I sit
and enjoy
sitting.

Fucked online

Thumbing through the internet
I shudder!
"Gee willakers! -
There's way to much
fucking TRUTH here!"

"It's like someone's putting
their finger in my
bellybutton and feeling
up my guts!"

I put my phone down
and pick up some
boring as books.

Love in yesterday

We used to
lay in bed together
naked
in the afternoon
There was more
sun then
and an oak
Squirrels would
chase each other
and sleep on
its branches.
Maybe I went
away.
Maybe you pretended
to.
Either way
we used to.

Equanimity

As much as I would
like to argue profoundly
about externalities,
bond markets,
redistribution,
and wealth,
I cannot help but
remember that
-until they destroy
it all-
each day will bring
sunshine and rain
the birds will still sing
and I will live
until I die.

Too tired for love

It was late
on a Thursday

"Hey there
hot stuff!"
I said,
nervous but
pretty cool
about it

"Hey, baby!
How you doing?"

"Getting by.
You?"

"Getting by."

"Can I see you?"

"Okay sure"
Both already bored.

Sometimes it's
easy to forget
that
the chaos of love,
the apocalyptic
rapture of yearning,
destroyer of worlds,
can be found deep down
somewhere
in
that stupid girl
I met at the bar

Growing up

What was I?
Pretty girl of mine.
Before you
laid before me
naked
and waiting
Changing you
and changing me
with your
smile.

Divine intervention

I was flying down
Route 6-West back
to Worcester,
everything down
in that black
sports car

I was bouncing back
from a hard despression.
The uppers had kept
me up most of the
night and the booze
given me some painful
shits this morning,
I was feeling
real bad

Bus the sun was
doing me real good.
So was the thought
of sitting around at
home
Getting shit done or
not.

All of a sudden a
monster of a rig
hops int he passing lane

Sulfur! It was
like the fucking thing
was hauling low tide
from the Cape!

"Jesus Christ!" as
a bit of wet trash
flew through the sun
roof.

It smelled like a giant
baby was spreading its
cheeks and browning
the walls of the shipping
container

I was disgusted! Repulsed!
About 45 seconds of
revulsion then:
I
laughed and
laughed
and
laughed.

New day

The sun on your face
like daybreak for us
after a long night

If I could change into a million selves
I'd send one to climb each peak and gaze far off
toward home.
-Saigyo, Poems of a Mountain Home (page 68)

The songs of the ancient
Americans are ringing
through the afternoon haze
Like a cloud bulging
With storm

Corruption

Young god
writes his rebellion
on his arms and head

Puts metal
through his nose
and breaks his body

His mane falls down
and sways about His fore-
head and temples slowly and

His tears crawl
and His hands shake
the chaos of a fallen monk

He looks
up to the sky
cries to the clouds

"O Lord,
Remember all
Thy dying groans,

And then,
Lord, I pray,
Remember me"

Trees in storm

"You are a fucking monster
You know that?

You broke my heart
stomped on it
lit it on fire.

You have destroyed me
and were the love of my life
you still are"

She screamed
and I was silent

"I'm sorry for everything,
I love you.
Goodbye."

I was still silent.

The trees shaking in the
wind
in the
storm
are magnificent
and tonight they are
terrible

Goodbye

I'm sorry for everything,
I love you.
Goodbye.

July 13th, 2017

No more women today.

Invent yourself and then reinvent yourself

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
don't swim in the same slough.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself and
stay out of the clutches of mediocrity

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
change your tone and shape so often that they can never categorize you.

reinvigorate yourself and
accept what is
but only on the terms that you have invented
and reinvented.

be self-taught.

and reinvent your life because you must;
it is your life and
its history
and the present
belong only to
you. 

Charles Bukowski,
Pleasure of the Damned

the laughing heart

The Laughing Heart
by Charles Bukowski

your life is your life
don't let it be clubbed into dank submission
be on the watch
there are ways out
there is light somewhere
there may not be much light
but it beats the darkness
be on the watch
the gods will offer you chances
know them take them
you can't beat death
but you can beat death in life
sometimes the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be
your life is your life
know it while you have it
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you

The morning made us

She walked into my kitchen
and her hair was loosely wrapped
in braids, brunette, like a halo
softly whisping about her ears

She shined like the moonlight
and smiled like morning, this morning,
and the birds in the sprigs chirped
our eyes scantly catching

There were years between us,
with pain, yes, a continent too
Children who had grown apart
but was she not still in me?

She is still in me but she is
there standing in front of me
We embrace and the two are together
finally, thank you

Derm

Derm looked tired today
Walking around his plot
In sandals and basketball shorts

"I'm gonna pull up some onions"

"Alright, Derm
They look pretty good."

"They should be"

Vietnam was still messing with him
His wife was dead too

At least he had all the hippies
Squatting on his land
Trendies in their trendy tinies
Tiny little homes
Planting and staying sober all day

He thought I was "a badass"
He knew I wasn't nearly as
sober as the trendies,
though probably still pretty trendy

Shooting at sparrows with
a .22 he looked over at me and said
"I'd prefer politicians"

I laughed for him
Damn he looked tired

The day Dennis Leary called me a pussy

Watching some stupid television show
on Netflix
Making a sandwich

Dennis Leary looked
right at me
and called me a pussy
"You're a pussy aren't you"

I was shocked
Stood there
and just stared at him
Like an asshole
Holding a sandwich

"I know you're a pussy"

He had called me a pussy twice now

That stupid fucking show
had created a premise so that
Dennis Leary could call Bryan Diehl
a pussy two times

I thought about that goddamned show
for the rest of the day

Thanks Old Peg

Sitting quietly with Peggy Seeger.
The magic of the folktime,
drifting around the middle of the Atlantic

(The coughing luster of the States,
the dark majesty of the crown.)

Old Peggy's the voice of a grandmother god
Our poor mortal grandmothers
are too often choked of personality
The violence of time and men
Turning them strong and insane

But Old Peg sings it nicely
What the fuck are you talking about
with the "long-tailed nanny-o", Old Peg?

Either way, thank you for making sense out
of the silence and rain.

Made to suffer

"Some people are just made
to suffer
They are made to suffer
in a beautiful way,"

she said
the morning sun falling
through a space in the blinds

She could see it all around her

Then she looked at me
and smiled and cried

Essay ideas

• #BusLife and #VanLife during Trump times
• Romance, Buddhism, and Anger
• Smart slacker (Use it or lose it)
• Controlling your life
• Freeing your life 

Rubber metaphor

I'm starting to feel twisted up
Like there's a rubber stretching

The more you pull it apart
the more you can see the little grooves
the insides through the cracks

The feeling that
maybe it will snap

Bringing energy to a little thing
by pulling it apart

What's true

There's a woman from
my past
who continues to step in and out of my life.
More often than not she's
my one.
She's the woman I'm afraid to think about
afraid to talk about, lest she
stick like a bur in the front of my mind
and longing for her
dulls my senses to the rest of the world.

She's the standard
the perfect woman
and she always has been.

Bottle rocket romances
bursting in the evening sky roar
and fizzle
and when the ashes fall down
to the evening grass she is standing there
in the moonlight
smiling.

She is me running,
my wishing well.

She's the buzz in the morning alone.
She's the letter in the mailbox,
the call I still wait on.

Yet everything else is heartbreaking
as if she sits patiently
through the twists of other women's turns with me,
knowing what will come.

She's the woman every woman
of mine has known and feared.
If they've loved me,
they've hated her.

She is different in life than in my head.
She is unassuming
and sweet and tough.
In my mind she is knowing, calm,
and righteous.

She knows if I deserve her.
But I don't

She is lodged in there.
Wired into the web of my mind.
Entire rooms in my head are hers,
though sometimes avoided.

The quick cup of coffee,
the three sentence correspondence,
the picture flash on the screen
burst the doors of the rooms and
the sound of her laugh,
the bite of her wit
blares through the recesses.

She is the longing in my heart that is permanent.