Poem for George
It was a joy to stumble upon
The place where dusk meets night and night meets dawn
Among the dunes phragmites stand
Thickets of rose hips
Even in the saline dryness of sand
And you were there too
With someone else who wore my shoes
Bittersweet
But then we drank the juice run off the peach
The Patients Handbook: Chemical Assisted Organic Brain Damage
Things disappear
into strange cracks in the firmament
no need to struggle and search
or get upset
just wait
Until you stumble upon an accidental ritual
and the angels bring it back again
Sometimes I think I’m crazy
Like this one time…
at Trader Joe’s
I saw a grown woman’s hands
transform into a pair of wings
and fly
but of course there they were
pedestrian hands again
I’m buffeted by the weather out some strangers head
Crowds form a storm front
Impeding my progress
The skinless steer
Lol
Hope at least I sold that coat
and bought myself
the kindest dope
Sometimes I think I’m crazy
Must’ve gotten burned on some bad chemicals
I forgot the trick
was to always quit just short of bliss
I forgot the trick
was to merely hold a rubber knife to your wrist
Bags turn into cats
and cats back into bags again
The corner of my eye is a war zone
Your Name
I’m sorry
by the time you said your name
I was miles away
We were eating breakfast
the sunlight playing along your right
golden, warm and calm
You looked up and remembered I was there
and smiled
toast in your hand
I’m sorry, what was your name again?
Get on the Bus
Get on the bus
Grab a seatmate
Rest your weary legs
And ride with us
Wrinkle nosed eye rolls for a spilled cruel word
So dated
So limiting
So imitative
You know what?
Call it supercalifragilistic if you want
It’s still a saved seat in front of us
And while you watch the road
And note our progress
All we see is the blind back of your head
facing bravely forward
Catching their evil eyes in my cruddy compact mirror
I get distracted by my face
That’s what it’s made for
Warning:
Objects in mirror are farther than they appear
[This one goes out to all the big boys on Reddit]
To All My Little Devils
I see the flick of fear upon your face
but once you’re safely on your back
I hear you enjoy the change of pace
And you’re right to be scared
Because, you know, if you fuck me
I’ll descend to hell with my girlfriend’s phone
and go for coffee with your family
You’ll do what I please
I’ll do what I wish
Perform the seven stations
then leave you tied up naked
complaining to a slip-knot handkerchief
Go through your bags and take your best shit, yeah
So long
and thanks for all the fish
On Scooby Doo
When I was a small child, my very favorite thing to do in the whole world was to watch television; and , if I had my choice cartoons; and, if it was on–and it always was–Scooby Doo. The show actually scared me right outta my footie pajamas. I often watched the bulk of the show through slits in my fingers. The fact that the monsters always turned out to be mundane humans never provided the comfort I think it was supposed to.
It still doesn’t.
When I got a little older and more world weary I realized that Scooby Doo, like most things I used to (and secretly still did) love, was ‘lame.’ I mean seriously, how could any group of non-institutionalized people remain so undauntingly credulous? You’d think by the later episodes they would be approaching these mysteries a little differently:
“Ok gang, before we split up and search this abandoned amusement park/mine/vacation village, let’s do a little research, see if there’s any land claims or business deals gone bad, maybe something involving a guy who goes by the moniker Old Man ___________?”
Then I discovered marijuana and sex; and all of the sudden Scooby Doo was brilliant again. They weren’t there to solve any mysteries – well, maybe Velma was, or that’s what she told herself anyway, but I never bought her Nancy Drew meets Cousin Oliver act. Fred and Daphne were looking to add a little spice to their rather vanilla sex life. Why do you think they always dragged poor Velma along with them when splitting up from Shaggy and Scooby only to ditch her moments later? She probably would have been happier hot-boxing the Mystery Machine with Shaggy and Scooby then freaking out on the adrenalin of fear. Teenagers can be so cruel in their narcissism.
So, you see, Scooby Doo wasn’t about solving mysteries, or getting pot references past the censors, or even a big inside joke for alumns of the Five Collages; Scooby Doo was about looking for genuine experience in the late 20th century polyurethaned prison state. Scooby Doo was about flowers blooming through cracks in the asphalt. Scooby Doo was about freedom.
There’s a place today where I go
the still water tears
funhouse mirror reflect
over where I was once
They all looked up to me
at least it seemed that way
In a small, turgid pond
seeds lay in silt since
maybe they’ve been there all along
How far back would I have to travel
to find the stitch where it first unraveled:
I think it was 2007
when the fear came true
I was forced to chose —
grow beyond it
or stumble on forever haunted
Or maybe it was ’03 that broke me
deep inside
I was unprepared
for the fire in their stares
How far back the mirror crack runs
I’ve felt broken
Since I was forced off my block as a child
Let the record state it was alone
Boston
‘08
when the migraines finally took control
Let the record state
I think I know
if any of it happened now
I could take it all in
and hold it
I’ve grown stronger
But now it’s been so long
the world I knew back then is gone
But now it’s been so long
the mind I had back when
is long, long gone
Meek, lamb, afraid to rattle the cage
afraid to try
burnt from too many times
when it hurt like being kept alive
helpless
Still I move forward
not because I’m so damn strong
I’ve thought it all through
a thousand times
there is no easy option
only decay
entropy
the only law I can see when my head gets this way
it feels so clear
a broken shard of mirror
Still I move forward
but the mountains get no closer