Bliss

Don’t know how long I’ll be back,

but I am now. It’s like

waking in a movie theatre

while the credits roll and suddenly

everything and nothing’s changed.

You don’t know what everyone else saw

but you’ll take their word for it.

And with arms akimbo they just watch

you pocket your hands and head home.

So if I don’t see you today, then tomorrow

perhaps we’ll go swimming? And maybe

for just a while we can pretend

that I never left us in the first place,

and that this was all a dream, and that

starting over didn’t have to mean the end.

the bliss of ego-manic thought

There’s something happening when

There’s nothing left to lose—

The apple of the eye

Is begging for the truth—

I admit, it’s possible but

The language that we use—

To disengage, it’s all the same

Our fears of being used.

There’s something distinct in the

Absence of yourself—

Like when you manifest

Your love in someone else—

He’ll seem incapable but

The patterns that you choose—

To disengage, it’s all the same

Our fears of being used.

Now there’s a sinner and saint on the corner of the block

One’s got a rifle in hand believing that he’s God

They’re both wrapped warm in the bliss of ego-manic thought

To disengage, it’s all the same

Believing that it’s not.

The kind of nice I am.

Some days I make it a point

to be noticed by the guy in the muscle car.

I reach my arm out the window

with my camera in hand and snap a picture.

I do this to make him feel good.

I don’t very much care for muscle cars though.

That’s the kind of nice I am.

Your Biggest Fan

I’ve got the words

Just not the plot

The characters though

I’ve never forgot

Tied like a thread

Sincerely knot,

Your Biggest Fan—

To have and have not.

Destiny Awaits

To some today’s today.

To others, today’s a destiny.

Funny eh!

Funny eh!

How when you put yourself to sleep

like a baby, you sleep like a baby…

A Thought Upon Waking

To live in someone else’s shadow

can be quite the burden,

but to live in your own, well

that my friend’s a tragedy.

My studio by the sea

The incense

Cigarette smoke

The neighbors next door racket

The dirt, the grime

Reminds me of Grove Street

And Mac, sleeping

Angelic snores from a lofted bed

Where I sat, idle in the morning

Last nights memory a circus

Holding my piss, hungry

Waiting for Forest to finish his shower

So as I could relieve myself

And head back to Long Island

Where I’d dream of dying

In my studio by the sea

Left: Mac, Right: Me looking down the hall at Forest, BK 2013-2014