A kick in the head!

I will always be curious

and allergic to cats.

Ain’t that a kick in the head!

Talking by her car

Talking by her car — that night

our intuition brought us together —

I never wanted to leave.

In the Delaware of my mind.

I stand here blind

With tears in my eyes

Surrounded by the life

I’ve always dreamed

Thinking of you there

Alone and in fear

Knowing no one’s called in weeks

Except myself and another

Who I hope like I

Told you you’re loved

And have done no wrong

Like I’ve too

So often thought

Living year to year like a vagabond

Drifting through the mud of life

It’s hard but man it’ll be alright

Look West I’m here in the dead of night

Standing by this olive tree

In California I no longer dream

Living mine the best I can

Drinking with you

Hand in hand, walking I can see

The two of us, then cracking crabs

Pig Beaches on parade

Just two lost souls, now growing old

What’s left is yours to keep

For nothing lost is truly gone

Now Lady Garth I see her too

In the Delaware of my mind.

Through the air vents of my room

I’ve known a many artist in my day, say

Today old friend you come to mind

And how for a short time, your voice divine

Scratchy and old, though, you and I know

Age is just a number and it’s you who’d show

Me this: Dear, Gavin Heron Vante

Who needed a place to rest his weary head

For the night I offered you some bread

Where that night you had said, Ah man!

I haven’t seen this show in years, mind if I watch

Married with Children, Amen! Amen!

Then later I’d record you playing all the chords

I always had wish I could, watching your fingers

Slide and swoop through Sloop John B

I tried to sing harmonies but who was I kidding

Aloof in my eagerness to know everything and all

You had to offer and more, more, more I cried

Singing, drinking in the night like two old friends

Because we were in fact just two ageless nobodies

In the effortless night of somebodies

Giving me your time, cradling my wine

Looking through old photo’s now

I can still feel your spirit sing softly through

The air vents of my room

The next morning of course, saying farewell

Dropping you at Austin’s Coffee

Collecting your bicycle and taking the trash out for a buck

Needing my fix of early morning talkie

That I’m sure no one ever really gave a hoot about —

Now I hear you’re out of the Coma

That took you too soon like a phantom in the night

You were right when you told me

To take it easy man, oh man, Gavin Heron Van

Where there is no plan there in lies the plan

I now know the meaning of that age old saying

Those were the days, good sir, I give my praise

Sincerely,

Dave

P.S. There’s a place for you here, always

Manhattan’s in the Village

You know what they say, don’t yuh?

Can’t live with em, can’t live without em

But don’t get me twisted, I’m not talking about women

though the skin beneath my tongue’s still sore

my heart’s still heavy and well

there’s nothing quite like seeing her smile come morning

but anyway like I was saying to this jug of doom

in the evening gloom where I choose not one but two

and then two more to boot because, well, hell

who am I kidding? Nobody but the moon this evening

cause it’s this bitter sweet feeling

the kind you feel deep down in the rumbling, stumbling night

where it all gets so far gone, where nothing meaningful is born

where it all makes some sort of convoluted sense

and alas, once again I am but the floorboards dull creak

where I am like the riverbed flowing calmly and discrete

where life is but a dream and I am dreaming once again

of you dear friend, rustling like the leaves at my front door.

Oh dear friend, how I long to walk the beach again.

How I long to hear your sick, silly, sweet voice again

like those long ago up all Friday nights of old

all those Brooklyn winter blue’s and yellow streetlights

guiding us home, or at least to Crown Fried Chicken where

like two youthful bums we’d scavenge our pockets for change

enough to buy a couple chicken wings, coke, and pint

enough to settle the bone, cold, sidewalk snow till home

where we’d fall arm and arm up stairs

to that old wood, smoke filled, railroad apartment you’d call Grove.

And though I don’t often pray, in my own little way

I do for you now as I did then, driving back to my Long Island apartment.

I pray this little song of self, this little song of you, this small token of my appreciation

for your boundless soul and effortless style and class.

I ate too much cheese, I’d shout while holding a kitchen knife to my throat!

Where in a Polaroid our youth is kept,

where so many nights while you slept I wept,

where you’d give me your bed for a smile,

where I’d talk with Forest about everything and nothing for a while,

long enough not to feel alone in that maddening, crazy New York glow.

So I write this little poem, not enough but enough to show you

I’m still listening through the terror behind the walls.

Dear friend,

How are you?

I can’t live with you, but hell, I can’t live without you.

Manhattan’s in the Village

God knows we never had the scratch, aligned

I feel inclined to take this time and offer you my best

impression not impressed?

CALL ME SPIDER! CALL ME SPIDER!

I just had to get these salami’s off my back.

I just had to sing this short praise of you Mac.

Love’s the only cure.

I don’t wish to have the answers

for any questions of concern

just know that I am working

my hardest in reverse

to tame the wild memories

once thought of as a curse

those now that are a blessing

from the backseat of a hearse,

cause friendship it has shown me

like the calm hand of a nurse

the answers to the questions

where love’s the only cure.

I’m sorry my friend.

I wanted to help you

but hurt you instead.

The least I can say is

I’m sorry my friend.

The most I can do is

tell you I’m here,

no matter the distance

though waters aren’t clear,

it’s times like these—

a balloon in the air—

to let yourself go completely

and live not in fear.

You’re worth more than you know

I know this my friend

so follow your heart, and

try to understand.

I wanted to help you

but hurt you instead.

The least I can say is

I’m sorry my friend.

Whiskey Shakes (song for Josh)

Come on my friend.

It’s time to go.

Where we’re going.

We don’t need roads.

Bring two cups of tea.

Bring your rabbit too.

I’ve got the whiskey shakes.

I think a quart will do.

I hear the grass is green.

Leave your blues at home.

On the other side.

Of this rabbit hole.

I’ve got the whiskey shakes.

I’m paranoid as hell.

You know I don’t take pills.

But this time oh well.

Grey hours of day

What’s there left to say

on days like today

Where everything stops

the light just turns grey

The moon and the mind

become one entwined

with fear as bright as the stars

So come with me now

still I have my doubts

But isn’t it fun

sometimes to run

Where no one can see

just listen to me

for once I’ve got nothing to say

It’s all just

too much to take

On days as grey as today

Where no one

gets what they want

they all just walk in the park

Ain’t it better here in the dark?

There’s a place and a time

in the back of my mind

where you and I hide

when you’re so inclined

It’s a place where the grey

hours of day, commit not to say anything.

So come with me there

forget all your fears

Knock-knock orange you glad

I’ve got the blues bad

Just stay with me now

and let’s talk about

anything other than this

These days I don’t think I’ll miss.

Like puppetry two marionette

I took her to this art event

She took me to her motel bed

Like puppetry two marionette

We tangled up our strings

Her eyes were wide like Eleanor

Rigby she was fiction for

The life I’d led a year before

I hadn’t slept a wink

It’s comical how looks predict

The ludicrous and obvious

By circumstance we came to this

Offering by the sea

Her hair jet black like ravens beak

The padding of her size 6 feet

Lenore her name I said quite meek

This time then nevermore

It’s lyrical how time can tell

Who’s heaven sent and living hell

An angel with a broken bell

Knows liberation’s free

Sometimes I think coincidence

Common sense and saying yes

Are infinite never in jest

Like cherry blossoms we

Sell ourselves a dollar short

Make amends and then spring forth

Pink petals fall on the seashore

There’s no telling what could be

An accident a sign from God

A work of faith handshake or nod

They’re simply an illusion on

The pleasure box we see

The message spoke ten times before

By Poe and his dear loved Lenore

Like love’s the end all message for

Both poetry and speech

So I took her to the airline that

Disagreed with both our backs

I mean this with no disrespect

It’s how some people meet

We never spoke another word

Jumped back into the universe

I came to grips was late for work

And landed on my feet