her face

Under her face

somewhere under there

was her face, though

she didn’t show it often

I’d seen it before

in the morning light

before the sun skewed

her senses and

she’d cover it up with lies

littered with freckles

hard jaw and subtle age lines

as if two crows took a tango

on the corners of her brown eyes

and when she’d turn

away from the mirror, falling

effortlessly into my arms

I could barely hold her up

for she was far more strong

than any weight I could bear

and her face made that clear

as she’d slowly cover up

everything that made

her beautiful.

artificial berries

She’s

artificial berries

passing in the wind

smiling and joking

contemplating

sea salt

or vinegar

laughing with a friend

while she pretends

to listen I grin

because her

artificial smile

and posture a 10

in the long run

really

makes no difference.

this one.

You can’t win

because it’s life

and there’s

nothing to win

just death

and then

whatever it is

you believe

will happen next.

For me I’ll be

reincarnated

to live

another life.

I just hope it’s

as strange

and weird

and cruel

and wonderfully

disastrous as

this one.

Maybe one

with less love

and more

true love.

Maybe not.

3:08

3:08

and I’m happy.

Not the smiling sort of

tell-all happy but

the breathing in the moonlight

kind of easiness,

just being, barely conscious

and willing to be free.

And

it’s 3:12 now

and shit,

you know how it goes.

They had me at goodbye.

They had me at goodbye

as they always seemed to die

slow like a rose

one day jubilant and alive

then like sleep goes the week

and it’s noticed that the rose

has died. But see, I kept them there

all wilted and decayed

brown and crumpled I’d debate

taking them to the trash

throwing them away, though

a rose in its youth is beautiful

so too is a rose left to dry.

So I pressed them between pages

and drew a pretty picture

poured ink from my memory

so that even in death

they’d remain

alive.

a caged artist

I never met an artist I didn’t like

I just tasted their breathe

from an arms length away

and

when they told me drunkenly

to go to hell

at least I knew they meant it

so while she tore off her clothes

like a caged animal

in the center of a Williamsburg high-rise

a slave to her own bizarre fashion

I could see it there, her passion

exhibited like a gallery of fine art

and her hair

painted in oils hyper-realistic

she would drive herself wild

though couldn’t quite blend her canvas

into the madness she became

hysterical so

closing the cage I left

knowing

there wasn’t more I could do

than allow her the respect and dignity

to clean up her own mess.

I let me.

God

the places I have known

and the places I have seen

and the places I will see

God willing

God help me

and to think

I don’t care much for God

only as much as he pulls for me

but oh God oh God oh me

what wonders we have to see

if willing, and willing

I let me.

the war unseen

Even in times of peace

the war unseen

rages on inside

someone, somewhere

like a match

full of absolute sulfur

just a spark

heard yet never seen

felt like a ghost

in the corner of the eye

ready to strike

and oh how it does,

oh how it haunts.

poetry is spam

A large portion of

poetry is spam.

But I don’t eat that stuff,

at least not until I get to see Hawaii

then who knows?

I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.

When in Rome, you know;

when in Rome.

New York City Central Park

Before we knew one another

New York City Central Park

feeding ducks in the pond

Austin making quack-quack sounds

and Tina wanting to go

I looked at you for a long while

before you looked at me

and through my camera lense

I took a picture in black and white

your gaze, tender and aware as if to say

I am here and I’m glad you are too

and I nervous in my boyish wonder

trying to play coy though who was I kidding

tip toeing every word as I so often do

upon first meeting before I muck it all up

with the nonsense I carry like tattered old books

though that day there was no room for Paradise Lost

there was no desire for Walden or Poe

stepping lightly off the curb in those Italian Leather loafers

I thought went well with your hesitant smile

perhaps you felt it too when time stopped

not literally but figuratively as real as a care free afternoon

like that which was the fall in Central Park

and I think I even paid for dinner that night which I couldn’t afford

for all four of us since I had the credit

just trying to be nice, because well

you know, I was happy and I think you were too.