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a caged artist

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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.

season of change

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Never had a bad intention

I just always made some bad decisions

that usually got way out of hand

and discredited my good intent

though looking a bit harder now

I guess I was just angry and confused

and figuring it out the best I knew how

given time, place, and circumstance

I mean I was just 16 then 19 — 23 then 25

now 31 doesn’t feel so old, in fact

I feel much younger than my former self

ready to dive back into that season of change.

Kyle’s Camel

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Kyle’s

Camel

cigarette

smoke

lingers in the air

creeping in my window

wishing me to dare

take another drag

see what you’ve been missing

though if I did decide

to have another kissing

I’d like to think

it would be mid winter

jangling down the streets

of New York City banter

admiring sleepy windows

with a stranger I barely know

after leaving the Wreck Room

now long since closed

and wondering if she feels

the same way I do

taking a long hot drag

while

trying to seem cool

knowing nothing about her

yet desperately wanting to

and they would taste like Brooklyn

they would be Pall Mall Menthol

crisp and clear and clean

like ice on the verge of thaw

we’d be cracking up.

strangers to ourselves.

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My eyes burn

with exhaustion

scanning the airport

for any sign of life

though heads down turned

there is none

just a few lone stragglers

who look around

the same as I

unwilling to accept the courtesy

of pleasant conversation

we remain

strangers

and

strangers to ourselves.

that lone bird this morning

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My friend is back

that lone bird

this morning

he’s brought a friend

and wouldn’t you know

here I am

barely awake

and jealous of him

though not to spoil their party

I ear my headphones

stretch and bend

It’s got to be 60 degrees

and while I run

I think of them

happy among the trees.

What I couldn’t say in person.

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I can say I failed

Or

I can say it worked out

just as it was supposed to

And

her and I can move forward

knowing our paths weren’t meant to cross

Again

the past is all we had in common

and well, the past must be laid to rest.

Sleep well my friend

until then

I wish I hadn’t been so mean

But

I wish you only the best,

even though I’m sure that’s hard to believe.

rhythm of words

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constantly tinkering

toying in turn

churning and yearning

and combing inward

what does it mean

I haven’t the urge

just sort of liked

this rhythm of words

poetry is spam

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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.

Hyde in Jekyll’s clothing.

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Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde

unleashed by use of potion

as swift as light

as evenings cloak

a wrecking ball in motion

of skin and flesh

a heart so dark

devoid of all emotion

it’s midnights grip

from which I hide

and seek to cure

this strange compulsion

like many men

before my time

who tried to rid the notion

of good and evil

within one mind

a harlequin commotion

where in the end

come banging fists

as silent screams approach him

to slay the monster

from within

the cure his own expulsion

and in plain clothes

lay to rest

Hyde in Jekyll’s clothing.

the other day.

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I made Pico de Gallo

the other day

and it needed salt

so I added salt

then put it away.

Then I took a nap

and woke up

more tired

than I’d been before I’d shut my eyes.

Then I wrote a song

drank some beer and

called it a day.

Nobody had to know I existed

and I was fine with that.

The Pico still needs work though,

I’ll send word.