Parking Lots

‘Bad Moon Risin” hits my head,
as I stumble past here, again,
grey sandals
shuffle thru dirt
as they trail behind
it’s tail.

Coarse hair hits my face,
cement graces my figure,
I figure,
let’s have another,
as I trip against time.

Structure collapses over the tar,
stifles its sounds
of nothing at night.
Suddenly it creates treble,

Not so far as humble homes;
not including fixed stables
waves and waves
amidst all those

Divided by change.

Advertisements

AD, Part I

‘Alex’, I whisper,
before voices were meant to prosper.

Your Name Here, I reject,
once so many lovers became suspect.

Here, and now,
Consciousness upon a cloud,
I open without revelation
of a desire so profound.

You create health
in all gone sour,
and relief
in all that was fire.

I lose inhibitions
previously concerned,
in a way that heals
in a way that ceases to yearn.

Never have I realized my craving
for this,

until you fulfilled no expectations
and introduced pure bliss.

Flux

burning holes, and then the sheets,
burning holes and then the sheets…

haphazardly mixed into automated voice
messages,
away,
the faces of inclines,
facets of the clouds
cut from cliff
shaped from sound

the skin I’m in
had never been home,
until you blessed it
with your solemn tone

Until then,
I flee from sin
The sin, the sin,
I place myself in.

Niceties of a Lady

I lack the soundness
in stature,
Subliminal pace of which I
must go,
Perched upon iron,
Set unto stone,
Few and far between
that endorse you have grown.

Towards grandeur
Forward still,
I found a partner
Within your windowsill

Not of flesh,
absent touch
for present flight,
Around the time
you lost your sight.

Fast, withheld speed,
the Winter Lady fell upon rock
Retrieving slack from your rope
As time passed
Without a clock.

I’m Sane

It was just one last chord that struck,
And I was just the last guest in line.

And it was only ten o’clock,
But it was just me.

And I don’t think they really understood
Why I kept on about the scratchy horn
Playing over the speakers
And why it got to my head

And then I had already ordered
And it was time to go, I held my food,
And I couldn’t open the door
And a kind soul assisted me

And there I was, back on the street,
And I had no idea where to go.

And I did have a place to go,
But that defeats the purpose, now.

For Frank O’Hara

bright like light lavender
slips unintentionally
between your glimpses back
and forth,
noisily contemplating
each other’s banter
lengthened between
the litter.

Beseeched liquors while living
Leaves no burden but lament;
Lifted a ban that left you
Literally belligerent

After four cups of coffee,
Six shots of Jameson,
and two free chugs of Tecate.

My change had been chartered
across your street
and when soft words bleed into ashtrays
I listen in to your minuscule exchanges.

Get it Gon’

How many times ’til time forgets
What petrifying occurrences we left
No doubt an expletive
Behind with
What would have been suitable
for such undying circumstances
to citizens
of some non
directional advancement.

What time will remain
Considering absolute finalities
All which concern your regrets,
Confirm your subtle intolerances,
of none figured without your privilege.

Partner to Pretext

I wrote today, in order to always possess my belongings. The sediment at the bottom of my teacup was granulated, creating a hemisphere of its own, contrasting to the white of the porcelain like a diaper to a garbage truck.

“I don’t need to stay that long”, she would say.
I recall the setting as being different than all others I had experienced before those moments, although most of the time they occurred at my nearby subway station. The stop I always traveled to to return home.
I never thought she was serious, serious about the suddenness and closeness of her mortality, mostly because she was as healthy as could be; a poster child for staying fit, albeit simply in mind and somewhat body. The decision was all mine when discussing death, however, she just the partner to my pretext. Never did she initialize this conversation, though. Her conscience was so wavering that it caused me frequent paranoia, in relation to myself, and of my correspondence with her being.

Never once had I considered the extreme mental trauma she carried within her day to day, a fatal flaw in our relationship. She never struck me as an unstable human, as someone with inner contrived issues. Not even issues that I could surmise were rarely brought to light, although we seemed to discuss difficult and macabre issues every time we were together. Maybe it’s not truly me who brings up these situations; maybe I like to ignore truths when it benefits my psyche most.

It turned out to rain one day, today, and the humidity began to wet my clothing so as it stuck to my skin. The cleanliness I had felt merely hours before now wore into a sense of unwashable sweat swimming through my pores. She approached me, sort of smiling, but more so heaving, out of breath from running to make our meeting on time, I suppose. Why did I not automatically assume she was in the same boat as me, the humidity hitting her in her lungs, too?

“Sorry, this humidity is really messing with my stride today”, she commented. “Same here.”
So we walked a little bit, I still daydreaming about what she was thinking rather than just out and ask her what was up. She paused a few times, and then would re-instate her part in my inner monologue by asking contrived questions to create dialogue. I listened, answered, never really putting all of the conversations, including this, together cohesively.

The next day, or the next week, as I remained in a daydream while we were physically in cooperation, she disappeared.

Well, she passed away. And I awoke from my ignorance and small-mindedness to an even greater, truer nightmare.

I think that was it

Paranormal Activity could
never be considered adequate
in a reality such as ours,
where actuality takes the wheel
and we are generally forced
to the left.

seldom a maneuver,
rarely exquisite pain,
is it found,
our mentality,
breaking ties with time,
forcing upon it strict guidelines
to abide by our crass reasoning.

And sporting shoes unlike
What’s needed
In some few men
And seldom women

in the deepest of our extremities.
the shallowest of our souls,
we become soulless
yet of another’s
although we may become
obsequious
to untold tendencies
and overstated dramatizations.

‘that was hard, man’