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To the Ones I Love (please never forget.)

They come in every size and shape, they’re guidos from the Wildwood shore, or big laughing Hawaiians. They come from LA, and they come from Poland. They’re filled with jokes, and they’re deadly serious; They’re human calculators from Calcutta, or they’re hairy Israeli Mexican Druids from Santa-Cruz. They roughhouse and they read books (love fantasy and Sci-Fi!) They stock the dairy shelves and they make me laugh when I’m feeling low; They climb trees and burn money, They’re radical liberal Hippies with flower-eyes and communist dreams, and libertarian conservatives, They’ve married young and they’ve lived alone, They’re Persian bastards Who I truly love, and berserking barbarians when it’s party time in D&D.They are volcanic redheads who are truly insane, and they are pig-tailed men who speak in riddles and rhymes. They speak Ukrainian and they smoke pot. They steal from the rich and give to the poor, They’re reckless and they’re tame, They’re introverts and they’re burglars. Their name is Sclurbs (I don’t know why) and they are farmers and musicians, Metalheads and activists, They’re smartass Stickboys, Who can’t shut up, And Honest G’s, wise and reserved. They’re East Coast Gay Boys, and they love linguine with (white!) clam sauce. They’re loud and they’re proud, they’re quiet and they’re hurt. They’re Raw Power or they’re surfers with trucks, who quietly sip rootbeer on the beach at night; They are thick-headed or loyal (sometimes I don’t know which!) They’re Jewish raccoons who find peace in winter, or metrosexual fashionistas! They’re fiery Cubans (who think they’re Italian) or beautiful Puorto-Ricans, with sun-kissed skin. They love good espresso, and they’re slinking Frenchmen; they are Pokemon masters, and they will marvel at every scene in Blade Runner. They’re Homosexual and straight, and they’re more sensative then they look. They can be brave and they can be scared, but that doesn’t matter. They’re professors and old teachers, your brothers and your Cousins, and they get you into trouble, then get you out; They apologize or they fist-fight, They smoke hand rolled cigarettes and come from Seattle; Drive motorcycles and make damn good cider. They have beautiful hair and lovely eyes, They’ve been to prison, and they’ve got regrets. They’re old and they’re young, they’re Christian and they’re Bokonist, and they’ve brought pizza over to my house every Friday night since I was born. They guard my life, and they take my money on poker night. They are the Children of the Information Generation, who fight spies with gaming-controllers, and they’re outdoorsmen who loathe the screen. They are inward and they are outward, witty and Simple. I’ve known some since kindergarten, and some I’ve just met, They have badass scars and imperfections. They are big Russian freckle-faced sweethearts and Irish comedians looking for that break. They are feminists and they are fierce competitors.They’ll always surprise you, and they’ll never fail you. They fill in the cracks, and they keep you together. They are all different. They help you everyday to grow and learn. They are Friends, and I love every one of them so much I could die for them Without batting an eye. I am blessed.

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Levant

Here we go again

America’s lost it’s head

Please Give love a chance


Goodnight, Iraq

A big thumbs up
To George and Cheney,
you both must feel so proud!
Chaos fear and violence reign
and refugees abound,
ISIS is a ton of fun
And they’ve really only
just begun.
And children dead?
Syrians with severed heads?
I really must applaud
the beauty of it all,
The expansion of US capitol
deserves a thanks from us all,
(it must’ve made somebody quite rich)
If this is the only
price to pay,
It’s no wonder we keep on doing this!
I feel disgusted
and fucking sick,
But!
Business is business,
And that is this,
So go on Islamic State,
maybe we’ll aid
the caliphate,
Make some money while we can
As the world looks on in shock
America is doing great!
So good night, Iraq.


Tribute

It bums me out

that Robin’s dead

cause of the dark thoughts

in his head.

It bums me out

that Robin died

or that he even had

thoughts of suicide.


Garden State of Mind

I gotta get up outta here

for justa little while;

Maybe head to Avalon

Egg Harbour or Sea Isle.

Drive straight out Route 23

past Bergen into Butler,

See the sights there are to see,

and Run a little further.

From May’s Landing to Passaic

and every exit in between

From Mahwah down to Lodi

All the way to Brigantine.

Feelin like a winter’s night

in Camden or AC,

Just give me some time alone to drive

and I’ll go back to bein me.

I think it just is

Sometimes

That everybody needs

some Highway signs…

I Don’t know where I’m gonna go

in this wild-hearted chase,

from Garfield to down to Glassboro,

I’ll tour the Garden State.

Gonna drive every county road

Till these feelins goes away,

I’ll ride this state to death tonight

from Brunswick to Galloway.

New Jersey turnpike, Paterson,

it doen’t really matter,

Through the neighborhoods of Clifton

to the streets of East Hanover;

Have a slice of pizza

here in Little Falls,

see the beauty of Paramus

Then head on out to Wall.

Pass a million different faces

And stories on the way

Maybe I can find myself tonight

on a bustop in Piscataway.

I don’t know if they’re looking for me,

and I couldn’t really care

It’s a lonely road to Parsippany

and I’m hardly halfway there.

Hackensack is where I’m told

I had my first baby breath of air,

Hoboken and Seacaucus

didn’t seem to care.

I swear I’m not so crazy

Standing out here in the dark

In the shadowed streets of Neptune

or the boards of Asbury Park.

Just restless feelings

and license plates

and years of life

In the Garden State.


Where to Turn, Pilgrim?

Someone lend me

a helping hand

and Take me to

my promised land;

My wife is dead from missile strikes

and you’ll never understand

The world may be numb to this

But I can’t quite say I am;

Hamas and Netanyahu

direct unconditional hate

Leaves me wondering who

Has got the fullest plate


Ocean Man (don’t drown)

My organs

are the violent churning waters of the ocean

beating on the pilings beneath the Atlantic City boardwalk

during a late July

tropical storm.

My heart is a torrential riptide,

So fierce

And so strong

That resistance is useless.

My Soul is Waves and swells of salt water

that never stop coming,

That rise up out of the grey sea Again

and Again.

My eyes are the lightning strikes

That you watch split the sky over the Ocean at night

from the inside of your home;

Love me for what I am

or Fear me and Drown

I do not indulge

in the Bullshit of Landlings.


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