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Monthly Archives: November 2014

ghosts (Backyardia part 2)

Memories keep Haunting me,

and they’re everywhere I look

In the smiling Eyes of photo-graphs,

or pages of a Book.

The Boards or the burbs

and in Manhattan too,

in the crack of ever bat,

or in the Ocean blue.

Nothing’s how it was,

and never will be, I know,

but don’t you just get lonely

For those places we used to go?

When our Neighborhood was immense,

and we’d explore all day,

When Amir just couldn’t jump the fence,

and we had to think of

Something quick to say?

I miss it all,

the backyard dreams,

sun-baked mud

and climbing trees,

grass-stains upon our knees

with no responsibilities,

just summer breeze and Autumn leaves

and July’s at the beach

Where’d it all go, I want to know;

does it still exist?

My brother is a Physicist,

and he tells me time

is relative.

Maybe I can find that happy place

when Portia was still alive,

See Dwight Tooch’s smiling face

as we give each other high-fives.

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the Jamaican Angel who was made flesh as a clerk at K-Mart

I came to you with a pair of jeans, windshield-wiper fluid and a baby-helmet.

You looked at me and mumbled,

“Cash or credit,”

The gorgeous black ropes of your hair Hung like vines,

And I wanted to tell you that you that you looked like some Caribbean mermaid-mythology come to life,

A Heavenly creature that sailors would go on adventures and risk their lives Just to find the fabled Isle where you live

But instead I looked down and swiped a debit card

and I left K-Mart.


New Jersey (in just a few words)

Piles of old Highlights magazine sitting between me and a grease monkey,

pill junkie, with the tattoos of names on his arms, I pay him money to fix my car,

and then drive away, never to see him again, Remember When

That woman with no teeth

pulled up to us in that brand-new Jeep,

When we were in the parking lot of 7/11

(she was a tweeker) and told us her husband beat her?

Yeah what the fuck, that was weird!

Did you see me

Throwing trash from the overpass

down onto cars on Bloomfield Ave,

wearing camouflage cargo-pants

with the Rut’s Hut tee-shirt on?

I might as well have a Garden State license plate tattooed on my arm,

just to sound the alarm

and say HELLO!

I’M NOT FROM FUCKING FLORIDA!


Rules That Shouldn’t be Broken

1. Always be responsibly irresponsible.

2. Laugh at the joke, because it IS funny.

3. Never cut your hair.


Scream of Consciousness (or Less?)

Oh boy here come the words,

this Boer-War’s got the shot-gun muzzle in my mouth

and I can’t seem to get it out, Apartheids got me tongue-tied

in a tizzy, leafless trees coming down in windstorms of sound

liquid spheres of Tang bang against my head again

Hydrating my skin as it begins to drip along my bones;

Scream to life when the key turns and the clutch presses down,

revolutions of tires cause en-tire Emp-ires to revolution-ize,

grab the still-smoking chamber of the fun-gun and squeeze the trigger at the Sun and make

the Cadillac never look back after the vicious Attack on Fleetwood Mac,

smoking weed because my Parents got a divorce! I just can’t handle it,

there’s no remorse! put that shit out and catch a trout from the cold-ice countertop

of Marco’s life, chop it’s head off, then retreat to Fort Krosnicoff by the Sea

Have the long hair hide your face and never look into your Eyes of your Enemies.


crumbling

I’m crumbling apart

and I don’t know what to do

So I Drive my car to the Ocean

and dunk my head into the frigid November waters.

I walk up and down empty boardwalks,

reliving ancient history

I eat alone in casino restaurants,

and slowly chew my food.

I drive the Parkway late at night,

listening to rock and roll,

singing along to every word

I look at the skyline of the city

and think about the people who live within it.

I’m crumbling apart

and the world that’s crumbling me

doesn’t seem to notice

How is it even possible to feel this alone

when you’re living here at the center of it all?

Hey Marco;

Nobody cares!

we’ve got our own problems.


What Can I Get For You Today

Symphonies of Sighs as time slides by, and

I Push another knife into another lobster eye,

take another lobster-life While I Try to figure out why in the world am I

Doing what I’m doing.

I’ll decapitate a fish With the quick flip of the wrist

and the flash of a blade,

throw fistfuls of shrimp corpses into an open plastic-bag grave,

But what am I doing REALLY?

My world is a polished steel counter-top,

And a cold macabre menagerie

of dead animals and creatures of the Sea

Some times it just seems like utter absurdity,

The construct that we see and make be,

Packaged nature becomes a commodity,

‘I want a Slice of Salmon that’s thick all the way across.’

Sorry mam…that’s not the way that those animals are shaped.

What you’re asking for does not exist.

Your meal will not cook evenly. Your unreasonable demands

Cannot be met, we haven’t found a way to so alter fish yet

but I’m sure if you can wait just a few more years

I’ll be able to sell you nice, even, rectangles and hexahedrons of flesh.

Honestly, the rails are calling me to the West,

and soon I’ll answer their song

Because There are no Saints here, no San Francisco,

so I try to find my own

but sometimes even that

gets hard.


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