What do you tell
a girl who’s twelve
when she asks you,
What do you tell
a girl who’s twelve
when she asks you,
Marco’s back from paradise,
and he wasn’t even gone so long
Came crashing back through the stratosphere
when he realized where he belonged
They were wondering down on Earth
where the chap had gone,
why he wasn’t chilling in the parking lot
with the good old boys back home
He didn’t bother explaining where he’d been
with the hunger in his heart;
Said, “Hey guys it’s hard to keep afloat
when the world’s pullin you apart!”
They laughed and clowned and pulled his hair,
broke bottles in the Night
(nobody wants to go back home,
we’d all rather just stay outside.)
So the skyline kept us company
Until the morning came,
Then back to the union bosses in daytime,
where the hard reality reigns.
Marco’s back from paradise, and
he knows he did the right thing;
This world’s not done with him yet
He thought to himself
with a wolfish grin.
I beseech thee
to teach me,
with a thousand Enemies,
to use my Animality,
to use my wits and my claws
to set myself
down Railroad tracks
full of snacks
in late September,
the cicada drones
bleached elk bones
and times alone
made the most magical stories
it’s 2 am again,
and I’m sitting alone on a cold suburban rooftop,
bare toes curled over shingles
thinking thoughts and shooting stars
and keeping silent vigil
Because what if Tonight
is the night?
the fasten seatbelt sign is on.
please put your dining trays up,
and make sure your seat is in the upright position.
Put away and stow all electronic devices.
My soul is taking flight,
and the pressurized cabin is softly humming.
I’m seated next to a man in a turban with a long tangled beard
and a morbidly obese black woman who reeks of perfume.
Their souls too, are preparing to take flight.
I press my face to the window,
and beyond the wing I see
glowing orange lights in the New Jersey night,
and the odd shaped vehicles that scurry around airyards.
The quiet mumbling of the machines multi-ethnic cargo
is silenced as we roll onto the runway,
the cabin rotating and shifting, making the babies
and small children uneasy.
The hiss of air through those little circular overhead vents
is blowing dry, stale recycled air onto my face.
This is it.
A new world awaits,
Make sure your buckled up.
Suddenly we are roaring like a train,
Screaming down the runway
Aimed at the void.
My bones and my body bounce up and down,
Bumping me against this tired looking Islamic guy
while Newark Liberty Airport rushes by
The plane charges faster
It’s not letting up,
Not hesitating for even a moment,
A little Japanese baby has started to cry
the whole cabin is shuddering, jumping up and down,
bouncing souls around in a coach-class purgatory,
Giant steel wings flapping and beating
Hard against the resistance of the mortal world,
Pushing, running, sprinting,
Our souls have left the ground,
we are entering the sky,
and when I look out of the window
over our Angelic host’s great metal shoulder-blades
I begin to cry
(quietly, so that the Muslim guy
sitting next to me
as I shake off my old life,
Sliding it off like a jacket
after being out in the cold…
Below my Soul and Body, the shrinking
of New Jersey
become a dreamscape in the Night
of dully glowing orange points and minuscule cars
sliding down ink-black rivers of asphalt and pavement,
The New York skyline
cutting into the Night like claws dripped in pitch,
tearing neon gashes bleeding light
and my Soul,
with body in tow,
Heads West to find the Dawn.
Meet me at Point No-Point,
and be sure to come alone.
We can jump into the river,
That manifestation of the Unknown
and drift like plastic bags
to the Atlantic.
Please give a squeeze and let a bullet fly,
For a once in a lifetime chance dances by,
whirling and twirling beautiful hair
and dark eyes.
Please take that Gun
off your forehead and point it elsewhere,
(Because nobody cares
if it only caps you!)
Please roll the dice, and bet all you’ve got
it isn’t too much so what the fuck,
I’ll Give it a shot!
I don’t stand to lose a whole lot,
Just a shattered, battered smashed apart heart
and all my sweet dreams
torn instantly apart.
Please give a squeeze, and let a bullet fly;
if you don’t want to do it,
then why did you load it?
Hold it steady now.
Slow down your breathing.
America has Fallen,
welcome to the waste
We are what remains
of the once-were Master-Race.
can’t you see that all I want to do
is get through to you,
To watch a moonrise
from the Jersey side,
and hold your hand on the palisades,
be young and be brave,
while we scream from Fort Lee
for the skyline to see
as we wash ourselves clean in the Hudson
My estranged friend,
Wherever have you gone?
I am missing you again,
it seems it’s been so long.
Have you decided
To read Kurt Vonneget books
and study agriculture in the West,
to work on how you look,
And make sure you be your best?
Are you listening to old Bruce Springsteen records
on long walks in the dark,
Or are you listening to hobo stories
Somewhere deep in Central Park?
Are you flying in an air-plane,
to Montenegro or Mozambique,
or are you lost in Atlantic City,
crying desperate tears at the Sea?
Are you running through the Meadowlands,
naked and young, wild and free
Or are you infiltrating corporations,
Are you on the run again,
from yourself within your mind?
Are you scared and savagely lonely,
like you were that other time?
I cannot help you now,
The Night’s too dark for me to see
But you’ll find your way somehow,
and it will take you back to me.
Wherever you are,
Looking up at the stars
or Driving Parkway South in your Car,
I wish that You
would find your way back Home,
My dearest friend.
Just yesterday, I was Saved
When an Elbow broke my Nose
and Split my Chin,
And MY Blood Ran like Wine,
Down my face,
Dribbling through a crimson grin
as I cried out in pain
and spit up dark red phlegm.
It’s both sad and amusing,
Funny and confusing,
that so few can find Redemption
in a Deviated Septum,
That so Many see Defeat
In broken buildings and concrete
Have been Baptized
in the waters of the lower Passaic,
Noxious, Toxic Dioxins
poured over my head,
Grabbing hold of
floating like tires
On that spiritual superfund liquid.
God is in the cancerous flesh
of a catfish caught in Kearny,
By a Starving homeless Central American
beneath the bridge,
And with every bite
of that putrid, Cancer meat,
He is Saved.
A Secret for you before I go;
The Bodies of Italians
and murdered little girls
that decorate that muddy river-bottom
Died for Our Sins,
So that We can Live