Ye olde Soothesayers who sit boothed in Jersey diners,

Ye mystics of the cole-slaw truths

of club sandwich Rudolph Steiners,

Though Germanic Gods are dead and gone

occultist dreams can yet live on

In bathroom stalls and Tinton Falls,

the alters still exist;

the midnight glow

of candlelight shows

those secret ritualists;

The Anglo-Saxon dirty napkin

of Medieval Olde-Norse runes;

A greasy cup of coffee flood

and a rising orange Moon;

add two drops of Dragon’s blood

to the house soup or Caesar salad,

Rub the magik stone and chant

That evil alma mater.

oyster crackers Mythos calls you soul to pickle,

Linoleum divination

Reveals another jukebox-nickle…

The Gothic inscriptions carved

within ye all

Lie scratched upon

thine dessert case wall;

So follow me to see what is or what may be

ye draconian pupils of Merlin

to have a taste of deep-fried Destiny

on the road back to Carthage or East Orange,

for Guido von List

may yet persist

in a waitresses kiss

in a drainage ditch

that reeks of piss

or some parking lot abyss

off Route 46;

What I’m trying to say is this;

Magic is everywhere

and A cannoli is

my only holy

scroll.

Callused hands

and bluegrass bands,

and Ferris-wheel love

from up above

The Atlantic City pier;

My life’s been going

pretty fine

when I stop to think

from time to time,

but it has it’s wears

and I’ve had my shares

of defeat and cold regret.

Now look ahead and close your eyes

as the sun begins to set,

But hold your scars close to you

until our Maker’s met;

For though it’s hard for us to do,

we must never let

ourselves 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.

Here we go again

America’s lost it’s head

Please Give love a chance

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

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.

O Espresso

you God-drink,

your super-crema

makes me smile.

Your flavour awakens

Ancestral happiness and pride

and puts me into

A dull and warm state of mind.

Espresso, save me from what

the world is doing to me,

you perfect, dark, fatherly liquid,

You magnificent little tiny cup of coffee,

with the little spoon too!

I want all of you,

and I want drink you up my mouth,

and never let you out!

Bricks and bridges

and highway-signs,

making me start

to lose my mind

Chainlink fences

and streetlight glow

Been making me feel

pretty low

Fire-escape balconies

and cigarette butts

Starting to drive me

a little nuts

Parkway exits

I’ll never drive down

making me wonder,

what’s out there?

Do you Ever have those days

When you just get out of work late,

and you reek like fish from

Chopping off their heads,

And you just are feeling the strain

So Hard,

that you get in your car

and drive to an abandoned asylum

down the road

and walk through the empty rubble-filled courtyards and hallways

and feel the crunch of broken glass under your feet

and look at all the empty, staring windows

and stare right back?

I do.

And I stare at the trees growing out of collapsed rooftops

and the forests of weeds,

At The bottles smashed

(for whatever reason, I may never know)

I stare at the smokestacks and the crumbling roads

at the old Televisions

and the rusted out Machines and rotted plywood.

It’s nights like these

when I take every piece of

graffiti to heart,

And it just crushes me to see

that sad street art,

The overpasses decorated with their scripture.

Just going to drive back home

and write another poem

that she’ll never even read,

Got to try to get some sleep

before I’m born again tomorrow,

but somehow I know

that I won’t get much of that tonight;

So Here I come, tomorrow!

One Night in the Woods,

Wolves will run beneath your Skin

and Fur’ll coat your arms.

i’m hurt again

and of coarse I know why.

your words drove

knives

into my stomach

and ripped out organs,

and boy,

did i bleed.

truth is a blade

which pierces all armour,

renders all weapons useless,

and leaves Marco

breathless and crying for air.

of coarse you’re right,

and that’s what always ruins me.

i’ll never change,

because i can’t.

pride to the point of folly

is admirable

But always,

the end is the same.

This is why I know

that the only way that I can live

is on my own.

grown-ups aren’t supposed to act like this.

So what the fuck is wrong with me?

Everybody get away,

I’m going to explode

I don’t want to take anybody out with me,

So please

Please!

Just Fucking Go.

take a drive to the palisades

Hold your breath and jump;

the Hudson can be the Jordan,

if you believe in that kind of stuff.

Pull yourself out

onto the stony shore

like an old styrofoam cup,

and if you close your eyes

and cough up blood,

Weehawken can become

Jerusalem

People are learning all the time; I’m learning so much and I’m doing fine! I visited a developing country, and I Learned SO. MUCH. I read poetry and I take science classes, I am going to change the world with what I learn! I’ve learned all my life from everything around me, for every second of every day, I’ve learned what to wear how to act and what to say. I learned what normal is! I learned what being Successful is! I learned what to call the colour Blue and I learned what to do when a pretty girl walks by. I learned to read and write, and I learned the different stereotypes. I’ve learned that Humans come from Dust, and I’ve learned who it is I can really trust. But what I haven’t learned is What is it about us, That just makes us keep making these same mistakes, Over and Over? Haven’t we learned anything? I’m unhappily thinking that no matter how much we discover and evolve, no matter how many Miracles we preform or diseases we cure, no matter how much Poetry we write or organic snap-peas we eat, That we have not

and we never will.

Old Blood

Movin Slow

inside my

Old Pipes,

Old Veins,

thick with

that Deep

Dark Blood

Flowin Slow

Pumped an Pushed

along by this

Old heart,

Old Hands Shakin

Tired of Gettin

Older every instant

Don’t get

Out much,

Stuck here in

this Old

House with

Old books

an Old ghosts

Murkin in

the corners

an along

Those Old

Wooden stairs,

Old halls,

an Old

photo-covered

Old Walls

Where the

Old black

Eyes of

Old, Dead

friends an Brothers

follow me,

watchin me

in everythin

I doin

with those

Old smiles

that ended

Long ago.

Old Blood an

Shakin Hands,

the whole worl

jus what I

can see

from Behind

Old moth-eaten’d

drapes and

old screens,

Quiverin Knuckles achin’

as they

wrap round

m knife

And A

final cry

that comes

out Old

quiet an dry

Nothin’s the

Same an I’m

the last

one left

O that

Old generation

‘xtink like

dinosaurs

Old History

writin down

in some

Old Book,

Not offin read,

just lyin

forgotted on

the shelf,

collekin dust

Sittin in

a pool O

Old Blood

Bleedin

Dyin

in an

old Chair in

an Old House

Thinkin how

Long’ll it

be ‘fore

some-un finds

One Old

Dead Man

who already

Died

years Ago