For the Anxious

When you lay your body down, and sigh a sigh that’s almost manly if you’re a woman, but so sexy, or hyper manly if you’re a man, but so sweet, after eating ground beef, or just being tired regardless of eating the aforementioned ground beef, sometimes you clear your throat a bit with a guttural gurgle and then, immediately, you slowly breathe out of your noise a pine tree winter wind whoosh that frightens my skin.

You rest with such confident and selfish-in-a-good-way eyes that possess a supreme level of non-self awareness, which could be you simply not giving a fuck, that rattles my brain. 

You don’t even look at me with dog-eyed approval eyes, like I look at you in the morning when I have a stack of papers in my hand.

You don’t even turn around, like I do when I step on the leaves that crunch loudly.

You don’t even turn the locks three times (once to lock, twice to lock check, three because it’s the magic number, baby!)

You stare at your darkened eye lids in a rural basement, living life for yourself, while I crash into endless neon invisible mirrors on brick city sidewalks adorned with microscopes on each brick that have immense gravitational pulls.


The conversation of the street lights will pass as quickly as our words

The conversation of the street lights will pass as quickly as our words 

With green 





The pink noise breaths of night will delicately fall and rise from mouths like mindful birds 

Drifting through the light cut dark

The occasional cop will slam through the wet lit asphalt 

Shouting red and blue 

While deer ease through the grass

Whispering brown and black

And automatic house lights that flicker on 

Will turn off when you are gone


Good Boys of Days Old

Going all out to go nowhere 

Where venom drips slow
Going all in without air

Where blue and white corrode
And the red wrappered snickers ice cream bars

Cream guitars 

White interpersonal cigarettes 

Shiny New York cars

Fade into 

Black Lard 
We go all in it to come out of it 

Where the blue and white have shone

And the water sometimes flowed

For good boys of days old

Frances of the Train

The way you talk 

with a cold Schweppes in your sunlit hand is admirable 

You’re a contagion to the blind

With golden earrings lighting the aisle

Not even caring about the temperature and carbonation

just swinging it about








Whatever method 

Before arriving to the table 

Is so different at a restaurant than when one cooks and eats alone at home 

What will the platter look like?

Will it be as good as the text on the menu conveys it to be?

Will they dim the lights?

Oh, and when will it come out?

There is so much mystery and surprise

It’s almost magical when your delusional removed hungry body is anticipating digestion and taste

The vessel to bring the meal circles around the room, taking care of other people

Water is poured

Other steaming meals are delivered

Mysterious and cryptic checks are signed



Do you ever miss your waiter or waitress?

If you do, the feeling of the food arriving is much greater than if you didn’t 

When you see their smiling face 

Chipper gait

It’s a relief

It’s addicting 

But At home 

You are the vessel 

You are the commander of the process

The veil is broken

You don’t go looking for yourself 

You don’t ask yourself for anything 

You don’t see your chipper gait 

You might not even have a chipper gait 

Without the mystery 

It might just be another meal 

Simply from a 







Whatever method 

Before arriving to the table 

cups of coffee are for the end of the world (& late nights.)

late night again, New York this time drip coffees on in the kitchen And the news is on the radio Fold the times, too tired to read those headlines how many tears can a people cry? Because its not 73 but Wounded Knee is happening right Now & Black Churches burned in the name of the david dukes, the donald drumpfs and the muslim fear Isnt it clear that we’re in danger, Threatened by the spanish language, The melanin thats in our skin The Get back, Stay Out! The idea that women can have a voice, that Indians can sit & pray, that sons & daughters arent Afraid to tell their parents theyre gay That the poisoned school drinking water in newark & flint isnt enough to embarass the government- whats my place and where do i fit, an identity in an age of Millenium children & gen Z kids turning change into businesses, glowing screens and computer keys Lethal weapons to a once easily manipulated herd Now heard by teenage girls who are proud of their period blood, Who find strength in each others sisterhood

So here i sit with coffee in hand, The lonely white straight American man, do i get tattoos to break from the mold, a ring in my lip, a pierced nose- whats my responsibility, my role? As i grow i come more to see How it is that people come to be, the ignorant who choose to be & make wide a divide that starts at an early age, economic background education & race, mindsets that result from a laziness and stubborn refusal to change from where change begins The good old boys who are stuck in an italian-american world of north jersey auto-repair, Where a fags a fag and thats that; So where am i at? Marco the fish monger, are you sure youre not just another drone, 1.99 for fish bones, fillet the striped bass, am i more than all that? read them books while you drink that coffee, dont sit quiet when you hear shit and sit silent Be concious of your privlege when you gut them fish, And dont take anything for granted Love life and be nice, accept change (in the tip jar of the world) and pump out the good vibes And even though its hard to remember sometimes amidst the scales & shrimp shells Youre just as important  as everyone else

Cups of coffee drunk late beneath the familiar orange glow of a streetlight can save a life Is it the end of the world, Or just the night?

Ode to a Friends Playful MisChieVousnEss 

*It breaks into my heart 
a moral thief 

Stealing sorrow 

And murdering grief*

It comes in waves





And although I never ask for it 

It tumbles under me 

like mountain scree 

Interrupting my long climb

Setting me back a bit

Challenging my patience 

But Cultivating challenge 

Which I’m grateful for 

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