sad boys
live sad lives
in this sad town
in this sad world
with these sad wounds
that sadly won’t heal
with these sad smiles
and sad jobs
in this sad house
where even the walls cry.
Tag Archives: original poetry
Somewhere in Between
Draw
more drawings
and
Paint
more paintings
Of farts on
Fire
And massive babies
giving birth to tiny adults
Spindly Blue Men licking their own asses
Women Skydiving
with babies attached to umbilical cords
That are also skydiving
in spread eagle form
Wearing helmets
and parachutes
donning faces that fight the wind
Because
When we look at them on canvas
We can’t help but laugh
Being 8th grade fuck boys
Which we still are
hiding in bags of Cheetos
that lie below beards
and Cheetos stained wine glasses
Partnernless and Stir Crazy
You should have said, yes
to the guy who asked you out at work
he could listen to your paranoia
so we wouldn’t have to
a lover would have better ears
Post Hoc Death Blues?
Traffic seemed to sludge by us and the sun hit our collective black shroud. While my sisters son hid in front of me from pretty middle school girls yelling behind us, “Hey! Tyler!”, my sister, with red hair flowing and freckles gleaming in the light, said that Verona air smells like peaches and gasoline. Tyler’s friends were probably drinking cokes, eating disco fries and fun-dip, and talking about hot girls. Babies were being born somewhere, babies were dying somewhere, and I couldn’t deal with the intensity, so I put on my glasses to hide while we smiled to the girls because: What else do you do?!
It was a forgiving father that I saw at the post office smiling, but grimacing, because his daughter filled out a form wrong so they had to do it all over again.
And it was a smile because death is awkward and peaches and gasoline create beautifully fucked up tension.
So what else do you do besides calmly submit to the horrors of the endlessly intricate world, and smile in a confused transparent bubble.
cant you see?
will the pearly whites just slam shut
and stop that volatile spittle from spewing
i just dont have time to deal with your desires
your agenda is far from first
on the list of what matters at this moment to me
Mother
no one can pamper you
like a Mother can.
no one makes better mac and cheese;
or hot chocolate
just after you’ve come inside
from building a snow fort.
no one makes a better breakfast
on a lazy Sunday.
no one gives a better hug
than a Mother can.
no one gives better advice
when you don’t know what you’re doing
with your life.
no one is more comforting
when you’re having a rough day.
hell, No One else knows you well enough
to notice something was wrong.
untenanted words
I write songs with no music
I write hooks with no beat
I fly with no wings
I run with no feet
I drive with no wheels
Do you know how that feels?
I think with no brain
They call me insane
I swim with no air
I’m a broke millionaire
I act with no part
I end with no start
I love with no heart
That’s why I’m falling
apart
i guess that’s what drugs are for
take me out of my head
just for a few hours
a few minutes
anything, really.
stop the racing
thoughts of inadequacy
that constantly badger me.
i guess that’s what drugs are for
but they don’t seem like the answer,
not this time at least.
a temporary solution
to this permanent beast.
The Heat of July
Billy walked to his death
and held his head high.
He knew no matter what Judge said
he never told no lie.
He never did shoot that boy,
he wasn’t there that night.
He never did pull the trigger,
he didn’t start no fight.
Now Billy spent the last 4 years
stuck inside a cage.
Barely any sunlight,
only room for rage.
He didn’t let that get him down,
“In my mind I’m free.
I know that I’m innocent,
no matter what they do to me.”
Young Billy walked to his death
and held his head high.
He knew no matter what Judge said
he never told no lie.
Now they tried to say Billy
was a cold and callous killer.
It worried Bill so much,
he could barely eat his dinner.
Billy never hurt no one
he could barely squash a fly,
he was ‘fraid of the charges
and what they could imply.
It was his word against the dead
He knew he stood no chance
They were gonna do away with Billy
without a second glance.
So Billy walked to his death
and held his head high.
He knew no matter what Judge said
he never told no lie.
Billy had one goal today,
to go and die with pride.
He stiffened up that upper lip
and lengthened up his stride.
He walked to the table
and began to shake,
for he knew this was the last time
he’d ever be awake.
So Billy walked to his death
and held his head high.
They killed Billy that day
in the heat of July.
Pride
Well I never thought I was lonely
until I looked her in the eye
and I never thought I needed her
till she said goodbye
and I never thought I was broken
until she helped me heal
and I never knew comfort
like the way she made me feel
and I never knew scared
until my father died
and I never did cry
I guess I had too much pride
This is what I’m all about
grab a pen
write it down
let your heart
fill up with sound
shout it loud
say it proud
say it one thousand
words per hour.
fill the air
with your breath
the voice you own
that baritone
yell it out
have no doubt,
“This is what
I’m all About!”
you Are him.
What do you do
when you look inside you’re own house
and see a stranger.
He looks like you,
he has your clothes.
He’s in your house
but he runs his mouth.
Who does he think he is?
Intruding on your life.
Push him away,
but your only pushing yourself.
When did this happen?
When did you become him?
The White Chicken
So much depends
upon
the off white
chickens
with their yellow
beaks
and life giving
eggs
get back down.
put aside
the thoughts of suicide
so you can let another
dreadful day go by.
sit inside
and wallow in your
lost pride
and feeble attempts
to get past your bedside.
drag out the door.
can’t do this no more.
big bad max provides relief,
albeit it brief.
best bros make it better
but not for long.
you know where you belong.
Il Dado e Tratto
the Ides of March are upon us
and the Caesar’s days are numbered;
though the conquest of Gall
brought wealth and fame
and All the world
Shall remember the name,
Ambition
will extinguish
the brightest flame
And as legions cross the Rubicon
the Senate are solemnly
sharpened blades.
For The Pharaohs of the Nile
and all the riches of military splendor…
Et tu, Brute? Then Fall, Caesar.
Out of the North
out of the North I gallop towards home,
rubber hooves of my Civic pounding the Palisades Parkway
Pump pump on the gas, to Switch lanes and pass,
Raggaeton on, November air pouring over the sleek bodied machine
trees and signs fly by, Hudson River Valley disappears behind,
swallowed up by the blackness my high beams couldn’t find,
ink-black waters of the river flow churn slow,
Garden State plates traveling in a bounding pack down the track
like hounds for the races, skyline light replaces stars turn to
street lights frantically spilling by night’s asphalt blood
Out of the North and away from the dreams,
reentry to reality urban chugging turning gangland mugging
gasoline igniting cigarette loving and exits for the Holland Tunnel,
Shout out to Elizabeth, Union and Brooklyn the radio Jamaician MC sings
While I’m barreling to Heaven on four-cylinder wings,
the Pulaski Skyway sets us free
Ripping our Skeletons Out of the North
and Smashing them gently
into the Sea.
Ser Marco of Hackensack
sometimes in my mind,
I’m a prince or a knight,
standing up for what is Good and Right
in a world of evil-doers and warlocks.
but sometimes,
I think that I’m the monster,
and that knights
just can’t exist here.
Close Eyes To Exit
Close your eyes to exit
This fucked up world.
Put on some music
To drown out the
Thoughts in your head.
Watch a movie
let the pixels dance
and forget about the world
for a little while
Driving To Penn Station
The Homeless people at the off ramp to Newark
who try to clean my car windshield
with dirty newspaper
probably have a lot to say,
About where it all went wrong
in Viet-nam,
How they left their humanity
in a burning Saigon
They’d say Ho-Chi Min was a son of a bitch
but even he’d
be better than this.
They’d say how afterwards drugs just felt right,
It was the 70’s,
and everyone was high.
Gerald Ford had plans to help,
everything would turn out fine.
The memories of private friends,
with murderous grins
And the screaming women
who wouldn’t give in
Hide from them
in every crack in the sidewalk,
Every face with slanted eyes
hides the taste
of Agent Orange.
Now I’m rolling up my windows
and locking all the doors
Saying boy What a dump
as I press the gas
and try to speed up
And get to Penn Station time.
the Tragedy on Route 23
the rain drums down on the window at 11:00 on Wednesday night, and I Stop in to the diner after a long day for a bite; I gloomily pick at french fries, and use them to scoop cole slaw And I can’t help but Overhearing the 30 year old busboy talk excitedly to the old sour-faced waitress- It’s just how Jay-Z got started! I just have to keep making beats, and sell a couple to get the money to get out of here, then I’m set! This shit is going to blow up, know sayin? No more wiping no fucking tables! My Dad told me I’m getting real good. Karen leans in with my check and smiles wryly and says with enough melancholy to break my heart- Some people are superstars in their own mind. I look at the check for 7.22. I leave her a 5 dollar tip for her wisdom. I walk out into the rain and shed a tear where it is quickly washed away and lost.
missed the boat
the world was in my grasp
and I turned my face away,
because I guess that’s who I am.
I guess i’d rather just watch railroad tracks,
Watch the trains rolling out
To California or El Paso,
Tacoma or Ontario,
or other places I’ll never go.
I let the door shut
on that perfect person
and for What?
Garbage and Broken families,
shadows of marshland memories,
Cold Tupperwares of tortellinis.
I guess i should have tried,
but it may be
that loving another
just isn’t for me.
spook lights got me lost in skeleton swamp
it’s 2 am again, and Marco’s softly following a will-O’-the-wisp into the murky depths of the bog, stumbling over logs in the fog, trying to reach the light in the night before the glowing Red eyes of the Beast close in for the feast.
Cry of the Salmon Woman of the Red Earth People
hey first people,
how is the reservation life treating you?
stop another freight train in Canada,
got a job serving drinks
at Red Wind casino?
more teen suicides
as you cry and watch your
culture die
But hey,
keep on giving it a try,
and maybe by 2045
you’ll get
those treaty rights restored!
Some Thoughts from Today
Bob’s son is dead, his world ended a few days ago,
But he was at work today.
He looked at me and said How are you Marco,
and I didn’t really have a reply, Because
The unliving Eyes of striped bass
and rainbow trout
bore holes in the back of my head.
It stank like fish blood.
I wonder what is happening in Trinidad right now,
it’s a weird thing to wonder about
Because as far as my concern goes,
Everyone there
Doesn’t even exist.
To me, wage slaves in Thailand or China
are just a great bargain at K-Mart.
But what am I to those slaves,
who put the stitches in my clothing?
Do they think absently about Paterson,
and ponder How was Marco’s day?
Because their’s
was hen bu Hao!
The world is a psychopath,
so watch where you put those fingers and toes
And Don’t trust anyone
you wouldn’t piss in front of.
Warning (seriously)
Don’t stare too long into the eyes of a dead fish.
they start staring back,
And you won’t like what you see
For all the Deli Girls in the Struggle (brighter days will come.)
Oh, She’s a Deli girl
Slicing up that ham so very thin..
Ooooo, she’s a Deli girl!
Giving out Free samples
To the kids
Oh, She’s a Deli girl..
Wears a new pair of gloves with
every
Handling!
Oooooooo, she’s a Deli Girl!
Cole-slaw and pickles with all the
Sandwiches,
Deli giiiiirl!
Grab the cold cut slicer
And you
do your thing,
Ohh, and she’s a Deli girl
The Deli’s not the place
to raise your kids.
Oooooooooooo,
and you better take a number,
cause I think it’s gonna be a long, long line,
Yes I think it’s gonna be a
Long, Long line…
Nocturne of a College Student (the America I love)
It’s nights like these
when I sit in Applebees
and stare mindlessly
at 20 different television screens,
watch young girls humiliate themselves
and men punch each other in the face,
And I have advertisements
and meaningless messages
poured into my head,
over and over and over again…
on nights like this
I look around as I sit, and
I just get tired of all this shit,
the ceaseless glow and the white noise,
the pleasure activated by sugary foods
and bouncing images
of cheerleader boobs,
the iphone molesting douchebag
with the backwards flat-brimmed
Penn-State hat,
The waiter who could be so much more,
the teenaged girls who think they want
to act like whores,
The bittersweet New Jersey of our dreams.
It’s nights like these I think
I just want to quit
America is rotting my brain,
and throwing potential
down the drain
Original Poetry 