Tag Archives: Poem

sad boys

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.

 


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.


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.


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?


Blizzard

snow is literally money

falling from the sky.

all you have to do

is pick it up.


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.


a penny for your thoughts?

How do sense and cents sound the same.

It doesn’t make any sense.


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


Cheer up, Marco

the world is beating me up

and i’ve had enough 😦


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


change.

somehow i guess I just expect

that it’s going to happen,

that i don’t have to do anything at all

Just another year in the life,

thinking that if i want to walk

then first i’ve got to crawl

i want to believe that it’s true,

that it’s something anyone

at all can do,

but when i look in the mirror and sigh,

because i’m still the same me,

no matter how hard i try,

and i make the same dumb mistakes

and the same shitty calls,

same turnpike rest stop bathroom stalls,

i wonder if it’s possible

or if all those stories of change are hoaxes,

all those reformed men and women

are bogus,

and their act imposes

a false reality to the rest of us.

am i stubborn,

or am i simply because i am?

These are questions not for me,

that i’m sure can be solved

by Euclidean geometry,

but for now let’s try and see

if the adaptive imagination

of the human psyche,

with all it’s infinite potential,

can change

my apparently zodiac destiny,

and break me free from these

pleasantly self-destructive

tendencies.


Costco-Card Catastrophe (Just LOOK at these deals!!!)

O, Costco! God of Consumption

and Zenith of our American Empire of Greed;

The Expiration dates printed upon your Organic Milk cartons

Are testament to thousands of years of human design and efficiency.

How we marvel at your Unbeatable prices of fish and meat,

at Every fruit that grows under the Sun

Neatly packed and labeled;

Through us, your Disciples,

Ye have defeated cruel and cunning Nature

and whipped it to groveling submission.

The Immortal deities of our time

Walking the Earth in 6,000 dollar suits,

Their legacies recorded on the papyrus scrolls of tax records

and Forbes magazine archives,

Commanding their worshipers from Long Island palaces

or Mount Olympus penthouse temples uptown.

Here the Sun sets on the Age of Nations,

And Dawn begins

on the First Days of Creation

For the Eon of Corporations,

The new Superpowers of the Globe;

in Mankind’s short time, we’ve seen

Clans then Kings then Presidents,

Now the chief executive officers reign,

And we Bow down as low as we can sink

Before billboards of air-brushed tits.

O, Costco! Soon shall come a day

When Saint Peter welcomes me in

through your pearly automatically sliding Gates

With His name-tag on his shoulder,

He will Sing with the voices of Angels and Archangels,

Do you have your card?


Natural Born Killers

Is it the wolf’s fault

That he kills and eats the flesh

Of the weaker being?

Of coarse not, very few would argue so;

Is it the Man’s fault

That he is driven by greed

to do monstrous things,

To Himself and to the World?

Pretty, quiet, civilized people

Are too Afraid to see

That We, Also,

Are natural

born

killers.


%d bloggers like this: