A Mint Left On The Pillow
 
Not a cure, more of a ritual
She’s got the curve of the moon from the ribcage to the thigh
Serotonin levels off,
Birds dropping down the tree branch by branch
Leaves and blood,
A final guffaw and twitch.
Sitting patiently, waiting for the newness,
The change,
Thoughts not concurrent
Let me sleep
Shit mountain
Thinking of Orlovsky, Giorno, Di Prima,
Skyward.
Come to think of it that bird was more than just another of the unlucky knocking on the door,
It was a one-way conversation in a Cul De Sac
To be had over and over again
Till you are the one who speaks,
Hoping someone else will listen/
 
 ---------------
 
 
You Like my Costume?
 
Bought and sold at the same time
I could be land,
An island unto myself
Belief in a speeding train that you have no control over
The Switch, the brakeman, the geography of the track,
The trouble with you is that you aren’t me
We may share bodies,
A bed… Split the checks
What of the representation?
I’m in a battle
There are no soldiers, and there might not even be enemies,
Just love and a sense of self sabotage.
Per request of the darkest nether regions
We are shutting the ride,
We are becoming a monster
One that you will question
One that you will loathe,
Then and only then will the war be won
It’s not for you to understand,
Just live through/with.
 
------------- 
 
 Not Gambling Right Now
 
My air conditioner wants to cool me down,
Even in the winter…
I do not remove it from it’s perch,
I do not cover it from the world
A proud man and his electronic wonder,
Nodding at each other mornings and evenings
Watching me write this ode…
A guy who has run out of ideas,
Talking to his appliances.
 
 
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Thick Skin
 
How awake do you want me to be, love?
I just tied one on and I’m at some brat’s birthday party
The visor of cocaine and cognac,
These folks… All cryogenically frozen within themselves
I meet them in a park,
They all shake hands, very masonic
One exclaims that she’s “read my new shit…”
Real dower,
This might be it.
If I don’t make it to the end of this poem I’m dead, or they’ve done it.
The husbands gather around me
Gawking like statuesque gargoyles on lifeless buildings
Waiting to hear something prolific,
We all just ogle each other
“What’s for lunch?” I bellow
“Tofu dogs and beyond burgers” thrown at me like a steel medicine ball.
Well, I politely chugged my beer and walked away in silence.
Went down to the bodega,
“Bacon, Egg, and Cheese… Extra cheese.”
My cellular going wild, I turn it off
I returned to the park, walking right past the party
I found a bench about a block from the atrocity
There was quiet,
There was reflection
There was a beautiful day.
How can you beat that?
 
 
----------------- 


Close The Book
 
Crook neck
Feet dangling over the shark tooth,
Abundant in the lack of compassion
Not trying to make up for it in any way
You drive Italian countryside,
Si. Si.
I drive morning sex interlude from talk show weather dunces.
A mixed drink always steadies the shooting hand
99-1 shots coming in at Aqueduct,
Doing elective surgery on myself round 5PM.
It all sets in,
Maybe running on fumes is just a mountain range not to be moved.
A learned man once died in my arms
He didn’t say anything prophetic,
Just gargled and shit himself
That’s the extent of our knowledge, anyhow.