it started as just another hot day, and then the weight of the world replaced the sting of the sweat in my eyes

the joggers are back
as are the cyclists
and the flies
one of the latter
keeps buzzing around my
hands
as i try and bang out
this insignificant
note
useless attempt at
describing
what my days feel like
lately

i have this week been
threatened
by the learning disabled
father
of a learning disabled
street urchin
seen trespassing in my
garden
trespassing i say
subnormal or not
the hardened shell
of my blamelessness
offers no sympathy
while
the memory of my
autistic cousin beckons
as i search our
similarity

it was during the middle
of a three
fourteen hour day
stretch of kayaks
bugs
lotions
salt and brackish water
baths
and one hundred degree
plus heat
i lost eleven pounds
since tuesday
and now it s
saturday

i sit here among my
virtual
crowd of friends
the MC5
iggy's daughter
scene stars from
NYC
and LA
as the better part of
pennsylvania and ohio
swarm outside my
air conditioned
store front door
i hide inside here
sneaking out only briefly
to fetch my red note book
looking for reasons to
remember

if not for these little
trips
i could forget the
sun burns a total but
fading tattoo
reminder of the trials
of the last week and the next week

outside my door
the descending atmosphere
waits patiently
still and
accommodatingly
to wrap itself around me
once again
choking me
sweating me
wringing all sweetness and
moisture from rapidly aging skin
and increasingly intolerant
barking bones
summertime
and the naked dance
of the living

my friends play shows
burn down bars and
honky tonks
and call to let me know
when they will hit
my town
as i sit here
amid the pile of
new and used office supplies
aging kettle corn
and a sample for reference
of the dead biting flies
which tormented the
last group we took up there

funny
some enjoy the show
some overhear the moans
of my associates mid day
and ignore
and maybe not funny but
fascinating how
some will drive by
six to twelve hours of
shantys, row houses
poverty and goats
in the street
just to reach the resort
and
never
question
the eyes they pass to get there
i
have always found
at least interesting
the juxtaposition of
the ideal to the
absoluteness that is
the life of the poor
and the ignorance
of that inequity
by the affluent
the
callous and gratuitous
nature in the
exchange between
the purchasers of dreams
and the sellers of flesh
no penance
no acknowledgment
of the true cost of
the life of
one human being
and the sacrifices made
to provide the whimsical
with the feeling
the experience
of the lived

none
save the children of the
poor and burdened
shall know the
worth of this
assignment

that clarity given
to the bottom
the one on the
crumb
who see the truth
in that discordance
between traveling
class and
water bearer

maybe i write these notes
in an attempt to
never forget the
weight of that
basket
or the faces of those
on the side of my road
or the fact that the
only true distinction
between president and pauper
between doctor and waiter
bartender and drunk
is lost
gone since the moment
the stars aligned and
the many sets of these
twins were born
and were then scattered
separated by the
boastful hot breath of humanity

indolence, insolence, mensa lips, rose hips, and chamomile...

message from inside the
bottle
people all over listen
they miss what IS really
they dig and dive and wallow
in other peoples cerebration
and cesspools
looking for some glimmer
of hope
sparkle in ribbon form
running like a vein through
the strata of vagueness and excess
comprising their daily mirror
holding out that last ditch wish
to find that which they have not so far

that which was promised to them by the
man on the teevee,
the bigger dick
the swarm of lovers
the safety of the babies
the house on the beach
the motorcycle like james dean
the wind that comes with it
the hair to blow in said wind
the freedom to be whatever they wanted
as long as that did not interfere with
work

and i
one of them
pass by them
one of them
and tip my hat as
one of them, “HI !
how ya doin” kinda smile like one of them
and they look at me like i'm an idiot.

the guy wrangling metal carts in the rain
outside the supermarket, when my
baby girl was sick, and i would have been
fine to just lay on the couch
smoke my stuff and watch the football
on a cold ass gray and rain filled day.
who turns his head away
or the lady behind the cash
register at the pharmacy next door
when i've already stood there
for five of my minutes
smiling
and late for what my day demands
but hey if she really needs to price
saint patrick's day schwag in
january and wants to do so while watching me stand at her register
until she is ready
fine. that is fine-
but being the first to speak
and smiling
and to be met immediately with
IMFINEHOWAREYOU!!!
so fast and devoid of even any angular
component
just a pipeline from her
frustration
right to my
get the fuck out of here.

here is the thing.

it'd be one thing
i guess if it's just another case of
another a.hole customer
all smiley and wanting help,
but it could just as easily been a
FUCK YOU TOO
kinda thing,
why do we nod, wave
why do we hold doors
slow down for people
why don't we ?
why do i allow the cancerous stew on my day's thoughts......
why not, as my boys up north call it
the" mallloy salute"
?
because i have chosen not to
today
i have made the choice to be a
decent
human
today
not glorious, not wealthy, and
not famous just not any
more harm than good
today
but let
santa clause
or saddam ryan seacrest hussein
or even post concubine tiger stroll
that stretch across the lot
towards the sidewalk in front of the
cheap chinese food store
and those same idiots
you and me
would roll out the red
carpet
send the limo
forget the kids and
cancel christmas
just to brush against
that type of world
that sort of semblance

and that is what is wrong
with the world today;
as simple as that may seem
as stupid and however
crass to bring the correlation
but
when we have gotten
to where we can not lift
our head from the trough
to acknowledge the choking
of a brother
beneath the gluttony of our mass
then how will we ever notice
the raping of our dreams by the ones
at the table
the ones throwing the scrap
the ones watering the skies

i began this day with the
simple trading of
instant messages, the kids
call 'em
with a friend i used to see
pretty much every day
and now will be
lucky to see
a few times a year
we used to entertain them
every day.
them and us.
today it was
indolence
insolence
mensa lips
rose hips
and chamomile.....
aww.

hot hazy and just to start

for starters
today just aint
normal

its all fuzzed up
grainy
like an old television

one with old
antennae
the movable kind
and
the screen is
all wrong
like watching a
cold weather
college football game
in a dump of a
stadium on the
least of fields

sore
red but not
the color is all
wrong actually
or the hue
or the tint
or the contrast
something

something has this one looking
and feeling not right
the greens are mossy grays
pale blue is silver
browns drying to
tinder box orange and
yellows

sea birds just hang in
the still and softened
mixture of gasses
we breathe
unsure
whether rain or
ash will visit them
today

word is the
oil slick
is rounding florida
like a serial killer
and it seems the
murder in the gulf
was just diversionary
as the spill sets sights
on the keys and
the carolinas

there
maybe that’s it
the quicksilver and
mud and tar
reflecting and refracting
the sunlight to blanket
my blue

maybe that’s why
my today looks like fire
has been

maybe its the
quarter million
new neighbors
this week
wearing out brake lights
and rubbering necks
who do not care
that it kills us
to bear this child
for them

the every year
like open flower
trod upon before
burning up
in surrender
round mid day
or
maybe its
just haze left by
humidity
that wont
go away
its
the day after
memorial day
and the march of
the gasoline cans
is just getting
under weigh

beaverdam I (the real four) thoughts on a bottle of Jack Daniels given me one birthday

-last thing i could understand
that she said

oh my God....(then sighs)
my father can feel this
damn you're an evil boy

as i sweat and
kept on rowing

the next moment noticeable
was hazy mountain dusted
sunrise
slammed shut by steel
and gray thunder heads-
all the more reason
to never stop the
drinking-
"there's hope for the bone yard"
the jack bottle collection,
at least for one more season

it's four in the morning
in another dream hole
and i'd play that
bothered guitar if
they weren't sleeping-
if it wasn't four in the
afternoon for me...
-i'd be asleep like them too
instead of stewing my
self absorbed child
in a broth of less than
what could be.

open

and when they i
itch
i rub my eyes
until colors swirl
like lightning nymphs
to hills of gray
all in a
line
dancing slightly
falling off the
edge of the
viewing screen
like lava lamp
thick drops of
eel ec tricity
melting down slower
now
as if to almost form
a wide face
in bronzed
chain mesh
but
more like a
mountain face
azure colored
clay mudslide

thigh highs and satin socks

close your eyes...
-wanna take a ride ?
nothing but blue skies burning
-blazing hot blue flame
burning as gas ignites
meeting unknown on the edge of
this domain-

and are there other lives?
other forms with eyes
that taste and feel as we
sometimes stupidly do?

"i'll believe it when i see..."
is what the wandering monk said to me,
"sure, it just may be, but i have not
seen it, i will wait until i see"

wait !
what was that? -this
bead of sweat and now i'm hot
and my brow turns and
downward feathering and spiraling
sing my lovely children!, sing!
as another bill the taxman brings

-and hey you! red hair and
asian lips,
sing that song for me...
put on thigh highs and
satin socks and bring it
home to me.

light my candles, in a daze
'cause i found black.
it's god to me,
how else is the light expected to see
if not reflected off of me?
lower self, inner child, or
gatekeeper may be
that which may just kill for life
or fuck as the blind, inherently
-wishing to reproduce the self
in hopes that future life may see.

don't judge the last few lines
my friends,
think of all the waste that lay
between your birth and yesterday
and ask again way down inside,
do you see all that differently?

my flower lays now at your feet,
now...what is it you think of me?

red night (excerpt from "Nor'easter")

the red green and
blue lights played
and danced a
frantic jerk on the
fake fog
as we played songs
songs like emeline
songs about irish whiskey
and weed
songs by other people
who will never know we played them
as the tourists
whooped and hollered below
the on stage serenade

there was an
anesthesiologist from
richmond
horse breeders from
missouri
the drunken dough boys of
swan beach
and one raucous table full of
bears and beards from the
hills of pennsyltucky
apple-tinis and
red headed sluts

as the boys and i
stuffed a victory
and our guitars
back in the van
them
pondering rest and
reefers
mine
eyes bore in focus
mind thirty three miles
away as i
pulled the keys to the ford
from my beaten
black leather
zipper scraped hand asking
can i feel it now
can i just go home
argument between my
senses and conscience
as my body throws my
hand to turn the key

plug in the portable
music player
cheap trick
hello there
whalehead club bound

fifty minutes later i
pick from the thickets
a tandem kayak
fit for one
two gallons of gasoline
and the winston
repeater
camels and a lighter

the mind and body
of the thief
must be subject to torment
i care nothing of the soul
that is for another
judge
i choose to shower the former
in heavy drops of
fast lead and fire

you must bear in mind now
and with importance
that in that sand box
where i work
and friends do
and my family has
lived
they ride by us daily
and scowl
my guests aghast as
small minds in big trucks
worry by
they lay spike strips
on my path
no shit
two by twelve inch
salt treated
shot or filled
otherwise with
thick
new
hand driven framing
nails
they
dig holes in my road
throw molasses soaked
feed corn down
on my land to bait the wild hogs
so that they may come out
and shoot them by night
by day they conspire
watch my movements
learning my schedule
wishing they knew which
bait
might lure me
so
do not judge
as i turn up the volume
lose the perspective
join small picture
politic
and turn neighbor
into crime scene
transform
shining yellow swamp boat
to
the best cliff hanger
the north beach sun
has ever endeavored to
question

this red night
i burn the text i
would have written
and finish the chapter
begun when the
citizen became thief
mine became his
and watched became
aware

i take all the
responsibility
a shovel would take
for digging a ditch
but
you might blame the
morning haze over
carova
on me

fireworks are
still illegal but
i see them
every night
as fresh souls arrive
not yet stained
by the jaundice of
coastal plain
winter
i
watch as some kid
shoots his mortars
announces the arrival
of two wide eyes
as
the color and sparks
fade back
leaving the x ray
clouds against black
heavens
i toss the end of a camel
and start the real show
thinking of my daughter
and a movie i saw
in 1979

and watch

and wait