october 2016 haD me a' waxin' for some reasoN. 

so, here they are: 

"Poems"

 

MADRID

I like the gray shirts

The Americans

The ones who close their eyes

And walk and talk and smoke and bleat.

 

I like the gray streets

Where I follow them all the way, winding

To a place in-between

And it hits while it sits

That I’m not a part of that cotton-white gang.

 

I like the gray dreams now

They hide here with me

I sleep to lose them

While the ladies from Hades provide me with maybes

I end the day with their customary kisses,

Candy-red.


AT THE ELBOW

I saw that picture of you and him,

Faking it,

Clutching his elbow as if you cared anymore

Than it says on the back:

“Saint Andrews by-the-Sea, 2012.”

 

He’s all bread and butter in that frame,

Mailing in the smile, and

Holding up that child, and

Wondering all the while

What the mistress is up to at present.


THINK BACK

Remember the days when we had chocolate sodas?

I don’t

But I wish I could be there

Be at the fountain then, with friends

Ordering up a pop or two for my girl.

 

Remember the days when we had segregation?

I don’t

But I wish I could be there

Be getting slapped in the asshole with reality

A reality that should be long behind me and mine.

 

Don’t you wish you could be there too?

No, I don’t think you do

But I wish you could be.


RIPE

It makes sense to me that avocados are green

Fickle and young

They don’t know when they want you to have them.

 

So you shyly watch them decide

Decide when they aren’t to be new anymore

But if you miss the transformation

The splendid, soft chrysalis

You’ll be eating bullshit instead.

 

But I keep buying them

And they get more expensive

Every time.


NO MORE BEATS

The orchestra comes in

A creamy wall of strings

But we’re not here,

Not wrapped in the soundscape.

 

The coughing man next to us brings to mind the sickness

And that’s the new sound

The new music

The echo.

 

It doesn’t matter what song you sing

It doesn’t matter which Al Green album you put on

Nothing stays on repeat for long

Nothing but shuffle for long,

Really.

 

From this distance

Such applause sounds like rain

Because we’re just here for the final show.


THE NIGHT WE ALL HAD WINE AND CAKE

Didn’t know it

Until tonight, I guess

But I like it when you’re drunk

(huh).

 

The red in your face is the ease of a smile

And how can I fight that ready laugh?

It’s mostly sweet breath warm from here

And how did you get so tall in this crowded room?

What can I do to climb?

 

Don’t spoon that cake too fast  I just want to watch you.

 

And for God’s sake, stop that dress,

From moving around like that

I’m not treading well in the black of its waves…

 

Didn’t know

Until tonight, I guess

That drowning was an option.


YOUR NANA

Made from storybook honeycombs,

She spreads the frosting

Across those warmed holiday cakes,

Knifing that butter for KiKi with love.

 

Her arms are thick,

Carrying-muscles beneath,

She could stop a truck with the right coupon.

 

And yet, she’s soft

A walking mattress for sleepy kits and cubs.

 

Her kitchen walls are thick with garlicky grease,

And ya’ll have the urge to lick ‘em.

 

Seeing an eternal protector,

Clad in a pastel leisure robe,

Passing things down, meaning she has to leave

What can you do… to protect her too?


MY NONNA

Risen from the grave

You stir the sauce

With flecks of pepper and sinking cheese

You stir that sauce, alright.

 

No shoulders to speak of,

Nose is a slicer

A draft could shatter you.

 

And yet, you buzz

A locust gripping an over-sized spoon.

 

Your pantry is a labyrinth,

For your minotaur of a mouth.

 

We see a Halloween nightmare

Wrapped in an Easter bonnet

Which holiday meal will it take

For you to finally give up and go?


THE WORD OF

God has taught me how to hate,

That man who walks into a church

Aimlessly takes aim

And fires.

 

But He protects us.

 

I have learned to sympathize,

With those hookers on Cobbler Street

Acid kisses for 10

A fuck for 50.

 

But He provides for us.

 

I have died inside because they have,

Tissue turning against itself

A lump, a lesion,

A black hole festering in our mothers and lovers that simply cannot be removed from the equation.

 

But we grow with Him.

 

I’ll win the lottery on doomsday,

I’m sure,

Which He has taught me to believe.