Beauty & the Waste
For Jeff Stewart
The end is always near
In the heartbeat
Of blood &
Time
Making long-distance
Collect calls
To a god who wonʼt answer
From phone booths
That no longer
Exist.
The talking heads
Keep talking,
Telling us more lies.
North Korea has its finger
On the trigger.
ISIS never sleeps.
Meanwhile,
Everybodyʼs working for the weekend
Watching football on TV
Waiting for the perfect death,
Or retirement,
Whichever comes first
Going back & forth
On trains
In cars
On roads
Stuck in traffic
Up & down
& across America
The land of the free
& the home of the depraved.
What makes us great?
How can we sleep
When our beds are burning?
In the shadow
Of turning
The mirror sees
Everything:
The face…wanting
Waiting
For the next new song to play
On the radio
The next earthquake
Building below
The skinʼs surface
The temporary happiness
Of insanity
& complacency
Drinking to forget
Remembering to let go
Worshipping the sex
Of chaos
The anxious brain
Balancing between body
& soul
The burden & cost of the cross
How it looks to others
How we look
To it
Having feelings that murder
Logic
Stepping on the shoulders
Of children
To get a better view
Can we ever know the truth?
Sitting on couches
Staring at walls
While the world is out there
Spinning
We stay inside
& surf through images
Comparing ourselves
To how others live
Staying up late
Eating crackers in bed
Reading T.S. Elliot
Taking pills so we can dream
Taking pills so we can think
The beauty & the waste
Beyond windows
Beyond screens
In crowded cities
Of overpriced rent
Commuting to the next place
The next thing
The diamond ring
The hope of love
The lust
The broken promise
The fairy tale
The betrayal
The enchanted forest
Littered & forgotten
The longing
The failure to launch
The haunted, burning questions
Tunneling the dark mind
In search of answers that can speak
For themselves
The unwanted thoughts
Of fear
Guilt
Doubt
The worm in the dirt
Digging around the bones
The cancer
The debt
The slow death of the living
The price of neglecting
The ink
The love of words
The machine at the table
Waiting for the poem
The shrine
Of a silent god
Wanting nothing less
Than blood
The voices
The faces
The bodies
Fucking away the time
In the sand of the hour glass
The naked animal
Behind the mask
Yawning during the movie
The emptiness of an empty church
An abandoned home
The memory of a bad childhood
The ice at the bottom
Melting together
Remembering the thirst
The agnostic laughter last seen
Leaving the bar
Alone
Road Signs & Wonders
No one knows why we dream
Why sunlight
Cuts like a knife
When we stand
Around
& talk about God/
Life/
The meaning
Of death
We are like fish
Or insects
Talking about us
The grass is always greener
On the other side,
They say
This is the way
We think
& when we die
It dies
Becoming the water
That is all around
Us
The path is wide
& the truth
Is narrowly unfair
& seemingly
Inconceivable
Possessed with mostly guesses
Answers that beg
For something more
Something
To know
Hold
& feel
Ignoring the obvious
Intoxicated
By the distances
The mind
Travels
The miles unconsciously
Measured
While staying
Awake
Reaching out
To where
The light fades
The darkness falls
Dotted with
Things
We've named
& forgotten
The weight
Of the universe
Dripping with rain
The grace
Of familiarity
Making the road slippery
When wet
Living in Skin
I touch it
Remembering
When you
Last held it
Everything suddenly
Turning upside
Down
The moment
Our bodies knew
We weren't
Alone
Love
Lust
Whatever we want to call it
The taste of fruit
Flowering
Between
Your legs
The warm
Wet truth I trust
The future
Worth
Waiting for
The next time
We collide
The hardness of this world
Softening
Between
Us
To the Song in My Head Getting Louder
Those nights: slam dancing in the
dark, getting lost in
the music,
the drunk, chaotic
rhythm of life
pinning me down
because of certain choices
I made,
or didnʼt make,
Iʼd like to think
you were out there, somewhere
in the crowd,
& that
you're out there
now,
withholding judgment,
moving your body to the same
beat.
I Swear I Didn’t Make This Up
The voices of the past continue to
haunt my mind, like vultures
picking at my bones as if I've been
dead for a long time. I got up way
too early this morning, partly
because my lady wouldnʼt quit
snoring. & it also didnʼt help that
the couple in the house behind us,
we're screaming at each other:
the woman throwing & breaking
things, threatening to call the cops,
the man yelling:
“Fuck you, bitch, you canʼt make me
leave, not until we talk!”
The baby crying in the background:
What about me… Don't I exist???
It is all too much, too strange &
familiar. There is no one
to blame, really.
It is what
it is.
What is done is done all over again.
I give up by getting up & making
coffee, resuming the same routine,
feeding the wild cries of the world,
preparing for whatever'sʼwaiting around the corner, while the cats are
quietly eating from their bowls, content. I swear I didn'tʼmake this up. Any of it.
More Thoughts & Words on Turning Water into Time
I came here
Restless & afraid I wouldnʼt be able
To sleep later
Tonight
Watching the sun
Melt away
Like a disappearing grin
Another day dying
To itself
The slow death
In all of us
Measured by
Our constant anxiety
Outside together
In the fading laughter
Of others
Living their lives
Playing their games
Aiming for a love
That takes us to the edge
A love we hope
Isnʼt a mistake
Or an end
Risking everything
Not to be alone
Not to say we never tried
We are most alive when we realize
We're dying
Drinking to
Escape
Putting on
The same old clothes
Unable to change
Anything
As always
As if I were the last one
To sit here
On this bench
Staring at images
Of an upside down world
Reflected on the surface
Of an aging river
The blood of the earth
Mysteriously moving through us
Quietly carrying with it
The madness
Of a language barely
Understood
I have been here before
Editing whatever
Comes to mind
The same familiar buzz
Sometimes repeated as words
Other times
As wind in the trees
Playing tricks
On mindless birds
Always looking for a place
To land
I sit here outside
Alone
Until my shadow dissolves
The streetlights
Come on
A plane passes over me
Like the angel
Of death
& vanishes
The Sun Went Down
The sun went down on our marriage.
We fought against it
until it was too heavy and neither one of us
could hold it up
any longer.
We were tired of trying.
I know I was.
The sun went down slowly,
stabbing the dark sea, like the once believed
unsinkable Titanic, and we went
down with it.
But this didn't just happen overnight.
This took years. Fight after fight
after fight, until there was nothing left
but a sad death. Nothing.
The sun went down, and I am no longer
the person I used to be.
You aren't either. Who is? Nothing looks the same
after it's been broken, after it sinks.
The sun went down and is still going down,
that same sinking feeling
still haunts us.
What more could it want?
There is nothing else to take?
The sun went down and slept in the bed I had made,
the bed that was now too big
for one person,
and cried itself to sleep
and dreamed it was the last day on earth.
Poetry
It will never pay
the bills
or save your
soul,
fix your broken
marriage,
cure you
of cancer,
or help you
get to sleep
at night.
It will never
hold you
& tell you:
I love you...
But sometimes
it is all you
have left
to hang onto.
The one thing
that still lives
& burns
inside,
guiding you
through the darkness,
up & over
mountains,
across valleys
of shame,
loneliness
& regret.
Sometimes
it's God
looking you
in the eye.
Sometimes
it's the bum
in the alley
who won't die.
Trying Not to Have Bad Thoughts on Good Friday
Trying to make that connection,
or whatever
it is
I'm supposed to be thinking
about right
now.
Does anyone even know
anymore?
I don't.
So often, we say: it's a perfect day...
But only because
we want it
to be.
Trying to remember when
nothing mattered,
connected to feelings,
& nothing else,
Before feelings became
a cliche.
The bodies of clouds, thoughts
& longings, unfulfilled
dreams,
pass through the sky
above me
like slow-moving blimps,
advertising that today
is Good Friday.
But, so what, right? We all have
to die.
To be born
is to be sacrificed alive.
We've all been shown so much.
& yet, we've seen
very little.
Something pulls us --
You/me, one way or another,
while feverishly trying
to connect --
some of (if not all) -- the dots.