poem for no one but myself

four white lives robbed

off marking an iphone

in my long pants

pocket

things need mending

regardless how invincible

I feel riding the

trenton

gotta get off

gotta get off on

see the broken walls

everywhere --

I smell plastic

anywhere I go

I'm sensitive to

my thoughts of

smells of her

or her

affinity w/ smells

I sicken myself

laying at the

wheel the

morning she

decided to get out

and go -- 

-- the middle

America gained

150 lbs or so and

greater musicality

months months

go by the same

bass line repeating

the same walgreens

at the top of the

marble steps

same womanly giggles

same hat

same floral

platform same?

I am some

terrifying that

distortion resonates.

mens room lines --

there a phone

sits -- I wait

and cannot

comprehend the

sensitivities of

the district and all

involved parties.

I see a man

carrying his home

in a fucking bag

I tweak my

leather laces.

I see him arrive in

a fenced off

crook full of barbs

man

no rain protection

no zazen

food. selfish me.

poem for bee

be august it'll be over --
by then, the tickle
settles in my throat.
I'm so ' appreciative
of the water
and of bellies.

I get bit. I get
frustrated w/ my work
work being an extension
of life, shit.
it is powerful/painful to
admit, even none w/
being dishonest in
writing.

Save yrself, bee.
By the lake. there
sits houses. empty,
Am I outside, there
a muggy summer night!
I see a light on.
I see movements.
I smell the earth
and the flight
paths of insects
around me.
I step forward and
get pricked.

But of course I don't
remain standing in the
middle of the
wood, w/ nothing to
drink and eat.
I want to go inside.
Turn off
the light.

poem for this date 7/12

poem while
crescendos of
exodus from
underground
commences --
hollow steps and
speed lines
riff riff riff
line line train
new employ trenton
over roof of cars
out of neo-
torresdale
if it may ever exist
it isn't a taiko
nor is it loud enough
to disturb
the ride of someone
else on the
trenton train
be straightforward
and furrow and
be bright
be out for final
inspection please
                   no pls
hold a trailpass
in yr teeth
and continue writing
being looked at
by pretty girl
on the other side
of the aisle --
perhaps
as requiem kills
poem last occasion,
is all falsehoods
building, wreaking
havoc
like clown hungry

is the left leg shorter
that would be a shame
or just find myself
never quite on balance
(and the same)
when I sit
shine assessment
not a rookie I
couldn't care to assure
too carefree
around the spikes.
I singe hearing in the
home and streets
I'm home
there is no harm in rain
no love either in
up stares
no june there in the
giggle behind you.

The Letter is false.
I seethed inwardly.
or rear again
how I am to face my brothers
or to keel over, as an anxious mountain
has ended
too late

often I sat
on the bench and waited
much for nothing,
as she has not contacted me in
many months I wonder
how much in love
she is

brother, I can write to her
saying that you died,
so that she may come quickly

because he's dark the following
morning
and if Heaven is kind
will return some day
looking around,
transfixing the future
begging for alms for food

the woman ladled out a measure of the best wine
and until the end I try not to forget
smile, sometimes, even then
with a drop hanging on my chin
tickles me

I remember then
I had not been wrong
in my choices

I'll muster my lanterns tonight
in the middle of the fifth lunar
month, drink it down
the illness over

7613 i guess

aw man aw MAN

didn't catch it before but, gee (so her)

that's who she reminded me of

bent over

a drum

i think it is that little fist of a nose

with wrist bent ready to bop

the brilliant teeth out of that smile

                                                     or

maybe it's the short hair

a dear beagle to someone died

and so on their fb they've become that beagle

birthday poem also for ryan eckes (in regards to sean taras's birthday poem for ryan eckes)

got 90 day review. on advanced track says they. got raise. 25 more cents than normal raise says they. bought lots of clothes. bought many pitchers last night for people. didn't give shit. met kate flannery. called her "ma'am". kate flannery says to me 'don't call me ma'am!" in light-hearted manner. put arm around kate flannery. took pic with kate flannery. got drunk w/ other poets/girls/girl poets. also was ryan eckes post-bday celebration. sang first lyric of some song over and over, "if you feel like lovin' me, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo". ian left, despite my protests. jess, drunk, tired of waiting for ryan, left. frank, in beautiful emerald shirt, works hard. i point out to ryan several times, "frank works so hard". "it's his job", ryan says, drunk. outside with julia smoking. she sort of looked like my julia. told her this while making fun of my julia, no longer my julia. could not compare the two julias. several men walk by pointing to st. francis on wall saying "that's roosevelt!". made ryan finish all beers, even beb's beer. brandon invites me to read something sometime. other brandon tells me mike taras took up boxing, to which we both agreed suited him in ways. round 12th and mifflin. his company uses timecycle. but brother brandon left way earlier. got order of events mixed. outside, see alina on brandon, exchange numbers in hopes to get pokemans. everyone mumbles. i mumble something and leave with beb, singing, "if you feel like lovin' me, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo. . ."