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Yellow Life Jacket

I don’t remember how to write, like saying, “I don’t remember how to think.”

And it’s a funny state of mind — the emptiness of nostalgia countered by the weight of its recognition, a bandage that does nothing for the break.

I write, “This summer I am visited by the apparition of my own uselessness; I am consumed by the exorcism of it.”

In the pool beside me, a bee writhes and stings at the water, all its vehemence misdirected, until it succumbs.

Categories: Real Life.

Untangled in Vostok

Gone
To where uncertain things go
To the edge of reason,
To Vostok with a drill

Carrying hope like an empty address book

The search for something pure to fill,
The hidden beast slouched on every cold shoulder
The City, the pity, the whispered prayer

For real life
To become a little less real

Remember, when all else is lost,
To love the world
And if unable
To remember when you did

Look now, a sun kissed morning
Giving way to clouds
Drill
Drill
Drill

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

Behold the Hurricane by the Horrible Crowes

I remember everything we had. Every breath of this house creaking.
I’m familiar with the cold and the windows and the doors.
And the sound of my heart beating.
Beating in and out of time.

And it’s such a shame. I heard the wind say this morning.
Be still my heart. I age by years at the mention of your name.
What a pity this season. You remember me my lover.
I don’t recognize myself. I’m not the man you love.
Behold the hurricane. Behold the hurricane.

I walk around these empty rooms. We once moved like the morning.
Silhouettes they haunt this house like a memory haunts me now as if it were a dream.
As if it were a dream.

It’s such a shame. I heard the wind say this morning.
Be still my heart. I age by years at the mention of your name.
What a pity this season. You remember me my lover.
I don’t recognize myself. I’m not the man you love.
Behold the hurricane. Behold the hurricane.

I heard the moon has visions of her nightly.
I heard the mighty rivers cry out her name.
And I saw the heavens and the earth.
Yes I saw the heavens and the earth cry over you.

It’s such a shame. I heard the wind say this morning.
Be still my heart. I age by years at the mention of your name.
What a pity this season. You remember me my lover.
I don’t recognize myself. I’m not the man you love.
Behold the hurricane. Behold the hurricane.

At the door the leaves had fallen.
Suddenly I realized that you were gone.
Suddenly I realized that you were gone.
Behold the hurricane.

* * *

Listen on Youtube (Behold the Hurricane)

Categories: Song Lyrics.

Revisionist Review

The color that lands on the river
Is a belief system,
A twelve step program
To ease the addiction of night

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

Santa Clara by The National

I don’t worry anymore
Nothing like I did before
I don’t worry
I just watch them rolling back
I don’t worry anymore
‘Cause it’s all right, all right to see a ghost
And I wanna see ’em go down in the river where they go
And I wanna see ’em rolling, rolling back
And I wanna see ’em go
‘Cause it’s all right, all right to see your ghost

I’m gonna run to the river
Kiss my hand and wait
Gonna run to the river
Gonna throw a blue bouquet
‘Cause they’re gonna be cool happy genius heroes
I’m gonna miss ’em so much

I will settle in and dream
Of a slow and funny scene
I will settle in and watch ’em rolling back
I will settle in and dream
‘Cause it’s all right, all right to see a ghost
And I wanna see ’em go down in the river where they go
And I wanna see ’em rolling, rolling back

I’m gonna run to the river
Kiss my hand and wait
Gonna run to the river
Gonna throw a blue bouquet
‘Cause they’re gonna be cool happy genius heroes
I’m gonna miss them so much

I’m gonna run to the river
Kiss my hand and wait
Gonna run to the river
Gonna send ’em on their way
‘Cause they’re gonna be cool happy genius heroes
I’m gonna miss them so much

Yeah, they’re gonna be cool happy genius heroes
I’m gonna miss ’em so much

* * *

Listen on Youtube (Santa Clara)

Categories: Song Lyrics.

today, i do not get along with anybody

this morning
the highway turned to beer
and i drank the whole
of it in, from san diego
up towards home
and all its dark
the white foam
of my head
sloshing around the colors
of stale mugs
shot glasses

it was a dirty sunrise
my car followed or seemed
intent on finding it
ogled towards it
light, a vulgar nude
sleep, akin to lust
inapproachable
the stumbled words
of billboards:
this project of an under
stimulated america

at a gas station later
on the wrong side
of a hangover
i held
the pump
the shifted tide poured in
i dreamed of a bed
rising up
gleaming arms oyster clung
and pearl-ladened
a heaving part
as the night came down
as turbulent currents
might come upon
a diver
unexpected

my friend is leaving, if
we were still friends
after what i had said
there is no art
in suffering
for transcendence
when i arrived home
just shy of 5 o clock
everything seemed
wrong, perverse
our lives as silhouettes
of palm trees
against the sky

but i had drunk
the whole highway in
— a man often
mistakes
want for need
and my friend needed
to leave
and I wanted to
miss the details
against the
brilliance of these days
to come

some things too
sharp against the light
other things
too trivial
and always
my love like friendship
remains
insensible
arriving late
as the hour of sleep
and leaving early as
if waking

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

Metaphorical Months

As if all things were meant to wake
In the wrong hours of night
And all waking moments
Measured by the changing light.

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

A Gift of Presence

we write only what we know
the verbs wake us, keep us awake
with their incense

they surround us, their incessant
songs waking what once was night
now morning
now lunchtime
we write only of our narrow view
while bukowski paened his whores
and his liquors
we pain only for our shadows
these are not friends, at night i drink with
a hundred acquaintances
while my friend is dead, asleep
all his verbs now gifts to outlines
that remain

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

Caterwaul

Well, we were young
And turtlenecked all through spring, then it was
Summer on a turning millennium;

And when we turned
From one another, way back when,
It seemed like youth was always a safe excuse
To have been in love:
The heart darts and pushes
Past the curtains
Of sunshine, a furred critter
Suddenly wild.

Then, my friend says we can’t be it all.
I’d like to know why not (though
the logic is irrefutable),
A short fall cuts to a long winter;
The things in between
Were made in opposition.

The millennium no longer young;

Well, then there was that slow day so many
Years later

Wondering if this cat twisting
On my chest was a thing
Returned
Or if that other thing
Had ever run past the gardens
Into those wicked billows of sunshine.

Categories: Poetry & Prose.

On The Other Hand

He was born with hands as large as his appetite, grasping for his fair share. The other, not so lucky.

Categories: Poetry & Prose.