Trees In The Garden

I cut down your darkness today
With clippers
And a saw.

Took me seven trips to the dump
To get rid of the
Damp
Depressing
Limbs and leaves
That shouldn’t have been
Planted in the first place.

I questioned you then
While you were burying their roots
Asking what we would do
When the trees grew tall and lofty
And blocked out the sun.

You were the landscaper
Gardener
Mother and foster of plants.

You told me
That
It was okay.

But it wasn’t okay.

I knew it
In my heart.

Everything became
Unmanagable
Spiralling
Outward
Leaving in it’s wake
Despair and destruction.

You’re not here now.

Well...

There’s been a terrific amount of rain
These past few months
And nothing is drying out.

I cut down those
Fucking trees.

They didn’t deserve it
Per se...

But now there is sunlight
Shafting down inbetween houses
Into the garden
Out back.

It feels healthy and warm
Baking my skin
Chasing the mold and mildew
Away.

It’s lighter now.

So much lighter

Like everything else.

4:30 Movie

The smells of pot roast
Homemade spaghetti sauce
And roasted chicken
Filled the house
To the sounds of metal pots
And pans being banged around
In the kitchen
As I tried to get a week’s worth in of
‘Planet Of The Apes’
‘Our Man Flint’
Or
Ray Harryhausen.

Channel 7
UHF

New York’s ABC affiliate
Was the only competiition
To stray me from
After school free time
To be out in the woods
Building forts
Chasing deer
Finding salamanders and snakes
Lighting fires
And smoking cigarettes.

If I wasn’t outside
Playing
‘War’

It was because
I was watching
‘Pirate Week’
‘Monster Week’
‘Vincent Price Week’
‘Jungle Week’.

The 4:30 Movie
Was famous for
Showing whole weeks of stuff.

Jerry Lewis
Raquel Welch
Elvis...

And then they had theme weeks...
‘Fantasy’
‘Western’
‘Strange Worlds’
‘Laugh-A-Thon’
‘Adventure’
‘Suspense’.

‘Bad Girls Week”
“Beach Party Week”
“Edgar Allan Poe Week”.

There was something
Secure
And comforting
To feel the thrill and suspense
Of a good
B-Movie
Psychotic thriller
Or to laugh my ass off
During
“It’s A Mad Mad Mad Mad World”

Only to have my
Nurturing
Loving mom
Call me in to
Have a well-made supper.

There was no arguing
That
I was going to miss
The last fifteen
Minutes
Of
The 4:30 Movie.

For awhile
I didn’t know
How the
Japanese monsters
Died
If they did at all.

Or if
The Martians
Conquered the Humans.

It was some time
Before
I found out
How the West was won.

Danaus Plexippus (Monarch Butterfly)

The butterfly
Flew in through the sunroof
While I was stopped
At a traffic light.

At first
I thought that it was a leaf
But I saw it’s orange wings
Flutter around inside
For a moment
Before settling
Onto my shoulder.

I could feel it’s movement
As it nestled down
And I didn’t want to disturb it.

I felt lucky
Reminded of the lady bug
Or the praying mantis.

When the light turned green
It whispered
Into my ear

“Drive, just drive.”

“I’m driving.”
I said
Thinking of all of the
Back seat drivers
That I’ve had in my past.

I almost got defensive and angry
Out of habit.

“No. I mean go. Just drive to wherever until you run out of gas.”
“Life’s short.”

“I’m on my way to work”
I told him.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but I just can’t drive to wherever.”
“I’ve got two kids and a mortgage that I’m trying to keep up with.”
“I can’t just drive. Believe me, I wish I could. I’ve thought about it, but have you seen the
traffic? The price of gas?”

“Besides, don’t give me the ‘Life Is Short’ speech. My kids are 11 and 15...
And believe me, I have no idea where the time went.”

I swigged at my coffee
And cursed the bastards in front of me.

“11 and 15? I don’t understand. Our lifespan is 4 to 6 weeks...8 weeks tops if you work
out and eat a healthy diet and the climate is condusive. 15 weeks! How the hell is that
possible?”

The butterfly caught me off guard.

I took another swig
Of my coffee
Watching the assholes
Around me.

“Dude”
I said...

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s your lifespan. I’m in it for the long haul. If I work out and
eat a healthy diet, I could live to be 80, 90 years old, until I can hardly walk and I’ll have to
wear diapers. My kids will probably throw me in assisted living if it can be afforded. My
death will not be as quick as yours my friend. I have to work just to survive. I’ll
probably be working the rest of my life until I’m in 'said' diapers!”

“You on the other hand, will have just a few fleeting moments here upon this earth. Just
like that...”
I said
Snapping my fingers
For emphasis.

I don’t think
That the monarch
Liked what I had to say
For I could feel
Him take off from my shoulder
And I watched him
As he flew out
The same way he came.

I laid on the horn
As some asswipe
Tried to cut in front of me
And hit the speed-dial to work
To inform them
I was going to be a few minutes late.

Black Walnut Fruit

Bold
Black Walnut fruit
Drops around me in the fog
Like heavy arsenal
Imploding.

The looming fruits
Like bombs
Disengage
From payload
Heading
Toward Earth
In a rain
Of terror.

In my best
Re-enactment
Of ‘Saturday Night Fever’
Choreography
Which was thankfully
Done in the dark
With no witnesses

I emerge
From the thick Autumn fog
Unscathed
Thankful
To be
‘Stayin’ Alive’.

Needle And Cotton

I wasn’t so far gone
As some of my dope friends
When I quit.

I mean

I wasn’t digging
At the veins in my neck
To get a hit.

I stopped using on my own.

Didn’t step foot
Inside a 12 step
For many years.

But
I know that they have a term
For my secret erotic
Fixation
With the needle.

Something like

‘Romancing the addiction’.

Just guessing.

I’ve buried the physical part
And I’m good with that.

It’s the psychological part
That is still present
To this day.

25 years later.

It was the whole set up
Leading up to
The actual high.

THAT was just as sexy to me.

I get a hard-on
When I’m in the wrong neighborhood
In any city.

I am alive
Hairs standing
Straight up on end.

Cocky and on the defense.
Sixth sense switched on.

I am in my element.
I lived this shit.

And I am here to tell you
About it now.

I can smell the drugs.

They want me.

I want them.

The forbidden
Criminal element
Of the desire.

The dope hunger.

The crime and sins
Leading up to the buy.

The buy itself
Which was often dangerous.

The prep
And it’s smells.

The tincture cooking
Browning up in a cotton ball.

The goosebumps
Pickling skin
As I watched the needle
Pulling the dope
Within.

The all-encompassing hunger
As I shoved the air bubbles out.

Then
Hitting a vein
And drawing back
To see my sweet friend
Blood swirling
Within.

When I hit it home
THAT was an orgasm
To someone far away.

To someone that existed
A long time ago.

I have distance on my side.

Psychologically
It WAS like sex.

It was a substitution
On occasion.

More complicated
Than a condom

I know it wasn’t always like that.

I’m sure that I’m romancing the needle.

There was a lot of crazy
Fucked up bullshit
Between the lines.

Lots of
Nasty
Filthy
Disgusting
Degrading
Dishonest
Demoralizing
Fucked up shit
That happened
Inbetween Point A
And Point B.

But I’m here
25 years later
To tell you this
Unapollgetically.

It’s one story
Of many.

More romantic
Than most.

Ghost Girl

She is always there.

Walking on the side of the road.

A skinny teenage waif
In different outfits.

But it is always her.

Everyday
Blonde hair drifting
Behind her
In rhythm with her feet.

I drive my daughter to school.

There she is.

I go to pick peaches.
That was definitely her.

We go to get milk
From the grocery store.

“Dad”
“This is really getting freaky”
My daughter says.

It’s her again.

We see her
Miles all around
In different locations
Walking the berm
Next to cornfields
And suburban developments.

Two towns
With a river
Inbetween us.

She is there
Crossing the bridge.

I told my daughter
She is
‘The Ghost Girl’
Jokingly.

But I saw her
When I was going to get coffee
This morning.

I passed her
Black coffee in hand.

She gazed
Surveying her path straight ahead.

I tried to smile.
I tried to say hi.

But I couldn’t smile
And I couldn’t say hi.

No words issued
From my mouth
Only silence.

Ghost Girl
Walked past me
And I couldn’t even turn
To watch her walk away.

When I could speak again
And turn around

She wasn’t there.

She was somewhere
Creating a legend.

Nailpolish

Hooker Red/Chili Pepper Red
(Professionally Done, Bodega Style)

She was Puerto Rican.

¡Caliente estupenda!

¡Pimienta Picante!
¡Guindilla Pequena!

She worked behind a bar
In Hoboken
Called ‘Red’s’.

The way her lacquered crimson nails
Gripped a cocktail shaker
And poured a cold Martini
Into a frosted stemmed glass
Downstairs in the glow of Red’s
Got to me
More than the vodka did.

She wore matching lipstick.

It wasn’t long
Before I felt those
Garnet nails
Digging in my back.

I discovered fiery Latin Love
Where
At one moment
She was clamped on me
Screaming
In the throes of violent passion.

Her Espanol
Fast and coaxing.

“Jode como un cerdo!”
“Oy, Papi Chulo! Papi Chulo!”

Over and over.

She was very convincing.

Ruby red nails wore me out.
Her stamina was demanding.

The next thing I knew
She was throwing plates at me
Cursing me
In her native language
Threatening

“To put a knife into my throat”

Which I believed
To be taken seriously
By the gestures of her wild hands
Nails flashing like blood
And the objects
Being thrown
Around me.

I stood there
Dodging
Anything within her reach
Wondering what the hell
I had done.

“¡Chica Loca! Chica Loca!”

My Spanish wasn’t that good.

“¡Loca! Chica Loca!”

That must’ve fired her up some more
Because
Before I knew it

I was back in bed with her
Trying to figure out
The Spanish language
And the barriers
That kept us
At such a distance
That needed to be overcome.

Aventura Rojo.



Black Then Deep Plum
(Self Inflicted, Chipped, But Maintained)

She had on black nailpolish
When I met up with her.

Appropriately
I was sporting a black eye
And a jagged scar
With stitches
On my left temple.

A big black eye
That I couldn’t hide
Behind designer sunglasses.

I probably had a concussion too.

Whatever...

I was just happy to see her.
It had been a long time.

I met her in a small riverside town
In New York State.

When her black fingernails
Wrapped around my fingers
And we walked through
The touristy crowds
And ate sushi
Drank cold beer in the warm sun
Laughed
Flirted...

We turned heads...

Me with my screwed up
Bed-head hair
Sticking up
Shiner
And bandages...

And her...

An Italian beauty
With the greatest
Sexiest
Kinkiest dark hair
Tan olive skin
And a killer ass.

I wouldn’t trade that day.

Later on

She changed her nail color to a deep plum
As Fall
Turned into Winter
As the color of the skin
Around my still puffy eye
Turned from black
To purple
To blue and yellow.

Each of us
Knowing how to treasure the sporadic
Days and nights
That we shared together.

As deep plum went back into black.





Clear Coat
(Professionally Done)
(Matching Manicure And Pedicure)


We were on the hood
Of her car
As the light rain fell
Around us.

She had no inhibitions
And neither did I.

She was flawless.

Porcelain ivory teeth
Wavy blonde hair
Pristine white skin
Curves where they should be.

Dressed well.

Always nice heels
That would make her calves taught.

Sexy lingerie.

She was model material.

She was calculated with her appearance
But she was an animal
Sexually.

A paradox.

So there we were
Fucking
On the hood of her car.

I could hear the rain
Bouncing off of the polished paint
Of the Honda Accord.

I could hear the rain
Falling against
The luster of clear coat
As she grabbed me by the hair
And pulled me into her.



Everchanging Bright Funky Colors
(Always Done By Others At
Bi-sexual Girl Nail Painting Parties)

This one...
She was a wild one
And gave me a run for my money.

Her nail colors
Changed as much as her hair
And that’s why I liked her.

She was unpredictable
Hard headed
Determined
And a handful.

Her English accent
Hooked me
Followed by her punk rock loveliness
Big dark eyes
Strong body...

We would wrestle!

Her multi-colored nails
Would grasp mine
And we would tumble around the room
Knocking over my paintings
And furniture

Wrestling for real!

She was a tough one and put up a good fight.

She liked girls too
And was very fond of
This one chick
That had moved up from the South
Somewhere.

She was a knock-out
In a hick kind of way.
Her face had the big wide lips
That I’m fond of
Her two top front teeth
Were large
And had a gap inbetween them.

The three of us hung out a lot
Even made it together
A bunch of times
But then they ended up
Getting an apartment together
And then they started hanging out more
Just the two of them.

They were both slob girls.
A little dirt smeared upon
Seraphic splendor.

It ended for good
At a party.

There were a bunch of us
In the stairwell
Smoking crack
When she took a fire extinguisher
Off of the wall
And sprayed it directly
Into my face
For no reason.

Blind and coughing
I heard her laughing.

It could’ve been the drugs
But it seemed to me
That she was ridiculing me.

I didn’t see her much after that
And she never apologized.

She cut her hair short
And dyed it black.

I got over it
But I missed her accent
In the morning
With croissants and coffee.


French Manicure
With Cut Up Dollar Bill Tips
(Ghetto Fabulous)

I met her in a club
And it was a one-night stand.

We both knew that from the get go.

She kept locking eyes with me.

We ended up dancing the whole night.

I could tell that she was going to be good in bed
By the way that she moved her body.

And she was.

A freak in black skin.

She let me do anything I wanted.

“Except”
She scolded at me one time
When I got too close...

“Don’t fuck up my nails baby!”
“You don’t want to see me turn into a bitch!”

The freak was right.

Writer’s Block

Sometimes the words just don’t come
And I have to resort to drastic measures.

It might come down to signing off
Another organ
Or limb
To the Devil.

An end to a love affair.

Breaking bones as I’ve had in the past.

I’m willing to opt out
For a distant tragedy
Or someone else’s
Downfall.

But that’s not
What is on the table
Right now.

I have nothing to offer.

No golden birds.
No pharoahs or saints.
No makeshift catastrophes.

The night is silent
Except for the crickets
And rain.

That is it.

The night is cool and wet
And chirping.

But it offers nothing
To me
To write about.

Junkyard

Skeletons, glass, rust
Frames, empty, funeral
Dirty, broken, shattered, bodies
Ripped, crushed, bent
Oil, mangled, silent, ugly
Mirrors, destroyed, metal, gas
Sliced, vinyl, dusty, chrome
Melted, jammed, torn
Iron, steel
Quarter panels, bumpers
Rubber, gears
Crashed, outdated, wiring
Turn signals, valves, bolts
And pistons

Machines
No longer turning over

In death
There is discovery
From within
This curious child

That wants to transform
These things
Even if it’s within his own mind

Death into beauty

Resurrection

As small
As a thought.

Jerking Off With God

God’s firm hand
Has yet to come down
On me
As it has been interpreted
In Biblical Scriptures...

Condemning me for
Giving ‘myself’ a firm hand
Spilling seed.

He could smote me
As easily
As a good friend
Gacked up on coke
Could dab their cigarette repeatedly
Several times in an ashtray...
A cup
A bottle
The floor...
Stepping on it
Over and over
To make sure
That shit was out.

If it was truely a sin

Stab, stab, stab...

It would be over
The ash would be put out.

No fire.
Just the smell of smoke
For a little.

But

I don’t believe in a God
Like that.

I believe in a God of pleasure
Of love and kindness
And mercy.

I hold truth in a living God.
One that feels.

Not one that is ancient
And dead...

Impotent.

I believe in many Gods also.

There’s room for more than one.

Even a great Supreme Being
Couldn’t shoulder all of this baggage.

These Gods are everywhere
As horny as me
Seeing beauty that they have
Created all around them.

If they can’t fuck something
They’re going to fuck themselves
Like we do
If you’re an honest person.

If I’m born in his likeness
And he’s feeling half of the shit
I am

And he’s created all of this magnificence
That I have to look at
Everyday

I would concur
That his orgasms
Are way more explosive
Than mine.

Maybe that’s what
Started
All of this shit
In the first place.

Chicken Gurl

People have ahlwehs found it strange
That Ah’ve had a fixation
Fer the Chicken Gurl
Of Hodgeman County, Kansas.

Southwest Kansas state.

She med it somewhot famous.

But Ah’ve been told
I ain’t ahlaways bin rite inna da haid.

I felt in love wit her rite-way.

I seen her pictures on postcards
N posters
Telling of her performances
Which I traded marbles
N bullets
N candy fer.

Ah kept her posters in a drawer
N the postcards
Undah mah pillow.

Ah axed fer her tuh marry me
Within moments
Of meeting her.

Well...
It wasn’t quite az spontaneous
Az it sounds.

Ah’d been stalking her
Fer months...
Mebbe fuh tha better part ovah a year.

Ah started in thuh cool southern spring
Travelling north
Then west
Then south again.

Rumour had it that her moms
Had ‘relations’
With the rooster
Of the henhouse
At her family farm
One night.
She was in one o’ dem moods
N it was Southwest Kansas spring
N it jes happened.

That woman was hornier
Than the toads
Down at Crickbottom Pond.

Mebbe
It happened more than once.

Mebbe the rooster wuz that good.

I dunno.

Tis not the oddest thing
That cud happen
Round these here
Parts.

But her moms gave burth
To tha Chicken Gurl.

She gave burth
To a real beauty.
Tho’ they couldn’t tell
Right aways.

I’m sure they kept it quiet
Fer az long as they could.

I have photos n’ newsclippings
From when she wuz but a lil gurl
Until she wuz a young woman.

Tha otha boyz
In da schoolyard
Would chase da gurlz around
Inna der dresses n skirts
N I jest sat
In da grass
N thought abouts
Tha Chicken Gurl.

She wuz da one fer me.

It wuz in mah gut.

When i became of age...
I think it wuz fifteen
I left home
In search of
Tha Chicken Gurl.

Ah finally caught up wit her
In Suthin California
At a small circus
Layover’d fer three nights
In El Centro.

Imagine
If ya will.

Mah dream gurl
In downy white puff fur
Covering her entire body.

Stalky bird legs
Joints bent behind
Instead of
Front.

Beady burdy eyes.

A soft beak
O’ flesh
Fer a nose.

I gots down on mah knee
N took her hand in mine
N asked her tah marry me.

“Yer so sweet”
She sayed
“But I’ve already got a boyfriend”
“He’s the Strongman n he’s fixin’ ta marry me I’m sure”.

Mah heart sank
N she cud tell so.

“Here”
She sayed.

She stuck out her othah hand
N put sumthin in mine.

It wuz a egg
N it had a heart
Drawn onnit.

She smiled goodbah
Tuh me.

"Sweet silly boy"
She sayed.

I left El Centro
With a heavy sadness
Not sure
Uv wot tuh do next.

It wuz somewhere in
New Mexico
Thet that egg
Done broke
In mah pocket
The heart cracking in half
N tha smell
Wuz sumthin
Terrible.

After The Storm

Two nights after
The hurricane hit

The city still in a complete blackout

We laid down
With our backs
On the concrete sidewalk
And strummed guitars
And sang
While we stared up
At an immeasurable sky
Seeing thousands upon thousands
Of bright crystalline stars
Never visible to us before
From this neighborhood
In which we live

We were small as dust
The three of us

“Look. There’s the Milky Way...”
I told them
Pointing past the shadow
Of buildings
And telephone pole wires

“Is that the Big Dipper dad?”
My son asked

“Good job amigo!”

Music
Floated
From my daughter’s
Black guitar

Screw the spoiling food
In the silent refrigerator

I was content to be as
Small as dust