Somewhere In Hungary

Far from the commotion 

Of the cities 

Budapest 

Miskoic 

Szeged 

And Debrecen 

A man swallows 

A dram of spirits 

To take off the chill 

Of the early morning fog 

Waiting for him 

Out in the fields 

The woman of the house 

Watches his round figure 

Get smaller 

From the porch 

The morning is 

Not unusually still 

She turns 

And closes the door 

She goes to where 

He left the bottle and glass 

Sits 

And drinks 

Two glasses 
For herself

Anechoic Chamber

A quick search on 

Google 

Mashable 

How Things Work 

And Wikipedia 

Informs me 

That there are 

Tiny ancient ghost-spirits 

Hiding in the hollow caverns 

Of falling snow 

That swallow sound 

In a stormy 

Savage 

Hunger

Eating 

Ravenously 

Din 

And noise 

And pitch 

Of traffic 

Birds 

And children’s voices 

Gone were these 

Leaving 

A DEAFENING quiet 

Over the 

Brilliant white landscape

An inch of rain in 32 degree weather 

Equals 10 inches of snow

Drop that temperature
Down into the 20's
And that increases to 15-20 inches

The snow was coming down 

3+ inches per hour

Plenty of room for covetous ghosts 

The only perceived sonance to be heard 

Was the gale of wind 

Past my ears 

The blood gently pumping 

Through my veins 

And spontaneous firings of the auditory nerves 

As the icy prismic ghosts 

Sparkled behind crystal 

Ingesting everything else 

That wasn’t inside me 

At this point 

Clearly outnumbered 

Combat 

Would be a lost 

Noiseless

Dogfight 

Bear arms my friends

Watch out for black ice

The silence 

These spirits bring 

Could cause 

The crazies 

To step out 

From within

Gospel Man At The Corner Of St. James Street And Clinton Avenue (Kingston, NY)

“I’ve got a seat next to Jesus”

“Lord I do”

“Lord I do”

“I’ve got a home in God’s city”

“Lord I do” 

“Lord I do”

“In Jesus name”

“I’ve got a prayer in my back pocket”

“Lord I do”

“Lord I do”

“I’ve got a home in God’s city”

“Yes I do”

“Lord I do”

“In Jesus name”

“How are you doing on this fine afternoon?”

He asked

Breaking his song.

He sat in a white plastic patio chair

Set up on the sidewalk

In front of the retirement home.

He leaned forward on his walker

While he waited for my response.

“A lot better now that I’ve heard you singing..."
"You’ve got a strong voice.”

I replied.

“Well, hang around then.  Can you spare a few?”

“I can.  I’d be happy to.”

“I’m a sinner, but I think I can handle the chorus.”

He laughed.

“All right then.  You’ll do fine.”

He smiled yellow teeth

As I stood next to him.

“I’ve got a ticket for that glory train”

I’m not a singer.

I'm a sinner.

But the words

Came out of my mouth.

“Lord I do”

“Lord I do”

His voice was more powerful than mine.

Courageous.

But I think I sounded pretty damn good.

“I’ve got a home in God’s city”

“Lord I do”

“Lord I do”

“In Jesus name”

Daddy Ghetto

Cool as ice

Sweet as tea

That’s why 

Mi moza amigas

Put out for me

Strapping and wrapping

Like John Holmes

Well

Not quite

But willing and top billing

To go down

Like

Rhonda Rousey in a fight

Ravens

Five hundred blackbirds

Fell from the sky

Like a fierce peppered rain

Of the darkest color

Several pounds at a time

In rapid succession

No pies to be made

Only funerals

Trenton Makes The World Takes

Twenty three dark green bottles of Remy

Two bottles of vodka

And one

Kinky Pink Liqueur

Crowd the top 

Of a makeshift memorial

Fashioned from a discarded piece of wooden furniture

Placed in front of cold grey chain link fence

Protecting an even colder grey empty lot

Empty 

Except for the trash

And boarded up windows beyond

The gold emblems of Remy

Shine brightly

Above the red and black labels

On frosted glass

Candles fill the rest of the surface

Some religious

Some in glass Dollar Store jars

Some naked red pillars

Burned down 

In various states

Spilling red wax

Metaphorically

Across the wooden top

And down the sides

Of the piece of salvaged furniture

Pooling on the dirty concrete

With the very real dried blood

Of a brother

Cousin

Father

Son

Lover

Neighbor

Fallen in the dark Trenton night

Pho

You know you’re getting authentic Pho

When your 50 year old waiter

Takes your order

Smelling of

Two packs a day

And before 

Bringing your Pho

You can hear him

Pissing in the bathroom

Because he left 

The door open

Exiting

Still pulling up his zipper

You know then

You’re in for some fantastic Pho

Je T’aime

Her panties

Are sequined

With tiny false diamonds

Swarovski’s

Perfectly placed

Block letters

‘Je T’aime’

They say to me

On black satin

Just below

The left inguinal line

I know her well

Yet

She still

Surprises me

In the simplest

Of ways

Tonight

It’s

‘Je T’aime’

Shining bright

Like

HOLLYWOOD

Illuminated

On a hillside

“Show me.”

“Show me.”

I say

“Show me...”

Leaves

Gilded

Glowing

Children

Alive 

And screaming

With the ghosts of Autumn

Joyfully 

Jumping 

In piles

Of mosaic painted leaves

Not knowing

What

Exactly

They were jumping

Into

It could be a fetid

Pile of dog shit

Or poisonous snakes

Or broken glass bottles

Death itself

Reaching to grab

An ankle

Or wrist

Or wrapping boney fingers

Around a soft frail throat

But they were

The young innocents

Cherubs

Laughing 

And jumping

Triumphantly

Like 

Tommorrow

And Death

Had no place

Here