Archive for January, 2011

Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

Oh, James you said it so well. With your guitar licks and deep lyrics. Don’t be afraid of the dark anymore. One day I’ll be home. Wherever and whatever that is.
If I owned a home AGAIN-it would be a happy little brick house with happy landscaping and a big big big tree to protect me from harm. I could cut the grass and smell the flowers, grow vegetables – happy vegetables – and put up a fence to keep out bad people. Happy little bad people. Life would be good. I would have a garage with happy tools to make happy things. People would drive by and say, “Hey, look at that happy little brick house on the corner over there!! And the house would say, “You’re damn right!” Inside the happy house would be happy people and life would be happy. The end.

the smug brick house on the corner


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Desperate Houswives

Act 1 Scene 6
A dimly lit restaurant in Soho New York. Butch and Coco are sitting in the corner, the only patrons. It is well past closing time. A waitress is nervously walking back and forth sometimes stopping and looking at her watch.
Coco: It’s closing time.
Butch: Life is too short for closing time. This place should be open all night, not fucking McDonalds.
Coco: Shhhhhhhhh
Butch: Don’t “shhhh” me, I’m picking up the tab……again.
Coco: Hey, I always offer to pay, you shoot me down. Besides I make more money than you now anyway.
Butch: (slurring) Who woulda thought?? It’s only a couple more months and we will have a fucking woman president! How did your gender do it? The climb was so high. It’s amazing that you did it with so many feet pushing you down…. it’s like … like … like..
Coco: (laughing) Salmon?
Butch: (deadly serious) Salmon!?? What the fuck are you talking about??
Coco: You know, swimming up stream? Salmon swim up stream to lay their eggs.
Butch: (laughing out of control now) Ha ha ha YOU are comparing the womans journey in society with a fish?? Ha ha ha. That’s just too much. Oh shit, speaking of salmon, was yours a little dry tonight?? Ha ha hee hee. Oh stop it. I can’t stop laughing….I’m gonna fart…
Coco: I thought men didn’t fart??
Butch: Yes that’s right. Yes. The role reversal is almost complete. First you can vote, then you can kill your babies, then you take our jobs, our cars, and we are stuck home with the dirty laundry and children. Soon in a hundred thousand more years of evolution we, the men, will grow boobs.
Coco: Shhhhh, your getting loud. You had too much wine.
Butch: (stands up and slowly turns around} Does my ass look fat in this?
Coco: You DON’T have an ass!
Butch: (bends over and sticks out his rear) Well kiss this assless ass then.
Coco: (winks) Anytime babe…
Butch: (looks at the waitress in the corner) Hey, are you closing?
Waitress: (looks at her watch) Yes, sir. Well, sir, yes, ummm well, actually we ARE closed.
Butch: Oh, sorry. (turns around slowly and points his rear at the waitress) Does my ass look big in this?

This time it’s for real. I can’t believe it is two years since my layoff in New York City. I miss that city, even the deadly commute. The rain, snow, slush, vomit – the blue skies, excitement, shadows of the buildings, the wind lifting yesterdays news into the white puffy clouds. That fearless island of Manhattan, the clients, the color, the RGB, the cmyk, the lessons learned, taught and forgotten. The neon lights like the sun. The night shift. The 10 block walk to the bus. People met. People lost. Friendships blown away up into the puffy white clouds. In those two years, I must remember where I have been. This is where I came from; getting thrown on the street, like garbage, having no money, no bed, but never no hope. Never lose track of the fact that in the last ten years the climb from hell has been done SOBER.

You can destroy my family while you sit all smug in your corner brick home, trying desperately to forget. Eating home made bread on home made woven chairs, sharing stories of how drab life is. To wake up and smell the shit of your wife or husband everyday. The alarm clock is a ground hogs day nightmare. Everyday, the same thing at the same time except once, you had to call the fire department and even that was blamed on me. When they finally bury you, you will still be looking over your shoulder and if they don’t burn your body, they will have one hell of a fucking time trying to close the coffin.

Trips planned with the navigator:
1. Find Dads Westfield home. I know I saw that address somewhere.
2. Punch in the Jersey City address found on our dead aunts letter to admit into the sisterhood. Man, I miss those nuns!

I have seriously been trying to find Dads side of the family on this nifty new tool called “the internet” My God, where would we be without it. My two boys love the stories I tell of the “OLD DAYS” black and white TV, no PC, no MAC, … days of playing records on the record player, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, days of using the encyclopedias for homework reference, of even cutting out the pictures to use in reports. Of snow storms so big, and we never really knew they were coming because weather technology was so bad back then. Today they are closing the schools are giving “delayed openings” before even ONE SNOWFLAKE even hits the ground. Days when holidays were really magical and even suspenseful. Days when Cracker Jacks had REAL “Surprise Inside” and drive-in movies were on the weekend, and you could see the Sayerville Drive-in movie theater eveytime you went over that bridge in Perth Amboy.
THERE ARE NO MORE Drive -in movie theaters in New Jersey. So my “get rich quick” scheme is to bring one back. Think about it: All the graphics would be retro 1950’s theme. Mostly play old movies, remember DOUBLE FEATURES ??? B grade horror. CHEAP POPCORN. Sneaking people in the trunk. Full moon specials. People would come from MILES AROUND, maybe even from out of state, to come to my retro movie theater……….and then…..the novelty would wear out. It would rain. People would get sick of my drive – in movie theater and I would go broke, close the doors and weeds would grow ten feet tall where the cars used to park…. and under the light of a hot Summer full wolf moon … I would sleep there next to the tree weeds in my car. Scheming and dreaming and listening to the AM radio……

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you made me smile

An anthology of our love. Drawn crinkled
Curtains. Capacious
day. Another in and out cloud-filled sky.
I’m sick and tired of writing about my rapturous crap. Drowning
In my own self-pity.(my real)curiosity is
Of your soft inner thighs(and the smell)
Of fresh cut grass. Now
As the wind kicks in. Your sunflowers
swaying in a huddled group. Your
stories are beautiful. It touches my senses (fills my eyes)
There are dead crows everywhere. Lobster restrictions.
In the crispness of dusk, people flee the streets, as
the mosquitoes rise from the marshes, weathervanes twist sharply,
hammering keyboards in the darkened day, wondering if your lips
Are achievable. The irrelevance of my brightly-lit-ego-marquees
In the hushed fog of early morning bike rides, head bowed in prayer,
wondering if you are there, who died in a porch laden sleep,
though I still see you walking with all the ghosts,
of all the aunts, in long summer dresses, a pinched smile
a long traveled mile
To the Fair in August, and the smell of manure
scrap yard ferris wheel with half the lights out,
Some blinking. Creaking rust and happy children
Screaming innocence of blacked-eyed suzie
bemoans its fate to a vase as
New Construction covers the northern lights,
parsley crab pie, an internet recipe, a mouthful of fire, spices,
cooling on the windowsill, microwave madness, purity of steaming rice
Spread out before me. Impressed. You made me smile.
You made me cry. Like a baby. One day we’ll make love to this
One Day
I’m going to revise this poem


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winter solace

Today was fuzzy socks
under a tall tree of solitude
long branches dipping
into sandy creek
of sun
and who I am

Today is over in a sea
of yellow orange
love that I intend
oh, distant heart
distant heart
can you hear me?

Today was an astonishing island
shipwrecked imagination
that howls in the tunnel
of nightfall
Outside is frozen mulch
and hungry birds

Tomorrow will come tonight
out of the forest of fears
and the lights of all-night diners
racing blood
imprisoned memory
of yesterday

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