the spirit

when you eat sad food
you just feel sad
so, maybe it's that sandwich i just ate.
the cafe smelled weird, but i was just too hungry
too much meat

or maybe it's that thing they call the "Christmas Spirit"
i certainly haven't felt much of that yet

maybe it's the promise of a cold New York Winter

or just thinking about going back to work

maybe it's money; or lack there of
or, maybe somehow it has something to do with my Father whom hasn't even bothered to learn about his beautiful new grand daughter
 which, anyway,
is his loss.

what becomes of the broken hearted

white ice-cream on your bottom lip (and a lavender sprinkle in the corner of your mouth)

 these females drivin me crazy
    with too many problems
  the men on the floor turned into
       shadows
      while the women held court on the hallway
       floor, pillows and all
  swapping stories about how to 
   fend off thieves in the night, at the shelters;
      with a bar of soap in your pillow-case.

 last night i gave nadine the most beautiful pillow-case
   with embossed white stripes
  i thought she'd like it.
   something beautiful in that stinking place
    the sharpness of the disinfectant only masking
        the smell of shit..ever present.

she told me she cries every day
  about having hiv, which she got from a dirty tattoo needle
      her kids don't know, but her old man says
          give it to me because i wanna die with you mamma

   she runs around the unit with her tranny sister juliet
     and they share xanex and talk
       about their secrets in spanish.


 
    (names changed to protect the innocents)

 

april fool's day

beginning of the year

dear jimmy (jimbo)

i wonder if you remember her sometimes....

   the little one, big smiles, blue eyes like yours and flaxen hair.

    maybe you look at the little golden curled, angel faced german bred boys....

   perhaps that's when you see her.

 will you be, as rip van-winkle arriving in the door

   much older, grayer?

 perhaps this will be the time they'll get to know of their

   long lost sister. she loves them, like

   a sister who does not know her brothers-

            only imagining them.

       you must know it's time,

             time

  to dissolve that pit of anger you've held onto for so long.

 i imagine you have it hidden away, so far away where-

    you don't even know it's there.

   jimmy-

       sometimes she wants to become you when she looks at old photos.

        grinning, pock-faced, shaggy-sandy coloured hair all in your eyes.

 she wishes she knew you then.

 she wishes to go back in time-

 only to eradicate the source of your bitterness....

 and perhaps, still know you today.

  grinning and cracking jokes.

happy birthday robert

smells like junkies

   
 the same, somehow, for each of them

   strong scent of  sickly sweet shampoo mixed up with the smoke of 1 million
       cigarettes and the parade of one million lies  spilled from their lips

     remnants of pulled apart cigarette filters
        blood
          head lice and suicide

   pinpoint pupils in bright blue eyes and cadence of speech and voice
            so unmistakably, so violently disfigured

    and just the same
     a procession of them, gone
   
                for good


 

new light (s)

old dream found

  riding on a bus, for hours it seems. i believe jennie was riding beside me for awhile. the bus was lumbering through some desolate city landscape. seemed like it was late afternoon by the looks of the slanting yellowish-orange sun which would pour across things, bathe things...the rest seemed sort of grey...but not completely lifeless.
 finally the end of the line and i'm at b's apartment, but i'm alone now (i think). i start my way up the steps-up to the first landing where dusty light streamed through the window. i walked into his place...i knew the door was always open, but i still felt bad about going in-it seems like i was uninvited. so i go in and i sit down and suddenly two middle aged italian men burst in. they were quite big men, swarthy as well. it seems like they were landlords. they just stood in front of the doorway, just inside the apartment and squabbled over something i never really quite figured out. then, as quickly as they came, they were gone.  so i sat for awhile. looking around, soaking in the mostly tan-colored apartment. the rugs were tan, the walls rather eggshell with brown accents. i sat in a green leather chair and watched the dust filter through the light-beams. it seems there were tables all around, maybe orange topped ones, and some sort of project was under way-what i don't know.
  then after some time i decided to take a shower. i felt horribly guilty for having done this and i was afraid i was going to get caught in the act and not know how to explain myself. just as i was finishing getting dressed i heard a doorknob turning, a door shut and some bustling about. i called out and ran into the front room, saying hello. b's son was with him.. he looked like i would imagine b looking when younger...long hair, slight and quiet.
 i start trying to explain myself. i start reading an article out loud from a magazine, thinking somehow it would do the trick. it was all greek to me, it wasn't justifying anything. so i just told him straight up. he waved it off..instead, he started bustling about, talking about preparations for a dinner and some guests, perhaps his parents..it was someone from his family. he gave me a task. i had to bring back an ear of corn, motor oil and cinnamon and sugar mix. he handed me some money and shuffled me out the door.  i didn't think to ask where a store was. i figured i know where one was, i'd just ridden the bus through town and was sure i'd seen at least one. and besides, north lamar ran right behind his house, which i kept marveling at for, this wasn't austin at all, but some broken down part of philly.
  i stepped outside-feeling a bit overwhelmed, but fairly confident. i started my way down the street, and realized i had no idea where i was. it was the end of the line....and it was a long route anyway. i looked around and realized i was in the ghetto. i saw children playing in the streets, running through fire hydrants, running through the diagonal slants of sunlight that flashed with the passing reflection of car windows and shiny exteriors driving by, and rattling with the passing of a train-or trolley-or underground. people milling about on corners and fat women in loud house dresses-screaming laughter and names down the street, down from windows.

found

 i found a bunch of writings from my teen/young adult years today.
  here's the few that struck me as..not so bad.


                                       
                                                                                       2-6-00

  I can see it.  It's an image that's always with me.
    Reaching far back into my childhood  during
    long car rides home at night.
The shadow of my being
descending  ascending   fluctuating
 with the light from street lights as we pass.
      Just like my moods,
        ever changing.
 It is a constant vision of comfort I can rely on,
  even in these crazy days.
        This shadow of me on the back of the seat.

*******************************************************************

wow....

 i thought i smelled it (you)

and then i did see
 
  wisteria blooming

 showing your (her) self off

    for the spring (time)

 with fig in my teeth

 and my hair all a mess

 i like riding up the street the wrong way.

 sometimes  to swim through your

   waters    it's murky.
  i always know there is a gleaming light.


  p.s.
     i love rocky balboa

from 5-24-1999, retrospectively titled "ode to my favourite colour"

 sea-foam green-like the waves that
the little mermaid frolicked in sea-foam
like what she turned into   her black hair
swirling-sea green and blue   like
aunt karen's old bathroom wallpaper
mermaids  again  in a psychedelic swirl
of green, silver, white and blue  could've
lived in that room  with those beautiful
sea creatures for company  just staring
at the walls..... crayons, sea-foam
green was always a loud color but pretty and creamy
yet bold and industrial  all at once

  pointed crayon  brand new waxy crayon

on the way to cape may

ring a bell to find you

in a secret place,
  somewhere where you have no fear.

 maybe this is where you wish to find me.

 no map for taking the first step into
 this nebula(ous) space

  high-pitched ringing in the darkness

  pushes

   carries through
 pierces the black places.

  just to dredge and keep dredging for
    raw knowledge
and through murky sediment, there will be not

 a shiny perfect pearl

 but a blemished
    pitted pearl.

**************************************************************************************************************************
  by the sea with salt water lapping at me and the sun close to setting we walk and find shells, no remembrance of a conversation
 but i was thinking of mermaids and of
my life, before this life.

remember

  economy of living, these days has taught me much.
   
one sack of cherries appears as a bag overflowing with pure         
            gold.

  aromas have served to quench desires of consuming. a lesson 
     which is important for one to learn.

 a pleasure very small, very simple will fill my day full of light.

   finding my joy in the slow drawl just before it all will become 
             very fast.

   

  

cat piss and flowers

                     seems indicative of a summertime coming in texas as biking

                         down these streets you'll encounter  wafting into your

                             nostrils.   and spilled and stale beer that too mixed up

               with mimosa trees and yuccas that were once poised to burst with

                                        their very lives and all.

    and all   a head full of crying     and some grass to lie in.

         iced tea with lime slices on porches while branches threaten to

            push through screens.   and then do i feel (do i feel?)

                            most serene.

what do they do?

do your ghosts love you?
  or, do your ghosts haunt you?

                                       

i once saw this piece of art. the image does not remain with me as much as the words printed onto it;

"you are all of the bad things you have ever done and you are all of the good things you have ever done"

is it ice or glass

watch your hands.

     

swimming

 
beauty can engulf you.
the state of being drowned by the senses can take over, daily, if you allow them to.


      lost in light and texture. sound and air.

 
 

 you will find me there.