YOU WORKED HARD FOR THE MONEY

But it was never about the money
and no one ever mentioned that to you
nor did they set down the rules in one place
preferring instead to opt for the old moving target routine
bound to screw you over
in fact DESIGNED to screw you over
though why you?
too un-other?
too regular?
too all about fair play and the rest of that shit
no one gives a flying fuck about any of it
oops! watch your language!
that's how they eventually gave you the big bounce
amid all the other questions of propriety
maturity (there's a mighty good chuckle)
decency
playing nicely with others, etc.
at least you can take solace
in the fact that the word that did the damage
ruined your reputation for good
properly got your ass kicked the hell out was
cunt

Jambo, Astrid!

My daughter is off on her big South African adventure working with big cats at the Ann van Dyk Cheetah Centre.

While we are not close right now and I'm not getting the exciting blow-by-blow details of how her mission is working out, I am extremely proud of my daughter for venturing out, LITERALLY, into the wild.

This is the kind of thing she was always destined to do, as her spirit has been fiercely independent from birth. I'll never forget how she seemed to be surveying the delivery room moments after being born with a look something along the lines of: "Okaaay... I can handle this."

And the best part of all: her very first word was "kitty"!

Go get 'em, Astrid! Lots of love from Dad.

THANK YOU, I THANK YOU

For the opportunities to waste and the little I learned
for the hopeless feeling of never being good enough
for the ray of light that was just a smoldering cigarette
for the fourteen different ways of looking at a blackhead
for the immense sense of invisibility (clothing included)
for the full-priced tickets to Celine Dion
for the mere mention of the word "flatulence"
for the umpteen apologies that ultimately meant nothing
for the hope of resurrection but nothing to wear
for the hype of recognition but nothing to fear
for the type of desolation that's anything but dear
for the free sample of chewing gum
for the card advertising the exclusive Gentlemen's Escape Club
for reminding me I am anything but a gentleman
for reminding me I have to escape
for reminding me to find myself a good, stout club
for the way you say chocolate chaud
for the dream of yesterday's recollection of a better tomorrow today
for the rice
for the krill
for the pencil lead (technically graphite)
for the papyrus
for the Diet Mt Dew
for the admonition: "don't!"

THEIR WILL HEARD BY THE WORLD

No I was full and nobody
for all with a sigh
"It will be nice."

They didn't mean anything
tying up a gay, prancing
ponderous God

seen always trotting along
tired not caring
what happened to me

in this world I feel
that going through
whatever happens

some in society knew
how I feel with God
contempt

my spirit didn't consider
the matter at all
I feel sure like that

it settled here
a few years ago
and has been its own

ever since the street
spread out and mothers
here go hovering

to the fourth generation
lots of young boys scramble
out of the nests

go off and decide
to grow up their will
heard by the world

THE PERSUASION OF POWER

Remember the good old days
when we were all replicas
and didn't have nearly so much
personal responsibility?

It's hard to not pine for such simpler times
emotionally much less tiresome
to say nothing of letting one's double
deal with the alternate side of the street parking

Those were the years I spent
practicing a form of yoga called Heart Stop
and scouring the classifieds
for a reputable sleep dealer

A friend of a friend of a cousin of a friend
taught classes in The Persuasion Of Power
in a middle school on the East Side
with stairwells marked "You Do" and "You Don't"

The idea was simple enough:
convince your enemies that you could sing
Ask them what their favorite song was
And then sing it over and over and over

Badly
Very badly

WHISPERING THE SECRET

Small contemptible class may at first
come to investigate
with astonishment, and discover
the buzzes as much
as the ranges or
deep and we consider the least
that we can too small
without glasses each is
made of organs which retain
with action the exclamation,
Lord, how wisdom made them all
same
hand us all
pleasure and pain
carefully avoid kind cruelty any kind
great or small

I DON'T EXIST

And if I did
who would notice?
oozing through life
like a shadow
this has come home
to roost major
and that's alright
my history is erased
like baby shoes
that went unbronzed
does that mean
they went unworn?
do my demons
not need feeding
each day regardless?
unplug erase delete
remove eradicate
fit three years
into two boxes
and send me home
your noses will face
whatever way
they will

SILENCE, HAVOC, PASSÉ AURA & BLANK, ALOOF HOSTILITY

Aunt Rhody, having succumbed to Alzheimer's
late in life, was pissed to discover that she wasn't
actually a roadie for The Allman Brothers Band
and was repeatedly tossed off the tour bus sometimes
as far away from home as Toldeo. But in the tradition
of ripped to the tits rock & roll it wasn't uncommon
to suffer a few defriendings along the way.

The band, touring in support of their new album
The Punjab Diamond, would alternate Romilar shots
with clementine Slurpees while Gregg watched
Thunderball in his bunk on an iPhone, claiming
it was the only movie so boring that it actually
prevented him from nodding off.

Curiously, not even the driver, one Everett "Stumpy" Dithers,
noticed the gasoline smell as he was overly concerned
with his ages old case of chilblains. When this guy
said he bled rock & roll he was not exaggerating.
Every once in a while he coughed up crimson
phlegm into a lace hanky, which he insisted was
the last remaining remnant of David Bowie's dress
from the album cover of The Man Who Sold The World.

Every few cities down south a courier replenished
the bus with fresh dry goods which, according to the tour rider,
had to in some way evoke the year 1967. It was an
imperfect system at best, with very fashionable suede
fringed vests and wild rice and chick pea recipes
circa 1969 being squandered left and right.

Can you say intrusion?

I ALWAYS GET STOPPED BY THE “WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO CHECK YOUR BACKBACK” POLICE

I look guilty as hell
I AM guilty as hell
guilty of thinking the 70s had the best music and films
guilty of not strengthening my core
guilty of letting too much time lapse between I Love Yous
guilty of really not trying to pull anything
guilty of waiting too long
guilty of speaking my mind
guilty of ruining your life
guilty of caustic criticism
guilty of underachieving
guilty of overthinking
guilty of liking shitty pop songs
guilty of hating NPR
guilty of wondering what whorehouse that wallpaper came from
guilty of thinking tomorrow will finally be the day everything changes
guilty of handling money like a crackhead
guilty of hoping for the best
guilty of expecting the worst
guilty of trusting my gut
guilty of being able to spot a toupee at thirty paces
guilty of wanting a huckleberry friend

THE AMAZING BACK

First day back to work
after three days out due to
a bad back

If you've ever suffered disc pain
I don't need to tell you what a picnic
it has NOT been

Basically, I either slept—
and with the new meds, horrific nightmares
(one of which involved
an apartment hunt with Oscar Madison)—

or watched mostly horrendous movies on
Netflix streaming, the new crack

Imagining all the crap I won't be eating
out of the vending machine
in a desperate bid to lose some
weight and give my spine a break

at least until I can get that stuff
they swapped Wolverine's bones
for installed

Life is good

FATHER FLEW IN A YELLOW COMET, MOTHER RODE A GREAT MAROON CONTUSION

My portrait of the abused child
always features him or her chained to a radiator
drinking spoiled milk from a baby bottle
It took half a century for me to realize the inaccuracy

We all still laugh when I recount the story
of how I sat up half the night at the dinner table
in front of a glass of milk
I couldn't imagine drinking
for the nausea it conjured
I don't recall why I was reprieved

Milk always tasted rancid to me
The land of milk & honey?
Who the fuck would want to go to such a place?
I'd rather drink sand
No wonder I became a stumbling drunk

No gestures or movements were smooth or easy
no gossamer, no silk
(I'm putting ilk in here if it kills me)

Some of us got more well than others
but I wouldn't measure our relative successes
in stronger bones and teeth

INWARD BOUND

Wondrous is the word that best describes a hat
gone missing in a commuter train wreck
identifying marks include a shit-eating grin
Wall Street Journal ink on the fingertips
they are practically tattoos

I worked there the summer before
they hired the guy who killed and buried those itinerants
trying to get past the crime scene tape
to see if they had my Rock N Roll Animal CD in the lost & found

I heard all about your conspiracy theories
on public access television
I laughed long and loud
you looked so shrunken behind the podium
I couldn't help but think you were onto something

THE MYTH OF THE MYTHOMANIAC

I'm more into blue than white
can you believe it

who is it that lives upstairs
those people don't matter

things tend to snowball
with no end in sight

I've tried everything
the epitome of filth

help me instead of just staring at me
get me to the beach on time

you don't see things as they are
that's not really my cup of instant

if anything tempts you take it
the bastard never recognized her

THE PALACE GARDEN IS HIDDEN IN THE CATHEDRAL'S SHADOW

Which is one way of wondering:
Have you seen the trowel, o brother?
And what of the hedge clippers?

Turning away the priest who came
to bless the house—that blew
though he reminded me of Bud Abbott

Counting gold fillings in the vault
on a Barcalounger throne,
King shit sounds better than Prince shit

The food taster took the day off
for a hot date with the altar boy:
wine, candlelight and plenty of hosts

All this is now public knowledge
because I remembered it and am blabbing,
those are the only reasons

I have read the good book;
To Kill a Mockingbird—
Now that was a very good book.

I DON'T KNOW HOW I GOT TO WHERE I WAS OR EVEN WHERE I WAS

Running a fever
like the kind I got
from street tattoos in New Delhi
where they power the apparatus
with a car battery
and have just one blackened rag
to wipe away the blood and ink
I was warned

The car had more legroom
than I needed
a source of great shame
but that was offset somewhat
by the no way in hell these seats
are covered in the finest Corinthian leather
Corinthian vinyl more like
possibly the dreaded Naugahyde

I slept in a room
with bricked up windows
and dangling fluorescent lights
a place where operations could be performed
if I could only
make up my damn mind
what was wrong with me
the doctor on call was too impatient

Escorted to the border
the sentry made quite a show
of brushing lint and burrs from my shoulders
and pushed my forelocks in the wrong direction
with a comb missing several teeth
echoing the gaps in his smile
which he couldn't or wouldn't turn off
his last words to me: "Care is taken".

THE OLD NOTHINGNESS SOMETHING

Anxiously waiting
without a hint of patience
but rather refined resignation
for my hair to grow long over my face
and shield from the world
my congenital failure
to stand erect
to play well with others
to use the salad fork for salad

Every breath reminds me of a stuttering engine
set in motion, possibly hotwired,
from a place I will return to some day
where there are no engines
no moving parts
just a flash of insight maybe
and then the great darkness
or the equally great light
depending on whose blueprint of the afterlife
you subscribe to

I knew one of Jehovah’s Witnesses
who with an Oliver Hardy grin
spoke excitedly about everlasting paradise on Earth
when he would grow his mustache
into a Fu Manchu style
(so many Jehovah’s Witnesses have mustaches, have you ever noticed?)

I wanted to go 1974 Lou Reed crew cut blond
but my wife kiboshed that idea
still don’t fully understand why
I would have tried it, got it out of my system
and moved on

We all eventually have to move on

SATAN SENT SOME DEVIL DOGS TO THE VENDING MACHINE TODAY

And so life momentarily matters.
Someone left a very large pearl (fake!) earring
on the counter by the stirrers;
not nearly as bad as the time a woman
cleaned out her breast pump apparatus
in the kitchen by the microwaves.
But that was in the old office,
where everyone was an animal.
Uptown we're far more regal—
if only by dint of higher street numbers.

I think this is hilarious. You won't, so don't click on it.

 Adam Sandler as Bill Cosby