Home is where fog shimmers up a hill. Home is where a vest is nice, but not necessary. Home is crossing through the Grant Street gate and landing in syncopated haze. Home is long slivers of vibrant jalapenos nestled amid pickled cucumbers, carrots, cilantro, and sweet-savory succulent shredded pork. Home is a random run-in with an old friend while an ex-mayor strolls by. Home is a wooden bar— a jazz filled joint brimming with the bustle-din of how-do-you-do? And home is staying, letting loose, losing time, finding friends— finding steps on the sidewalk leading— leading onward, leading home.
A Prayer for Elizabeth Gomes
Heading to work, or school, or home after a day out, or after a morning in, or a day studying or shopping or playing or living, or writing or singing or skipping or jumping for joy. Leaving one mode of transit or another and transferring or walking to, or sitting in, or standing on, in, or getting up, or getting down. Listening to a man, or ignoring a man, or running from a man, or smiling at the man, or laughing at the man, or with, or in front of, or behind, or hoping he isn't following, or isn't watching, waiting, plotting, planning a confrontation, an assault, a rape, an altercation another crime. Another time. Another place. Flowers of the mind. A lover's embrace. Mama. Papa. Father. Mother. That waterfall we wished we visited. Our getaway upcoming. The flight we reserved c r a shhhhhh ing.
Unsolicited Filth
Short-haired unshaven messy tattooed white guy— I— I guess about 25, 30? Messy looking. Gets on the bus/ takes the final of swigs from his rum & coke and SLAMS the can. He puts it on the floor of the bus and SLAMS it. He flattens it/ you know, SLAM. There was rum in the coke, or some sort of booze. The guy was a drunk asshole. Oh he’ll deny it, but we all saw. He reeked like death— like an alcoholic— and was staggering as he got on. Ok, so slam! Then she screams. Do you know how he reacted to her scream? To a— to a scream that was caused by his social negligence? His SLAM/ the can/ when he slammed it, drops of coke, and rum, and god knows what else sprayed her— it sprayed us all! But she was in a skirt and right next to him. She took the brunt of the sticky brown liquid explosion. People like this should be locked up NOT freely riding public transportation— this is America!/ He did nothing. This nuisance— this menace was on his phone/ pretending like he didn’t know what was going on. But— But he knew./ I don’t know. He was swiping, tapping... He was getting quite agitated/ probably losing on one of those stupid games. He did nothing. NOTHING. Then you know what she did? She asked him if he had a napkin. He feigned ignorance of the situation. He’s on his phone/ can’t be disturbed— earbuds in. Well, she asks him— she asked us all, “pardon me, there seems to be an accident. Do any of you kind people have a napkin?” Then this little old thoughtful man behind me gives her some Wet-Naps. Pardon me, tries— tries to give her some Wet-Naps. The menace grabs them, thanks the sweet senior, opens them up, blows his nose, then tosses the Wet-Naps away / they land on her left foot! Well, bless her soul, she just shakes her foot, knocks the nasty Wet-Naps off her shoe and uses her sweater to wipe off her legs. That did it! That REALLY did it. I couldn’t take it anymore and I stand up/ yeah, I stood up, got in his face, and tell the soda-jerk, “don’t ever do that again!” His response? Exactly— the same as before. He’s just swiping away/ swiping and tapping/ tapping and clicking/ twisting the phone. These morons and their games! But I say— I tell him, “Listen asshole—“/ this— this he hears. He puts down his phone/ stands up/ he’s looking right at me… Of course/ I was petrified, but someone had to do something. Then this ape-of-a-man—/ “Do what!?” This ape of a man asks, “Do what!” Do what? Do what? “Don't ever SLAM a can down with your foot in public, sir. We all got sprayed. This poor lady got it all over her legs. Apologize to her.” And he says— and he stands taller/ puffs out his chest/ looks around and says, “oh, and what if I don’t?” What if I don’t? Well, I back off and tell him, “Listen, you do with this what you want but— I'm just giving you some unsolicited advice just like you gave us some unsolicited filth.” And he cracks up. He fucking cracks up! This unshaven, unkempt disgusting prick starts laughing. Can you believe it? Laughing!? He starts in with this insane cackling/ losing it, then he sits back down in his phone and that’s when I grabbed it— that’s when I grabbed his phone— we were at a stop— that’s when I grabbed his phone and threw it out the door.
Travel Unravels
Travels Oil filter unravels Ten thousand miles Pages of atlases grease monkey miles Change grease Sushi Tortillas Trail Mix GPS ETAs MPH Websites and Apps Cruise Control and lane-assisted naps Blue tooth Shaving cream No flow showers "Hold the handle down for the duration of the flush" Swims in lakes Video chat with the soul mate Matte-Mushroom latte blended drinks Triple-X blinks Cops turn their heads and let me walk away Crowd-cheers for lasagna-laced memories of dawn.
The TSARS of Eons Past
I have heard the tales of the time when our ancestors would travel by air. They had to take off their belts. Can you imagine? They would empty their pockets and place the contents into large plastic containers. They would remove their shoes and place them on a conveyor belt that would scan inside them to make certain no bombs, explosives or other such destructive materials were hidden within. They actually brought their shoes with them! They were allowed to— what different times. A soon-to-be-passenger’s large electronics would also be placed on the conveyor belt, along with any bags that they were travelling with. Then they would simply walk through an archway— another scanning mechanism, fully clothed mind you, with the exception of the aforementioned shoes and belt, and then pick up their scanned belongings on the other end of the archway— at the other end of the conveyor belt. They were wearing pants, shirts, sometimes sweaters, hats, can you imagine!? Sometimes a bag or two couldn’t be penetrated by the scanner and a Transportation Security Administration Representative— a TSAR, would pull the bag and its owner aside and go through its contents with the owner, again, mostly fully clothed & looking helplessly on, or perhaps with the owner helpfully guiding the TSAR through the search. Similarly, sometimes the archway couldn’t quite fully-scan a person, or so the TSARs would report, and so a TSAR would pull aside the person and give them a “pat-down”, whatever that was. This usually happened to persons who appeared to be “high-risk”, whatever that was. They might say, “we are going to ‘pat down’ your left knee, are you sensitive in that area?” To which the traveler would always respond with, “not at all, carry on”. It was in this way that people would be allowed to board airplanes.[1]
[1] During this time period, the reader should understand that there were no insta-fitting rooms, no jumpsuit-mandates, no ASG specs on ID&BR cards. The reader might ponder what it must have been like to travel in such a glamourous fashion? Everyone, each expressing their own sense of personal style or fashion, perhaps donning clothing designed expressively for the purpose of identifying themselves with others of their same tribe? Or maybe clothing that actually meant something to its wearer? The common held belief currently is that air-flight was far simpler then, what with no extra time being consumed at the insta-fitting booths, let alone, when finally arriving at their destinations, the insta-splitting booths. But those days are long behind us. Besides, the jumpsuit-mandates are really for our own good, the Nine constantly remind us, and everyone knows the materials used are far safer for our skin than what we wear when not travelling. In fact, if I may speak frankly, I wish there were no insta-splits— I wouldn’t mind owning a jumpsuit or two, they always smell so nice.
French Quarter's Wisdom
A recent trip to New Orleans impressed upon me, how the Big Easy is like nowhere else I have ever been! What an amazing place. Enjoy this latest offering/ introspection…
French Quarter’s Wisdom
Music on every corner Any time of day French quarter’s wisdom, Found in Bourbon, or poured, crystal clear. Water rises, Heat subsides, Culture, galleries, voodoo happenings & cuisine— Thrives.
Well Just Stay Cool
The mentions of “Amtrak” and “diskette” (8th and 18th lines respectively) are, like the poem itself, from a different era— the immediately post-911 era. (So feel free to read into these references from that vantage point.) So why am I publishing this poem now? I'm not certain... However, as of late Well Just Stay Cool has crept into my consciousness. Perhaps this is due to my feeling of professionally yearning for something “other” than where I am currently? Not sure. Regardless, enjoy.
Well Just Stay Cool
Mushroom or a pepper, Pate or some cheese? I look at them, they backup, I say now baby please! Well it's the same, Just in a different brain, WELL JUST STAY COOL, Amtrak still makes the train! Future poet, Novellist, Cruisin' for the thrill, Hawkin' favorite dollies, bustin' dollar bill, Skeezin' low, Placin' for the bet to go, WELL JUST STAY COOL, You'll get there, but it will be slow. PC or new console? Disketting the old cart. Our virtual sweet supper It's really our own heart, And it's OK, Many people think Lew's gay, WELL JUST STAY COOL, We can smile with them and get Unlimited play.
Don't Care if you Don't Understand
Don't care if you dont understand every word Won't swear or use slang you'll still think I'm absurd I make up phrases than spit 'em like you aughtta know My meter's getting tricky Sical's Diggin' "Y Not Flow" I Cast a big ol net, leave it nice, loose and wide. I let my lyrics free, Poeticly protecting me, insulates my hide Quicker than falling water Slicker than that spot Goin off familial Forgettin what I got Livin' for the honeys Tastin' honey pot Rockin' Seeren Dyes 'Ditionin my mop Clear, clean & focused, Intentioned, Heigtened Jam Itellectual properties Belonging to all man Not Sayin' like I am But prayin like I am Fictiosly speakin' I'm gonna bust this hot Just got back from L.A. Rest of my year's Bills paid Next week Leer to N.Y.C Stewardess speakin' sexily You'll be seein' me on N.B.C Agent pimpin' my fresh look Rolling Stone's knocking for my brand new book. Don't care if you don't believe every word. Won't swear or use slang you'll still feel Im absurd Whats that you thinkin? I'm drinkin like i'm nuts? I'm stinkin' & I suck? I owe you fifty bucks? Your Mother's in a rut. And today in a class I learned *Nalgas* meens Butt But I don't wanna serve Wasted lines to cats not wantin' what they have Cause even when I bust it Like Lewis Carol Jabs The circle's got my concious spreadin' higher for our path. I flaunt it lite, yellow & feathery. What Child don't like Big Bird? What woman don't like the sun? What man don't like the Earth? Put 'em all together Children's wonder gets rehearsed A Different verse in this couplet Different souls on the street Many different messages; beats in this piece Many different loves that I choose to choose to choose Many different catagories Split 'em you cant loose. Don't care if you don't understand every word I'm the one expressing what I need to be heard. Mostly, my flow is, for me to keep me sane Help me, keep me grounded when the clouds have got my brain Don't care if you didn't understand every 'frain. Don't care if you didn't understand every 'frain.
I Need to Destroy the City
I need to destroy the city. Blaze Polk Street. Sail down California From Powel to the Embarcadero. Make love to a sea lion, All sloppy and wet & salty & hairy & aquatic. Squeeze the queso out of a 16th & Valencia papusa So that rats scurrying by Get emblazoned By piquant Jalapeño-infused Mexican Cheese. Hop on my Bike, Tunes blasting, Pedals fasting, Stomach turning, Eyes scoping & Senses Soaring. Lay down across seven seats on the the 38 Geary Heading west, West, always west & stretch, stretch All yoga-like and beautiful. Toss my disc so hard, so fast, That WPA tiles cascade, Like pepperonis From a fresh Golden Boy slice down, Down Telegraph Hill Awakening Sir Williams & countless others Who fled us too soon. Enter a Castro bar— get groped, Reciprocate, & find out he’s A chick. Dive into a fresh Turtle Tower bowl— Scalding & all, Only to cool off With tangy, salty hoisin sauce. Write at Vesuvio’s Till Ferlinghetti himself Buys me a drink. Hop on over to the Independent, Rock the 'Pirates, 'Dib with the Hippies. Crawl up to the Haight, Grab a cone & throw it— Full speed at 710 Ashbury. Seize the Prettiest Officer around, Throw my arms around her & enrapture her with The warmest hug She's ever had. I need to destroy this city; Blaze its cathedrals, Graffiti its monuments, Shave its parks, Poison its waters, Toxify its airs, Demolish its seats of government, Till all that’s left— All that remains— Is— As it was, Nothing, Everything, Double-helixed— Intertwined, As heart & soul, Mind & body Heaven & hell, God & Man, Perfection & anarchy, Ordered city & natural nature, City & bay— Till all that’s left— All that remains, Is The city as it always has been.
Crack Pipe
Now honey, when you leave for work today don’t forget your crack pipe.
You will need it when you are on your way home and in the back of the bus and the bus isn’t all that crowded and just then, in that moment, a few loud men get on the bus and begin chatting nearby using phrases such as, “My business is doing amazing!” & “I can’t believe how much they are going to pay Susan!” & “Oh, it’s been over a year since I’ve had a drink!” Yes, in that moment dear it will be best to reach in to your crusty old vest, scraping together the last few grains of rock you can secure and ever-so-delicately place them in your straw-thin glass tube pipe. Put those crumbling remains of white rock in the yellow end of the pipe, look at those fine joyous gentlemen complacently sitting nearby, grab your lighter, spark up, inhale. You’ve earned it.
Smile
Dodging smoke clouds as I walk Hipsters dyin' to hear my talk YouTube tags my new age squawk and I smile Burning DVDs past 3, 4.3 GB for me. Many MP3s for free. and I smile. Wishin' to trim my curly mop, Just a little from the top. Still rock that pony hot, And I smile. I smile when I'm down & things are lookin' grim. Keep my head held high, wonder why, I smile up at him. The harder I work & try, the luckier I get, And I forget, I forget, I forget, Just what is meant by "trying", Oh I forget. Racing trucks to beat the light. Praying for control, now that ain't right. Spending money, still I'm tight. Yet, I smile. Searching for work I don't want, Another stupid restaurant, I'm a writer- I should capitalize on fonts, Yet I smile. I smile when I see, the busses roll on by. Cold wind blows, my ankle knows, its gettin' on for me. We're in a slump, I move my rump, yet this economy— gets in my song, now that ain't wrong, it’s just the way its supposed to be. For all you musicians reading this, This is where the bridge would be… Druggers push their dope on me. I say, no thanks, non-condemningly. Their offer threatens and entices me, and I smile. A hunger consumes my soul. Thoughts that nourish might make me whole. Keep me sane as I pay them tolls, So I smile. I smile as I'm squeezed In with tourists on the car. Headin' up them hills, To pay them bills, Tryin' to get work that’s not too far. Checkin' out the sights that suit me right to keep me from the bar. Oh & I'll go far, I'll go far, I'll go far, As long as I keep smiling, I'll go far.
I Believe
I believe most people are good people. I believe the combination of chocolate & peanut butter to be divinely inspired. If you disagree that's ok, but I don't need to know. In airports there should never be news playing on monitors; The Simpsons, or other such entertainment, is the only sensible option. We must never again use the death penalty. If you disagree that's ok, but I don't need to know. I will never again use mind or mood alerting drugs. They don't work for me, ok? I always make my bed after I’m out of it each day. If you use drugs; if you don’t make your bed; That's ok. I don't need to know. I eat meat. Eating meat is wrong. I am conflicted; you probably don’t need to know, so I apologize. The Atari 2600 is, and will always be, the best Video Game System EVER created. John & Yoko had it right. If you prefer a different video game system; if you HATE John & Yoko; You are very wrong, and if I know I will judge you accordingly. Staying home too much leads to... Yet, my home has its own patio, so I guess... If you disagree— wait, those are not arguable. As much as possible one should always sing "Happy Birthday" to loved ones. I believe we should all do our best to show compassion to smokers. Smoke often gets me nauseous, ok? If you disagree on the birthdays, or the smokers, that's ok; I will try not to judge you. I believe in the human race; in its ability to work together and overcome its difficulties. There are infinite paths toward spiritually. You may disagree, yet you shouldn't. No matter how “finished” I think this is, it probably isn’t. If you can’t say anything positive, stay quiet. You should know what I am talking about, If you don’t If you disagree… That's ok, I don't need to know.
Rhyme the Night
Want to learn history? Walk around this city. Want to learn how this town was built? Drink a cappuccino— make sure it ain't spilt. Want to learn this currency? Look at that Confederacy. Want to learn the night? In an alley pull a knife. Pull anything you can choose. Go to Ross, grab cheap shoes. Go to Mickey D's— If you please. A Big Mac's better without the cheese. Or stay on in— it's your choice. It's your story, it’s your voice. Write a line or read three more. Whichever is less likely to bore. You want to learn how to integrate? Stir in cream— just don't wait. Find the area of a curve. Bullet coming at you, you better swerve, And Zimmerman sure did serve. That’s right, Zimmerman sure did swerve. This epic poem ain't easy to write. Especially if you already rhymed the night. So if the White House is the one you hate. Pile more spaghetti on your plate. Or find a girl— Selma, don't wait. Unplug your favorite disco hot plate. Don't really matter if you ain't got the right. May as well rhyme the night, Man! May as well rhyme the night. I didn't write the chorus, the chorus wrote me. Go ask your mother. Yeah, we'll see. A lot of Rube a little bit of Gold. This burg's getting younger while I's growing old. Remove the staple— you got a 'fold. The 'net's better for that, I'm told. Click, click, click, click, click, away. Straight, trans, hetero, buy my gay. Consume anything to keep you tight Yeah, may as well rhyme the Night. Shucks, again I rhymed the night! I got a horizontal tower Laid at my feet. Public transportation elevator Moves you several feet. Sleeping on a mattress of equator. It's hot and I don't like the heat. A lot of it's— I don't get the sleep. Thinking of a word instead of "night". This poem's almost over. It’s almost trite. A couple more words to stretch this tune. Yeah, may as well rhyme the Moon. That's right, may as well rhyme the Moon.
What I did today.
It is so nice that things are starting to open up again. It might seem silly, but I feel truly blessed that I was able to actually do something today, rather than dither away in my apartment on what I was not able to do, like so many other days of late. What follows is the record of how I spent this last day in June of 2021.
What I did today.
Well, after about 15 minutes of reading in bed I finally got up and brushed my teeth. Then I combed out my long hair and then I shaved my face and then I combed my hair again because parts of my shavings had gotten in my hair. Then I took a shower realizing I probably should have shaved in the shower, but oh well, and I needed to shower so it was a good thing that I showered after the shave anyhow. I ate breakfast. My breakfast was very yummy. It was very very yummy. My breakfast was oatmeal and carrots and I know that sounds like an odd combination but when brown sugar and raisins are put in with the carrots and a little bit of flaxseed the oatmeal tastes marvelous, simply marvelous, simply, quite simply very very marvelous. After breakfast, and doing the dishes, naturally, I vacuumed the carpet, mopped my kitchen floor, painted that fence the neighbor's dog shat all over, ran to the mill and back, then did fifteen sit-ups and twenty five pull ups, using that old sign that fell so many years ago that we used to carve with our pocket knives to pull up against, and then, right there besides the rusted Volvo, I took a nice little nap. Oh, I napped and napped and napped and then napped some more and yet when I awoke only 37 minutes had passed! It is amazing how time gets all coco loco when asleep. Anyways it was a delightful little nap and after the nap I wrote a letter to Uncle Jed stationed the somewhere in the army— I have no clue where, Afghanistan? South Carolina? I really have no clue, but fortunately, my cousin, Tennessee, my Uncle Jed's son naturally, does know where my Uncle Jed— his father— is stationed, so naturally, I mailed the letter to Jed who always is so illustrious in sending off my tidings of bravaberance. Then I left my home. I left home and I wandered around the city. I wasn't really going anywhere in particular. I just wandered, nowhere to go— just hang around. I just wandered and then I wandered some more and then when I got tired I wandered even still. While I was wandering I kept on wondering how long I wandered for. I’m not entirely certain how long I wandered for. I wonder how long I was wondering? How long did I wander? How long did I wonder? For all this business of wondering and wandering is really quite tiring to me at this point so therefore I think I will wrap up my exfoliation on what I did today. Yet, after wondering I quickly found my way home and realized that I had done nothing at all all day. Sure my apartment was clean, I had a good breakfast, I was neatly trimmed, yes, I was clean of course, I wrote that letter to Uncle Jed and sent it to cousin Tennessee, I walked around the city and saw some fantastic things, but ultimately I had done nothing for society. I had accomplished nothing to benefit anyone else other than me so what I figured I would do in the wading hours of the day would be to write this description of what I did and share it with people that are interested in seeing what a normal person like myself does— the normal average ordinary everyday normal average ordinary person like me.
Location Domination
In a text yesterday to my friend I wrote, "Sunset girlfriend home location domination", accompanied with a picture of some dim sum from a near-to-my-girlfriend's-home Dim Summery. When the text was shown to my girlfriend she suggested I turn it into a poem. Enjoy.
LOCATION DOMINATION
Sunset girlfriend home location domination. Wing production spicy incantations. Incandescent post-incessant longing mastications. A complicated jumbling of verse. A longer weekend stumbles. We rehearse. We live within the moment Although we feel without Our thoughts bumbling onwards Inward, plans shout. Shady ways give thistles to the dry. Golden vistas, dusty, try our thighs. The station's fuel restore our windswept eyes. A complicated jumbling of lines. A longer weekend stumbles. We revise. We live within our means Yet time can barely stretch Our attitudes dictate how we sigh Future memories plan their future etch Downtown boyfriend home location domination Pho consumption spices vaccinations. Buying nothing recoils a compendium of temptations. A complicated jumbling of ideas. A weekend redefines what our decree is. We live within our time We dream of other days Our vocations tend to hone and keep us clear We live together separate ways.
There is No Perfect Moment
There is no perfect moment Except the now. Perfection slips. Rubber grips. Dishes fall. People trip. There is no perfect moment Except the then. Playing pen. Remember when? In the sand. The magic hand. There is no perfect moment Except last week. Your friends they speak. That coffee tweak. Purple flowers fleet. That newest plant-based meat. Add in some rhyme with treat. Connecticut leaves Past fall trees. Capturing persimmons in the breeze. And yet, There is no perfect moment. There can never be the truth. There is no perfect moment All passes then we hoot. We holler, scream & shout. Perfection lies without. The moment slips from us. Perfection is a bust. There is no perfect moment Except sunny rays’ embrace. Ocean laps her face. Falling from that grace. Bed sheets in their place. Coffee grounds– a waste. The taste. No space. No filing cabinets’ mace. No filler in the page. A morphing rhyming way. No perfection for this date. There is no perfect moment Except the now. Except the then. Clichés proclaim The sword is mightier than— Reverse— revise— your thoughts again. The poet is your friend. Rhyme something with again. Mumbled verses. Digitized curses. Space rehearses. A never-ending end. A sword less than a pen. An insult. You know. I too know again. There is no perfect moment. No moment does exist Except elusive slippage. The transitive into the bridge. The link from verse to you. A simple end of line… So fine. So find perfection So past due. Past you. Past through. Past participation. Over anticipation. Further, till it's new. There is no simple ending. A circular discussion is had. Only words and punctuation. An accomplishment once glad. There is no simple ending. No end can neatly close. No final ending stanza. This may as well have been prose. This may as well have been Unwritten, Unread, uncared, unseen. There is no perfect moment. Have I conveyed this simple dream?
I See Her
I see her in the mountains. I see her in the trees. I feel her presence in the rain, Upon the shifting breeze. I see her in each view, each vista, each pebble and each speck. I see her when cars rush by, as a caution to respect. I see her in the Golden Gate and upon the sunset’s rays. Looking up, sky so blue, birds call her name. I feel her presence when I bathe, yes for obvious reasons, As daylight stretches marching us into uncharted seasons. I think of her when I sleep. I dream of her at my side. On the stove as I retire, the bubbles whisp her name. While I boil, or add oil, or adjust that helpful flame, She calls to me, I smell her near, I feel her breath so sweet, Oh my Angela, oh my dear, your name in all I speak. A life, a Cloud shift, a moon turning gold… Oh my sweetest Angela with you they broke the mold… You’re in my thoughts. I love you. You keep me whole. Oh sweetest wonderful, let’s build together till we’re old.
The Poet's Mecca
Isn't it something that the tone for this poem wasn't realized amidst the flowers, drawings, and other remembrances strewn about in front of City Lights while people strolled oblivious to the sentiment created? That instead it manifested itself as a text (from the author to his sweetheart) as, I'm at City Lights The poet's Mecca And our King has passed
Infinity's Time
What do I say when my love says, "I love you"; she'll "be mine"? What can I say that I've not said in infinity's time? Where can I look when her glance melts my mind? When should I peer in her eyes, knowing they’re mine? How is it we find the air we breathe Is enough to sustain all we need? How did we become that which we seek? How do I know there's nothing to speak.
I Could Tell You
I could tell you all the movies I've watched. I could prepare you all the foods I've tried. I could bring you to the places I've enjoyed, still we'd be just as close as when we lie. I'll explain all the things I know. I'll paint all the sunsets I've seen. I'll sing all the songs I've heard And you will still love me exactly as you've been. All our memories that we share And all that we create Cannot come close to compare To the love our lives await.