New Poems

"It was all a dream;
I used to read Thrasher magazine."



BUSHWICK, NYC

On Food Stamp Yoga,
                                    (1^st of each month)
we eat like Marquises
and Comtes and Kings.
Kings and Queens of kale,
at the court of never buy,
never sell. 

NEW TIMES, NEW BLOOD

     A politician dies,
leaving a bald sized moth-hole in otherwise steel wool.
     All the Sorels lie in wait; they know this
and fumble over one another to stand for Congress.

    And one might hear, gasping in the ether of newscasts,
    a child reading a Christmas wishlist:

          “New times, new blood.
            New times, new blood.
            New times, new blood.”

(But not so quick)
Eulogize, for a moment,
the passed-on’s measures and repeals.
And feel that you show that you feel,
that you feel you really feel.

And don’t appear to appear
to be too desirous to appear
to talk.

Still sweat shows on lapels,
and the air of respect
is not fit to breathe.

It only musses one’s gel. 




SEEING THE COMEDIC ACTOR / CELEBLOMAT SINBAD IN THE AIRPORT IN BRUXELLES

If you told me
I’d see
the comedic actor “Sinbad,”
in Brussels,

I would have thought,

      “Of course.”

Because where else would he be?

Only on the conveyor belt,
Only in snap-away gym pants,
Only in flip-up sunglasses,
Only in Brussels.

P.S. - surprised to see Sinbad fly -  




“EMPLOYED PART-TIME BY FASTING.”


The stomach is a commodity
to be traded openly
for not spending money.


"A pound lost is a pound earned,"
is “just one pound of flesh.” 

THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO ALL THE TEACHERS WHO TOLD ME
I’D NEVER AMOUNT TO NOTHING.

It was all a dream;
I used to read Thrasher Magazine.
Curb cuts and flat bars; huffing gasoline.

Spray paint on my wall,
every Saturday: Dodge park,

Mr. Gabe Hoy and mall cat-calls.
I let my tapes rock until my tapes stopped.
Smoking weed and Tylenol 3
Sipping on codeine on rocks.
Way back, when I had the pink and black blown-out back
with the life to match.
Remember screaming w/ Don B. in Bernie’s bar - 
always knew punk rock would take me exactly this far.
Now I’m in the twilight cause I diverted all-life
And, somehow, it’s time to get paid,
just wanted to blow up world trade.


P.S. Girls used to diss me now they write letters to tell me they diss me.




TRUISMS


The specifics
of the each
melt into 
the vagueness
of the every.
The love & hate
of the general
may materialize
in any particular.


(you are
you and 
you are
you, you,
you, you,
you, you,
you, you,
you, you,
and you.)