Categories
Poems

spontaneous memory

I am not the one

to tell you how long

I’ve had to let

the water simmer

even though I put

the pot

on the stove

I am not the one

to know

how to define

the meaningless

now that what isn’t can’t

be symbolized

and yet we try

 

these words are only

morsels of what could be

if only we could properly

listen to our minds

it’s like the wind

and it isn’t

this book is a vessel

like ourselves

the temperature

is a sign like language

on her shoes lie

rain drops and

my eyes are anchors

no longer tethered

and so they wait

at the bottom

of her heart

but only for a moment

as I see the sky

I can’t see the sky

and so we sit

with iron / sideways blushing

 

we’ve gotten too good

at saying what we

never mean and

the letters look tangled

yes there are so many

trees around us

that no longer exist

and did you know

we twitch while

shifting thru time

so that our ancestors

wouldn’t break their

sturdy bones?

 

how fragile we are now

and yet we destroy

everything we touch

so says the dirt under our feet

so say sorry to the dirt underneath

your nails

why do we love

the color blue anyway?

 

i am not the one

to tell you

that amorphous furniture

for the blind

are pipes crafted for human

consumption

Categories
Poems

i learned to blaspheme

 

at an early age

I learned to blaspheme

of course my God

was money

thru pokemon cards

and plastic cartridges

containing computer chips

crafted by japanese otaku

teaching 6 year old me

my native language

 

to learn english

from my grandfather’s enemies

enemies a half century before

me being born

 

my ancestors fought

what they thought

were monsters

 

to them there was nothing

to justify

a surprise raid

upon a military base

on a colonial occupation

of a pacific island

yet we were just another

empire

 

religion and ideology

looked down upon now

although they survive

in different forms

 

in my prime

I took no part

in battles

I only sat in tents

and occupied

public land

and didn’t strike back

when crushed

by the man

 

I followed a now

forgotten black flag

 

then dropped it

thinking others will pick up the fight

 

the Japanese girl

across from me

on the train crossing

over the river I cross

every day the river

named after an english murderer

of native americans

 

the Japanese girl

across from me

on the rocking train

crossing over a dead murderer

wears a camo jacket

w/ a stars and stripes

patch on her drab sleeve

 

all in the name

of another idol

 

globalization

 

I learned to blaspheme

thru seeping structures

deconstructed

Categories
Poems

the man in the pizza shop

said that he was “dragged

around like an old whore”

in court but that today

he reached a settlement

while some bum came in and asked

the owner if he’s got any old slices

to give away and the man scoffed

at the rejected junkie then continued the story

how whenever he feels like a winner

he wears his best italian suit

and gently styles his silver hair

and forces the loser to sign the papers

with his fanciest pen

 

and I couldn’t really stand

the guy’s bullshit

anymore so I walked outside

into the still crumbling city

w/ half a wrapped hoagie

and half a mind to blow up a bank

and thank God I don’t know

what else the man said

but I turned around and saw

him laughing in his smart clothes

and open collar displaying white

chest hair and I wish I woulda bought

that homeless guy a slice of pizza

Categories
False Prophet

False Prophet

A bizzare, surrealist experimental poetry performance I created in 2012.

Categories
Poems

Camden, NJ

All this cures the bleedin’

Methadone Heroin Crack

40’s from Mancine’s

maybe a shot from The Victor’s Pub

in the old carcass of a RCA warehouse

where recorded music was invented

but now that’s forgotten

and so the blood trickles out

the red brick building spilling

onto the cracked curbside dreams

liquified and drained into the gutter

runnin’ under tricklin’ down PATCO stairs

where the junkies sleep in pools

of blood yes the blood of workers

the blood of Black people

the blood of Latinos

the blood of the Irish of Italians

the blood of women

or anyone who’s not a WASP

our blood pours thru the streets

cuz they wanna drown our voices

they wanna drown our children

in machines and equations

they wanna starve our children of art

they wanna rob our kids of poetry

of music of anything that makes them human

they rob us they rape us

and you know who they is

if not, then you them