PLAGUED

Slap in the face and one more door to slam.

End of the rave, end of the day, start of new noise and rage.

Sound and fury, one kick to the solar-plexus, and

"Vengeance is mine saith the Lord".

I sit on my hands.

I sit on my hands. 

I SIT ON MY HANDS AND I BITE MY TONGUE.

A plague on all our houses and we are the enemy,

the battle-lines being drawn. 

Slight me not, and force no hand.

I want no quarrel with you.

But do you bite your thumb at me, sir?

Children bearing the sins of their fathers

with drooping shoulders and shitty posture.

Down on me..Down on me...

Down on Desolation Row.

We row-row our little boats

upstream, uphill, both ways

and struggle struggle struggle.

Go on and fight til all the piss and vinegar

have worn you thin and sick.

I will pretend to ignore the call of war.

I sit on my hands.

I sit on my hands and I bite my tongue...

And I pray for our grace.

A Sudden Spring Forward

Unexpected

and pleasantly surprising.

Carried into Monday morning

full of February sunshine

and the anticipation of spring blossoming;

Petals unfurling and

darling buds of May-

Rough winds do shake

what we mildly maintain

and what we never saw coming

Into one glorious sidewalk tornado.

What's been done and undone swirls together

against an urban graffiti sky while

the brick stacks out back bake in the burn

of setting suns and longings left unspoken.

TATTOOED GYPSY & THE BURNING BLUE EYED GOOD BYE BLUES

Scabbing tattoo gypsy heart;

Red around the edges-

Raw and aching to be scratched.

Try a little tenderness.

Don't baby it too much.

Stay and go and come away again soon, with me.

Down these halls

Painted over words we let slip

Then slide...

You just go for the ride and I stand behind you

watching you walk away.

It's the smell of piss and shit and blood on a Saturday morning after;

Someone stole your shower head and it's too cold to do laundry.

It's "Thank God the bar's across the street" and  "Are you gonna eat those fries?".

It's a heavy bass line that makes you wanna take your clothes off and dance and it's too cold to sleep alone.

52 card pick up under the back stairwell.

Inky finger print bruises on my hips.

Angry ruby wound;

tight around my wrist like twist ties 

and the ties that bind, and the rope we wind up with 

like a noose turned neck tie.

We run. We hide. And seek. 

We find. And blind eye turn on each other.

While we huddle together against the

concrete chill of warehouse heater blues

hit the snooze button one more time

Before out the door we stumble.

Mumble into our scarves and the scars

we carved into our arms.

Dollar coins and subway rides to work to work to work

We pray this will all just work.

And I'm done with I love you's from far away lips

On this unwashed Monday, but at least my clothes are clean

even if my mouth is dirty, and my mind is dirty and 

my fingernails are covered in war paint and I'm down in this trench of a gutter

with just a hot plate and some styrofoam cups to raise up

and rally myself against the day.

Scabbing angry tattooed gypsy soul;

Those sour words at the back of my throat 

Let loose and I let them. 

Bite and burn like acid on that loving heart.

To break those chains and break myself apart 

and find the marrow worth saving,

Braving this skin that I'm in.

Freezing, bleeding, needing and believing 

I can begin again-

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow....

For the Kids of 286

We were rolling our eyes

and laughing through sighs,

"Like, it fuckin figures"

she said to me
As we belly up to beer cans all over the floor

Hallway hurricane dance parties outside my bedroom door

Dirty fingernails and noodles with butter

All we have is each other

Windowless Universe Warehouse Home

This is the first place I could call my own-

Busting bottles in the dark, roller skating in the park

howling out the songs of our savage little hearts

I leave my door unlocked and you 

can climb into my bed

If I wake up and you're gone

We'll let it go unsaid

I'll just see you round the stalls

While we're tagging up the halls

And spray painting our madness

on our neighbors walls

Baby, check that sadness at the door

That's not what these rooms are for

We got ceilings full of dreams and cracks

Hold ourselves together with old thumbtacks

And I'll scratch your back if you lend me a dime

We're all living on cigarettes and rented time

This is as good as it gets and all bets are off

As we cough up for coffee on our way to Starbucks

Odds are stacked, streets are packed, and the world is OCCUPIED

Just lay with me, stay with me, we got nothing to hide

Beyond this closed door, it's America's war

And no one out there is sure what they're fighting for

It's students in the park and

Drummers in the dark

It's our history laid out

like a long Boardwalk Empire

On fire and one step at a time

We go hand in hand in hand and cross over the line..

And if you write me in your rhythm,

You know I'll paint you in my rhyme.

Long Distance Charges May Apply

Last night, 

I lost my temper.

I raised my voice,

and fought back tears.

It wasn't you, my love, 

that my rage was sparking for

It was all the world around us

and the way it tries to let us down.

After you hung up

I cursed at my ceiling

and pointed my finger at empty space

and told it I would not stand for it any more.

All my life, I have held my tongue.

And let rivers rush over me, and blue birds fly by.

But not now. Not after you. Not after this.

I will not sit in silence.

I will stand on the corner and shout at the stars 

until you can hear me calling you home.

Back Seat Hurricane

The day before the hurricane
neither of us had to work
and we spent a whole day parked in the woods,
steaming up the windows on my grandmothers Saturn,
even though they were open and the rain was coming in.

Your bones pressed hard between my thighs,
I could feel every atom in your body vibrate
and compress itself down into the tips of your fingers.
We were soaked in sweat, clinging to each other
your breath lingering on my lips...

I can taste you now and feel you still.

Bearing down on me
until your hands were raw and I was on fire-
Burning up underneath you
in the front seat of my car
like teenagers on a Friday night.

The roof and the sky blurred together in a swatch of grey
Your eyes pierced the haze of
cigarette smoke and humidity.
I lost myself in the ocean of your salty skin
and drowned, gratefully, in your arms.

RAIN DANCE

Standing out on the gravel, I can see the storm coming.

Heavy and grey, rolling in from the West with steady intent.

The damp air shifts nervously, pushing back fog, gusting up from the ground

As the sky finally opens

And the first cold fat drops plummet to the clay.

Gathered on the porch of the red wooden shack,

We press back against the wall, away from the wide waterfalls 

That run wild over the gutters and spill out

Flooding the mulch walkways with ankle deep puddles.

I sink my feet into them and walk slowly,

already soaked,

to my car.

I want to stand out there with my face to the sky

Feeling the spirit of my ancestors

cling to me like my t-shirt

and dance to the sound of the thunder breaking.

But people are watching,

and the roads are flooding.

This is no time for a rain dance.

In the shelter of the car,

I strip down to my underwear and turn on the defroster.

My clothes soak the passenger seat,

and my windows steam.

I light a cigarette.

Rain taps out an angry rhythm on the roof,

and I turn the radio up, rolling through swamped streets

that threaten to swallow the vehicle from the tires down..

Halfway home the storm breaks, slightly,

turning over to soft showers singing on wet leaves.

The breeze rustles through tree tops, whispering the secrets of life,

And wet earth breathes the smell of an ancient memory,

Where once we dared to dance in the lightning.