Flash Forward

The other day we were returning that UHaul truck we'd rented-
You were asleep in the backseat.

The sun was already hot at 8a.m.; Another one hundred degree day.
Desert living.

And there were mountains all around- we passed the sign for the freeway
Leading to El Paso
and I thought: Let's just keep driving

I'll turn the radio up and you'll keep sleeping and
we'll just take an adventure- 
Go to El Paso.

I've never been to Texas.
Lone Star State.

Desert living. 
It was already hot at 8a.m.
Another one hundred degree day, the mountains all around…

Since we've moved, I've decided to try and write poems again
While you're sleeping and I have time on my hands. 

Life's not like it use to be.
Neither is poetry. 

Maybe that makes sense. 

Someday.
When the car is full of gas and the rents been paid, 
We'll drive out to El Paso. 
Just to say we did. 

I'll be 
crazy, 
and you'll be 
sleeping.

Desert. 
Living.

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.

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.

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.

HOIST THE COLORS

I'm bored and everyone is old.

The whole world went back to school and so did their children.

And we never learn a god damn thing.

Didn't I try and tell you once to be open, 

and to listen to everything around you..?

I am overwhelmed.

The hum of urban neon chaos, 

the soundtrack of my dreams, 

the song in my footsteps.

Crafting Life like the pattern of a wedding dress.

Marking in chalk, pinning things down, 

cutting delicately on dotted lines.

Poised for Power 

feels more like

Standing on the Precipice.

At any moment my castle may tumble into the sea.

I may be thrashed to bits on the rocks below.

Drowned in the white waters and sunk down into cold depths.

Falling is the easy part-You just fall.

It's the jumping that's hard.

It's the landing that's tough.

Flying with a mostly blind eye on the horizon,

I long for the fall.

I wish for the tumble head over heels into Anything.

My life; A long series of blurry cartwheeling landscapes.

Somersaulting before my eyes.

The Spin Cycle.

Going over and over my Self.

Over and over again.

Revising, reviewing, redoing-all the same shit.

Style this next flight a long one, to someplace I've never been-

Maybe around the Sun and the Moon

Breaking back through the atmosphere like Fire.

I'm bored and America is an angry old woman- and so is everyone in it.

Shake off your cobwebs and burn down your pretense 

And fly your rebel colors if you can hear me..!!

Prepping for another unknowable departure to Anywhere

I swear I won't even take my landing gear this time.

I make no plans to touch down, or to ever return at all... 

Train Tracks and Other Metaphores

This is a poem for my generation

written on a Monday at the office,

while I Facebook and YouTube

instead of filing and data entry.

Because I'm trying to peer over the wall of time

and spy on a life I had once, where we all went to high school together

and cut classes in favor of the beach and the woods

and driving around in your parents convertible without their permission.

And in the dark of the night my footsteps make no noise,

and the cars on the high way are a river of fire. 

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Where are we? We wonder out loud,

to each other, and to ourselves, and to no one in particular...

Who have we become, and who did we want to be?

And did we lay our plans with as much care as we should have?

Probably not. But there's no time now to,

Lament some of my moments of execution..

Where I lost my grace, and fell out of they eyes of honesty,

and struck out.

And in the dark night my footsteps make no noise,

and the road to anywhere is paved with dreams.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

We are treading water somewhere between the shores of Child

and the rocky horizon of Adult.

We are piled into rowboats, some of us with children,

some of us with men, and some of us without..

We are filled with wanting and painted in covetous technicolors-

We dare to dream the American Dream that our parents dreamed

and distilled from their parents who dreamed and distilled it from

their parents, and now it holds just a drop if it's original elixir, but we dream on.

And in the dark of my dreams my footsteps make no noise,

and the yellow brick road rolls out a red carpet.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I want to live in a big house with a porch

and a yard for my garden and animals and children,

and a barn so I can hang my half moon out on the eaves

and wind chimes from the rafters.

Maybe I will have some chickens,

and a goat, or a pig...

And I'll make pottery and beaded necklaces

in between pulling weeds and putting on plays with the neighborhood kids.

And in the dark before the dawn my footsteps make no noise,

and the path we walk is unmarked and winding.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I have to write this down because I FORGET MYSELF (all the time....)

and then go throwing blame at every one around me.

Telling them they don't know who I am,

when really it's me, making a false idol of myself.

And at least we are all lost together,

you and me, and all of us, in our rowboats,

between here and the future, 

still updating on Facebook, to validate our existence.

And in the light of day my footsteps make no noise,

and the faces of strangers are all familiar to me.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Vagabond Sue

Mama said start running,

Daddy's bad with advice.

I grew out of dirty rags

and into sin and vice.

Now they keep an eye out

for me and all my lies

and me, I bow out early

and sever all my ties.

I'm dancing round the rodeo

just me and all the clowns

My boots are worn and dusty

from jumping town to town.

It's me and my dog, Rusty,

who's only got three legs,

and we live thin on Whiskey

and other fellas kegs.

Sometimes I dance on table tops

and swing from chandeliers,

but mostly I'm just riding trains

and have been now for years.

Someday they say I'll settle down

when youth has run from me

but I just keep on dancing

and livin wild and free.

'Cos the night has got me in it's hands

and God smiles down on me, 

I said, I'll just keep on dancing now,

and livin wild and free...

Some Daze

Somedays, somedays, somedays, 

when you think maybe you'll move to a nice 

New Jersey suburb and start reading Better Homes & Gardens,

and have dinner on the table by 6.

When you think maybe you'll move back to where

everybody knows your name and 

the summers are warm and sandy and

you used to be somebody.

Or maybe you'll enroll in art school and 

trek off to live under the Tuscan sun for six months, 

and cast off all that dead weight you've been

dragging around year after year after year...

Or marry someone rich and handsome

who begs you to quit that second job and 

let him take you away from it all

to a well heeled Upper West Side apartment with original architecture...

Somedays, somedays, somedays, 

when you're lurking on the edge of another birthday

and trying to figure out where you'd like to wind up

as we spin silently through space.

Somedays, these days, summer, sunny, sundays..

Someday, somewhere, someone, some way, Sondheim, Somedays...

Some daze. 

The Trend of Living

Doesn't matter where you go, or who you're there with.

You set up shop in one place long enough, you notice the pattern.

The Trend of Living. 

We're all out with our battalions on Friday night,

spending our pennies, buying back freedom, drinking salvation, 

Stumbling home on our trail of bread crumbs.

 

We hate our jobs. We dream of bigger and better with an order of babies on the side.

We dream of weddings and runaway brides

and beaches, and far away islands.

We crave a kickback vacation, 

a do-nothing escape from our daily hum drum

Something more exotic than grocery shopping and lawn mowing and paycheck collecting

Far away, I am somewhere else, 

doing exactly the same thing.

Peering over the rim of my coffee cup into the distant future, where I am rich and tan and lazy.

From across my day dream, 

I'm pretty sure I can see you in the distance, 

Far away, somewhere else, doing exactly the same thing.

Uptown; This Time Last Year

To Harlem, With Love-

This time last year,
Uptown,
I had an apartment that was small and
didn't really belong to me and
I loved it.




Walking across the Madison Avenue Bridge
in the New York City Summer Heat,

Listening to the thunderstorms roll up the island.

Stealing wireless from out of thin air to fuel the
beginnings of my Pandora love-affair,
running from rehearsal to rehearsal to rehearsal and
working 3 days a week.

We rode the bus one morning,

hungover and in matching ensembles

with my dog in a bag,

and thanked God for Greek diners.

You left your shoes in the middle of my floor

and your reflection in my mirror.

Now, back on the tree-lined streets of Suburbia,

I miss the sunlight on the East River.

I miss Kennedy's Fried Chicken at 2 am, 

and the obnoxious smell of burnt death 

escaping from the apartment across the hall.

New York.

You Know.

I Need You.

OVER-FLOW

Today a river runs through it

and around it 

and over it

Today, The Waters of New York and New Jersey
decided to rise up and overthrow the
tyrannical governing of River Banks and Side Walks.

Today they flooded the Storm Drains

and 

Swamped the Streets.

I heard on the news that a wave of radicals started

breaking into basements sometime last week and have refused to vacate.
They just keep pouring in...

Suburban housewives and their children are being loaded into rowboats
and floated down the Turnpike,

in search of higher grounds.

Chickens are drowning at an alarming rate and

Umbrella related injuries are up by 40%.

The subways have turned into aqua ducts.

Cars are being abandoned on the FDR

or what's left of it..

They say people have been spotted surfing down Bowery on briefcases.

The Suits and Heels are loosing ground.

Today, 

a river runs over it.

Dún Chathail

Ten years ago
I was in a real Irish Pub
that was in a real Irish town
that was really in Ireland.

I had real Irish friends,
who played real Irish music
and sang real Irish songs
and drank real Irish pints.

We hung out in real Irish pubs
We danced in real Irish discos
and told real Irish ghost stories at real Irish Forts,
and walked boldly off real Irish cliffsides...

Sláinte.

Metro Snow Globe Madness

It's snowing to a fare-thee-well outside.

A New York City Blizzard. 

MetroWinterWonderLand.

Concrete Tundra of the Tri-State Area,

and we, All-Weather-Women, 

are out in our Nanook of the North finest.

I wear stripes in snow storms,
And tall rubber boots.
But I saw some women on the subway
in their patent leather heels,
and furs, and labels, still strutting their stuff
on the biggest runway of the world.
A New York City Blizzard,
and everyone was looking.

We are out there!
Lonely Soldiers of the Frozen
waiting for The Iron Horse Cavalries
and their electric shoe gallop.

We, brave and bold and glorious snow-bunny souls, 

we are out there in THIS!
A knee high drifting, corner jumping,
slush throwing, combustion driven world...

A New York City Blizzard.