The Couple from Tehran

In the Shah's Iran they had a living room
the size of her whole condo now
and he was standing there
near his office
by the windows
in nothing but blue, cut-off jeans
with yellow, sandy hair - a white guy
he'd of been about my age
standing there while she looked at him
from the kitchen - an Armenian girl
looking at him
swaying there, in the middle of
dozens of albums scattered on the floor
smiling there, in the middle of that rock and roll
deciding there, in that loud living room
which one to throw on next
and she swears to me now
that she can still smell the air from the Shah's Iran

Marlowe through Melville

I'll lean forward
moving in
next to all these spines
glossy and crisp
close enough
to smell the
soft chemical sting
of grease
and leaves
I'll cock my head
to catch a glimpse
Of every title,
axiom, and
bold summation
running sideways
due South

And in this church
of mine
in this isle
on these shelves
next to all my heroes
I'll feel something turn
in the pit of my stomach
an anxiety
that makes me think
I can do what they did
My spine can carry
the load
of all the truth
and all the
beautiful lies
I'd love to tell you
I'm dying to tell you

10,000 acres

there are parts of L.A.
that look just fine
where the front lawns
boast green
from behind picket fences
and mullioned windows
offer cross-hatched portraits
of perfect families
good, caring mothers
and strong,
hard-working fathers
who love their
incandescent children
perfect families
from Rockwell's America
in the warmth of their homes
underneath the growing
billows of smoke
riding the backs of
the Santa Anas
galloping through town
as the pungent,
ashen reminder
of a destitute woman's
heirloom wedding dress
and a crying boy's football

Jack, he is a banker.

Whaddya say, Lou?
Shall we nullify our lives?
You with heroin
Me with procastination
At least you can
Write a song about it
I might start one
but I won't finish it
What says you, Lou?
Was today a perfect day?
I gotta say
I wish I could tell you
that I'm fighting
an uphill battle
with mediocrity
but I'd be lying
I still haven't figured out
what costume to wear
for all tomorrow's parties

Next Gas 50 mi

I'd give anything

to be twenty-five

in nineteen seventy-three

unshaved

in dirty jeans

making my way across

Kansas or

the Joshua Tree

in a beat up

Westfalia

with a pack of cigarettes

sliding back and forth

across the dashboard

and a copy of

Ask the Dust in the

passenger seat

with the cover missing

a burgundy guitar with

the high E snapped

in the back

and no idea of

where I'm going

or when I'll stop

Chromatophores

I can assure you
That there are not
Nearly enough
Explanations
Labels or
Forms of classification
That could possibly
Subdue
My knee-jerk
Tendency
To gasp at
The amazing
Profound and
Startling effects
Of cuttlefish
Changing color

Seven Trillion People to Talk To

Sometimes I scream
inside myself
so loudly
it turns my
ears red
and my heart stops
for a second
it gets pressed
by something
and it hurts
then it's quiet
It happens when
I'm just breathing
Or waiting for the rain
to fall
busying myself by
drafting outlines
of things to do
things to come
plans to make
my mark
rather than
leaving a stain
Plans to touch
every single person
everywhere
for one second
long enough
to hear me scream
inside myself

Undiscover’d

Even an atheist
Has dreams of
Meeting his father
In heaven

This atheist will sit
On a rocking chair
Next to his dad
Looking over clichéd clouds
And gimmicky sunsets
He’ll talk to his father
Like an adult
Something he’s never done
Because this atheist
Was nine
When his father died
A stranger his mom loved
That took every conversation
They would have ever had
To the grave

But now in heaven
They’ll talk like adults
Because this atheist is
Thirty-two now
Almost thirty-three
He’s sitting on a rocking chair
In heaven
Drinking iced-tea with his dad
On a porch in the clouds
Like in the movies
And he’s got so many questions
To ask his Old Man

Did you ever listen to Bob Dylan?
Yeah I did – I loved Bob Dylan
Me too, Dad

Caesar’s Tomato Garden

Walking up concrete stairs
to Latin class
to clown around
and laugh at things
we won't understand anymore
when we grow up
And now
we'll reminisce
about those things
those things
that faintly remind us
of the times
when burdens were few
and futures were
undefined
and didn't need to be
because at the time
it felt so good
to laugh so hard
We’ll smile now
in our cars
on the way to work
softly aching for a chance
to feel that way again

A Poem for the Angry

The pride that’s poisoned you
Turned your blood to
Magma
The drink that’s clouded
The soft flesh
In your skull
Churned tears
From salt to sulfur
An injustice so great
Absolutely, absolutely
An injustice too large
To quantify
When you sit on a past
Full of broken bones
And unseen scars
Gifted from a man
Who’s hands were
Never clean enough
Who’s son was
Never Godly enough
His soul marred by the filth
From the germs swarming
Between the slats
Of a hardwood floor
Here’s a poem for you
A poem for the angry
To nail on your cross
A poem you can point to
While trying to market
Your own martyrdom
To the people who don’t
Believe you
Or your crusade
Of persistent victimhood

Sailor

Someday he'll buy a sailboat
something small
a twenty-five footer
just a jib and a mainsail
a little sloop
a couple of grand
he'll fix it up
on a sandy beach
with his jeans rolled up
wind blowing sand in his hair
he'll paint it blue and white
and call it
something
he doesn't know yet
but he'll call it something
and he'll launch it into the harbor
and pack it with
tin cans of food
and a rusty old typewriter
with extra ribbons
and a dozen or so reams of paper
then he'll sail away
tacking into the wind
zigzagging away from
the man he left behind
on the shore
the man with his leg
anchored to the pier
he'll clip along on the waves
waving back to himself
scared and happy
waving back from
The Santa Maria

Blot

Blot out the sun
And the small spots of light
That make up this man
With no city
And no walls
An exposed blot
On this board
An exposed spot
Of small light
That went dark
In the quiet
Consumed by the white

When Your Wife Dies Before You Do

Every tender moment
Soft
And real
That will come our way
And all the betrayals
I have yet to lay
And
All of my questions
That received no
Answers
Were not supposed to be
Answered
Not now
Or then
Only later
When I’m old
And confused
When I’m shaking
From fear of
True loneliness
Because she died
Before me

David and Rey

A cub poised
On the shoulders
Of a bear
Fearless
Golden
And Shining
Father and son
Strong in love
And strong
Like a man
And a man to be

Asimo

Ha ha
I’ve made it
Hey, look what I’ve done
He can walk
He can climb
He can practically run

Yes, yes
I made it
Jeez, look at him go
Sprinting now
Through the crowd
As his mind starts to grow

Of course
I made him
To make life a breeze
Fetch my shoes
Get my coat
Start my car, grab my keys

Oh, wow
I made them
We can all relax
No more work
No more sweat
Take this load off our backs

Dear God
I’m unmade
I must be deranged
No more work
No more jobs
Can it spare me some change?

Jane

There was a girl
Briefly loved
Who faded from
Memory
No poems were
Written about her
Though she was lovely
And had a warm heart
She faded from
Memory
I think of her
Every now and then
And when I do
It is only because
I’m trying to remember
The people I’ve forgotten
The people
Who loved me

Geeks

He loves her like
Little boys love spaceships
And she him
Like little girls
In high school theater
Anticipate a weekend
Renaissance festival

She feels as good
As Q-tips digging
Deep In his ear
And he does not
Differ much from the
Coziest of all Teddy Bears
With the softest hairs
And eyes plucked out

Algebraically speaking
His Y and her X intersected
Forming a perfect
Origin
Upon which all other
Things will be graphed

An Empty Face

Oh, my God,
My God
I’ve been asked
To believe
You’ll have to forgive me
When I fail to concede
You think
Some know
I doubt for lack of proof
The great chicken and egg
Aquinas used
And I laughed when
David broke William’s watch
Forgive me, Father
For I know what I do
I’ll more readily give
My allegiance to
Dragons and Unicorns
Than to you
Oh, Ruler of Negative Space
To take no form
An empty face
I only ask for one small thing
May I change my mind
When I hear the angels sing?