Children, ye are wicked

children
ye are wicked
playthings of full moons
hollow inside
devoid of good
or light to know the difference
the flip side of good
gone
like a sparkler
killed on the fourth of july
stillborn into this world
that sighs
you are born
another one in
another out
leave your garbage
in a heap
with a hip
and lust frozen
'tween the hips of another
like the time you felt
invincible
impenetrable
infinite
hell
anything at all
children
ye are wicked
like your mothers
like your fathers
like your aunties and uncles
hands covering their ears
and eyes turned in
oh
so far in
hell
the whole wide world
under water
under siege
under the influence
of selfishness
and who gives a flying fuck?
ye are wicked
we are
in hell

tetes petites

oh
we were fools
to believe
what we held
was ever made of gold
fools
but were we wiser
new romantics
fleet of foot
but dumb of youth
words to waste
like summers
and now the leaves have fallen
like wizards
behind curtains
boys
behind mothers' summer dresses
intellects
bound by myths
fallen
stifled then bent
by blue socks
the already fallen
we've already fallen
can't you see
oh say
warm embraces
went cold
the moment you learned
how hot is hot
cold is cold
stop talking
there is only action
that matters
says what is meant
acting out scripts
made up as we go along
in between days
of games
of booze
and self-adulation
this is broken
not bent
broken
stifled by delusions
oh say
we've already fallen
far from grace.

Surprised? More than surprised.... 

Piece of Mind

On Tuesday, September 6, 2005, I commence my new career as a teacher. I'll be teaching Fourth Grade at Walt Disney Magnet School in Chicago. For the first time in my work life history, I am fulfilled. Completely and utterly overwhelmed, but fulfilled. At last.

Gabe the baptist.... 

honor among thieves 

somehow solemn

pushed open the hospital door
with a hip
blew out smoke
from the first drag
of his last cigarette
and the rain drenched
fleeting resolve
ambition
and his three day-old clothes
"you can't kill
what is already dead"
she said
and ever since
he has tried to find a meaning
beyond the meaning
a meaning he can live with
tell people he knows
people who might give a shit
save face
for anyone who could give a shit
even if they don't
how long to live
how long
are we alive to possibilities
when the past has shown
the possibilities
are not endless
and are too rarely realized
put your tongue back in your mouth
close your legs
and wipe away that simple smile
love is cold
and we are old
older than we used to be
show me a face
and i'll find the blemishes
show me your heart
i'll see emotional problems
hints of things to come
things that close doors
things that end
best intentions
good starts
new days
for screaming
going out of our heads
but somehow solemn
show me everything
i'll show you mine
all the things that would end
all that we would start
better yet
better not
we'd just be wasting
precious time
to spend thinking
about sitting here
in the middle of nowhere
beyond hope
beyond the nicotine-stained claws
of time

forza

begin the night
with arms outstretched
tilt my head back
yell yes
yes
to ghosts of chances
around corners
under neon lights
under rain
under the influence
of a dream
of you
you
with your head back
smiling
with all that you are
brown hair
in the air
fanning perfume
set my night ablaze
with feeling
hell yes
i'm alive
to the sun
all that it shows
farewell to the shade
doubts concealed
hearts revealed
yes
to a feeling
stronger
for thinking
on a love
of a dream
of ghosts of chances
to spend the night with you
tonight
and for always
a love
stronger for thinking
of you
with me
ever after
with you

forgetful hearts 

involuntary hiatus

Regrettably, Spirit Rituals has been relegated to the back seat over the last couple of weeks. Not only have I been immersed in my studies toward commencing my career as a teacher this fall, but my youngest son was hospitalized last weekend with an "immature" breathing condition precipitated by an upper respiratory infection. He is gradually doing better now, but suffice it to say I have had little time to separate my mind from matter of late. Gratefully, I have been enjoying school at Northwestern University in what amounts to a crash/accelerated course toward teaching. I've been meeting some interesting, well-intentioned individuals, and although the course and student-teaching loads are increasingly demanding, I've always found that life is substantially more manageable when one lives and thinks day by day and doesn't obsess too much about the mountainous paths ahead. I'd love to be more specific about my course work and my current journey, and perhaps I will do so in time, but any professional student will recall that when you are a student, you are either: 1) in school/commuting to/from school; 2) doing homework; and/or 3) should be doing homework. Alas, under the cloud of such a realization, most other time is wasted time. Of course that is a stretch, somewhat. It's ever interesting to me to encounter fellow students who are single and/or have no kids who gripe about the work load and work/life balance. Not to downplay the relative trials and tribulations of others (and indeed, so much is relative), the time and single-mindedness afforded single/kidless people is, um, just slightly more than that afforded married/with kids people.

what is there to smile about 

life begins tomorrow 

four more horsemen 

four horsemen 

pardon me, my lady, did you say hiccups or d cups?

he said he'd stop at nothing
but then
something came up
undid his belt
unzipped his fly
oh boy
there was magic in the air
but then
there was no magic
and it's funny
but it's not
there never ever was
it was all just make believe
like sheets on children
render them ghosts
like toy soldiers
killing
every other toy soldier
with rubber bands
and funny mouth sounds
laden with saliva
everything here
from the way the neon lights
shone through the open blinds
to the way she looked at him
when she came to his door
he knew
she knew
he knew
he was as lost
as the money he left
in short stacks
like pancakes
on the edge of the dealer's table
lost
like a boy scout
stranded
in the wilderness
stranded
by so-called friends
lost
mired in drink
the dealer's gaze
laughing
without laughing
better than him
without effort
he turned to touch her
indifferent
to whether she knew
he was crying like a baby
he knew
she knew
he knew
crying
inside and out
through and through
it was written all over his face
if only she'd still been there to read it
then catch his fall
he began at birth

heads will roll 

you will be remembered

she yawned
then fell from grace
invited him in
or let him take her
for granted
she can't remember which
only the colors
of the world her father showed her
in stories
and by example
had now lost their definition
and in black and white
instead
up jumped the devil
to prod her
to sneer
to tell his friends
she didn't even know
and it mattered
to her daddy
and it matters now
so far away from grace
and the light
dimmed by neglect
batteries on the cheap
a life with no meaning
who will be the one
to catch her fall
to brace the wheel north
now that her dad is dead
now that she drinks
shame
to oblivion
to forget
what she remembers
to forget
she is only biding her time
an accidental protagonist
for tall tales
of conquests
treasures won and lost
by boys
with little dicks

wishful thinking

what makes a man
hover
above another
omniscient
indifferent
like high trees
to spring breeze
like days
in time
most men drink
to belly laugh away
the rage
and if they are so endowed
to think
drink
to obliterate
having to think
most men eat
in cars
biscuits
cheese brats
gravy stains
on sleeves like napkins
but still think
if they can
they haven't changed
forty pounds later
and their brows were lower
but ideals greater
and there once was a dream
way back when
a pony tail
on a balding head
would have made them
belly laugh away
the surrender of men
to all things
obscene
way back when
there was a vision
just enough
so maybe they could get lucky
get friends
get married
get kids
watch the rage
intoxicate a room
like changing tv channels
late at night
go blind
neighbors know
a sucker to the television
to living
feel the rage
kill
what ever made the man
think he could
hover
above another
in the first place

away from you

been trying
to find a song
to tell you
what i can't tell you
because i die
a little more
every time i try
to conjure a song
by my own pen
by my own heart
and god knows i've tried
die
a little more
for the sake of a song
for the sake of a song
to tell you
i'm sorry
but i've just got to go
pack my bags
i'm leaving here
get away from you
and days like these
to skip stones in a pond
kick cans down sewer grates
think about thinking
of nothing at all
meet people
who could never hold a candle
to you
who just shit when they talk
but these are my people
my level
my place
down on their luck
down in the gutters
of a tin pan alley
in a ghetto
down below the shoes
of people like you
your pretty eyes
beauty
lucid thoughts
laundry lists of accomplishments
stop
dragging you down
to my level
to my place
down in the heart
of the stench
of the defeated
been trying
to find a song
so honest
so frank
so woefully me
but i can't

shine

son
is shining
robins fly by
high
in the sky
other ones singing
your song
from the great tree
over the wooden porch
me in my chair
fresh coffee
and spring breezes
away the world
beyond my senses
and the dizzying heights
of aspirations harbored
back to my boyhood
back to days
spent dreaming of you
dreaming of this moment
back to days
when the space between
dreams and what is real
was but a stone's throw away
a hop skip and a jump
over a puddle
and now i rock
roll
in this chair
seen a little bit
of this cold world
enough to know the difference
hear the music of life
so easy on ears
that no longer wish
to serve as bookends
on opposite sides
of eyes looking backward
of a house of memories
for my son
shines
my son
shines
from east to west
coast to coast
yesterday to tomorrow
and so we shine
all together

this hollow

you are a stick
broken
beneath the heft
of feet incapable
of treading softly
a sleeping baby
awakened
by a mother's whimper
bellowed by the world
to come out in screams
delirious
you are a bird
fallen
by a sling shot
a crime story
in which the killer
remains unnamed
mysterious
like a tear
whose identity is lost
in a river
that swells
then floods
tangible ties to the past
a candle
whose flame
takes the blame
for a fire
that eradicates a forest
and leaves us gasping
in the wake
of complete devastation
lost
abandoned ghosts
of smiles worn
too many yesterdays ago
lost
amidst the vague conception
of all that is lost
holding onto nothing
but a broken compass
and a star
by which to sail
this hollow
this barren
and yet
in spite of everything
i know i need you
infinitely
more than you need me

spirit 

Gabriel Victor Regelbrugge ... 29/4/05 7lbs 11oz 221/2 in 

oh boy ... welcome Gabriel Victor 

forty years

as spring blooms
died
before summer even started
she fell into this
new season
no applause
unnoticed
all her white outfits
left behind
in the attic
dust of her memory
no one here
to hold her
make everything okay
and even though
nothing ever was really okay
only now she knows
a half life is better
than no life
at all
she knows
she knows
even if she doesn't even know
the name of the other woman
her scent
the way her hair would look
in the summer breeze
her smile
beneath neon city lights
the way she would look
forty years from now
when all are one
and one are all
in the ground
or at the doorstep
of the cold cold ground
and one can see the meaning
of meaninglessness
of futility
self-importance
as spring blooms
died
before summer even started
she combed out her long black hair
put on the only clean clothes she could find
rolling stones lick me t shirt
faded cut off jean shorts
size too small
give or take
spat out the pit
of an overripe peach
took out the shovel from the garage
and smiled at her neighbors
before summer even started

nebulous monuments to finitude 

and one in the oven