breakfast in america

every time you pull
your buick door closed
to go off
see a different world
if only in language
so fuck it
learn the new language
play the game
feign understanding with a half smile
and a sigh
before people
who'll never understand
in any language
you die a little
in cheap hamburgers
and instant coffee
apple pies
aluminum siding
you push
and you push
the stone for what
for someone
to take notice
for someone to admire
the push
and the pushing
cheap hamburgers
instant coffee
leisure suits
broken language
someone to see you
shine
oh shine
by your terms
on your fields of play
may as well be elizium
for the world to know
for her to care
see you shine
atop the whole world
especially in your heart
beyond language
logic
meaning
and beyond what you can control
still every time you pull
your buick door closed
you just go off....

twin peaks

and as water is to sand
a boy is to a girl
like a bird to the sky
like a candle to the night
he coughs
she hurts
he cries
she pounces
down
he laughs
she takes out knives
to make illusions
for aspiring backstabbers
beware
beware
be gone
he will die
then so will she
if you know what i mean
and you know what i mean
like a rowboat
without oars
upstream
she'll cup her hands
then paddle
she'll cup her hands
then scream
to anyone at all
to catch her fall
after the fall
of the only part of her
that did not blind her eyes
in mirrors
and car windows
be soft
be not unkind
and avoid the wrath
the judgement
the glacier-chilled glare
of her own reflection
cup her hands
then drink
from the well of suffering
bound to run out
just as soon as suffering
signs the cross
on the forehead of a child
and bids the world
adieu
mon vieux
adieu
cup her hands
call out
adieu...
to this beautiful day....

the blood (prologue)

for black
the last colour
like the night
before the light
for yellow
a sun
another
then one final son
and for red
like blood
thicker than water
so you said
thick
as a brick
the blood
in a wave
like a million
waves before
and ever after
goodbye
goodbye...
oh, hello there...
such a beautiful day
hello
hello....

The Untenable Fire

like ghosts
of men
locked in towers
european sons
setting
til night do they part
for mercy
a grace
amazing for its silence
in the wake of so much noise
like someone scratched
the needle across a record
and then lifted it
for goodness sake
for silence
we are seconds
in time
waves
in oceans
in significance
yet we shine
here
alone
like a man in space
for a naive construct
of what is love
or our blindness
in the face
of inevitability
our place
and the perverse magic
in between
color
against the norm
screaming
from beneath waves
like we kick
like we kicked
and we kick
like we kicked
against pricks
we kick
like you kicked
but we kick
against the pricks

the discomfort of belief

when even the view
from the hill
looks the same
and your shadow
surpasses
the travails of sleep
you slip behind the camera eye
put your head
behind hands
once used to conceal
your eyes
in games with children
and
pray
like you did as a child
when you still believed
in something
believed
and the promise of days
greater
than those behind
taken for granted
never again
all hands on deck
brothers
all hands on deck
to behold
the way the dawn
imposes its will
upon the night
after night
by day
proud
defiant
like god
like the boy you were
and remain
if you believe it so
in hiding
ever doubting
yet ever wanting
to impose your will
on days
like god
and nothing less

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