'the berlin wall'
one hand shorter than the other
flailing about all day long
clapping, pointing in the wrong direction
meeting only twice or a few times more
still my heart is not still
after all these months
after all these anniversaries
i haven't worked on a saturday
since the last time i saw you on a saturday
so today, a saturday, i saw you again
still angry
angry at you
angry at me
angry at cocaine and vodka
for being the bricks and mortar
of the berlin wall
separating what we had
from what we may have had
and it all sounds pathetic
like some schoolgirl scribblings
on the golden yellow notebook back
thick, meaty yet unforgiving
everyone can see the stains
everyone can see that my hair is messy
it all certainly sounds pathetic
because my oils have all been incestuous
and the murky facade is hard to interpret
not sure whether i was in love with you
or just in love with the idea of being in love with you
with anyone
i way we met was the early chords of a fairy tale
the kind summoned by a campfire
the kind you can tell with the warmest smile
to your grandchild
to a stranger
to your best friend
to the police officer
to the paramedic
to your mother and your father
for the wall came down
and came down hard
all the king's horses
and all the king's men
have no power here anymore
'bittersweet barbecue'
so i spent the fourth of july all alone
comically contemplating the country i live in
simultaneously watching the fireworks
from my bedroom window
and the television too
while politically correct chord changes
spewed from perfectly selected song choices
soundtracking the festivities
with symmetrically faced pop stars
went through their patriotic motions
harmonizing about oceans white with foam
and pleading for some deity to bless america
it never seemed so staged and choreographed
as it did this time this year
but maybe i hadn't sat through the live broadcast
since i was a child
since i was either preoccupied, naive
or a clownish combination of both
amazed at the presence that absence can command
as not one mention of the disney world war we're within
bursted in the air to match the ambulance red glare
epileptic and ominous
chilling the muggy midsummer night's dream
just a few too many miss americas
in black and yellow and creamy tapioca skin
sporting their expensive mesmerizing smiles
while red, white and blue umbrellas
protected everyone from the acid raindrops
i wandered over to my window
to bring down the pane to stop the storm
from dribbling into my solace
shutting out the boring smell of barbecue
along with it the sulfur from the nearby burning sky
i turned off the television for the last time
and sat down with pad and pen
to figure out my list of hellos
and goodbyes
'the stolen pillow'
so here i lay on my living room floor
a stolen pillow under my elbows
a shy breeze from the east harlem streets below
teasing me every hour on the hour
with comfort
with connection
the chitter chatter folded in with lumpy screams and raspy yells
outside my window
inside my head
i am definitely becoming somewhat of a hermit these days
i finally noticed after much too much
unclear whether i have become anti-social
or whether i'm just morbidly underpaid
i wanna be on top of the world
instead of on the top floor of this brownstone
i wanna be on top of my game
instead of selling hot dogs in the stands
but not matter how many times
i mix up the gigantic letters
the same few words still come out the same...
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