—RIGHT NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO HOLD MY HAND 

 

Calligraphy

 

   after Derek Walcott

 

everyone’s tipsy

so let’s dance

or don’t 

put your chin 

in the bow 

of my shoulder 

right here 

where I carry 

all the memories 

of us black-and-white 

and in-living-color 

a panoply of our regrets 

and stolen identities

everything broken can 

be repaired 

repaid or rebought 

you told me once 

in a black-out

this after the last

party had cracked 

and we were the 

only sober fools

you held my hand then 

and drew a cloud 

in calligraphy 

across my cheek 

with your long 

best finger

I was so fucking tired 

but rose up anyway 

to pull the blinds open

while the moon landed 

on your hairless chest

like a medallion 

or a coin of wonder 

that I was too afraid to touch 

but couldn’t stop myself from

swallowing whole

 

—DEAR INSECURITY

  

Orange Shag

 

I keep backpedaling 

over and across 

the orange shag rug 

where everything altered 

and announced itself like 

a menstrual first  

a painful childbirth 

or death row confession 

I’d pick off hairs and 

clotted knots of memory 

from the tangles 

hold them up to the light 

like a pensive watch maker

sniffing or even licking them 

desperate for some 

kind of truth 

that didn’t lie right back to me

and I was a kid then 

but I wasn’t 

and you weren’t 

and what happened 

and happened and 

happened

was as honest as a sunset

which is why I 

set the floor on fire 

and left home for good

—I KNOW IT’S CRAZY, BUT IT’S TRUE

  

Lions

 

We were 

young lions 

& knew it 

laughing at  

spastic crows 

on the tracks 

too impatient 

to wonder

too reckless 

for stooge cops 

booksmarts or 

anything else that

didn’t bleed juice

We had years 

on our side 

rows of corn &

a thousand 

unfulfilled wishes

not yet hatched

All we wanted 

was to win 

though no one 

kept score 

because destiny 

was a smile & 

a party dress

so why the fuck care

We should have 

died a dozen times

but our bones

were made of brass

while our hearts 

tripped staccato 

& those crows 

& those tracks

& those books

& cops

man they didn’t 

tell us nothing 

we couldn’t find 

in a mirror 

raked white & 

licked clean

We knew we’d 

never be hungry

split apart or old

not a single cub

Funny how we 

knew it all 

just ask us now

 

—SHE’S AS SWEET AS THE STORIES SAY

  

…Happy Wednesday.

Here are some things I like mid-week:

 

 

"The important thing is to be in love with something." Ray Bradbury

 

“Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.”   Guillaume Apollinaire

 

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” Robin Williams, Dead Poets Society

 

“Mostly, I straddle reality and the imagination. My reality needs imagination like a bulb needs a socket. My imagination needs reality like a blind man needs a cane.” Tom Waits

 

“Books are meat and medicine

and flame and flight and flower

steel, stitch, cloud and clout,

and drumbeats on the air.”

Gwendolyn Brooks

 

 “I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.” Muriel Rukeyser

 

“There is always time
to write one line of poetry.”

Marie Ponsot

 

“Look, I really don’t want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you’re alive, you’ve got to flap your arms and legs, you got to jump around a lot, you got to make a lot of noise, because life is the very opposite of death. And therefore, as I see it, if you’re quiet, you’re not living. You’ve got to be noisy, or at least your thoughts should be noisy, colorful and lively.” Mel Brooks

 

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” Oscar Wilde

 

“Only tonight

I am happy and sad

like a child

who stood at the end of summer

and dipped a net

in a green, erotic pond. The day

and ever. The day and ever.

I am homesick, free, in love

with the way my mother speaks.”

Carol Ann Duffy

 

“Death is careless at times. It confuses love with a wet afternoon in 

an empty

room. The unpainted walls a reminder of how sex can resemble 

poverty. A

hollow cry. An open mouth falling inside as you sleep. I prepare

my heart

and language with better words, like worlds in small selves I've

built.”

--Nathalie Handal

 

—LOVE LIES BLEEDING IN MY HEART

  

(It’s a busy week coming up. Wicka wicka, what? So here’s a rare early Monday post from my weekend's middled head.)

 

…Pretty sure I was the first person up on the lake today, yesterday, and the day before that, and the year before that, and the other year no one seems to remember anymore.

 

…Do I really dress like Mr. Rogers?  Like, really?

I suppose I do.

 

…“We have a lot to be grateful for,” is a nice enough sentiment, but not what you want to hear when you’re thinking the world’s ending and there’s no way out and you just want someone to hug, commiserate or scream with.   

 

…That scar’s going to be there for a while. Maybe forever.

 

…The word “genius” gets thrown around a lot, but Jeff Lynne is most definitely one. And so I wonder why more people don’t know that.

 

…I’ve been sitting here in this office for 16 years, drinking Ice’s, (carbonated water) which are long, thin, bone-shaped things, and easily toppled, yet I haven’t ever knocked one over. Then Saturday, I reheated my coffee, not once, but twice, and somehow I managed to dump the entire cup over the papers on my floor, which are/were essentially a glossary of my entire writing history—pieces published and everything I’ve written since 2009. For a few minutes, I was pretty pissed and depressed, but after I wiped things down and pulled off the clammy paper sheets, I realized it’s time to clean my work space, type up everything, and stash it in the cloud, wherever the fuck that is.

 

…1,264 pieces published somehow. That’s a Wow, even for me. 

 

…I don’t hate anyone, other than two people, or three, if you consider Satan a human.

 

…Maybe it’s inevitable…

 

…The key is knowing when to go to bed, and doing it promptly.

 

…If you continue to root for a suck-ass team for many years, that says a lot about you, though I haven’t entirely figured out what that is.

 

…It’s really beautiful here at night, with the sunset rimming the tree tops, a golden prism hugging everything. So, why do I feel depressed?

 

…“He’s been well-used.” I’m not sure if that’s something I’d like said about me.

 

…It’s hard to be a human. So much to put an answer to.

 

…You can only be told Goodbye so many times before you actually believe it, and then feel utterly foolish.

 

…I’m on a local area chat site. It’s a bit different than the local NYC chat sites. This was one of today’s posts:

Connie and Rick live on Nevers Rd. They're chicken coop roof was torn off and 6 chickens killed . This happened last night .

 

…I’m well aware of how lucky I’ve been, and still am.

 

…The person who picks up is the person you know you can count on.

 

…When I’m on the floor, this is typically the song I play to pull me up:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2h82Wevk11s&list=RDGMEMHDXYb1_DDSgDsobPsOFxpA&start_radio=1&rv=vk6014HuxcE

 

…When I need to remember why I love art, I usually watch this masterpiece (forget about hating on KW, and just appreciate it):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bm5iA4Zupek&list=RDGMEMHDXYb1_DDSgDsobPsOFxpA&index=2

 

…Ultimately, like everyone else, I just want to know you actually cared like you swore you did.

 

…Where the hell is Jill? (Wait, what? She finally showed up!!)

 

…“It’s pledge time!” That’s the message my phone sends me every morning now (Thanks, Rorry.)

 

…I love Stevie, but it’s crazy how much I still miss Lucy.

 

…It’s amazing how often I say, “What the fuck?”

 

…We all want something beautiful. Man, I wish I was beautiful.

 

…WWMD? “What would Mom do?”

 

…That’s a really good question to ask yourself.

 

…Please be smart, and never, ever, read this.

 

…Wherever you are, I’ll be sure to let you know.

 

…I’ve got a tear in my eye. I tell you I’m tired, but I’m not tired. 

 

…Hey, I get having a different point of view. But this is different. None of it makes sense to me. It’s like half the world believing the world is flat, or that global warming is a hoax, that the extermination of the Jewish people in Germany way. Trying to explain otherwise is akin to telling a person with dementia that you’re actually their offspring while they think you’re their neighbor who died years ago and has come back for a quick chat. 

 

…I don’t want to be strong. I don’t want to win. I just want to be loved, despite my many flaws.

 

…Some people balk if you ask to have their pic taken with you, but to my mind, you can’t ever have enough photos.

 

…I’m just thinking out loud here.

 

…It’s just a silly phase I’m going through. 

 

…I wonder why I wish I could get paid most every day.

 

…If my kids had their way, they’d go to a concert every day. Seriously.

 

…I know I over-value things, but at this point, what’s a guy to do?

 

…Don’t you think I would, if I could?

 

…“The dregs are the worst part, but also the best.”

It’s funny the things you remember, but a truer statement was never said.

 

…After “GIRLHOOD,” I see things a lot differently.

 

…What does it mean when you go around the table, the question being, “What was the best part of your day?” and you’re completely stumped?

 

…It’s really creepy when it’s barely dawn and you hear a woodpecker drilling into your stucco.

 

…Same as hearing gunfire across the lake.

 

…The best post I read Saturday night: “Hey, you can always try again, buddy.”

 

…This was probably second-best (his son is named Ever): 

“Ever was eating chocolate the other day and he said, ‘My pronouns are Her/Shey’.”

 

…Sinead’s song, “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” and the video for it, have to be one of the greatest pieces of art ever, especially considering how prescient she was about the Catholic church. And nowadays, well…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhfATC9baPo

 

…“You look like you’ve been crying. Have you?”

 

…Yay!  I’m rich!  I made another $0.41 on book sales the other day. Don’t believe me? I’ll screen shot it for you.

 

…“It’s the right night, with the wrong company, and there ain’t nothing to look at. Every shadow’s getting famous.”

 

…It was 8 years ago Tuesday that I hit my 1,000^th publication. What an old Fucker.

 

…You said it was dangerous after Sunday.

 

…Here’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times, or more: If you write a book, and like, 12 people read it, what’s the point? 

 

…But don’t get me wrong—I’m still incredibly grateful.   

 

…You shouldn’t be here if you can’t stand maudlin confessions.  

 

…Some song lyrics can be really idiotic, but if they have the right chorus, hook, and bridge, well, you get over it. Case in point: Exile’s, “I Wanna Kiss You All Over.”

 

…I wonder why I dislike food so much. 

Oh yeah, now I remember.  

 

…I can change, I can change, I can change.

 

…I really admire people who can build and fix things, or people who can write funny stories that don’t sound hackneyed, or people who can write a happy ending that doesn’t seem Hallmark. Essentially, I admire anyone who isn’t anything like me.

 

...Something I just learned: 2,272 out of every 100,000 Black men are incarcerated compared to just 392 out of every white men.

 

…Things I probably do too much: Think. Read. Chew. Worry.

 

…Never join a neighborhood social network group if you don’t want to hear oodles of needless bitching.

 

…People are awfully self-righteous on social media. It’s one of the main things that turns me off of it.

 

…I get people are lonely and needy. I’m both of those often. But flaunting it seems like a form of self-righteousness. Then again, perhaps I’m just being a dick and the people who do it really need an affirmation to make it through. 

 

…It’s the same routine, scene by scene. Look me in the eye, are you not bored?

 

…I remember being fifteen, on the school bus, the first time I heard “Lovin’ You” by Minnie Riperton. She had this miraculous, rare five-octave vocal range. I recall it was sunny, much like today. I was sitting in the back-bus row by myself, which was a lucky thing, because I pressed my face to the window and cried until the song was over.

 

…A lot of people eat when they’re lonely. What I do is shop.

 

…I’ve shopped a lot lately.

 

…The city never sleeps. Better slip you an Ambien. 

 

…“Walk a mile in my shoes,” is pretty sage advice. It’s something John said to a group of us years back. He wasn’t speaking of himself. He meant, before you judge, try to understand what the other person has had to endure. I need to do that a lot more.

 

…I miss John everyday.

 

…It’s really difficult to explain what I do all day and not sound like I’m a slacker who should be on the streets, panhandling.

 

…It’s funny the things that will inspire you, if you let them.

 

…To a certain extent, maybe we’re strangers after all.

 

…I’m certain people feel this same way about me, but sometimes I’ll read a poet’s work and I’ll want to scream about how awful it is. Poetry, in so many ways, is a conundrum. 

 

…When I was in high school, my best friend and I had a massive crush on this woman who worked the cosmetics counter for a nearby store (Was it Macys, Sears, JCPenney’s? I dunno.) She was stunning. A mannequin really.  Meticulous down to her apricot-colored toe nails. And unapproachable. 

Still, we’d drive out of our way, a couple of times a week, just to browse her counter, never once saying a word while we were there.

That can be seen as romantic, pathetic, or a form of patriarchy—I dunno—but it happened.

 

…“Do I scare you?”

 

…It’s hard to believe I once owned a boat, like a boat with a motor.

 

…I don’t have idea why I remember this, but I do—Hillary Clinton saying, “Bill has beautiful hands. Really beautiful. I actually fell in love with his hands first.”

 

…It’s really hard to know what to say next once you’ve said the wrong thing, or the worst thing possible.

 

…I sure hope things are different by the time I post this. We’ll see.

 

…You might think I’m delirious…

 

…That’s my niece, Aniyah, above, from five years ago. 

Back then, she was diagnosed with Leukemia, but after some time, and tons of treatment, it seemed, by all accounts, that she had been one of the lucky ones, and had beaten it. 

 

Things looked so promising that Aniyah walked across a stage at a fashion show with other cancer survivors, all kids under 12, most all of them bald and exceptionally skinny, shy though also spirited and slightly sassy.

 

This week Aniyah found out her cancer came back. In x-rays, her left leg looks like it’s been redacted, whited-out rather than blacked-out. There’s nothing in the image but a long, pallid smudge, like an ochre bone lodged inside her leg. She’s always been thin and gangly, but now she’s beyond skinny. 

 

I’m not entirely sure how well prayer works, but I still pray. Sometimes it’s a cleanse or an affirmation of love and caring, which I think are good reasons, regardless of one’s belief system.

 

If you’re reading this, maybe you could pause and say a short prayer for Aniyah. It might actually end up being a prayer for yourself in some ways. You never know.

 

Thank you.