Friday, December 17, 2010

hold on or hold up

a man turns into a hand
and we’re striped
by traffic, hello pulled
yellow—the outer sky
don’t block the box
bitches. taxis flit by
itches, home back
in the hole of bare
brown trees, as far
as i can see. cops
look at me when i look
around. the mall is
cowards but jefferson
clouds in larry rivers
        hush of gas
from airtime airbrush,
as if. my friends walk
on the suns of the un
built, back into a man
of food court.
michael jordan is
the saddest thing
in the whole world.
so’s tweety bird. so’s
me when i stocked
ladies underwear for
strawbridge’s. its old
entrance now four
glass panels shut
blue. where to begin
i remember thinking,
my whole life fired
SKY BLUE ahead
in red letters arched
like sundown, UP to
50% OFF. what is
the past? all these
trash cans which are
cops that look like
robots. feed their
eyes your soda
under the canned
classical, sniff the
coffee stains off
the chinese ever
greens. to sniff’s
to work the floor
i believe, as water
quarters you in dark
ness. the 23 bus
misses us for
christmas, puddles
that we go be

Saturday, December 11, 2010

reading passyunk lost

Some notes I wrote on Kevin Varrone's passyunk lost can be read on PhillySound, December 10th.

Friday, December 3, 2010

the state of new jersey

You seemed more working class the last time I saw you. Maybe it’s that you’re talking different, yeah, when you introduce people, or it’s just your clothes this time, I don’t know. Anyway, did you get my email with poems? I would still really like to read in your series. I know I said I’m going to sue one of your best friends, but I think if you judged me solely based on the merit of my work, that would only be fair. You’ve got a great series here, and I mean that, I do, but people who are less fortunate need to know about this. The disenfranchised, there’s a lot of disenfranchised people out there, like me. Forgive me, I know I’m annoying and I don’t really care about anyone else in this room, but I am going to die soon, and that’s real. People need to know that there isn’t gonna be a movie about me. People need to know about it. They need to know about the state of New Jersey.

the test

They like you until they find out you’re into them. They’re all grown-up cave girls. Not that we’re different. Not that this business of “I’ve suffered more than you.” Ever will take off. The running theme is what is human greed’s relation to motion, or how long can you look into another person’s eyes. I bet the old New York School poets I love, I bet they know the exact pains. I peek at their papers, the trace of car caroming off, shhh, and take off. Shhh. I grow with nothing.

the deal

The people who are cool are not in a position to hire you, eckes. Write that down on your napkin there. Fold it up and mail it to yourself. Mail yourself. When your doorbell rings it’s either valu-plus or jehova’s witness. Take your chances. Wipe your mouth.