Dont forget.

 I remember young love.

late nights

short sentences

passed back and forth like name calling

and double takes from across the room

I remember tough shit

no heat

yes ma'am

bed without dinner

if you were lucky enough 

to have one, or another, or both.

 I remember feeling young

drinking too much 

caring too little

about anything anyone said

and "fuck you" if they looked your way


now what is there?


a quick fuck

with just friends

a full stomach 
 
payed for with plastic

permanent academic mental fucking vacation

a brain massage just to get the juices flowing!?

and i still live

 with new love
 
in tough shit

with no dinner 

and i drink too much 

and i care too little

and i envy no one

It dies at dawn

There is a portrait
breathing inside my mind.

I'm thinking of you.

Your eyes like emeralds.
Your hair like silk.
Your lips like orchids.

You whispered like a saint
"I bring good luck".
and just as softly,
we kissed.

You are utopian
in touch
in beauty
in words
in voice.

Hathor
come to life
twenty two years ago.

Two glasses of wine.
Two people.
Two hearts.
One feeling.

You need no work.
You are you.

I fell for one of God's creations
in a smokey bedroom
at Midnight.

Eyes like Death (unfinished)

I fill up on toxins
and expel waste.
I am an American disease.
I've got holy lungs
and headaches
and my own elixer
to keep doctors away.
I speak in coughs
and hacks
and I shake hands
with palms that should be disinfected.
My throat is paved with tar.
My cavavities are stuffed with nicotine.
My fingers are yellow and weak.I
'm the proud owner of a burning heart,
a wrinkled liver
and back pain.
I run a pharmacy for myself
out of my bed room
and medicine cabinet.
A bartender
of red and green syurps.
Wrong turn relationships
hand me prescriptions
for mile long cigarettes,
one after another.
I'm a failure at sleep
and a champion of being over tired.
I am an American disease
with eyes like Death.

Any feedback on my writing, positive or otherwise would be greatly appreciated.

Family Tree

i squint through the cracks of my awkwardly bent glasses

mangeled from a run in with a man named jack, or was it jim?

maybe jose, johnny. a common name like that.

If you have met this ghost before you know who i mean.

 the dark figure at the end of the bar

that stares you in the eyes and then slowly creeps up behind you to empty your wallet

and rob you blind of your senses.

usually i can avoid him for a few days,

a week maybe

but lately he has been coming around more often.

breathing warm air, this time

down my neck. reeking of broken promises 

and winstons, and breathmints

in one ear and out the other.

and straight to my head.

Buffalo Bill's bargain outlet.

Ed gein should have worked in retail. he was really quite a tailor. 

He could move out of his farmhouse and buy a yacht,

drink out of coconuts , not human skulls.

why make suits out of women when you can make suits for women?

Maybe his mother didnt love him.

Riddle (a haiku)

Hoffa had it right

even the dogs cant find him

wish i had his luck

Deja Vu

1 (The Flat)

i woke up at the crack of noon,
and poured some sludge from my chipped coffee pot..
i turned on the frosted 60 watt sun that lit my cell and listened to a cockroach tango
move gracefully along the floor.. It was hotter than a methlab in hells kitchen.
"I wish i had a window to open"
i thought to myself. I put my dreams of airborne escape on the back burner,
and tried to cook up a way to get out of that fucking place.

2 ( The hallway)

After a hearty breakfast of chinese take out leftovers, i pulled on two dirty
mismatched socks ,a pair of shoes i ripped off from the funeral home, and my ratty peacoat,
i stumbled half drunk out my front door. the loyal dog piss stain was there again as if
to say
good morning master. I always wanted a pet...closest i ever got was a box of "chicken"chow
main
from chang's.
as i walked down the hall, the sound of someones screaming misguided abortion wails
for food... i ate everything i had., so i kept walking.


3 ( The Elevator)


Once again the stairs are out of order, neighbors say its a crime scene or somthin'.
none of my buisness,as long as it doesnt leak under my door.
so i forgot my mornining excersise and take the elevator.it reeks of piss and shit and is
littered with taco bell wrappers and half eaten double cheeseburgers.
I pick one up and shove it into my pocket. that should last me through the week,
as long as that damn baby doesnt get it.
fucker.


4 ( The Street )

I walked out the revolving door of the complex on 6th street and thought
" cant get much closer to hell than this" it was 17 blocks to the train station but
the walk to the bar was a short as a schoolgirls skirt, and twice as easy to find,
especially in this part of town.they were mostly drop outs now and
the lesson plan was a bit different. Down the street a dear john throws a jane doe
against a wall.he screames at her with the back of his
hand leaving her payment across her lipstick smudged face.
that was his plan all along. "i hope she learned her lesson" he whispered.

5 (The Pub)

It was quarter past 2 when i arrived at Phil's for my liquid lunch.
The air was stail like the bar mix. pretty busy for a monday afternoon
i remember thinking. So i sat down next to no one, one away from everyone else,
on the far side of the bar,

and counted my quarters. the man next to me talk to a waitres about his missing dog
"what can i get with this?" i asked the bartender.
To that she replied "I have a half eaten double cheeseburger,and you have just
enough for that" I sheepishly took it and slid out of my seat. "keep the change"
i said politely. i left quietly with my other half.


6 (The Lobby)


when i arived back at chateau Alighieri i was awestruck by what i was witnessing.
The lobby was paited like one of Pollock's ,in shades of anger and wrath,and wrapped
tediously in yellow tape like a late birthday present. I took the stairs. the sound of a
screaming child mis-carried through the halls like a church organ. I stopped and said a
prayer
and took a bite of my cheeseburger. i was whole. i slowly stumbled through a field of
blooming
waste towards my doorway. i walk inside and shut the door tight behind me.
i slide the lock. i turn the key.i flip the switch and the florescent light dances
above my head.
a perfect spotlight for a cockroach tango.

The Last Slam (with Todd's permission)

"I will use my pokeball
to try and catch 'em all"
the kid, I guess, seventeen--
I couldn't see too well from the back row--
recited at the podium.
About two minutes into his reading,
I burst out laughing.
"This kid's hysterical,"
I whispered to Todd, sitting next to me.
"It's so ridiculous, so ironic.
I mean, who presents
rhyming couplets about pokemon
as serious poetry?
It's fucking genius."
People looked back at me,
annoyed, even insulted.
I figured they were stuck up, stuffy.
They just didn't realize:
poetry can be funny.
I nudged Todd,
showing him that it's alright to laugh.
But even he tried to ignore me.
He thinks poetry is all cigarette smoking
and serious tones.
I leaned forward,
ready for the next rhyming punch line,
when I noticed that there was something odd
about the kid's face.
He continued reading,
"Articuno, Charizard and Pikachu
are waiting to go on an adventure with you."
Then I realized that it was his eyes that were off:
they were heavy set
and his forehead sagged down over them.
I whispered to Todd,
"Is something wrong with that guy?
His face is all screwy."
Todd snapped back,
"Yeah, that's because he's retarded."