there have been a few ghosts

following me

I can hear them

singing

in misty alleyways

and I know

sometimes whiskey

makes the ears want more

from the wind than it can give

but the heart beats better

to hymns

and these memories are dying

to give rhythm to my limbs

I know they are ghosts

because they all share

the same voice

me, oh, my,

whiskey plays its tricks

on the ears

on the mind

and I hear that song

you would sing

when you wanted to dream

but couldn't fall asleep

in the beginning there was
the noun
and the noun was made verb
and here i am
shining apples
kicking curbs

in the beginning there was
a sound
and whatever it disturbed
but where’s the plan?
lost in battles,
under herds

and backs were patted far too soon.
something syntactic,
obscure, obtuse

in the beginning there was
a whisper
a thousand names for God
no zealous blood-thirst
over pronunciation flaws

in the beginning there was
a disco ball
it made the ballroom move
but the critics don’t care at all;
it’s a fad they outgrew.

in the beginning there was
a request
for cells to be stirred
and the relief was made flesh
and then there was the word

but nothing else was heard

all the metronomes have melted

all the metronomes have melted

in the stagnant summer months

and we can’t keep a beat

to save our lives

though our spines are loose

and our fists are tight

ba-dum-dum-dum bop

ba-dum-dum-dum bop

I’m sick of moaning

for my masculinity

I want to scream, like him,

for the lost spirit of man

while

stomping up and down the stairs

and then charging

into the living room,

and smashing the coffee table

into a thousand splintered bits.

and everyone, leaping behind couches

and into corners, spilling drinks,

will shriek

“my god what is he doing?”

and, settling into the love seat,

aristocratic ahem,

I will cross my legs

quite calmly

and assure them all

it is simply

a particular native dance

passed down

by my not-so-distant ancestors,

assure them all

it is quite natural.

adrift in the insolence

of the ever-inching hours

when I lack the energy to love

all that I do not lack

bundled like a baby

with my bottle

nursing stolen sorrows

scowling on the balcony

where the poor boys below

will come to giggle, dance, and throw

stones, sometimes, at my silhouette

I know not the capsuled tragedies

in the rows of glowing windows

of destitute tenement homes

I know only my unbroken bones

I know only my silent phone

I know not the empty stomaches

growling in the ghettos

but I know they growl at me

and I understand

they deserve to be angry

for though I have not taken

my father's scorching torch

its ashes still cover my clothes

taunting those left out in the cold

yet still I swoon and stumble

to all my songs of woe

in melodious despondence

so stubbornly composed

and on the balcony I'll scowl

'til the poor boys throw their stones

and release me

from this postured sorrow

that was never mine to know,

much less call my own

My memories are portraits;

mine and mine alone to paint

and how the blades of grass shimmer

on the patch-work front lawns

along the avenues of my hometown,

oh how they glisten

in the cleansing mist of suburban sprinklers.

How crisp are the scarlet leaves

that flounce and sweep,

flounce and sweep,

across graying autumn streets

when the trees strip to skeletons

before they can sleep.

How softly do the snowflakes descend

in winter's holy silence,

cascading down from heaven

to spiral and sink

through the glowing veil of city lights.

What lilting echoes of laughter

skim across every sacred inch

of this nostalgic landscape.

These memories are portraits;

mine and mine alone to paint,

to polish, gloss, illustrate.

For with every stroke

of my subconscious brush,

I only make the pain of what has passed

all the more precise

all the more lush

I am a masochist of an artist,

filling the halls of a museum

that is mine to explore with swooning melancholy.

The more vivid the colors I invoke,

the more palatable a poison

for my eyes to taste.

And when the years pass by,

when the sweetness becomes too bitter

for my aging eyes,

these portraits will be a bonfire

spilling smoke across the sky.

And when the ashes of my vanity

cloud and cover the sun,

it will be dark enough for me to sleep,

dark enough to drift and dream

until I am undone.

Oh lord

so many souls

so many souls taken hostage.

in the banks,

in the bars,

in the comfort of our houses.

Oh lord,

we've been sold,

in shackles at the market.

by our hands,

by our feet,

imprisoned to our profit.

Oh lord,

thy name is cold

on the lips of the dishonest.

on their checks,

in their threats,

they've taken you for hostage.

Stage with Speaking Curtains

hush-hush,

human race

hum-drum, hurry up

nothing's free, hum-drum

breathing's not enough

saddle up, hum-drum,

time to hunt the buck

chin up, hum-drum

survival isn't rough

we've locked up all the food

but paper can be won

so give a growl, hum-drum,

be a man, grab a gun!

you signed up, hum-drum
it's a race, time to run!

it's all there is, hum-drum

be a slave or a bum!

lick your lips, hum-drum

bring the kids, join the fun!

hush-hush,

human race,

pull over, treat your truck.

it's a race, hum-drum

why wait? grab the pump!

be a man, hum-drum

teem the tank, fill 'er up

why be weaned, hum-drum,

when there's more

milk to suck!

just give in, hum-drum,

it's necessary sin,

make it brim, hum-drum

toss your guilt, give a grin!

forget the kids, hum-drum,

gas is thick, blood is thin!

don't be dim, hum-drum,

we can't sell the wind

hold your tongue, hum-drum,

we can't sell the sun

hush-hush,

human race,
hum-drum, don't look up
no terror to be found

heavy sink the coffins,

heavy lies the crown.
now, now, hum-drum,

keep quiet,

don't get loud
thousands died, hum-drum
show respect,
keep your doubts.
we'll kick you out, hum-drum,
watch your mind,
watch your mouth!

simmer down, hum-drum,

not a squeak,

not a sound!

don't look now, hum-drum,

we got eyes all around!

and the terrorists

don't always wear

turbans in this town.
that's right, hum-drum,
its trouble you don't need,
settle down, hum-drum,
sit back, trust the screen

back to bed, hum-drum,
no one's up,

go to sleep.