that funky monkey.

the faithfully forgotten

if the boy had not forgotten 

to tie his shoes

he never would have fallen

never would have bruised

if the boy had not forgotten

do as you're told

he might've not gone rotten

might have not turned bold

if the boy had not forgotten

to fall in line

he might've learned some reason

might've learned some rhyme

if the boy had not forgotten

to hold his tongue

he never would have spoken

never would have sung

shroomin'

credit: Aidan Kennon

Moleskine drawings

credit: Aidan Kennon

at the pearly gates

I'll give Him

quite the firm handshake

quite the clenched jaw

I'll grin

like a grateful guest

and wait

until he brings it up

because

I guess it's too much to dream

of a god

who can agree to disagree.

heaven must be awkward

so many souls

starved of small-talk

no comments on weather

no traffic-catered curses

no complaints

to carry conversation

what then?

we were friends

clinging to commiserate

remember

them voters,

they're buyers

sell them something nice

whiten your teeth a little.

shake that guy's hand.

in the new war

you don't need to buy bonds,

but if you could,

give a little gossip,

a little grab of the armrest

when you see the turban

only a few seats away.

don't think about

not buying american

or not buying at all,

pedestrians

cannot be very patriotic

can they

let's not quarrel

over correctness

after all

we're all white men,

we wear the ties

am I right

or am I right

quick quick

let's not look weak

move it along

a little further,

cross a border,

new country,

new speeches,

new polls,

hey,

it's worth a shot.

In The Name of The Father (Fordham 2010)

Wrote and directed this five minute film for Campus Moviefest. 

though i try to stay

fast

on my fingers

and

on my feet

sometimes i'm swallowed by couches.

though i try to say

i

will get married

and

set up cribs

sometimes i want to be selfish.

though i think i'm brave

for

leaving young

and

being free

sometimes i want to go home.

though i can maintain

a

friendly smile

and

firm handshake

your politics want my vomit.

sometimes i sneeze words

and

subsequently

consequently

constantly

scatter my inanity

The Widow's Song

Midnight brings lullabies on the breeze
The wail of the widow softens the streets
A lingering loss, echoed elegies
Sung to the stars, a crooning cat weep
(til death, til death, my soul cannot sleep)

Once upon a time, this damsel distressed
Left by her knight, to veil and black dress
one body, one breath, one unbalanced bed
an unmet embrace, an absent caress
(til death, til death, undying unrest)

Black and white photos, grayed in their frames
They’d planned for children, picked out their names
His letters from war, she’d held while she prayed
Yet pen made a promise three bullets betrayed
(my James, my James, to where have you strayed?)

The days lay dust, tear ducts drain dry
A ripple of wrinkles in grief undisguised
though none heard the pain, a whimper or cry
Only her song, her dulcet goodbye
(til death, til death, til our tryst in the sky)


Each afternoon, she waits for his ghost
Alone and composed, refolding his clothes
Remembers emotion, mourning’s first throes
Feeling was warmth, since numbed in the cold
(you spoke, you spoke, of how we’d grow old)

I approached her once, to ask of her aim
In nightly reciting sorrow’s refrain
“til God, til God, grants me a grave,
Til death, til death, til debts are repaid.”

“and if there’s no heaven, if no soul is saved?
If God is a wish, what then would you crave?
Coming from dust, only dust can you claim,
no God to arraign, no romance regained.”



She turned, undisturbed, and softly did say

“I’ll sing to damn people, the wars they wage,
Every rock will resound a vibrating rage
I’ll sing the skies gray, the children insane,
The winds will whisper a dead husband’s name

This world will not spin, but pulsate and sway
In constant cadence, in endless replay
This empty universe will flood with grace
As my song resonates through time and space


You want to seem brave, I know you’re afraid
you doubt being seen by a distant god’s gaze
But I know my song has found my sweet James
because bodies may break, but sound only fades
far from our ears, to celestial glades
to explore what exists echoes away”
(far from our ears, far from our graves)

a scream echoes
through the annals of the universe
exploding across my intrinsic existence
(a memory, a voice, piercing the darkness)

spring whispers kiss my earlobes
breezes sweep the evergreen pines
memory oils the clockwork consciousness
(a sense to associate, an exiled romance)

this is the old town
in a cloud of dust from the windswept west
you were a younger refuge
(but you were the best)

the cars spring like pinballs
up ramps to bounce between parkway lanes
searching, surging, scarlet blood vessels
circulating the city's intersecting veins

the horizon awaits to catch the sun's fall
the reaper wrote but never came
in the lullaby of the banshee's call
i thought i heard my name

the butterfly's wings are weighed with dust
its three summer days disappeared with the dusk
these sheets offer evidence of an evening's lust
but the pillowcases are

cold
kempt
untouched