Quiet

I've been afraid to write

hung over

counting sheep and dogs

we are living in the age of content

but I've been quiet laying on 

the cement floor

Thinking.

 Alright. I will ban together all the banned books, read each one, then lay here and think.

Blacktop Path to God

I walk down the blacktop path

and memorize and mutter iambic pentameter.

I have no plan to write them down, not here.

I want to give up 100 to the Gods first.

If She Were a Pill

Take 3

Her legs hung over the ledge

of Heaven

she spilled wine and sugar into my mouth

like a riddle

It came out of my ears

a Robin's egg on my tongue

when I opened my mouth to sing.

Guided by the cherubs locked in her robes. 

-----------

Take 2

The sweet wine hung in my mouth like a riddle

as the song of the robin grazed my ears.

Above me, angels sat in clouds, cherubs tugging at their robes

as sugary crystals poured down from Heaven

onto my waiting legs.

-----------

Take 1

The riddle and the robin started out

with songs as sweet as wine and burgundy

the angels and the cherubs sat in clouds

tiny hands sprinkled blessings sugary

Yet darkness reared its ugly head in turn

to join the dragon spitting at the mouth

its body spinning like a rusty worm

to fill her head with syrup sticky doubt

He was unseen this dragon in the wings

the symphony rose like the chasing tide

the mermaid muse was just about to sing

but then she slowly turned her head and sighed

So who was she to act like such a pill

A fish on land with heaving seething gills

On this sandy beach, we have surely learned

You can't escape from hell and not get burnt

Paint Like Raphael

 I watched a video on Youtube,

so I became a student of the old ways

and I realized I would like to spend my days in this way

my life may be in tatters

it all might be a hand basket to hell

but it would not matter 

if I could paint like...Raphael

I went to the basement of my mind

and set up a canvas, once then twice

and painted from portraits in a book

stealing ideas like a crook

they call it copying

and so I did, to paint like...Raphael

The results at first made me laugh

did I think it would be as easy as that?!

The portraits to me looked so strange

but had a charm I could not name

and some trace 

of a fool who tried to paint like...Raphael

So I kept at it with experiments

layers and mediums and turpentine

I am sure the fumes

affected my mind

I watched more videos to crack the code

all day in my abode

and I see now a glimmer of hope

although it's faint

my previous paintings

I thought were great, but ah,

--I've not yet begun to paint

I know it's a long journey

full of caverns and pirates

but I'm sure to grow

that is all that I can tell

as I try to paint....like Raphael.

The Keeper of the Flame

You see me in the alleys

you do not know my name

the blackness exudes in me

to me it's all the same

yet in my heart I have a secret

a beast as of yet untamed

His mane is made of orange and red

his shoulders pale brown

and wild white electric light

sits upon his crown

he basks all day

in black and grey

and knows not harm nor blame

and me I'm sideways on the steps

the keeper of the flame

My crossword puzzles do confuse

the lines are drawn so straight

that there is no suitable excuse

when angels make mistakes

but humans are not saints

and there is a swinging gate

and softer somewhere

in the shadows of a summer lane

I hope that he like me is still

the keeper of the flame

Hot Coffee and Memphis Minnie

I can't compete with the dirty pearls

and the prom dresses from 1938

I can't compete, I can't compete

My mind is supple like that coffee ripple

on the way to my tongue

between my teeth

it's not as long of a road

as it used to be

Oh Lawd me

Cat Gut Strings

Southie laid a log in the living room

the smell filled my nostrils upon entering

like a dissonant note in an otherwise delightful tune

I went to the window to see how to go about ventilating

It's nothing too elegant

just a poem about the cat pan

I've got enough to worry about

like who will be my man

So I will sit with my stomach full

of guts and ideas and instincts

If I Was a Kite

In the quiet before the storm

I've been deranged buttons undone

dresser up against the wall

coins spilled from pockets

hurled into the night wind

walking home

In blasted noise I've sat in reverence

quiet and unassuming I am sure

to the naked eye

while I am cloaked in amazement

watching the musicians

move mountains and calm rivers

all with their hands

sitting in the harsh wooden chairs

like a tin soldier

watching jazz

at the club

In somewhat pained memories I've sat

running to the sounds of Sinnerman

butt soaking wet

from the grass

where I played guitar 

and small puppies

came to smell my feet

In caffeinated mornings I've begun

stomach grumbling

and lips sore from dreaming

speaking in tongues

of all the things

I cannot say

when I am awake

In an unguarded and unjaded trajectory

I have hurled myself even higher

catching the wind

one last time

Dragons

The memories we share

laid bare on the square

the canvas is primed

and ready for paint

The memories we ride

carefully steered

last night I thought of the line,

"with weary eyes I stare at the dragon."

The World in a Cup of Tea

There is a whole world in a cup of tea

an ecosystem of every reaction which presides over the earth

is there.

In a cup of tea.

The soap helps clean the pot.

The water goes into the pot and boils.

The dried leaves become alive again,

evaporating into the water,

the particles of the plant breathing and escaping into the hot water

the same way smoke would escape 

into the air.