Listening, leaning in
no response expected, or necessary
Inevitable, but still suprising
I almost feel comfortable
in the sickly-smelling hospital
thinking about using
My uncle – a doctor – walks in and out
a year later he will sue over her will
My sister plays her violin, my mother, her flute
my father gives me a book to read
I sound out the words slowly
knowing they will be our last
WE COMIN’ FOR YOU EDDIE – DING DONG, DICKHEAD
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Happy Thanksgiving, CHAZ, you ROCK AND ROLL LOSER
SLAYER AT THE OAKDALE? ARE THOSE GUYS IN THEIR EIGHTIES?
I FEEL SORRY FOR TOM ARAYA
COULD I CALL IN IF I BENT OVER BACKWARDS FOR HOES?
YOU GUYS ARE THE MOST BORING MORNING SHOW IN CT
MISS MARCH IS DOGSHIT
BRIAN AVERNA IS A DICKHOLE
An Adult Story
Never as lonely as I am today
speaking to myself on the city streets
morning sun gently burning down my back
This is my ritual – wandering, drinking black coffee
stumbling, sleep still in my eyes
trying to make some sort of claim to my city
New Haven, Connecticut
I like the industrial landscape, the hollow shells of factories
and warehouses, the railroad bridges
and the sun shinning off the water at the end of the Spanish sector
I pass a homeless shelter and a strip club
a kitchen appliance store and a failed alternative high school
turn around and come home, not sure where I’ve been
or where I’m going in this unmoored, undefined life
I am forgiving
not strict, bought
Soft, gentle weeping – truth is dying
the lowly fiction is rising
I am free
to give you things
you can use in your battle
against loneliness and isolation
I am walking down the hallway
your shadow temporarily comforts me
You keep secrets from yourself
make extraordinary demands
on who you might be
Break this cycle of denial
come home, where you belong