he watches the rain like
it's alive
but he feels less alive himself
behind him
the house turns dark
its last light going off
don't turn back
don't look back
keep going ahead
and maybe another house
and another wife
will open up before you
or maybe there'll be another
war coming
and the nation will need
your service
again
this time the fear shall be
less intense
The first time
someone points
a gun at you
you're terrified
the second time's the same
third
forth
and so on
but eventually there comes
a time when you
run out of people
to point guns at you
fifth
twelfth
forty-third
and none of them make you
feel like her eyes
watching from the window
behind the curtains
and no pulling of the trigger
and no bang
is like her voice screaming
at the kid to go away, to not look
"A stranger! That's what the
man outside is. And I'm calling
the police if he keeps staring like that.
DON'T!
you dare look at him. Go to
your room. Now."
What's a man when all
the wars are over?
A squirt gun against the sun.
His good hand, the one with
whole and working fingers
reached into an inner pocket
of his uniform, found
nothing.
He walked on
And it rained on
And there were no more wars
as long as you have me
"You might lose
your way one
day
but you'll never
lose me
I'm your desire
to get better
As long as you
have me
you'll keep
going."
that's what he wrote on the
back of his daughter's photo
Today makes a full year since her death
he put the photo under the front cover
of his first published book
and went back to writing what would
soon be the second
them too
It's that simple
Just sit down with it and don't
do anything else
It works
It's the way to write
and you'll do it
once you understand
that it's
distractions
and not the so called
writer's block that's holding you back
you can't get
rid of writer's block by
force
but you can get rid of distractions
by force
Just do it.
Kill them.
Kill them all so
you can be happy.
And then get rid
of distractions too.
this time monster
It robs us of a lot of things,
this time monster
Robs us of youth
of life
of pleasure
of sleep
of high
of being drunk
or being sober
having a full stomach
freedom
love
patience
health
peace
and we're ok with it
ok with it all
except for one thing
we can never forgive this time monster
for robbing us of our dreams
it is the one unforgivable offense
but it does so to take revenge,
this time monster
he kills our dreams only when we kill it
and this battle happens so much that
we came up with a word for it
I think it's procrastination
as if to speak aloud is to draw the anger of the gods upon you
evolution is when you no longer
write about money and sex
and booze and violence and
change the subject to
cats and leaves and the passage of time
and the waiting, the great waiting
for death
evolution is when you
no longer talk about it to others
except yourself
you do it and you shut your mouth
about it
if there's something you have to say
you say it through the writing, not through
the spoken word
you must cast the spoken word out
of your system
as if to speak aloud is to
draw the anger of the gods upon you
that's commitment
and you need commitment if
you are to evolve
Keep That Spark
You
Yes
You
you know what I mean
if you have trouble falling asleep
you must know what I mean
and if you have even greater
trouble waking up and
leaving your bed, joining the cold
world with its cold air and stares
And if you either can't stop eating
or can't stand the thought of food,
if you drink too much and drink alone,
if you have no passion for anything
and the things you once enjoyed feel
pointless and empty and you feel
trapped in a void, forever floating
empty
what you need is not a friend
A friend
many friends
won't fill the void
What you need is a spark
and just enough desire to
keep it from dying
just keep it alive
Someone wise once said
the spark either dies out
or lives long enough to burn down
a whole forest.
I'm convinced he was right
To convince yourself as well
keep that spark alive
just one more day
Keep it alive.
a turtle born on the wrong side of its shell
He had a big belly
but he wasn't a fat man
he wished he was a fat man
his daughter was four
and she told him that he
looked like a
turtle
born
on the wrong side of
its shell
and mother laughed.
He didn't.
Surely he would have if the
swelling wasn't a terminal
disease
a type of cancer of the
stomach and guts whose
name he struggled very
hard to
forget
but the regular visits to
the doctor kept reminding him
his wife kept laughing
she said that laughing
is the key
the best healing
Laughter and love
lots and lots of love
Love
but the other night when
he tucked the little girl
in bed and kissed her forehead and
said "I love you."
she poked her tongue at him
and said "I don't! You ugly and weird.
I love mommy and puppy Bran. Good
night." And she put her
head on the pillow and
closed her eyes.
It was I who went to the shelter
and brought puppy Bran home, he though
as he closed the door, tears
blurring his vision
He didn't go into the
bedroom where his wife
was probably asleep
he went into the bathroom
vomited
washed his face
rinsed his mouth
went into the kitchen
and grabbed the leash
went outside
and took puppy Bran
for a walk
the moon lighted their path
and the shadow of his
big, swollen belly
covered all of puppy Bran
the children in the streets and the sewers and the laboring camps and the foster homes agreed with me
What do you want to
become when you
grow up?
was their most asked
question
And silence was my
most given answer
Might as well ask
How do you wanna die?
I didn't.
I didn't wanna grow up
but God, nature, the universe
put me through it anyway
And I told God, nature, the universe
that I would give up all the
possibilities for my future, all
the things that I could become
if only God, nature, the universe
would answer me this one question:
WHY DO I HAVE TO GROW UP
IN THE FIRST PLACE?
And a deal has been made
and God, nature, the universe said:
WHY, IT'S QUITE SIMPLE. YOU HAVE
TO GROW UP BECAUSE YOUR
GUARDIANS ARE GROWING OLD.
AND YOU WOULDN'T WANNA BE YOUNG
IN A WORLD WHERE NO ONE TAKES
CARE OF YOU, WOULD YOU?
God, nature, the universe was right
And I said it was right
and the children in the streets
and the sewers and the laboring camps
and the foster homes agreed with me
We have to grow up
And because of the deal I struck with
God, nature, the universe
I am now unable to become any of
the things I could've become
I can only imagine
those things
and write about
them
and that's
what I
do.
they don’t know him for an artist
the law forbids him
to walk the streets with the
label of that bottle exposed
but he does anyway
and there's no one to care
enough to report him
he's just another drunkard
getting his fix
also homeless
he wears baggy jeans with lots of
unruly strings around the hems
and the belt
a few holes at the knees
a hole in the shirt
dirt, sweat, something that looks
like blood splotches, something
that's probably just mustard
just another drunkard getting
his fix
but they don't know him for an artist
in the breast pocket of his shirt he holds
two long yellow pencils
and he uses them to make music
for the crows in the park and for the pigeons,
though the pigeons are less impressed by his
performance
he empties the bottle and finds a park
bench and pulls out the long yellow
pencils and starts
drumming into the wood
of the back rest
and the crows gather round to listen
and sometimes the dogs join as well
and sometimes the snails after the rain
but never the people
telephone poles can’t pet dogs
when I was a kid I'd always ask
myself how would
life be if I were a
telephone pole
or a spirit trapped inside
a telephone pole
sitting there day and night,
winter and summer
and autumn and spring
just sitting
and watching
and perhaps hearing the
conversations of people
over the telephone, because their
words pass through me
and I communicate with the other
telephone poles and have our
network where we share
stuff we hear and see
while remaining totally indifferent
to emergency calls and people's
drama and tragedy and all of life
that's how life would be if
I were a telephone pole
pretty damn nice
with no school or work to do
and no people to deal with
So when I was a kid I wished
I were a telephone pole
but then I remembered...
If I'm a telephone pole I
can't pet dogs anymore
it's not worth it
Daydreaming as a profession 