Now

It’s hard.

Not knowing what will happen.

Not remembering what did happen.

It’s hard.

This swamp water of flesh and time

we wade through.

Paper clips, candy wrappers

receipts, car fumes, hotel rooms ….

We get lost in the little things.

There is no map.

There is no mama to kiss you

goodbye.

There is no mama to return to.

There are no witnesses.

I’ve been trying to find

the door handle

to let myself out

but maybe I should be

looking for a latch.

It’s hard.

Damn impossible.

I sit in the disappointment

between what was and will

hoping that one day

I’ll know what it is all about.

I sit.

But it’s hard

not to just put a bullet

in my head

and find out NOW.

You Are Special

Yes. – You!
You are special
and i don’t mean
because U R unique
one of a kind
‘nd all that B.S.
they feed you down at
the self help section.
 
No.
You may have
brought down 387 Spitfires over Germany
You may have
painted better than Picasso every done
You may have
been declared a saint
(and damn well know you ain’t)
You may have
been the first man on another moon
…..
I don’t give a shit
nor does the universe
for
you are special
in, of, and, as (you name the preposition)
you are.
 
Don’t believe the buggers
that nail us to a wall
and describe how this one
is a work of art
the other not.
 
Don’t believe the number numers
the rankers with their files
the check markers with their critic’s smiles.
 
You are special because
you are necessary.
Each photon of your enormity
says that
you are here and
this world wouldn’t exist
without you ….
 
You may be a rock star
or slinging beer at a bar.
You may be on stamps
or enjoy fast cars.
Doesn’t matter ….
Rich or poor
slow or sore.
You are special.
 
So relax and be.
There is nothing you
have to accomplish or believe
save,
you are special
a god that makes this world
go round
special found
as you are, are
here ‘n now.

The Light Keeps Coming On …

Driving late at night
Guatemalan night
the music strong
nothing, absolutely nothing
wrong.
Just me, the road, song
and Mayan spirits.
 
I’m right where I belong.
 
Then, the engine light comes on.
There is something wrong.
Could be the tranny
Could be water in the fuel.
Could be electrical.
Could be a million things …..
and to carry on
to get my mind off this wrong
I think about all my own wrong
My engine light now too on.
 
Could be my heart.
Could be my drinking.
Could be my chassis
I’m just falling apart
and my engine light is on.
 
I get home.
Park the car.
Park myself.
Take a drink.
Take my pills
and think
of all those whose
engine light’s not on
but who ain’t going as far …..

 

Everything Hurts

Everything hurts.
 
You awake and time
pushes down on your chest
and the light outside blinds.
There is no way out and
you have no choice but to get up
and go through it
– the hurt.
 
Everything hurts.
 
The walk down the stairs.
The thought of the afternoon.
The weight of gravity.
The emptiness of the sky.
Each spoonful of cereal.
Each sup of coffee.
Every breath, every heartbeat.
 
Everything hurts.
 
You can’t tell anyone about it.
That hurts more.
Besides,
you don’t know exactly what it is
that hurts.
You only know it hurts.
 
Everything hurts.
 
The news
not getting any news.
The slow gnaw of microbes
enjoying your skin.
The sun, oh definitely the sun
that thought of always
not being
but also being too.
 
Everything hurts.
 
Getting dressed, getting ahead
getting head, getting a dress
having lunch – the necessity of it all.
Having stuff – the chance you swim in
the wind on your skin
the sound of distant laughter ……
 
Everything hurts.
 
There is no respite.
No water breaks.
Alcohol, sex, pills, rock n’ roll
They only make it hurt more.
 
Everything hurts.
 
You roll on, on, on,
up that hill
but the top never comes.
And it keeps hurting, hurting.
It will keep hurting, hurting.
There is no end to it.
Nothing, not even drugs,
religion, sex or
the thought of death
can dial it down.
There is no kill switch.
There is no way out or off.
 
Everything hurts.

My Lord’s Prayer

 

Our father
who aren’t in heaven
hollow be thy name.
Thy kingdom’s dumb
thy will never done, on earth
nor in any 7 Eleven.
Don’t give us today any bread
nor forgive us our weaknesses
‘cuz we’re not gonna forgive theirs.
Please lead us into temptation
for deliverance is evil
‘cuz thine is no kingdom
of power nor glory
never, ever, ever
amen.

A Confession

 

How much longer

can I get away with this?

 

Scribbling in notebooks

mornings of endless coffees

lost in half worlds of thought

looking out the window

at the security guys outside

standing 12 hours a day

sucking on cigs and thumbing

their phones.

 

How much longer

can I get away with this?

 

Henry Miller sits

framed on my desk

at his desk feet up

getting away with it

him in Santa Monica

me, under the volcano

Antigua, Guatemala.

 

There’s Brahms

coming out of the speaker

and the keyboard waits

like an obedient dog.

“I’ll get to the work tomorrow”

There’s more thoughts to

attend to

more dancing in my head

and I’m planning

my next novel – how novel!

 

How much longer

can I get away with this?

Walking through the world

like I own it.

Schleping from kitchen table

to poker table to excel tables

always hungover and

in love with

the mere fact I’m here

that I’m standing

with nothing really to do

except

get away with it.

Dansein

There is no time other than

             NOW

so why do we allow

so much dust

to get in  and foul

the very air we live?

The past we breathe in.

The future we cough out.

Meanwhile all about

the thing IS in and of itself.

We are but an illusion

of yesterdays and tomorrows.

We borrow and live

on broken time

and we dream

like a broken heart

of when we might find

no need to be elsewhere

or even to care

but just rejoice and BE

somehow

      NOW.

So you want to be a teacher?

If it doesn’t come bursting out of you
In spite of everything
Don’t do it.

Unless it comes unasked
Out of your heart
Out of your mind
Out of your gut
Don’t do it.

If you have to sit for hours
Staring at your computer screen
Or hunched over your tablet
Looking for a lesson plan
Don’t do it.

If you’re doing it for money
Or fame, or someone else
Don’t do it.

If you’re doing it to meet
The woman of your dreams
Or the man of your lonely heart
Don’t do it.

If you have to sit there
Worrying about tomorrow’s lesson
Over and over.
Don’t do it.
If it’s hard work just thinking
About doing it
Don’t do it.

If you’re trying to teach like somebody else
Forget about it.
If all you got is a worksheet and commands
Run away.

If you have to wait for the lesson
To roar out of you
Then wait patiently.
If it never does roar out of you
Do something else.

If you first have to read about it,
Or learn about it, study it, figure it out
Don’t do it.
If you first have to check
With your colleagues or girlfriend
Or with your principal
Or with anybody at all,
You’re not ready.

Don’t be like so many teachers.
Don’t be like so many 1,000s of people
Who call themselves teachers
Who the government deems teachers.
Don’t be dull, and boring, and pretentious.
Don’t be consumed with self-love
The classrooms of the world have
Yawned themselves to sleep over your kind.
Don’t add to that.
Don’t do it.

Unless the lesson comes out of your soul
Like a rocket
Unless not being a teacher
Would drive you to madness
To suicide, to murder.
Don’t do it.

Unless the ideas inside you
Are burning your gut.
Unless you get up always thinking
Of the possibilities possible
In your class
Don’t do it.

When it is truly time
And if you have been chosen
Teaching will do it by itself
It will keep on doing it
Until you die
Or it dies in you.
There is no other way
And there never was.

Don’t try.
It’s the trying that gets in the way.
Start. Teach.
Do it.

Simple Poetry

There is more plastic in our
oceans than fish.

More guns are fired each day
than knives spreading butter.

We kill over 250,000 living
organisms each time we exhale.

100% of us will die.

Despite appearances
there is no tomorrow.

The day is sufficient
unto itself.

My life

I dug holes to find
the blue sky.
I went around corners
to look for home.
I spoke a million words
in search of silence.

Today, the wind tore off my roof.
I could now see
the sky.

Best to let life do
the hard work for you.