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.

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.

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 father, the alien

Growing up
I always thought my dad
was a little strange.
Not much
just a little
like those aliens
in the Twilight Zone
who were just like us
but had one oddity
that gave them away.

He was like most dads
in those days, the late 60s
we, in our time and place
working the land
long beards, home made wine in hand
hopes of a better tomorrow
peace not war, live for today
goats, gardens, barefoot kids running around
late night campfires and song.

Yet, I knew my dad
was strange. A little off.

He’d dance around like
Ponce de Leon at the beach
wearing his speedo
everything hanging out,
us kids scattering, hoping
nobody thought he was
OUR dad.

And he kept EVERYTHING.
Old wrappers, 20 year old magazines,
tobacco tins which I filled with old nails
pounded and painfully removed from old boards.
He kept everything.

But most peculiar of all
was his English.
He spoke it fluently, perfectly
yet
one word gave him away –
“develop”.
“Devilup”, he’d say.
“We have to Devilup the plan.”
and me, a 9 year old
would tilt my head
and think,
“My dad is an alien”.

Only years later did I discover
he truly was an alien
from some far off place
called “Europe”.
It was then that my dream
to live a life of difference
as a human, all too human
but with some alien in me
really began.

A Week In Nassau

Got here.

Raining pigs and elephants.

Casino.

Lost a few thousand

in a few minutes

went outside

to clear my head and

bought a $25 ice cream cone.

Took the limo home

and chatted with the driver

about how cold it was – 14 degrees

they’d closed a school Freeport!

how life was so unfair

so shitty —

we laughed the whole way.

In the door.

Glass of water.

Crawled into bed

sick as a dog

— the FLU …..

Spent 5 days

in my room

rolling around, moaning

waiting for some brave sod

to come in

and put me down.

Nobody did so

I got up

went downstairs

and looked outside

at the emerald blue sky.

I couldn’t believe I was still here.

It was all worth it

this trip.

What doesn’t kill you

allows you

to do it all over again.

Nobody owes you anything

not the bank

that won’t extend your line of credit,

not the snot nosed kid

you used to be,

not the tooth fairy or Santa Claus

not the girl you gave your heart to

not the President or your dad’s estate

not the bars you so well indulged

and which now won’t allow you in

anymore,

not even the poker dealer

who always tosses you

7 deuce with a smile.

Nobody owes you anything.

Not your folks who didn’t push you enough

into this too soft world,

certainly not this

pale blue dot that

gives you a roof over your head

and the right to be here,

certainly not time

the gatekeeper and

most democratic of sliding doors,

certainly not bare bones life

to which you aren’t even

an after thought.

Nobody owes you anything.

Get over it.

Close your ledgers.

Melt your tin trophies.

Get off your ass and

grow some balls.

Realize

the finish line is also

a starting line.

Unfinished

Now that I have taught

my tongue

to speak what is in

my heart.

I now must find

the one who will listen.

Now that I have looked

long enough

to finally see.

I now must find

the one who will understand.

Now that I have walked

this valley

and reached the

mountaintop.

I now must find

the place I started from.

Now that I have learned

to love

and

to lay down my arms.

I now must find

the one who I can hold on to.

Now that I have drank up

life’s bounty

and eaten my fill.

I now must find

the will to feed others.

Your life, my life, his life

is never finished

merely abandoned.

Know what you do not know

and you will complete

the circle

and stand where

you’ve always stood.

The place where I come from

In North Ontario

the place where i come from

the grain grows high and frames the sky

the clay has been there forever

that’s where I’m gonna die.

The place where i come from

the roads are straight and go dusty ‘n far

mile after exact mile

you’ll know exactly where you are.

The place where i come from

the breakfast joints are always packed

there’s talk of the hockey games

there’s talk of weather and winter comin’ back.

The place where i come from

the women pull their men in close at night

hangin’ on, survivin’, hopin’

things ‘ll work out right.

The place where i come from

there’s fights outside the hotel every Saturday night

the women wear too much make up

and are never seen in white.

The place where i come from

has a muddy river running through it and train tracks too

old farmers fill the old age homes

they ain’t got nothin’ left to do.

The place where i come from

your piss will freeze before it hits the ground

in summer the flies block out the sun and

the land forever, will never let you down.

The place where i come from

black bear, moose, beaver in every lake

men sit on summer porches

cursing about the money they didn’t make.

The place where i come from

you can spit and grow a beard

wear big rubber boots around town

the mud falling off, from the land you just plowed.

The place where i come from

the winters last forever and you can hear wolves howl

there ain’t nobody to hold yur hand

there ain’t no fancy footin’ allowed.

The place where i come from

a man can build his own place at his own pace

paycheck by paycheck,

a man can mill his own dreams

in his own bed, in winter’s solid embrace.

The place where i come from

has 4H and no nine to five

nobody need ask no one what it means to be alive,

they eat their eggs broken n Jesus still saves

n the big trucks keep driving by

not a honk, not a wave.

The place where I come from

there’s crows high in the sky and big birds fly

they just fly right on by

The place where I come from

every guy has a pickup and the transports roar by town

the place where I come from is where

nobody is bound …..

Ways To Eat

Some men eat everything

on their plate.

Some men come late

don’t even bother to phone.

Some men eat alone.

Some men eat everything

then ask for more.

Some men just ignore

tongue tied the need.

Some men for money’s sake

eat little, eat greed.

Some men eat greens first

the meat fast.

Some men don’t eat

meat at all.

Some men just fast

fishermen who last

and catch nothing at all.

Some men leave a little

on the plate.

Some men can’t wait

eat in the car three bars.

Some men metaphorically eat stars.

Some men take dessert.

Some men take two.

Some men just desert the table

the moment the main course is through.

Some men sup

from the bowl.

Some men slurp

or even burp cuz

the eatin’s the goal.

Some men sit quiet

waiting for the dinner bell’s toll.

Some men eat for

the taste of it.

Some men just out of habit.

Some men would never eat rabbit.

Some men don’t give a damn

about it.

Some men eat to soak up

the alcohol.

Some men just to be tall.

Some men eat to entertain

themselves.

Some men while waiting for wives

at the mall.

Some men eat to pass

the time of day.

Some men want but can’t

find another way.

Some men say prayers.

Some men eat their fill.

Some men test their will.

Some men smoke after their meal.

Some men eat only monkey and eel.

But every man eats

every man completes

himself

in a million myriad ways

food, the fulcrum of our days.