Monthly Archives: March 2013
The cat was sick,
And it broke my heart,
As I smoked a joint,
To see her shitting on the floor,
The cat got diarrhea,
And I saw shame in her eyes,
For animals have it too;
Both diarrhea and shame.
He is not like you and I,
He is one too many altogether,
And the moments that are his
Are smeared in laughs;
In his moments,
The moments that are truly his,
Attentive ears tend to cloak him,
And he jumps about in his moments,
And he makes people happy,
In those moments, he is funny.
But he himself is not like you and I,
He told me once
That he is no longer proud of his scars,
And he still bites his nails,
And he said once, “Cigarettes taste different,
And it seems like drugs in my body
Have surely changed…”
His luck is an alien one,
Not like yours or mine.
His tolerance, is riddled with caves
And hidden habits,
His eyes have glimpsed within the core
Of temptation’s tumor;
He knows how to hurt,
And he told me once,
“What’s scary is that I enjoy it sometimes.
I enjoy being pissed.”
“We all do,” I said, “Sometimes…
You and I are much the same.”
“How are things back home?”
“Same old, same old…”
“How are your parents?
Have you spoken with them recently?”
“I speak with my mother from time to time.”
He continued to talk for a while,
I pretended to listen,
He then went on to buy me a beer.
“Buy me beers,” I thought,
“And I will talk politics with you
For the remainder of the night,
I will tell you of the streets in Iran,
I will agree with you
And nod my head repeatedly
At your western disbelief;
Buy me beers, and I’ll show you,
I can be an asshole just like you.
My girlfriend doesn’t like you;
Buy us both beers,
And we’ll pretend till friendship forms”
Make a list,
Get drunk and go,
Make sure to have
Three pints at least,
So you can smile
While you wait in line…
The wine and whiskey,
Pour me a shot and
Tell me you love me
In an Irish accent,
It’ll be funny.
Sleep baby, sleep.
Christmas came, Christmas left,
New Year’s resolution:
Learn more love…
After all, it is easier
Than quitting smoking…
It was salt water.
That was the start of it,
The first piece that rose to awareness;
It was salt water that I noticed,
With utter calm,
And now I know,
The pressure within my chest,
Was a bubble of air, a captive breath…
But there was no care,
Only now I know, but I may not,
And either way, it matters not.
Really, come on,
Just admit it,
Pretend if you want,
Lie to me if you can,
Humor me in my hell if you have to,
Just for tonight,
Agree with me…
Say, “It`s all the same, it matters not.”
I am getting excited now!
Few people I’m sure-
Probably more, but let’s aim low
For the sake of modesty-
Have found enjoyment
In my ramblings and rants,
And intoxicated pupils
That blatantly put on display
The drugs in my system…
“This will be a long piece,” I mutter,
“Piece… a long piece of something,
But not a poem,” I remind myself,
“Not a poem…”
Surely I have learned how to play,
Practice and perhaps pain,
Made me poetic over the years,
And of course, reading never harmed.
I don’t read as much anymore,
Not even close;
This might be what nurses
The strange sorrow I feel
From time to time, in my solitude;
Perhaps, this is the reason,
Why I go astray,
Stomping in an emptiness
That I’ll call my home…
Maybe… no, not maybe…
I’ve always preferred the word, “Perhaps,”
But I can’t let it be,
Not here, not right now,
Not when lost…
Turn around a couple of times,
Look back from where you came,
Where you feel that you were;
I was saying something.
“This will be a long piece,”
I did say that.
Now I say, “Don’t go back to read.
Just think… what were you saying?”
IT was a dream,
It all started with salt water…
But it doesn’t matter now…
You will learn sincerity,
One day, it’ll be there,
And you’ll use it with your eyes,
For now, just practice laughing;
There are veins of humor
In tragedies on TV,
And people’s names are funny,
If you say them long enough, repeatedly,
As you jump like a monkey,
From branch to branch,
In your canopy of tones and shades,
And all voices you can muster;
You yourself are funny!
I remember a mirror in my childhood,
A bathroom, in which I stood sobbing…
As soon as I saw myself,
The walls of laughter caved and I burst,
For I look funny when I cry,
Also I’ve come to learn,
That fake laughs can make one laugh,
So tell me, what is what..?
I wish I was a poet,
With a hold on my poetry,
I wish it was like the sincerity that I’ve learned,
That I carry with my eyes…
I wish poetry was available all the time,
Like the powders of my past.
Fist clenched goodbye,
That I read years ago perhaps,
Tickling the sides of my sight…
Sober two days…
The bartender said, “I’m happy;
Nothing like being a Jew on Christmas…”
I must’ve laughed,
But then again,
I open doors for no reason,
And words are there,
And paper’s cheap…
Sober two days…
Where were we?
Thoughts weren’t put out yet fully;
A few dialogues were rising still
Out of the crystal core of our evening retreat…
The ashtray a mess, sure as hell
My eyes were red.
I can’t seem to place it though.
Tell me please, where were we?
There are way too many balconies in my memory,
And mountains rising and falling,
That might know the secrets as to why I ran,
As to why I lied…?
There is a mountain fox in my memory;
I only saw him once,
But trails of his feces, many times…
I’ll go out of my way.
I’ve come to learn
That reading can numb one’s pain,
But I’ve ventured with drugs as well.
And music; well, music’s a must!
And I happen to be with an incredible woman…
Revolving smiles of chance,
And bubbles that are nothing,
But might be everything…
She’s an incredible woman,
Everything else tends to follow.
She had a lot of names to keep track of,
I had always admired her body,
And now, her voice…
I wanted to ask her,
What it was that she was after…?
What provoked her…?
What put her to sleep…?
How the world treated her..?
And how it was that she seemed so alone…?
“Can I have another?”
Is all I managed to say,
While raising the emptiness in my glass…