Sweaty palms

Look at me look at you

Looking at a line on your neck 

Looking at your philtrum 

My philtrum is deep

And when I am 

A child soon

It will guide

The issue of my runny nose over 

My mouth

Slippery armpits could use a tissue now

My teeth do not align 

         Properly when I-- so I--

Shut my mouth

And my forehead is bony

And my skin is shiny too

But my eyes are sometimes keen

I look surprised in the mirror

So looking at your face may do for now

I didn't mean to look at your acne

But here I am 

Thinking about it

Still thinking about it

I'm still thinking about it

Old Man on the Beach

There's an old man that I know
Who can sit for hours at a go
Building castles in the sand,
Facing always the long, brown land,
Ignoring the vast and true sea
That ever so enraptures me.

“It seems to me the waves sing free
Of sailors and dreamers out at sea.”
But he says, “Better to be wary
Out there's something scary
Far beyond your simple sight,
Far on the blue's other side.”

I walked down and greeted the ocean
With a lustful hopeful notion
Of losing myself in its embrace
And having its foamy lips kiss my face.
He said fearing that I should regret,
"But for the water, sand should never forget".

We walked along the encroaching line
His footsteps dry, and water in mine.
He spoke of the fresh shade of old trees
And the busy bustle of worker bees,
The water licking my toes meanwhile
And salty sand lining a skeptic's smile.

“Boy, I was just like you before,
Thirsty for all the world and more.
But time has this way of turning you
Back to the things that you looked through
Out at what you didn't yet know,
Back to the old your soul will go.

"I swam out one day in the early morning,
Before the land roused had finished yawning.
The sea did hold me, fairly shallow queer,
But she had several other lovers near,
And one did appear and swallowed me whole,
Spat me out deeper still as per his role!

"Decades long torment was my lot,
And frightening battles have I fought--
Fighting for breath, sight and the sun
The sea did laugh thinking she had won
But sweet, steady land forgiving all
Bought me back, the prodigal."

Then strangest thing would happen next
With alien strength and as if vexed
He grabbed my body and flung me steep
Into dark water that had gotten deep.
In the growing distance I spotted him
Laughing as if cursing grim, 

"Swim, boy. Swim!"

That's the old man who's back I know
Sitting still for hours at a go
Fixing castles in the sand
While facing always the long, brown land
Ignoring the vast and true sea
That for so long has captured me.

Now What?

Guitar gusto gone 

After a long gig,

Shawn "Shredder" Ocean 

Shrinks off-stage via the 

Back-exit door forward 

Into the foraying mass of ass, 

And we peeking over guards'

Shoulders at the tired idol who seeks 

Silence-waves crashing, bombarding and 

Bouncing off his lungs and fizzing like grinding glass

Squeaking slowly, scathingly through eardrum. 

Now blinded sharply with light

Spearing through pupil bruising back wall,

With speedy void in stomach bursting up,

Out and through fingers, and collarbone pulling-up,

He extends heavy hand to doorknob,

Doorknob is cool, twists right,

Doorknob is springy

Carpet and then wall,

Couch, falling, heavy

Cheek smacks soft 

Matte leather

Eyelids drop,

Cooling,

"Eye fork in rock"

Go Ahead

The world is full of heads

Big heads, small heads

Black heads and white heads

And all together they bounce and twirl

And some wear crowns and some wear hats

And some wear hair and others are bare.

A certain kind of head shifts from side to side

Some speak true on their greasy pivots

And others are blue shaking in stiffened jots.

If in a syncopated rhythmic bop

I see your head give a merry stop

I will put a smile on mine and head for thine

And place on the bottom of yours a kiss

And watch your head grow into a balloon of bliss

And we’ll turn and face the northern wind

And walk along the reddening bed

Of sky forlorn for every fellow dead

Who in centuries past did lose his head

For bashing his hard against the guard

Of a mighty head over how much bread

I’m glad my head lives now instead

It’s heavy to my neck for all the miles I’ve tread

And soon it’ll plop sideways in time for bed

Hopefully in the morning I’ll still have my head

If you’ve got yours now then good for you

If you know where this is going then go ahead

Cocktail

Chatter and a low murmur

Plunging occasionally into a tune,

Lost in dark crystal eyes like space.

Between the sighs and telling laughs,

We, the crowd, swam halfway up

To just right and still so cool-

Bubbly and brownian.

Down the side of your wet wine glass

We, the two, slid slowly down

And dropped into understanding,

Splashing with joy and release
Measured in creases in figures cut and perfect faces

That could not hide resplendent souls

And target gladness, fun and joy.

Wine and cheese and shoes and carpet.

Water, water, we were water

And we drank deep, and drunk

Found a light made in every evil

We loved the moment butterflying

Between flowery pools in impossible life

Hypnotic laugh and overflowing not knowing

Caked Gum

Step by step I measure out a night

Spent looking through glass windows

At dimly-lit faces seated around dark wooden tables.

Occasionally, I slow down to appreciate

The graceful flicking of a wrist

Or the courageous placement of a palm,

And my heart smiles in recognition:

Camaraderie in this city of ones,

Conjoined twos and awkward threes.

I jump over puddles reflecting the black sky

And watch for yellow taxis carrying

Melancholy passengers to beds in thin rooms

Where they will succumb to the streets' muted symphony

Wafting through shutters and landing beside tired ears

While I continue marching alongside foreign soldiers.

To the rooftops, I imagine we appear united—

We all have legs, we are all careful,

And lightly place gazes upon each other.

I walk some more, so much myself,

With a transient shadow and recoiling reflections.

I keep my hands in my pockets fingering my phone,

Narrowing my eyes and stiffening my cheeks.

I breathe in their cigarette smoke that I hate to like

Before I descend sticky steps into the subway’s void.

After the humid air congeals on my skin

I hop into a screeching car,

And then I stare at lines and sterile lights,

Pictures and shoes, eyes then eyelids,

And I feel so acutely me,

I feel remarkably divorced,

Yet I long for momentary bondage

And losing my reflection’s wide-eyed interest.

My weary yawn is a silent “City, take me.”

Score Four Me

Floating in anomie,

Anonymous in the morning,

Powerless against the tyranny

Of the alarming clock.

[Modellers, never forecasters,

Mathematics has won!

Dictating that many masters
Be more free than the one.

Il n'y a pas plus de confort,

In lieu, many will not see.

It's why I still smile wry in the street

Bidding you hello-adieu.

Just like I said goodbyes,

Like a short while ago,

To philistine monies for eyes

I gouge out to survive each day.

Sucks, at the age of twenty four

I hear a hungry tsetse fly

Singing that idyllic lullaby,

Right outside my wooden door.

It says, "Your feet are pressing sand,

Watching the waves arrive.

Undressing child, your heroes swim!

Prim as proper, you too will dive."]