the luther lockwood memorial library

under direct influence of the working class

joe pug

and troy   new york

living in the shadow of something there’s lenno's luther tall gaunt a keen eye for the space  and where the ball can be played.  curly matted hair with a little sweat around the edges and a knee brace that feels like cheating what you get what you've got is the steady hand of  decision making in the middle of the field and the distribution to the fleet footed and the hard workers the crazies

they're here

 they're queer  

we're used to it

an every day occurrence and the ongoing assessment won't stop

no you don't stop 

the coffee is cold and there are enough sticks in the yard to turn your stomach or get you stuck in a tree

she said it was a trudge

that with her there were fits and starts but with me it seemed like an everyday battle through the trench where there was no such thing as lifting your knees about the flatline

and putting some distance between yourself

and the past

knees up mother broon

when you figure it as choice over chance

that's when the pressure increases

if you’re in control

then you’re responsible

there is no more blame to place there is only you

and the more you seek the more you're lost

travel is as tiring as you might think if you've ever rushed right along to the waiting

that's the part that you can't escape

nobody's timing is perfect

and a phone call a train whistle on a morning filled

with characters

and ankle pain

it's starting to get away from us you know

yeah

i know

checklist

the letter writing

griefandloss

the blahckandthebroon

there's a skittering along the rails and hoping i can talk gee into taking me to get something to eat

and eitzel

it is important throughout your life to proclaim your joy

                                               The Battle of the 'Kearsarge' and the 'Alabama' 1864 

                                                                               by Edouard Manet

the eights say things that no one else asks you

math rock is a comedian stepping on his laughs  just a figure floating   fast   pick and past  jick licks last the russian novel tuning with a bullet wound occipital lobe   vestiges of hope  from a time we could cope we counted on things solid gold  the end of rainbows that weren’t all that special on their own but put together  minds are blown   LIES LIES political party platform ties  accidents of history by furniture makers drug takers  in ginsberg’s sanfrancisco  but what the fuck did he know   singing and shaking  a blue black tornado  great plains potatoes shiny shirts and drug abused pinwheel fast exhumation blues    snake fingered hands bottle neck pride twenty two years of fucked up insides  headed south to hungry mouths dilettantes  make all the doubts   fifty star placemats at jonathan’s house of breakfast smoking section  ice cream scoops of butter fool  he’s the kind of man who would do that to you  run to born  salley shirtless de la puked on soft soled shoes  wait what was that the roots   don’t be afraid of the obvious the lot of us up against the wall on the SG call it’ll break  if it falls you can glue the headstock but won’t be what it was   won’t be the same   it’ll sound just as plain but never once leave your ark to explain how the onetwothree rut of the early decade makes every attempt to pre-tend you saved enough time truth or money to finally sway the world the curls to look your way    the lines end up closer as the page starts to bend i’ll be your brother just don’t condescend you can suite it or theme it  the chapter comes after in the highways and try ways of impending disaster   can you smell the nitrogen  can you believe the chewing gum   it lasted a minute longer  than it had to   you see the eights say things that no one else asks you

photo by charlie waters

post it notes instead

i was going to write a poem about how beautiful everything was

but i woke up and the sun was not shining

the sky                                    grayer than i have ever seen

gradients of        disinterest emanating from every passerby

i was going to write a poem about how love can lift you up

and bounce your soul if such a thing even exists

until you see it on your own face

feel it on your own skin feel it sinking in

the dirty fingers grasp at love too

even if they don’t know what to do

and the poem I was going to write

                                                                          i didn’t

                       
                                                                        shouldn’t

          couldn’t                                                   wouldn’t

                                                                     didn’t

                                            i was going to write you a poem to say i’m sorry but so far

                       all i found was a smile at the sight of  your strength
                                                                                                     in the scar

* this is a response to a poem by Ruth Dosch.

you can see both in the new issue of we, the notorious pronouns

Here

the marble hearted and their jars taking cues from motion picture stars

if someone only listened/only heard/only knew

                       tried to keep him alive

what would he do?

glimmer      wins

                            but only at night

it’s easy to tell the wrong from the right

it’s not so easy to follow through

marbles underfoot

 oceans too

iknowwhattodoiknowwhattodo

                        i know how to say it                                    just don’t know if it’s true

this music

                                                       it’s making me

you   

is it telling

                                                                                                  the 
                                                                                      truth?

this one’s a smile   this one’s a joke

this is that one time you convinced me to smoke

this one’s amazing    that one’s apparent

the one by the door is simply inherent

what a mess now that it’s all come to naught

your sisters   d’ they tell you?               weren’t you taught?

look

this one here’s from ninety-six

that one is made out of bitters and bricks

that one waited until the drums had gone out

this one looks like sam smith’s oatmeal stout

the one on the rug is certainly too proud

to ever call back

or say it out loud

and there’s two in the kitchen made entirely of lust

                               and one so well hidden you might think 

      

                            that it’s     us

the promise you made is the promise i keep

every night when            and before i can sleep

when angles are open and arrogance dies

when                               the hopes/hearts/and dreams          mix

                                                                                                           with the supplies

when the last of   the gentle    have eaten and gone

and your line of defense is a tom waits song

             it’s the saddest sound that you’ve ever heard

without the need                         for a guitar   

or a word

and the pride that you thought would carry you through

                       is as useless to me as      white boy blues

but every syllable leaving   her   mouth

                                              is soft

     and assuring

just like the south

hope is fantastic and meaning the word

the melody felt

not the melody heard

the remedy thought but never applied

and the lonely ghost

of a  question

                why?

* this is part one of a two part series written with Alexandra Clifton.

you can see both in the new issue of we, the notorious pronouns

here