The Day In The Garden

I think of the day in the garden with you

Beyond the crumbling manor of a bygone man

And the stony gaze of archaic ladies
of flowers and grain

We passed a chair large enough

To seat all my dreams of you

To light upon a canopied bench
tucked away

Amongst the newly green
and the vibrant life
surrounding us

As all things were just budding

We were only just meeting

After knowing you forever

And I longed to see

This garden in full bloom.

Just One Note

that note that rumbles forth

when not trying to induce a

squeal

nor cry

but breath barely escaping valves

producing a low note

that's almost broken

on the verge of seeming rupture and interruption

and for that moment I imagine

musician and instrument in an intimate embrace

a singularity in one low broken note

which overwhelms me

engulfs me with sex

a primal and carnal emotion of unknown origin

as I view the world through half-lidded serenity

ecstasy  

if only for just one note

Dynamo

In the quest to attain greatness,

I have committed a most grave sin:

I failed to recognize the greatness I already possess.

I am not a broken thing to be fixed;

I am a goddamn dynamo to be reckoned with.

Black Dog

I run with a big black dog
Lost in his shadow most times
Ever present
Though he lays down
And slumbers
To allow the radiant sun
Brilliant heat
Embracing light
Shine on my face
Sometimes

Head and Heart

Some people go through life
and have learned
to follow their head
in all things
rationalize
dissect
resolve
decide
and form their life
through their head
to protect their heart
and these people are blessed
and these people are cursed

Other people go through life
and have learned
to follow their heart
in all things
accept
empathize
desire
impulse
and form their life
through their heart
to protect their head
and these people are blessed
and these people are cursed

The head can defend you
and keep you safe
and fill your life
with security and stability
and preserve you from pain
even if you have to endure
sacrificing joy
sometimes

The heart can release you
and show you marvels
and fill your life
with affection and adoration
and preserve you from joylessness
even if you have to endure
heartache and pain
sometimes

You can embrace to live your life
through your head
or
through your heart
and be blessed
and be cursed
and never consider
the benefits of the opposing philosophy
nor the disadvantages

But I hope
I can consider
to have both options
merge both head
and heart
on the same path
equal
unison
parallel
approximate
and be truly blessed
for the rest of my days.

At 3 AM

At 3 AM when the world it sleeps
you wander down Broadway
a patchwork pathway swept empty silent

in seeming honor of only you

At 3 AM the foghorn bellows its stoic warning

some forgotten distance away
and you lean into the air and almost make out

the hush of the dark breaking water
that calls out its unknown message to only you

At 3 AM passing through the haloed islands and the electric murmur

of every street lamp
into the dark oasis of the in-betweens

where you look up and see every star
and you're glad you don't have to share them
for they burn for only you

At 3 AM the isolation and solitude you feel
is not at all desperate
you are alone but not lonely

because this moment in time is yours
tailored and presented to you alone

and for only you.

You Left Me Here To Write The Poems

the pen seems too heavy
most times
an immovable object
which you hefted with ease
even in your struggles
you scrawled
and you left me here
to write the poems.

you walked like
gravity wasn't doing its job
pounding your solid impression
into an unyielding earth

you stated your opinions
as if i should accept them as fact
and through my indignation
i hope you know
i mostly agreed

you were the only person
i've met so far
who could wear the grandest clothes
and still appear a disheveled mess
yet still pull the look off
like some ignoble gentleman
you would grow a full beard
and wear wool
in the oppressive summer heat

you would write me into a corner
on comics we worked on together
each and every page
i can't believe you blew up Antarctica
on me
and killed the whole team
in the first issue

all your superheroes
wore blazers and scarves
or neckties
and chain-smoked cigarettes
and never did anything heroic
just drowned in their own mire and self-doubt

you made music sound better
when you were playing it
with your awkward dancing
even though you never let me choose
what i wanted to listen to
luckily you had
good taste

you were aries
you swashbuckled
through life

you were a cigarette connoisseur
with an opinion on every brand
and proud of the fact
you been smokin' since the '80s

you walked straight through
the petrified forest
instead of taking the path
you had no interest
in the grand canyon
you slept on every picnic table
across the united states
you refused ever to learn
which is left
and which is right
making you the worst navigator
i ever drove with

you got us kicked out
of a titty bar
for telling the ladies to put some clothes on
you were crumpled
at the bottom of the stairs
out the back door
where i found you
i sat down next to you
silently
just as crumpled

you liked obscure things
because you liked obscurity
you were the master of chaos
the king of nothing
a lion tamer to the stars

you had a thing for elevens
and the untold power
they contained
the number
haunts me now
but gives me comfort

you would call me
on the phone
our conversations
were never less than
an hour
and were essentially
about nothing
but meant everything

not everyone understood you
or even tried
i defended you always
to those who would judge
for i was the lucky one
to recognize
the uniqueness of your soul
too brilliant to ignore
or contain

i still say
with a sigh
they don't make bradfords everyday
and wholeheartedly
believe it

i'm truly blessed
because you let me in
accepted me as a friend
considered me a brother
and put up with as much of me
as you doled out of you

and i hope you know
i was there until the end
when you drew your last
i squeezed your hand
and watched you fade
and have never been
the same since
the world is just
a bit more empty now
smaller and cruel

everyday
as angry as i am
at you
for leaving
i am twice as angry
at myself
for failing to save you
like we talked about
i will try to forgive myself
for not being
the superhero
we used to read about

so now
i will save myself
in your memory
in your stead
i will leave this sickness
that we seem to share
far behind

and you're welcome

to join me along the ride
and i can only hope
you've become
a better navigator

i'm a ghost writer
for a ghost
like you said
and i'll try to listen

because after all

you left me here
to write the poems.

That Night

someone once said
you can't please all the people
all the time,

but if you try hard
enough,
you can probably
piss a good number of them
off.

I never knew what that
meant
until that night
I drank too much.

that night
I call
every tuesday night.

Thames Street Irony

walking down Thames

on a summer night

successfully navigating a sidewalk full

of nightlife

with a friend

searching for a decent bar

with not-expensive drinks and

most importantly

not teeming with assholes.

she was a beauty

short, slim

but with all the right curves

that her thin striped dress has seen to

calling them all out

in an astounding symmetrical glory. 

I had no thoughts

as to bedding her

for she was my friend

but I am a man

and notice

a fine form

when presented
for 

if you do not

you risk

offending the gods

and may suffer

some wrath

of some sort. 

besides

it was better

than walking alone

and I remember thinking

that those we passed

would not know

the difference. 

on lower Thames

where the traffic crawls

due to congestion

and stumblers off the curb

a car

filled with all-American 

New England meatheads

constituted of cheap swilled beer

of baseball

of dance music

of the mundane

and frustration

Thinly swabbed over

By too much cologne

Rolled by. 

hanging out the window

in the backseat

of a car

filled with guys

I caught his glare

as he hurled at us

"hey faggots!"

I would have been more

upset

except for the fact

that I was walking

with a beautiful woman

that those we passed

did not know

the difference

instead of riding

in the backseat

of a car

filled with guys

and

that irony

most certainly was not

lost on me. 

The View

the view from the bus
from the bridge
from the arch
white triangles reach skyward
frozen in time
past green and into blue again
and you ache
not to be
on this bus
on this bridge
on this arch
but glad
at least
for the view.