pretty

Poems
That look so pretty
Prit tee prit tee prit tee
All writ
In a row
And piled high
Like sublime
sandwiches

lessons I learned from rock stars

The one time
I smashed an acoustic guitar
I was alone
In my hospital room
On the eating disorder ward

The room felt like
My stomach did,
A flimsy sheath
Barricading a furious
Black hole
Of craving

Or like my body felt,
Entombing an empty heart

I heard the voices of nurses
And mental health technicians
As they ran
To catch sight
Of me,
Too late

My soul
Temporarily
Set free

from a broken bell

a perfect sound
from a broken bell
when inside
is inside
and outside
as well

the money won't buy
the body won't sell
when inside
is so inside
it is outside
as well

the living is easy
the dying so sweet
we run to the river
to lose our feet

in the water in the wetness
the stones, fish and swell
when inside
and outside
no difference
can tell

your house is on fire

please
leave
the burning house
get the hell
out of the burning
house
get your ass out
now
I'm gonna
mess you up
if you don't get out
of the burning house
I will steal
your wallet
your identity
your heart
your beer
GET OUT OF THE FREAKING HOUSE!!!
please, pretty please
okay, burn yourself to hell
okay, I've got some Swiss-ass chocolate
and those donuts
with vanilla cream busting out of the middle
I'll be your best friend
if you just....leave....
come on come on come on come on

alright,
I’ll come out
with you

resolution to "suppressed"

pennies from heaven
pennies for thoughts
think better of yourself
allow yourself to breathe

suppressed 1

packs of smokes
fall from heaven above
for scrappers, picking
change out of gutters

I never lit that end
but the other

I filtered every thought
every feeling and action
including sex and food
all the essentials

primary process
the drive to survive
anger, hunger, desire
gone by my hand

where did they go?
bye bye

to the land where abortions
hope to be resurrected,
dreaming of being born

again in the world out there
where melancholia
and high-strung neurosis
get both sympathy
and recrimination

and what did you come to see

oh, end of days --
once the water
drains out
and the air
escapes
we will be
free of all
hope

the red balloons
stuck in trees
the let-down
in our guts
the songs
all sung

there will be
no more need
for unfulfilled dreams
or diagonal crosses,
being raised
and brought down
at the very same time

listening to Joni Mitchell, reading about Kabbalah

"Help me
I think I'm falling
in love
again"

that was
yesterday's song
when corporeal touch
was a prerequisite for love

today we are made
in the image of God

ten Sefirot
lead us back up
down the tree
to our roots in heaven
where

much like
the man who
(if he had his way)
would “just walk out those doors
and wander down the Champs Elysees
going cafe to cabaret”

we are offered,
as we stand
at the cracked door,
a taste of freedom
a glimpse
of the Light that shines us
into Being

work gloves

Sri Krishna had it wrong
we are not on this Earth
for self-denial, culminating
in Union with the Divine

Jesus didn't have it right
either
with his crucifixion
offering his body
to cannibalism
for our salvation

the smell of garbage
overtaking our planet
implies rather, that we put on
our work gloves

we are here to love
so strangely and strongly
that the problem of suffering
becomes immaterial

Pez

you make me
want to write happy poetry
you, gesticulator
with tongue and pen

since I've known you
you've inspired me
to see things
with mirrored glasses
boldly reflecting back
the sunlight