HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

in the
ELECTRIC CHAIR
poems

Scott Laudati

(KUBOA)

Copyright 2014 Scott Laudati

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in
any form or by any means without the prior written
permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may
quote brief passages in a review to be printed in newspaper,
magazine or journal.
First Printing
ISBN: 978-0692338513

Published by KUBOA
www.kuboapress.wordpress.com

Printed in the United States of America

This is all dedicated to Sharon Rodriguez,

"the Queen of the underground"

CONTENTS
Can We Live Like This?
Grit!
A Garden East of Eden
We Need The Bomb
New Jersey
To The Girl I Went On A
Date With Last Night
Wait For it
Take The Path For Cocaine
and Plath
The Dog Days Are Over
My Friend Tom
This Time, It Was Going
To Be Me
Turnpike Blues
I fell Asleep
Arrested Development
I Liked Her So I Never Should
Have Talked To Her Again
The Things Men Say On
Their Way To Work
My Hallway Hangs No Masterpiece
Lorraine
Putting The Art Back In K-Mart
Stony Hill
From Here to LA
A Girl From Greenwich Village
Mick and Keith Pt. 1
You Just Cant Win
Give A Lozenges To
The Voice of The Archangel

9
13
16
18
22
25

31
32
38
41
43
48
50
52
54
57
62
69
71
78
81
86
90
101
108

HAWAIIAN SHIRTS
in the
ELECTRIC CHAIR

Can we live
like this?
it didnt take so long
did it?
your storys
in your
smile, those lips
once said
ill
never
love again.
i know
youre a fighter, kid,
life
didnt take
its time
with
you, but youre
not so bored,
theres still a light
in there.
sure,

you
can sway
like the
breezy
palm trees
of your hometown
but i dont
want to
know
if you can bend ...
can you break?
i remember
your greasy
hair from
the plane,
your legs crossed
on the white sheets,
the slow surrender
of your eyes
when you realized
i thought
you
were beautiful.
it was sudden

10

and eternal.
i chose you
to erase
all my sorrows.
will you?
you see
life in the raw
and that makes me
trust you.
we know
when
we
find
our own
i think
about what it
will be like.
the coffee.
the date.
the booze.
the bed.
the cigarette.
but
i can

11

leave those
for the men
that came
before.
i
want
your window,
to
watch
the breeze
through the leaves
of those palms
and wonder
if this life
actually
existed before
you got here

12

Grit
they all want to be artists
they change their majors
from psychology
to sculpting
they change later
from sculpting
to economics
their parents say get a job
save money
you can work your art out on the weekends
most give in
get the job
they sleep around in their twenties
they get pregnant
sometimes for love
usually by accident
they get promoted
they become their refrigerator
some stay on
move to the dominican neighborhoods
move to the outer boroughs

13

keep hustling
always one contact away from the big gallery
thinking they made the sacrifice
art owes them now
one day it will happen
but it doesnt
or when it does
its just too late
too much time happened
to question, playing
the ultimate gamble
with no chance to return
and get it right
or rewind
and try again
but they bet their life
and the ashtrays never emptied
and the bottles never corked
and they left something behind
good or bad
they wrote their own epitaphs
and the graveyards
and libraries

14

and art galleries

all filled
because the artist lived
and the artist left something behind.
but whether the dream
was lived out
or sold out
its hard to see a family
on a blanket under a free sky
every july 4th
or around a christmas tree every december
or taking a picture
with mickey mouse in the florida summer
and argue
that the love that shares your name
is the only art
worth waking up for

15

a garden
east of eden
if i could do it all over again
theres not much i would do the same
i would say i love you a lot more
to a lot less people
i would only find brick walls on black and white streets
to kiss against
i would buy a shag carpet every day
and lay in it
and i would never eat until my chest was thin as paper
so you could see that
my heart
looks
like
a heart
and every time id say
the house will always smell like fresh flowers
id mean it
and every car door i could open for you
id open it
and every cage that held a turtle

16

id free it
and every dog that had no home
id adopt it
and every door in the house that wasnt painted yellow
id paint it
and every bike that had a basket
id fill it
and when i promised i was over it
i would be
but when i said
i dont want you to love me any more than you do
id still be lying
and id still hope that you were smarter than me
and you wouldnt change a thing

17

We Need The Bomb

we turned on the tv
and they said, we have
the bomb, they
have the bomb,
the ones to the
north
and the west
have the bomb,
but now
THEY
are trying
to get
the bomb
and when they
do
the world will finally
go out
as it
came inthe cataclysm of
fission and fusion
and all the fury
of a billion

18

years of anger,
the madness of good men,
and with their deaths
will go
the anger
as it gets brought
back
to the placewherever that
place is
that
anger comes from.
i was stoned enough
to be
afraid
but you sat with
me and drank
something made
for a
vacation
we never
went on
and you said,
well,

19

we better get
the bomb before
they do. and
you took me
to the bedroom. and
for the first time
you
were violent
and you
were terrifying
and the wall shook
and i
went
blind
with helpless orgasm.
im not sure what the
bomb
will look like
on the day all the leaders
get together
and decide to play
a big game
of dodgeball,
but

20

for the andromedans,

and the reptilians
watching
from the moonitll probably
look like
the earth
going
blind
with helpless orgasm.

21

New Jersey
The world has found New Jersey,
the
new
entertainment capital.
like an ant farm
on a glucose high,
now,
we crawl
we build
we eat each
other, we carry the
dead, we swarm the
living, and we sit
in
your living
room, while getting picked apart,
and
give joy
to those viewingthat life can always
hit a new low.
they understand that when fate gives them

22

the dagger, at least it didnt come

soaked
in coconut oil.
usually
when the networks
come and
the advertisers pay,
those on the other endproviding the
laughs
and the quotes,
are the ones
with the last laugh,
that the spectators
and the tourists
are the fools
for tuning in.
but
like the bad end of
a casino game,
it seems the joke
is on us.
and even though
our pizza

23

is better
im pretty sure
the masses
are right.
and for the first time
in all history
the masses are right for the right reason,
and im not invited to the
victory party

24

To The Girl I Went

On A Date With Last Night
Your songs
never got sadder,
how can that
be?
Your mother
still
has your father
you held onto
your God,
I didnt
know
the world
still deserved
something like
that
Yea,
Ill go to brooklyn
Ill pay for the booze
Ill walk you around.
we can stand.

25

watch
the sun go down
behind
the last projects of lower manhattan.
Ill wonder if I invented you
and Ill wonder if youll erase me.
ive got the torch in
my hand
dont turn
your face too quickly,
even a breeze
will give the flames
a reason
to dance.
youve got
the after storm blue eyes.
your eyes
tell me you sat on this bench before,
you
know
which two buildings
the sun
will split. its

26

the knowledge
of a broken heart.
even with your God
and
your parents
love has been a betrayal.
you spent too much
time on this bench
alone. you
know
the bums,
you know which hipster
will bring the guitar
and what song he
will sing.
you cant know these things
until youre alone. and
you cant
be alone
until youve
learned
youre only safe
with
yourself.

27

its hard
to know when
to make a move.
the last light has
attached itself
around your
head
like an
icon.
the divine glow,
whatever
that yellow
ring
is circling the white dove
that means
peace and love
and the sun
and spring
and youth.
i know i should
kiss you now,
but i dont
because
you say
lets swim to

28

Manhattan,
and
in the water reflection
I realize Id rather see you smile
than see
your face touching mine
And maybe
it
should end like that.
with us
not touching
and I could know
you
like the
birds know the sky.
and I wont have to invent you.
and youll never have to erase me.
your songs
will stay sweet
and we
can share the dark places
of our hearts
that
no one else

29

gets to see.
ill
love you
like only a man
who never gets the girl
can,
and every day
will feel like
those
last minutes
we put our heads
to the ground,
figuring out
how to
share our first kiss
goodbye

30

Wait For It
There's not a high enough hill on earth to stand on and
scream for God. I can see you. Above the trees. A long
blue sky with big fleece clouds. Pointing your finger
straight up, demanding first salvation, then a few dollars,
and finally, just acknowledgment. But he never shows.
How can that surprise you? You were never able to get
us on the ground to stop laughing at you. You think
God is going to turn the television down?

31

take the Path for

cocaine and PLATH
i left her apartment
with nowhere to be
and no home
to hurry to.
her advertising job kept
the work-shift late
and the wake up calls
early.
in between i would show up
on her Eastside
apartment doorstep
with a bottle
of wine.
shes been with people
i know,
people
way cooler than me
but I had an advantagei knew their
strategies. Id seen

32

them at work,
and I remembered the times
when she was bored
and
i remembered how much
she liked danger
what could stand me out
from the rest?
... cocaine
i have a friend in newark
she squares up
with a guy. his family
ships the good stuff
in through some fish market or
hes a port authority cop.
the nights we
got honest enough to share
dealers our noses
were bleeding
and the dog tried stopping
us before
our heartbeats caused seismic shifts
-the details come and go (mostly go)

33

but i crossed the river to jersey,

got the candy
then took the train underwater
and
headed back
uptown
she was happy to see me.
she went to the bathroom
i pulled
a mirror off the wall
and cut two
lines. i heard the shower
water go on. i made
the lines
a little bigger.
i
could smell chemical
fruit coming
from under the bathroom door.
i shaped
each line
into
3 quarters of a
heart. they were perfect.

34

with a space
big enough
to
start
and
end
without messing up
the powder
she came out
and looked
at my creation.
what
is
that?
cocaine
I dont want any cocaine. Why am i looking
at cocaine?
What says I love you
like our noses
sharing
a dollar bill?
she was angry.
id had her all

35

wrong. i went for a walk

while she calmed
down.
how could i get
this girl
to fall for me?
i looked for
a park.
i was going to find a dog park
so i could
steal
her a puppy,
but
a used book store
had a cart
out on the
sidewalk.
i wanted to read something
about failure
but
i didnt.
i bought a copy of
the sun also rises- for me
and something by sylvia plath- for her

36

she opened the door on the first knock

i handed her
both books.
why? she asked.
i want to build a library with you
we ate pho
and used
our
first two books as coasters
i
dont
know
if she fell in love with me that night,
but im pretty sure
she will

37

the dog days are over

sometimes
when i lose too much faith in the worldtoo many wars
too many police
all going so right
for the wrong,
i look at my dog,
fearless
asleep
farting
shedding
all over my couch.
a wild animal brought in
to serve a purpose
that went extinct
with the letter
and the barn.
and i think all
this animal has to do
is shit
in the right place
and it makes me happy.

38

thats it.
im pretty sure if there was a god
he wouldve stopped evolution
at the
dog.
of course, the dog can operate
with no regard because it
doesnt know the greatest
fear- that someday
it will
die.
but as animals
grow weak,
and the weak
are killed
and eaten,
humans grow old
in community
homes. and sometimes
theyve lost it, and drool
on bingo boards and smile
at the space between
them and time. but usually
they havent. and

39

because they
are old and
boring theyre
stuck away, to ride out the days alone,
and watch their roommates
drop out one by one.
and at the end, their very first
learned lesson becomes their lastif they want to keep everyone
happy,
all they have to do
is shit in the right place.

40

My Friend Tom
my friend Tom always understood me,
even at the times
when I scared
myself.
I was always screaming for an audience
up on a guitar amp
and then Id drink too much
and quiet down from the pills.
Tom just sat there smiling
sipping a dark beer
enjoying it,
watching me go sweaty and crazy,
knowing that wed both end up at the same place.
and thats what I learned after my youth passed me by.
I wanted to be great, but never proved it
with more than words,
and by 25 the only thing I was running
on was caffeine.
Tom wanted to be the best average person he could be
and always had been
since the day Id met him.
and as much as I hate people

41

who have figured out how to be happy,

Tom is one
that I think deserves it

42

This Time, It Was

Going To Be Me
tonight,
I decided it
was time to be
the other guy.
some men
cannot
figure out women.
I too,
was one of those men.
and
in earlier times,
I would take the same
strategy of defeat,
nice guys finish last
Id say.
someday theyll all want me
and they wont have me.
but someday never
came.

43

and
the bars kept closing
and the girls
never went
home
alone.
so, when a Slovakian girl
with eyes
like a blue hawaiian
lost
on a subway in the
cool part
of new york
looked at me and
said,
i want the american
experience, I knew
it was time to change
tactics.
we went to
st. marks.
even if
she
didnt dig the freak show

44

I knew we could
find weed. bob dylan
lived here I said.
cool.
bukowski
wrote right here, I said,
on this stoop.
cool.
I pointed at
the st. marks hotel.
and thats where
sid
killed
nancy.
I knew something
about my facts was
wrong but I didnt
stop.
she held the flask up
to her mouth.
I took it and
kissed her
before she could
say
cool.

45

later,
we said
goodnight
and I moved
down
7 avenue.
I looked up
and
saw the hotel chelsea.
EVERYTHING
I told that curious
slovakian had been a lie.
bob, bukowski, dog diced nancy
theyd all lived here
not st. marks.
and then
I smiled
because
shed
never know the
difference and
I
got to kiss her
anyway.
th

46

tonight,
I decided it
was time to be
the other guy,
and
I won

47

Turnpike Blues
he looked at me
as uninterested
and defeated as a 25 year old
on his way to a shitty job
in a shitty town
could, and asked,
have you ever thought about a necktie?
I mean why?
it was a question someone
who hasnt spent hours
driving alone,
to somewhere they didnt want to go,
could never understand.
I looked at the landscape of the
New Jersey Turnpike, right at the
starting line of what was sure to be
another dead
and eternal winter, and
the air stank like a chemically enhanced
napalm fart.
then I looked down at my necktie
hoping, somehow, it wouldnt be there.

48

it was.
I was a manufactured monkey like everyone else.
I lit a cigarette to dilute
the fart smell.
Ernest and I exchanged a silent nod.
we worked an
hour later than was scheduled.

49

I fell asleep
i fell asleep
thinking
about lorraines
toes,
and how shed
never show
them to me.
but
she let me
see
everything no one
else is
ever supposed to
see.
now, at night
i dont stay up
thinking
about our bar
crawls
or parking lot
sex.
i fall asleep

50

thinking
about lorraines
feet,
and how she
never showed
them to me.

51

Arrested Development
her parents said
-believe in God
-believe in yourself
-believe in family
-dont have sex it will
leave you
empty
i thought of
these things, and
many other things
as she pulled into
a park, turned off her headlights
and lit a
cigarette
I said, I
dont think this is
a good idea
she took off
her shirt
I said, I cant
Im dirty

52

she unhinged her

leopard bra
I said, jesus,
if I ever have a daughter
theres no way to stop her,
is there?
she handed me a
water bottle and
said, Go Clean Off
her parents were asleep
when we got back, but the goddamn
brother3 feet shorter than me
100 pounds lighter, but
with a better haircut, said
I didnt say you
could come back over.
he smiled to himself, as if
he had won something
I smiled back, and thought
if thats what you need
then take it ... Ive already
helped myself.

53

I Liked Her So I Never

Should Have Talked To Her Again
ive been tricked
before
i dont usually do this
will make a man
carry you
down the street,
carry you
in
his mind
flat stomach
still
after all those drinks,
your help with the bra
i wish my breasts were bigger
i dont
no age
pink
like you were born

54

yesterday
i like you, you say,
lets wait
i leave
smiling
at cats on the sidewalk
a week
later
all i have
is a memory
and a cd with your songs.
i didnt realize
you
were the
now or never
kind
i still carry you
hoping
youll
look back.
in my mind,
down the street,

55

i found a little bit

more
to give you
but time doesnt
smile
when
youre alone.
the only thing
left
is empty the ashtray
and
move on
to the next disappointment

56

The Things Men Say On

Their Way To Work
I worked for
an airline
once. Younger
than you. Tix for $20.
Anywhere
in the world. I
went to
Paris.
With three other stewardesses.
Man,
you shouldve seen
me
then. I saw
Paris.
Sure.
I saw it from
the airport to the hotel.
I saw it on
the way back
too.
The rest of the

57

time I saw
Gail
Lily
and Katie.
I saw the places theyd never
even seen.
What do you think
about that?
I think you
made the right
decision.
Paris has been Paris
for 700 years.
And itll
probably stay
that way until
the end.
But you saw
Gail
Lily
and Katie.
Maybe 100 other
men could say
that.

58

And Im sure
none of them
will age
as well
as
Paris.
I went
to Florida once,
too.
Not
even Gail
Lily
and Katie
could make
Florida
worth while.
I brought my wife.
I saw every
inch of
Florida, but I barely
saw
the hotel.

59

See? I said.
You
let yourself become
one of those
and you got a 2nd
place story.
Florida
will still be
Florida
in 700 years
and itll
still be
nothing
to write home about.
What happened to
the passion? The stride?
God put his hand
right to his
head and saluted you.
Gail
Lily
and Katie,
for no damn
reason at all.
And you

60

traded it
all in
for
Florida?
Another one
sold his present
because
they told him
his life could have
a purpose.
And now
hes driving
a car
with no
working windows
and two full ashtrays.
Waiting for the day
he can save enough
to see
Paris
again.

61

My Hallway
Hangs No Masterpiece
i thought of her young,
as a canvas
sitting
on a towel.
a brush with a fine head
a brush with thick hair
and
acrylic paints
(the simple colors
red,
yellow,
black,
etc)
form a circle around the canvas.
but the paint stays capped,
the brushes stay in their plastic,
no lines on the canvas
it can be anything now.
the artists waits
and watches

62

years pass.
first comes the
red.
the lines begin,
colors mix. sometimes
they mesh,
mostly
they mess.
the lines
dont follow patterns
the foundation is covered,
the canvas stops drinking
the acrylics.
colors cant stay clean
anymore.
they sit deep
waiting
for new
inspiration
oil.
it takes three
or four
layers
and then its permanent.

63

it spreads easily
and its expensive,
only a few
hands hold that brush.
but those
are the colors
that never fade
to
the periphery,
and they
shine
under museum
and gallery lights
until
the switch
flicks
south
i see
her
now, with a golden
frame and the strokes
of camel hair
from
corner

64

to corner.
and she smiles
as she is handed to me
with a ribbon
but no brush,
an ornament
without imperfection,
the priceless
painting
to hang
and to hold.
im worthy
to receive, but i cant help
wondering whywhy was
there no brush for
my hand?
no space
left
for my
eye?
i saw
the others
vision

65

but they were all

wrong,
was i born
with
shaking hands?
my vision
so disturbed?
if i had the
heart
only
i could know
the concept
of
colors
and
lines,
only
i could see
the priceless
piece
hanging like an ornament
in a hallway
where all candles and
light
shine.

66

i think of her now as a canvas,

dealt and sold
to a patron
who
understands
layers and limits,
and appreciates
the paint
as it
ages with dust
and time.
my hallway
is
empty
with light,
waiting to illuminate a
gold framed canvas
that only needed
one make
of a dress,
one color of
paint,
no patterns
or lines.
I saw in its

67

infancy
an overall
concept of beauty
that no color
could define.
if it was
my
masterpiece
i might have painted
sunny
like june
or blue
like july
but more likely
i wouldve
left it
like the original
architect,
and
the canvas
would have stayedclean
and
white

68

Lorraine
I didnt know she was drunk
until,
she threw up across her desk.
they say dont write about love
because its lame
because its all been said before
because by now,
everyone knows it doesnt exist.
but this was it,
the real thing
all the burning
and desires
the smell of rhone
the smell of rain
she wretched back and forth
(the fish tank lights of fluorescent classrooms found
their subject)
the rest of the class sat in front of their computers
like rookies in a police academy
obedient

69

loyal,
sipping cups of coffee for amphetamine psychosis
becoming machines in hopes of not being replaced by
them.
like the scabs who cross picket lines,
like the prisoner of war who builds bullets,
getting a paycheck today to extinct tomorrow.
but not her
she is a rebel
in a time
when only pop music is cool,
when the last revolution
wasnt televised
but free wi-fied
and in an age where being dangerous
is supporting gays
and liking France
on your Facebook page,
sometimes
all it takes is public vomiting
to prove
that you are still free

70

Putting the Art

back in k-mart
when we were young
rocks
were the thing
to throw.
it taught me
a lot about
glass.
(sand and soda)
sometimes
the rocks
would sail through, nice
and clean, and only
a small
hole, the size
of a golf ball, or
baseball, was made, like
bullets spraying
across a stone
wall. other times
the glass

71

would shatter
off in
huge chunks, like
countries falling from
a map, and hit the floor it made the sound of
a wave crashing
on a
dirty beach.
i guess the more
chemicals, the shittier
the glass
car windows
were my favorite, especially
the windshield. we
dropped boulders from
trees, we
put rocks
into
potato guns,
we even
ran and cannonballed,
but the windshield
never broke

72

open, and
nothing
ever got through.
instead
these beautiful designs
formed, rings over water, a
thawing pond,
a map of the galaxy.
and after
we were
sweaty
and bleeding
wed look at our abstraction.
turned a used car lot
into a modern art gallery
sometimes
we took pictures
in high school, they made
us take
art class. we
learned a lot
about
the old masters, and
they were good

73

but
there always seemed to be
some element
missing.
the mad flash
the knife or the canvas
it never got through.
THE ASSIGNMENT
was to be creative you
can do anything
that inspires you
so
we got canvas
and threw paint
and pissed
on it
dumped our burning cigarettes
someone even
jerked off on it
but
it was still lame
and nothing to be proud of
we took mushrooms

74

to get deeper, and

like mushrooms usually do,
we went out
into
the woods.
i only
remember spiderwebs,
big webs,
lactating
silk
like pure
fresh squeezed milk.
they were so lush
i wanted to eat them.
so i did
i woke up in a hospital two days later
with a fever,
delirious,
and covered in
huge
red bites.
no memory,
but they told me
i had said, the

75

webs look
just like
broken glass
my friends were inspired.
after they called
an ambulance they went
to smash a car
window, and bring the
windshield in
for our
inspiration project
but we werent
nine anymoretoo much taco bell
and cigarettes
will cut fleeing the scene
to complying
with the law
very quickly.
everyone who didnt
go to the hospital that night
went to jail
our teacher was fired
the next monday. Her

76

replacement had
a psych degree and
we spent the
rest of the year
gluing
pasta together.
we were all safe after that
but none of us
went on
to make something
anybody would ever stop and look at

77

Stony Hill
the neighbors used to call the cops on us
at least
two times a week,
the other five
were the days
that we quit drinking.
I was only happy when I was with her
we only drank
when we were together
sometimes
I needed to work
sometimes
she needed to paint
I remember those days
sitting in the back of a white van
driving from Long Island City to Wall St.
-carrying ladders and curtains
down alleys
to service elevators,
watching for the sun
to do its revolution over the

78

Empire State building

drowning itself
in the Hudson
finally allowing
me
to drive turnpikes
and parkways
to get home
to her.
shed wake up at five
or six,
from october to april
I dont think she ever saw
the sun.
we stole cat food so we had money for weed
we didnt eat because of the cocaine
but I kept working
and she kept sleeping
my parents wanted to know why she didnt get a job?
how could I explain the obvious?
she was too beautiful for work
for orders
for discipline.
and for a girl who knows this

79

theres no such thing as enough

my back hurt all the time from the grind
my face hurt all the time from her fists
Ill never live with a puerto rican again
when she got bored she left
when she got angry she hit
we fought hard
wed make up hard
the neighbors called the law for both
each would leave me
bleeding
and bruised.
and when the cops showed up
it was hard to explain,
that I was actually having the best time of my life

80

From Here to LA
we drove from here to LA
in total silence
because Ace Enders,
said we should.
of course he talked
for hours,
actually he just screamed
and he did it for hours,
into a cell phone
as he paced around the trailer
in the parking lot of every gas station
from here to LA
he wrote his best songs at his worst.
after the phone calls
with his soul mate,
the women never understand
the artist,
but if she didnt tear him apart
he never wouldve written those songs
and I wouldnt have fallen asleep each night
listening to him pick the guitar strings

81

and singing about the love he would see

when we finally sold enough merch
to fly her
from there to LA
his hair grew long
(he was the converse wearing allstar)
he grew out his beard
(mad whiskers on a mad dog)
somewhere between Wind Gap and Winnemucca
we became a tribe,
and Ace
wore the feathered headdress.
it was never spoken of,
never decided,
but he was the man for that place
and time,
and the other bands knew it too.
we werent the headliners
and we didnt draw the biggest crowds,
but the other bands hushed
when Ace walked into the room,
we all knew we were treading
with a real songwriter.
but HE DIDNT KNOW IT,

82

would never accept it,

and I watched him go mad
trying to write
The Book of Love,
and recite it every night
to the girl on the cell phone.
in every parking lot
every gas station
every motel
from here to LA
half the band watched
the karate kid on repeat,
the rest of us read road novels
and listened to Wilco,
but not Ace!
he just stared
and occasionally would jump up and scream
until his face got hot and red
and then hed quiet down
and start staring again.
in portland
Ace and I jockeyed across the city
to find a post office.
the mental institution had just run our of funds

83

and all the crazies were living on the streets,

one grabbed Aces shirt
and like a zoo animal does when you catch it staring at
you,
he looked right into Aces soul,
and said, I know what you did.
I knew
that he knew
whatever it was,
no matter how nuts the bum was,
that he really knew
what Ace had done,
even if I didnt know Ace had ever done anything.
Ace asked me if I thought the bum knew?
I didnt ask what he had done, but said that the bum
probably did,
but Ace liked attention,
and asked everyone this question
from there to LA
they called him a mad genius
they called him a crazy artist
they called him a possessed songwriter
Im not really sure of any of those things,
because it took a woman to make him crazy

84

and a country to drive him insane,

but on monday most people still have to get up and
go to work.
I do know that all it takes to make a beautiful brain
crumble,
is a woman
pushing the ignore button
on the other end of the cell phone.
and it can happen in less time
then it takes,
to drive from here to LA

85

a girl from
Greenwich village
its about
time
i came over,
before the plane
disappeared
and the bombs
dropped
and the dog parks
emptied with
fresh coats
falling over soiled snow.
everyone
following single
file over
the cliff.
but we
dont have
to.
youve
got the book of
love now, i

86

left
it
on your
coffee table
blank of
opinion. theres
a pen
on the floor
use it,
i wont walk away.
use it,
while the thought
of me
still exorcises
the loneliness in you.
fill those pages
now,
you will
when
the yellow birds
fly away,
but i want you to remember me
like this,
carrying you over
the garbage piles

87

on thompson st
frozen
over
like igloos
for
the
rats
its about time
i
came over,
for coffee at
midnight
for
sunrise bedtime.
remember me
spilling
wine
ducking pigeons
on your stoop.
youve
got the pen,
use it,
you saved
me from

88

that place
i go all
the time
but barely
mention.
i thought it would
be a book deal,
or a better job
or a good song.
but
it never is.
just a look
from
the girl
who was
never broken by the world.
a runny nose
and an underserved smile
was all it took
to escape the firing squad
of my mind

89

Mick and Keith pt. I

i hated gallery openings.
there
were usually a few
girls, sure,
but they were
artists
waiting
for inspiration
so,
while
waiting for whatever
divine intervention
comes
to paint peoples canvases
for them,
the girls brought
the cocaine
and they lay
on their
backs
pretty easy.

90

she came to me
once, my first
gallery opening
and said, i know
youre going
to break
my heart.
she
hadnt
cut her bangs
yet (though she would)
and she hadnt
shed her winter fat
(though she would)
but i kissed her anyway
because
im easy
and i understand
why women leave
bars with men
who look
like
they were
born old
and never been boys

91

in love.
its the same reason
i kissed her,
she gave me
something.
i just needed
to feel that i mattered
that night
and i knew
i mattered
to her
it felt
like
high school.
they were all
against us
and we
were winning.
shed make me write.
her desk was
filled with ashtrays
and coke lines
and photography
books.

92

id write
a paragraph
and she would shriek
and the dog would jump
on its back legs
and they would dance
around me.
it was never morning.
she could spin
the moon so
the night
lasted forever.
an entire winter
of cocaine
and a spanish beauty
and a dog.
i never had
any money
but she didnt care.
she kept cooking
kept supplying
and i kept promising
that
someday when

93

i made it
all the dedications
would be hers.
the artists all
loved her.
no one had any
money
and we all
needed
booze
and drugs
and love
and she gave it,
never
asked for any in return.
the spoils
were mainly for
me
and id promise her
things
but never stopped taking.
and one night
she cried and
begged me

94

to
never leave her alone.
and of course,
i said
ok.
but we never
robbed
the bank
together.
and we didnt
steal the car
and drive
to california.
she needed
a life
that was hers.
it was the first time
i saw
fear in her
eyes.
our scene couldnt operate
without her
but the world
could

95

live
without
our scene
id tell
her someday
the readers would
know what
she did.
at our worst
she held us
like the mother
most were
missing.
and then
one
day
i left
and i
didnt think
much of
what her life
would be
without me
because

96

i never thought
much
of myself.
now its
all i
think
about.
what
a promise
means. she
made the world
a better place,
maybe two
people
in history
could
say that.
and
theres the
last night,
when i
said, fuck you
and left.

97

theres still
a lot of night
still dogs
still blow
but
air and water signs
theyve
never been
so
separate.
it doesnt
feel like
high school
now.
theyre still
against us
but
thats
no
victory
anymore.
i watched
her
dance the

98

fado
and drink
the sad wine.
but people
cant just
let go
and
that was something
we were
worse at.
we fixed our
hearts
but they
broke
just as
easy,
left in poems
and pictures
for our
children
to think
we lived happy
lives.
i

99

still drink
the sad
wine
and if i try
i dont
think of
her sometimes

100

You Just Cant win

when you
move
to manhattan
you meet
a lot
of people (mainly women)
who come
from means.
they hang out
in the marble
lobbies
of
boutique hotels
and drink
fancy
cocktails
and talk a lot
of shit.
i met
a girl
on the job

101

who worked
at a non-profit
where
basically
you asked your parents
not to give
you
any christmas gifts.
instead,
you
asked them to donate
the gift money to the
non-profit
for just the
one day, of that
one year.
our first date (our only date)
went fine.
she played
the ukulele
i played the guitar
we sang
taylor swift
songs

102

and looked
at the domino sugar factory
and when i said
lets go to the water front
she said,
my apartment
has a better view
later,
i sat
with
a cigarette
on her brooklyn
roof top
patio
overlooking
all of
downtown manhattan
and
i
thought about
how nice life was
to those
who could
forfeit their christmas money

103

and still
pay rent
on an apartment
with a
roof top patio
that
overlooked
all
of
downtown manhattan
eventually i had to leave
and i ate
for
the first time that
day
the one
piece
of
dollar pizza
i could scum
up enough
change
to buy
and

104

all around me
were
one
legged bums
and
mexican families
with 30 kids
and the short black man
with no teeth
who sang
the lollipop gang
song
for
some loot
and
i knew id never be her hero
and it
wasnt even winter,
every puddle
i stomped
through
broke apart,
but eventually
when

105

the ripples
came back together
it
was
still me
i
was
staring at.
she
may have been
the savior
of
the starved,
but the next morning
i
had
a text message
that said,
youre really
nice, but
i cant
date
a
bellman.

106

it just
wouldnt
look
right.
it was
another
night
i abandoned
my dog
for
a woman
that id never
get back

107

Give A Lozenge To The

Voice Of The Archangel
they called me at
work and
told me about
a rainy new jersey
morning,
about the bed
full of vomit
the dead kid
and a mailbox
full of cards
saying
happy 20th birthday
some people
wanted to know
why.
they asked god.
they asked the quiet
boys in the back
what they knew.
but

108

theres only
one
way a kid dies
when theres
no car
crash
we heard it
was a persian
connection
whose cousins
or father
ran the oxy ring.
they jumped in the car
so mad
and red eyed
their heads
would have to be
removed from
the body
to stop the
hate from swinging.
but the persian
connect
didnt fight back

109

he just cried
and the hate stopped.
something
so black
it exists
in the corners
of all eyes, we can all see
it, and when we recognize
it in others
it becomes impossible
to pretend your tribe
is not
my tribe.
so there
they were,
letting humanity get
in the way of revenge
again
we called him
little
(he shared his fathers name)
and before
the oxys
and the

110

new jersey highway

nights
he planted
a seed in the backyard,
a little maple.
i dont know
why I always remembered that.
when people grow up
you only know them for
all the times
theyve fucked you
or fucked her.
but when
you get them young
its
the times
theyve reminded you
theres still beauty left
in the world
that get you
the funeral
was
an old testament
betrayal.

111

three blonde angels

cried at the casket
and proved
what we all know but never
say,
there is no god.
they buried
him in a t-shirt
and jeans
because he
was a kid
and he was cool
and honoring him
in an honest way
kept everyone honest,
nobody could lie
and say
hed gone to a better place.
i cried
for the first time
as a man
and it felt like
one more tattoo
had been hammered
in to

112

the surface
of my heart.
back at my aunts
she held me for
too long,
she said
i lost my
little boy. he looked
up to you.
all i could say was
he was
a cool kid.
i looked at my aunt
who
had lost
her little boy.
his father,
a bulldog of a man
that life had finally beaten.
my three
blonde cousins
might have thought
about the day
he was born,

113

or the men they would

marry
that would never
share the
alter with their
brother.
and i thought
about all the friends
ive had that
died
or went to jail
and the reason was always
the same: Heroin.
and once
again
i hadnt seen the signs
that were now so obvious,
and i never reached out
though everyone needs it.
outside,
the seed little had planted
was now a tree,
but nobody mentioned it
i went home

114

and
my girlfriend
said throw them out. take
a break.
hasnt enough happened?
i told her i did.
but i didnt.
i ate them
all of them
and i drank,
i knew i might die
but
i probably wouldnt,
and at least i
would feel
better for
a while.
i shouldve told
little about what
the suburbs and boredom
could do.
but he was a smart kid,
we shared the same blood.
i shouldve told him
about the fear

115

and what

it
can do

116

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
mike morley, sarah miniaci, sean keenan, caitlin, kalias,
trebuchet-magazine, horror sleaze & trash, joey b,
stephanie georgopulos, garbanzo, shabby doll house, lucy k
shaw, negative suck, drunk monkeys, fjords review, bill berry,
aaduna, prairie wolf press, crack the spine, katy rozad,
commonline journal, neon highway