NIGHT window….

night window stories

the smoke curls out
the lamp across the street lights up
in a soft orange pop
above the lamb
the window speaks folk walk rock: a tick tock parade
barkingpeeinglaughinglovingfightingfleeing
lining up for Mr. Softee
a drunken sad man is ranting-mad face to the sky
fat arms flinging wide
hugging tonight’s storm
“I am Arthur Montegno Matoya!
I am the Real Deal!
I want to kill somebody!
I am the Real Deal!
I am Somebody!”
loop after loop like the night
he is soaking in rain alone on the corner
half-lit
then shambling away
a small mental pebble of prayer thrown after him
I understand something suddenly
You are all Somebody and Nobody out my window
And at night we are all the Real Deal

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Juliet and Me

loneliness walk home from work

to feel its fine blade
deep strong delicate blue wonder
I am fair game for loneliness
even as a child
I try to kill this thing on a regular basis
with sex
with love
with wine
with chocolate brown sweet-tipped cigarettes
with phone calls that last too long
and say the same things in different colors
with prayer
with tepid showers
with cheese on grainy brittle crackers
with my mind
and with my anger
today I was walking
in the afternoon
and I had no wine it was the afternoon so I felt it
I had no red wine so I felt it
slip inside
my ribs
it wasn’t so bad in some weird way
it was a kind of universal pain
it must have been
because I couldn’t reason why it even existed
I have a million friends!
I have a lover!
My mother is alive
My cat loves me so much it’s embarrassing
I even have gods!
so why I felt the hole so keenly it
brought my eyes to watering
I do not know
I just kept on going on
my walk home.

in some way this loneliness is precious
in some weird way I could be told something
oh yeah

“Romeo and Juliet” are outside of McDonalds.
Juliet and her scrunched up leggy stems
in baggy jeans marbled with grime
folded into her shopping cart
her flower ruin of face
covered and draped
in a filthy red sweater
she’s drunk and asleep and dreaming
of what?
a bruised bum’s drunken dreams
her blue-mottled forearm sticks out of the shopping cart
akimbo
and all I want to do is stroke it
because I instantly realize we are the same.
Lonely women
feeling it in the ribs
Lonely women
finding love where we can
we aren’t different at all but in circumstance!
I have a lover
he is a frayed-haired creator
of splendid things
magic things
things that rearrange my cells
I find it in him
I find it in wine
You Juliet
you find it too!
you have a lover
in a big black dude wearing a ratty white t-shirt
that pushes you around in circles in your cart
He is the man!
He is gonna drive!
that punches you in your eyes
horrible blue blooms I see every week
and you find it in wine
we aren’t so different
me and you.
feeling it in the ribs

August, 2013

Us again

this life is hard.
this life is a thing that gives you a bunch of super-flowers and shit
this life is something that is forever and yet short
this life means you have to have love
the one that looks at your broken-down rose
your idiocy
your bad behavior and your spite
there is someone there on the velvet sides of the stage
that can open an arm to you
a raggy wing
that can open an imperfect love
to you
it’s the only grace.
grace is always imperfect
the homeless man on the street with
the split pants is loved
his beer is big
his requirements are small
he is loved by someone
even if it’s only me in that second
is that all there is?
is that the cure?
The homeless man in his shredded pants and nodding questions
him sleeping on a couch left on the curb
that cast-off is being used sublimely
his small requirements
only some anonymous love
he may even not know about
but maybe he does
this is the god to consider.

tk 2013

BLOOM

fists of furious roses
broken city
posies raging
broken city
moonflower strangle tangle
broken city
can’t live here no more
broken city
no money no love
broken city
snuffed out dandelions
broken city
ruined roots of dreams
broken kingdom
back to flowers
step aside for the violets
broken city
reverence tip hat soul sunflower survivor
broken city
alcoholic wives step aside
become flowers themselves
broken heart city
blooming blots of rage and gutsy grace
broken flower beauty heart of city
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for my lover with insomnia

when the night tips the blood of the sky into your face
when the night causes longings to bloom as a dreadful rose
when the night is the saddest song you’ve ever heard
and when the night comes and alights like a bleak bird on your bed
when the night crosses your feet in a creep like an old lover full of envy
and asks you “why did you do this to me?”
and the orange morning is a long-ago memory dying in your mind
and tomorrow’s terror too
when the night removes your frailty and holds it tenderly in front of you
like a mother that took it from your cradle and kept it all this time
i am with you

know this is my song to you
and your blackness
this is for you and the gods that keep us in glory
this is for the monster that lives under your bed
and prevents the arms of sleep from closing around you
this is the hand that strokes your broken head
this is something that comes from love

2013

spring cleaning

i cleaned the apartment
yes i did
scrubbed you right off the walls
sweat spit outbursts of laughter
have all been wiped vigorously away
kisses in my bedroom where
we weren’t supposed to be
they came off easy with a little
Fantastik thank god
for harsh chemicals
nothing gets an overwith love out
of a girls house better
than toxins
all the dinners you made me
scouted out and scoured
from the sink
rinsed your hands
and eyes and tits
your music
down the kitchen drain
and the plumber was just here so
i know it wont clog and then come back up
so HA!
sorry buddy
oh yes
spring cleaning was never
so sorry

some 2nd avenue villanelles

its the bunch of white daisies
smacked across the face
of the one who let you down

its the punchy feeling when
you havent slept in 2 nights
and they expect you to be brave

its the night full of howl
and mouth full of spite
and fur
on the stomach of the only warmth
you feel good about these days

its this night
and its choir of street atonements
and shuffling shoes
groans of stoops
that havent felt ass in a while
because winter grabbed us

i have so much love oh yes i do who gets it who gets it who gets it who?