03/18/20 Tick Tock

Remember that day we shared

in the park,

debating manically

the merits of non-violent

revolution,

the voice

of Art Bell,

whether it

squeezed out of him now

like glue

from a tube that’s always hot

with conspiracy

and a taste for the world

from a secret bunker

in the Mojave desert,

and your lips were cracked

because you forgot what time it was

and I neglected to bring my

favorite jacket

the one

with the avocado stain

and cracked zipper

which I refuse to return

to its owner

because not all of us

look like stunt doubles

from Saved by the Bell

and you asked,

“What’s Saved by the…?”

“A classic,” I answered,

just another way foreigner boys learn English,

and an old woman

measured her steps

without thinking,

smiled at our

irrelevant conversation

like a blessing,

though we didn’t know it,

and proceeded into the water

like a mermaid

returning to the sea

having made her final

offering

to two idiots

03/18/20 RK

I’m so bored even the piano won’t talk to me.

It just sits there with a differential grin,

mocking my every attempt at conversation.

“Maybe I’ll burn you,” I say,

hoping at least to get some emotion out of it.

Nothing. Just a pile of wood with nice teeth.

“Fuck you piano. Them incisors are going yellow. I’m not taking you to the dentist.”

Nothing,

not even a wry note, off key.

It’s like we don’t know each other anymore,

like my mother had nothing to offer us

in those books she read loudly

as I sat in front of you

Learning to contemplate your navel.

“Fuck you, piano! How dare you not talk to me. Don’t you know I have employment? And… hahaha, I also have a key!”

Devious, this silence. Two can play this game. I’m gonna turn that lip down on your protest and forget it.

Uh……

Piano? Piano?!

Well shoot, now I miss even the affection of your silence

03/18/20 LB

You thought you knew what it meant

to live like this

below the light

when the weather changes;

you thought you knew

what it was like

to be hungry with gold.

You traded memories

for credit

and accepted an uneven return.

You took to living by the astrology of naked light

when the weather was with you.

Is it a gift, or the fog–

they just won’t tell us.

What is cash-money, but a neglected promise

and the name of a dog…?

03/18/20 CC

Sadness with salt,

lightly seared by what should be a simple maneuver

but for the change of the soul.

It wasn’t so long ago,

the timer was ringing,

the alarm on fire

and the four directions to rush.

But today - my world -

our only meal is each other.

Keep trying with new recipes,

keep an eye on your sous chef

keep stirring the pot

03/18/20 AF

I’m big, shit…

If it ain’t love,

what do I got to offer to the world?

There’s as much of that as the rest of me.

Come take a bite.

You don’t need permission

for me to feel for you,

because I’ve traveled drought to contemplation,

to another episode of a beating heart,

and returned to the desert,

a rucksack stuffed with drops.

Do not be concerned if they appear meaningless at first.

Each contains something of my past, my friends, and family.

If you’re afraid to proceed,

do not pause there –

I will drink with you.

I will drink with you.

I will drink with you,

my love

03/17/20 The Weather

Don’t rush to conclusions,

we haven’t finished this turn around the sun,

yet,

and around the corner there are always surprises

- you see?

Who’d thought you’d be here –

hoarding apple sauce,

alphabetizing your Russian novels,

telling the cat it’s gonna be ok

in your most beautiful English

- my boy?

If your political mind is at odds with your poetry,

choose the next line carefully,

like your pens are teeth,

mashing the open spaces

frenetically

as the world

disappears inwards,

the gears go on hiatus,

the expected takes a turn to the

valley

where Morrison screams

and sunlight splashes

like wind from a ghost.

On second thought

 - fuck it –

say what you mean,

be it from fear

or celebration

or the perplexity

of them sharing a theater.

There’s nothing you can do

to surprise me

when everything is the weather

03/16/20 "Yahoo"

It’s like,

jumping into an old banya,

all cedar and eucalyptus,

and your father’s last beer

on his breath

before a gnarly “yahoo!”

And then

the ten feet jaunt

to the creek

where a witch woman

has cut an entry in the ice shield.

It’s like that,

on the other side of a restaurant window

where no one wanders –

back and fourth

between two insolvable conditions.

Shock and awe.

Who waged this war?

some want to know.

Maybe it was them alien elves

who some shaman saw

on the ledge of a cliff

with all their “now or never…” “can you hear me…” “breath…”

DMT dreams

and other inexplicable technology.

Or maybe it was the Russians,

building an avatar out of you and me,

while we watched Jon Snow chew his lip –

I don’t know – I’ll call them.

But do you remember when the lungs of the earth

coughed fire

during your summer vacation,

how the flames buzz-sawed lesions

in the earth?

…Maybe it was us.

Heaven – hell,

Good – bad,

Right – wrong,

The off-white of the political spectrum arguing about grammar,

God and the Devil, and all of their conscripts –

I am tired! of this eternal war

between the attendants of a bad compromise.

I don’t want to sharpen my voice, into a blade,

I don’t want to burn for cash,

I don’t want to keep fearing you,

or the future,

or the future you,

which my stolen dream tells me is far more dangerous,

when it’s returned to me

with a thousand cuts,

which I don’t ask you about

because we’re supposed to be afraid to talk.

It is time to renegotiate the contract.

No one’s at the wheel.

Real work

to be done.

Send me your thoughts

my friend

on how we live free

03/15/20 Numbers

If I had to do it all over again,

I would learn to count differently.

No, I don’t mean the numbers –

Those seem to change little

no matter how much I bend them.

I mean… differently.

I’d count with my eyes closed

my mouth saying grateful things,

tongue rolling back and forth

like hiding a Jolly Rancher.

I’d count the minutes alone

as though we were waiting to be together.

I’d count the last time I loved someone

as though time was running short.

I’d count not the days I made it on time

but the times I was late

because I was with you.

I’d count every single creek I neglected to jump in

in my rush to get

there.

I’d count my mom and my dad together

whether they ever were

or not.

I’d count the tangerines in the bag

backwards

from too many

to gone

and then I’d count the rinds

scattered on the grass

as though I was learning to paint.

I’d count the days between my cat’s kills with sadness

and with longing.

I’d count coffee cups

by the dozen,

not because I need to keep going

but because I had gotten lazy

each morning

loosing count

with a friend.

I’d count every phone number abandoned

and pick it back up.

I’d count the years between our meeting

and then turn them into you.

I’d count unreasonably,

recklessly,

Without dividend,

like poetry –

like the weather –

I’d count on you

and you would count on me