some notes from 90         

 

 there comes time when the heroes die,
when those who stood for you will leave you
to fend for yourself, so prepare to take this long walk alone,
find the words to defend your visions,
your own faith is your only sheild,
and once the heroes put away their helmets,
its not who knew you or who you knew
but how well you carried your own spirit without weapons.

 

you crawl closer to my heart, we walk along, nothing to say,
you have abandoned our hopes, we talk of smaller things,
its too loose, too cold, the only link we have are tensions,
im constantly scanning for another subject to cover,
i try to ease away as we smother our flames,
smoking soundlessly, wishes erased, future together bleached
you are as meaningful to me as the turn of a page of a magazine
in a doctors office, a watered down poison is all you offer
in the last meeting of a broken couple.

 

waking at 3pm, snow blowing thru the window, sheets on the floor,
a peeling blue room with redstained eyes, tears upon awakening,
a babbling piano, planets out of shape fall from the ceiling,
cheeks on palms, elbows on knees, surrendered equipment,
without heaven the clothes go back on, i plead to the blind
to release me from this pattern.

 

remember the time you called out for me, i pretended i didnt hear,
i was too scared to come,
i wouldnt know what to save your tears in,
who am i, i harbour the same fears, remember
when you held up your arms, i just ran away,
i wasnt headed anywhere, just a distance from you
to stand aside and watch you cry. remember the time
your tears fell on my face, i felt the warmth,
i saved the moment, punished myself for being so selfish,
and never returned the favors you gave me the time for.

 

deflating the balloon, cant rise off the ground, splintered glass,
off the shoulder, onto the mantleplace, whistled song about burying
small birds under large rocks. girl squeezing a ragged rabbit,
which kicks its cotton feet, shrinking self worth,
caving in upon oneself as a heaving pile of ribcage,
an unfocused hate, misdirected anger, lost love in translation,
all worst pains are the words never heard from one you love.

 

can you live without love,
cut the last connections of living,
the womb which beared you now tears at you,
the hand which fed you now swats at you,
pins you down in checkmate,
around the neck until all colors grow grey.
no love left in this house, no visions
except the television, the childhood
of leather belt and drunk struggles,
theres many other lives to be led,
but only one set of parents,
and when those backs turn
all else is fear.
offer a smile to the rest of the world,
hide the parts of the soul
which have grown deaf and blind,
can you live without the roots
and still bear sweet fruits.

 

i found a pen under my bed, i had to dust it off
its working, a papermate, medium point, blue,
a small stick of salvation that allows me
to write out random thoughts, ive spent the whole night
searching every spot in this room, i didnt find much,
a flashlight under the mattress, it was broken
but i taped it together, and with it i climbed up
on the dressers and checked above the ceiling tiles,
nothing there, a bunch of dead flies.
all drawers were empty, under the sink was some foot powder,
i read the directions five times, a cybernetics bumper sticker
unused down there, a broken soap dish,
an october 88 issue of modern bride, i know now
that the average wedding today costs 8 to 12 thousand dollars,
i know what gown shops are in my hometown,
i know the differences in foods in a christain versus jewish wedding,
and that the poconos is the most popular honeymoon resort,
and they feature heart-shaped tubs for two. i tried to peer
as far out of my guillotine window as possible to see
my first snow in the distant mountaintops, but the window
comes down with a vengance, and i fear losing fingers
or shattering the glass, i can smell the snowstorm outside,
its different than the smell of a florida thunderstorm,
but the exhaust vent from the chowhall
overtakes the subtle smell.
3 stories up on a tuesday night, and all i have accomplished
is the smallest ways to pass the time, i found this pen,
a blue fuse to keep this dead man talking.

 

the sound of an engine is always in the distance, warming up
on the runway, i bet half these guys
could tell you just what the engine is by the sound,
just like a mountain man can sense the difference
between deer and bear piss. a tire squeals, it echoes to silence,
and the engines return, the instructor today
said as we stood next to an f16 taking off-
'now some people consider that a loud noise,
but thats the sound of freedom',
and all the students gleem and scribble away in notebooks,
their pride heightening by getting to work
on the voice of freedom,
their thoughts deeply embedded in the gears as gears,
i feel as if im missing something,
because its all like a bad movie around me
everyone moves as a herd, and god forbid
that anything i should question is like im punching
lady liberty in the gut.

 

i must take my bracelet off,
it hasnt been off in years, but safety regulations
require all jewelry off in the hangar, you might
get it caught in an engine, i run it through my hands
like prayer beads, repeating that this is all i know,
its shared so much with me, each link brings a memory,
but now removed from me im empty as electrotherapy,
i feel so much less, existence becomes hazy,
people drop back in the fog,
self-preservation runs out of fuel,
and with removing my last item of identity
my ticking is harder to hear.

 

i scanned thru the lines, i tried to feel the words,
do they penetrate like gunshots
or do they just blow hot air in no direction, back in 86
i wrote whatever filled the lines of my notebook,
tried to find rhymes, and in 87 a few more new words
to say the same old things, short quips
of lost loves and misunderstood pains,
and the last year of 88 i think i got closer
as if became easier to fly down the page with hints
of what might be my truer self.
still nothing id ever read twice.
the end of 89 is here now, and i think im getting closer
to my hearts fences, the more i write the less i speak,
and my hopes for 90 is that i dont need notebooks anymore
because ill be able to speak as i think and not have to write.

 

they brought me to the clouds today,
not the first time, actually the fourth,
they ask if im happy this way, i turn my head
and vomit,
i dont plan ahead one day,
until i sign those final papers.
they drove me to the curb today
'so this is what you really want?'
and i just nod yes yes yes,
but they still put me back in the box
and drive away, so here i am today
again praying for tomorrow,
my description to them grows daily
with so much paperwork and files to write me down,
in black and red my real worth unveils itself.

 

you said happiness came in a capsule,
that i would love what you held,
so i paid the ten bucks,
took a glass of warm water, and swallowed
on an empty stomach.
you grinned and ten minutes later, asked me
'how do you feel', i said i didnt feel a thing,
you said i just needed to get out and walk,
so we paced around town what felt like a thousand numb miles,
and you kept saying 'how do you feel' and i felt
nothing.
you said oh you will you will, and you took my hand,
and we went for a burger and tea,
and after you said 'wasnt that the best'
and i asked what was?
you took me then to the beach and kissed me real hard,
you tried to put your hand
on something deep pocketed in me, you stopped
and asked me 'now isnt this the time',
but i just said im sorry, i really dont feel a thing,
and you got digusted, and left me in the park,
the only thing gained was the loss of ten dollars,
i never talked with you again,
i only saw you in classes after that.

 

i came back for a day, lived moment to moment,
let colors breathe and explode, i found a discovery,
a love of life, i looked into the snowy grey skies
and smiled, with a heavy wallet on a sour sunday
i went off shopping and spent it well,
i bought clothes id wanted and even shoes,
400 dollars left my grasp, so many pennies
for so many minutes, but ill be gone again tomorrow,
ill forget the muscles to smile,
so much of me will go asleep again,
for id rather be free, back in the world, naked and poor,
then in this imposed constraint all dressed up and shiny.

 

you and me in this hanger, surrounded by the fuel of your dreams,
the bullets the bombs the jets the wings, your own war supplies,
enough to diffuse the worlds skies,
i have a job now to help keep your destruction
supplies in working order, the fuses the nuclear the chaff the target,
my hands of faith now shake with shared disease.
when i look in your eyes i see clouds,
i look in your mouth and see blood,
i look around the room and see everything
marked confidential and secret,
the direction we are headed, using force for freedom,
to impose upon others, and youll be the first to say our democracy
is the only way, it leaves me at night praying for more awareness,
praying for the future kids, praying
that we all stop using weapons as toys.
from childhood to adulthood they never knew the difference,
whether it was constructed of plastic or blood. i dont believe
destruction constructs freedom, but im seeing its something
you're willing to try, you know nothing of history and humanity,
you hide behind the excuse of top secret to achieve your aims,
your business, your games, your politics, your schematics,
i shun them all now, i will pretend to be this false type of patriot,
for the idea of harming others to achieve your goals
is not one that appeals to me, i cant surrender my conscience,
i will never wake up with those dreams,
i will never look at war as a first option.

 

ive listened to this tape so much
that i can hear both sides simultaneously,
ive slept so much in this bed
that i am always awake in my dreams, ive stared
out this window so long
that i see my own reflection from outside now, ive kept
the lights out since the beginning
that i dont even know where the switches are now,
ive undressed so much each day
that i sometimes try to peel back my own skin,
ive spent so many hours thinking just of you,
that i speak with your ghost and dance with your spirit,
whether i am here or not means so little, when repetition
means an action with or without me.

 

so much i have said, but how much of my words paint a picture of me,
words i speak without translation, the lines i write without contemplation,
my pen falling down the miles of scrolling hand movements, weak spots
return so quickly by habit, five minutes of meditation then its back
to dear old me, when i one day find peace, will it make anyone smile?
filling spare time, filling this somebody, a small part scooped out,
each year another bowl and notebook filled, writing is half the battle
when theres this conflict of tendencies and wishes tugging time in my head.

 

office, plaques, wood and brass 'best of' 'class of' 'award of'
framed shiny shapes of 'my children' 'my holiday' 'my god'
silk plants on the sill, unwatered and dusty, broken number 2 pencils
tossed to one corner, a coffeemug full of skilcraft black pens
a secretarys christmas gift, plastic chairs which inhale when you get up
the radio tuned to some distant watery fm lightrock station,
proclaiming the morning chance to win tickets.
telephone lines winking holdHOLDholdHOLD
'that paper has got to be here somewhere' you mutter,
shshshshsh of shuffling, the telephone books from last year
the official, and myself.

 

world relates in circles, people flow in waves,
we follow basic circuits, tend to precharted patterns,
a certain amount of predictability, the cycles
they swear off, they dont want to be chartable.
some people cannot recognize the spirit
of the inner perpetual, they fight and struggle
to live as original individuals, they swear off
any definition or bracket, they lose count
of all measurements that must be realized
to know we are all in one and one in all.
keeping them victims of the tides.

 

this struggle is not meant to be won,
there is noone to please nor take over,
it takes only one man to be deemed a loser,
so on an old limb i carve a new title,
i swear off keeping score on anything,
i define the apparitions that dance
on the outskirts of life,
this fishbowl of consciouseness, as i age,
all goes down with me,
the only curiousity is the struggle.
today was spent selling tomorrow, this reality
was not meant to be won, only managed,
so have a faith which still keeps your feet
firmly set on the ground, until they
are buried under.

 

you manage the strength to call
when youre in need of assistance,
but after the assurance, the very next day,
to fail to return my call,somehow
you manage to reach me for advice,
which i give in earnest, then again you disappear.
you got your goods, you know ill always deliver,
because i have this weakness, of giving too much
for too long, and its the only time we ever get along.

 

i separate the inner me from the outer world,
so not to look so distraught, i play inside with music,
i keep a barrier from pains, the outer shell
absorbs all shocks, so the inner
need never be fearful. the confusions,
the conclusions, all the logic,
all motions to keep me moving around,
the outer gears mesh with inner,
the devotion, the emotions,
all can carry on without doubt,
continue with the broadsmiling amazements.
how much one person can travel
without even putting his feet forward,
yes always lost, but being forever found.

 

watching a man lean against a tree,
hes got the support but no shelter,
hes got the legs, but no forward movement,
a hundred years come and go.
i see two men on brick steps,
a bottle swinging around their necks,
its going to choke them we know,
and hundred years pass, its matters none.
a man across the street from me,
hes got a friend i cant see, he laughs
with the leaves, another hundred years
and noone to judge either of us.
so many people buying time,
so many killing away whats left,
time doesnt leave much for us
when its our turn to go on stage,
all these years of which
we never see the total sum till the end,
we pass during the equation, all too busy,
all gone deaf, all caught up in fear
which gets choked up in vices and habit.

 

at 19 what boys should be, in college, in an apartment,
sharing these years with friends, with experiences,
maybe a parttime job, maybe a girlfriend,
looking forward to christmas with family,
with stresses of homework, what theyll be doing this weekend,
what career choice and lovers they want to pursue.
i wish i felt 19, as i am holed away
in this claustrophobic room for two
which is polished and spotless for an hour each day,
with a 24 hour job which is always on my shoulders,
then marching to 9 hour classes sitting attentive,
i havent had a real conversation with a female for 10 months,
and this christmas ill be assigned to sweeping snow
off the front walk with a cast on my leg, wondering,
if anyone even thinks of me anymore.
i worry i sweat i dont sleep i take too many meds,
ripped tendons, crackling bones, and a weekend
pouring over books for monday tests,
ive no plans for tonight, tomorrow, this weekend,
next week, this month, and im to spend 4 years this way?
what is to drive me on if not myself,
i cant accept this as an acceptable life for me,
termites nightly remove random memories and hazy hopes,
all my dreams driven out like doves
and i know none of them will be coming back with a message.

01.20.90
tabor center, its the third floor of denvers largest mall. in the far corner where all the fastfood is, friers and registers in little hutches and roundabouts. the falafel hut has a radiant redhaired lady promoting the new pitaburgers, her voice is the highest pitch so it stands out over the white noise of lunchgoers. another lady has long black hair without any form or design, it streams like a lost waterfall down her faux bulky cranberry mink coat, she looks like a mongolian beet warrior from the rear, she walks like shes strutting her shit. it snowed 10 inches last night, its already been melting for hours and converted into freezing mudslush, every time a bus passes outside it sprays upon the pedestrians and they are always too late to guard themselves, the arms fly up so i cant make out their expressions. to my side are up/down escalators, the consumer heads rising up like moons, then i try to guess what theyre wearing before i get to their collarline. ive been fortunate to not see anyone i know in the military in here, as they usually show up in some peaceful part of the city and break my forgetfulness of the airforce. ill be gawking around wideyed and deep in thought, then BANG, two goofy loud servicemen come babbling along obnoxiously, in tight overpressed levis and izod collared shirts, newly polished cowboy boots, and the $80 air force nylon jacket which is unbuttoned, with god knows how many patches covering the sleeves.
   people in love walk by, arm in arm, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, a constant underlying buzz of chatter, secrets, and bliss, i dont even know if they actually hear each other as much as they enjoy the tone and precense of one another, an aura which moves back and forth as a volley which perpetuates itself like pingpong, 'can we go in here mom' a childs voice closes in from behind, the mother comes into view with the weight of the world in her widehip jeans, steam coming out from the overstressed joints in her stuffed mechanisms. a flock of girls come by, they all have matching caked-on blush, baked on and cracking like hot spit on a cold summer sidewalk, as if to hide away some arterial diseases of the cheeks, they all unhinge clacking incessantly like squirrels chatter. behind them 3 guys in all black, i myself tend to wear all black when outside of the base, it saves me the decision process of matching and contrasting colors, theres already too much im overwhelmed with so all black takes away a small bite of the stress pie. theres two gay couples coming by, one in a business suit and the other in shirt and jeans, they rib and jab each other elbow to elbow with cherubim faces all glassy wide eyed. a woman in sunglasses passes, now why wear them indoors i wonder, to hide bags under the eyes from a hangover, to hide the fact theyre on acid, or just because its just so cool to do, or to let their eyes wander without anyone knowing. a guy walked past with a girl in each arm, now how does he manage that, i cant even find one to hold my finger. a couple from the military walks past, a dating couple, they glance a couple quick shots over here to me, first i smile to acknowledge, then i move to nodding, and they dont respond. asses by design they are.   all these people who pass me, this time, this place, they are the everything in my moment, yet so insignificant in my total tapestry, i wish i even could make a funny face if just to give them something to remember in their day. i bought 3 cds today in the mall, and i bought 'electric koolaid acid test' and 'one flew over the cuckoos nest'. an oriental cowboy walks by, what a concept. i wonder how many decades before asia has more control of the us then we of ourselves, they just have to keep investing and watch us dissolve from the inside out. two guys in matching black leather jackets pass looking dead serious like exiled cowboy stars after their last concert at an auction. outside the window i can see the public transit buses in a row as people slosh on and off, and a homeless man at the back bus plays a 4 string guitar, he reaches in his shirt and what i thought was chapstick is actually a black magic marker which he applies to his upper lip reapplying his faded mustache. it makes me cry without eyes, some poof girls pass, their hair overly grown and blown up and out like sunflowers so their pale faces are just circles in the center of this frayed out hair. outside another homeless man in too-little denim for winter is searching the garbage cans for cigarettes and leftover snacks, he finds a mcdonalds cup and holds it upside down over his mouth, then drops it back in the garbage after a few drops had fallen in, then he stumbles out of view as the sun is low enough now to be directly in my face, it slants across my written pages as to make my ink look like deep engravings. a bunch of housewives slowly mull by, their jello mold jeans without shape and shopping bags aplenty.

   a 'who' member passes, a beard and red cold-burned nose, lost eyes and not seeming to know hes wearing a long trenchcoat made entirely of fur. this city closes early on saturday, at 5pm, and the bars close at 1am. at the bus stop this morning there was this random heap of clothes on the bench, with a cocked head on top of it all, it didnt seem possible for a human to be so contorted under all that, she was in her 60s with silver frazzled hair where there was so little hair left, deep wrinkles in the sunburned face and a crooked red swollen nose. i had almost the feeling to cry but repressed it so i could convert it to a deeper depression later. oh but who am i sad for anyways, me or her or somewhere lost in between. the bulge of pity distilled to guilt. the sun now defines the mountaintop peaks and in one minute will be gone behind them, the lights automatically come on outside, and my feet are hurting, so i will now return.

 

untold rules of the bus i have discovered-
...find out where the smoking section isnt.
...if anyone smells like a flooded vineyard, you will get purple phlegm on your arm should he finally fall asleep.
...if you sit next to a storyteller, not only will he loudly explain the last 15 years of his life, but those around you both

will watch how you interact with this.
...the guy with a thin crown of hair is on his way to billings montana for his dead sisters funeral, so is 1/5th of the rear

of the bus.
...when you have an empty seat next to you, at every stop make a most unwelcome contorted face so your empty spot becomes the

last resort for the newcomers.
...dont choose a seat behind a broken one, for a big ole tennessee boy will end up resting back onto your lapt.
...if you sit above the engine, wear underwear so your balls dont rattle for hours.
...dont try to play the game of guess the stain, youre mind will wander too far.
...dont talk to older men about the military, theyll outdo you will a bullet wound under their corduroy.
...dont use the bathroom to pee, too dirty, use a blanket and soda bottle, then slide it under a sleeping guy.
...when the bus makes a midnight fuel stop and everyones sleeping, dont buy cornnuts, buy the quiet of cotton candy.
...how did a used condom wrapper get in the bathroom. dont think about it.
...dont freak out in the bathroom, noone can hear you struggle to find the latch for 3 minutes, so take your time finding your

way out.
..sleep past kansas, nothing will be lost.
...let a sleeping bum lie.

wrapped in black in an empty room, responding to echoes,
making a fist just to keep the pen in hand, mentally
jumping in the backseat just to doze off, searching out
designs in the sky, connecting the dots to sanity.
a shrunken faith now, that the anger surrounding me will fade,
i but a silent witness to the demonstrations of drama,
wrapped myself around myself, to stay warm and stable,
taking in the food, the sleep, the work, praying for
the dreams, the nutrition, the salvation. a debris called life
down a silent tunnel, eaten away by parasites who
always take more than they need, always promise
more than they give. they lie, and get away with it,
i speak truth, and accept the punishments. all to return
to this room and write my nights away, for the days
arent lit by the sun. but something from nothing
must shine.

 

hate is curious, for i cannot understand its reasoning,
it never gives growth, it only breaks down, it consumes
without ever giving, the mind narrows, the skin flushes,
its only value is lost time, a deflated spirit, inflated ego,
an irritating blister which cant be scratched. why is time
not taken with pursuits which creates happiness,
why not be taken with the challenge of accepting
that which you detest with an equal patience
and dedication like of that which you pursue. hate
is only a signal, not a entity, it is a frequency
you made the choice to tune in to, and it digs itself
so deep in the ear that the roots dig down the throat
and becomes all that one consumes, the feeling of fullness
one gets when a persons own greatest threat is themselves.

 

19 years to find my own clothes, an identity safe to share,
the goodness that i dont ride the tide of easy white lies,
my accountability of being me, proud of my embarrassment,
not fearful of my shame, the nakedness i encounter causes no blush,
for all i am, i am alone, and all i ask, i share.

 

i slap a hairy mosquito on my neck
throwing my headache into the next gear,
i hold my breath and lungs crackle
i go under the waters brow again,
my eyes closed
mud clothing my feet. i swim
through a stewy pond,
last i saw you
amongst the cattails, counting lilypads
no more air, i surface, and four feet away
there you float, smiling on your back,
asking where ive been, i say nothing,
push the dark waters aside, find a way to embrace you,
your hair in my eyes,
a bird familiar back in tree, trying to find
a scent of you i havent tasted before
i wrap around you, the warmth of breasts,
muddy hands on your hips, i kiss your clean ear
before my mosquitos come biting again.

 

am i -ing or -ed
will i -xp or -od
are there any open slots between -st and -st
and which ending is on his way to claim me.

 

close up shop, we're going home,
looking back how far we've come,
from sharing the greenery of eden,
to spiking each other on hardwood floor,
close your scowl, you need not speak,
this violence thing; its a past reaction,
the seeming eternal scene of hurt and hurt again,
it is now over.
i speak, you react, i react, you spit,
i spit, you hit, i push, and you've won.
so i leave you, let you kiss
the bones of another, let you burn the letters,
set aflame those vivid memories which
now burns the second and closing time,
now charred, the blaze,
the unanswered phonecall
during my contented solitary moments,
so burn as you lift yourself up as an ember,
so wash until the bruises come off,
without my hands, without my lips,
may your infertile soil find a seed
which can grow in your rocky soul.

 

im an outlet to your fears,slapping me to the shower,
you pull my whiskers one by one, to kick me
till i cower in the corner, you push my face
into the sink, scrub me plate clean,
toss my heart with salad forks, rattle
my holes and see what colors in me
come to bubble and bleed.
i want to lose my 9 lives with you,
i live to die in your pain,
i enjoy your discouraging words
as you shovel soiled words upon my grave.

 

the walls, earth-shattering silence, ring
i succomb to power, or lack thereof,
if i listen to the meditations, i can feel
the passage of time move without me,
the carpet below me, worn grey through tears,
soaked with living fatigue, a moist misery,
eyes tuned into humanity and ears tuned
to the insanity, of keeping attune
to both in and out and balancing it all on one edge.

 

fire in the headdress, running thru the crowd,
madness ensues, she clings to me burning,
grabbing loudly, insisting for forgiveness,
hands wet, she pushes me back upon the bed,
the flint of love awaits to be rubbed,
a blue spark of hope, fire placed down
on the chisel awaiting the rain of friction.

 

its getting better, breaking through,
you cant see the sun because it shines through you,
its feeling better, shedding years, wet are the words
which dry your tears, a love which never leaves
for the joy never left, when you give what you recieve
you need never make a bet, the transparencies of love
which shine from inside, it gets better every day
once youve no more beliefs to hide.

 

once a year i go in the streets to lose a little faith,
its costly, but mostly, i find what i was hoping to lose,
i leave my hole to show my face amongst the crowds,
like redwoods they rise and surround the bars,
the alcohol and the wandering eyes,
i only see a petrified forest
when im only hoping to find one green leaf.
the chance to control the future lies in accepting my past,
solid choices in maintaining happiness means a solid grip on reality,
if i cant accept people, i shouldnt complain, just leave,
if i cant find love within them, if i cant freely express myself,
its their ignorance and not my neglect,
ive reached out too many times, ive swung from old ropes,
theyve burned my hands as i slid, so its time to cut them away
my sense of accomplishments are limited by my doubts in faith,
life always swings from love to love, limb to limb,
and so many hopes one must gain, then cast off,
just to feel complete, and find the one which grips.

 

tripped up by deceits again, velvet sleeves and slippers,
an open bag, catch the prize, she silently giggles for
the silly boy, not worth his own weight in smiles,
a queens clown, strung up with nerves, emotional
marionette, stifle the mouth, stifle the pride, forget
how a proper boy cries, forget the results of humiliation
when feeding her needs, her greeds with constant attention,
it hurts to laugh at the same bruises, smile at old scars,
stumble upon a midnight doorstep, in her kingdom all is fair,
love is war within oneself, the passions can blind faith.