Army Life

I dig the jackets and the rifles
but there’s a problem with being in the army

there’s always some hill to take

some strategic objective

and if you survive that

there’s another hill   

another strategic objective

and another damn one after that

and another and another and another 

there’s always one more

strategic objectives out the bazookas

if it’s not a hill, it’s a bridge 

and there’s always one more commander

who deems it necessary to take 

while he dines on good meal with cognac 

safe; well behind the lines

out of the line of fire

out of enemy range

while the soldier hunkers down in the foxhole 

hungry dirty scared scarred battle weary

just following orders

from one more lieutenant or sergeant

who may be the type to put the objective 

ahead of his men’s lives

in his tunnel vision quest to achieve glory 

‘ a job well done ‘

a salute from the top brass

another medal pinned on his chest and a promotion at your expense 

Kafkaesque

her entire manner was kafkaesque
a final exam that had no answers

couldn’t figure it out, would have got an F

she was the theory of relativity 

she graded on a curve

of oceanic sway and swerve 

like a navajo code talker she was

couldn’t break her code

enigmatic, pneumatic…yes

pragmatic she wasn’t

she had an interesting schematic

you never knew quite what she was thinking

radio station with an unknown frequency

snapping, crackling, popping

fading in and out, bleeding into others

a tv with the vertical hold flipping up and down

an occasional horizontal hold

spinning like the out of control world

but she wouldn’t let you hold for long

she had places to go leaving questions in her wake

perplexing and puzzling, senseless

she had a way of disorientating you

throwing you for a loop

wrapping you up in complexity

befuddlement, discombobulation

leaving you flummoxed, gobsmacked

that’s the way she liked it

she likes to be misunderstood

frustrating yet so fascinating

you wanted to be around her anyway

$2500/month

hamster round and round the lake
no see any interracial couples

like you see all the time in commercials

just black folk with black folk

white folk with white folk

except for dogs, they don’t seem to have a hangup about colors

not living in the real world Debbie

no wannabe Traffic jazz band tonight on lakeside stage

only traffic from interstate roaring by in its own melody

laying down bebop jazz tune, bud powell maybe

diesel trucks on freestyle bass

no oldies band, no oldies listening to the music

reliving days gone by, wishing for youth once more

shotgun cloud shots dotting the sky saying goodbye

dancing away to distant lands

humidity/ ten pound trench coat over your shoulders

look up and see

$2500 a month balconies

bicycles, grills, botanical gardens

I beg your pardon

standing room only 

chairs, tables and other debris clutter 

protecting them like wooden logs on a western outpost

somewhere in between the rockies and the prairie 1870’s Wyoming

some with christmas lights still on them six months 

look in some of the lower level ones to see what I’m missing

they look like apartments---albeit nicer than mine

pictures on the walls, scandinavian furniture they didn’t put together themselves

fancy dining room sets, big screen tvs

all the things I don’t have

as I get older, all the things I’ll most likely never have

why can’t I find someone like baroness de koenigswarter to take care of me

Movieplex

sunday… movieplex nearly empty
waiting for the direction to say ACTION!

but somebody keeps yelling cut!

what’ll it be -- animated or r rated real reel really unreal

or superman vs. batman vs. spiderman vs. wonder woman

vs captain america vs whoever or whatever else they can think of

or can’t think of/// no originality 

…or one man saves the world///there’s no saving this world jack

where’s zhivago, third man, kwai, grand hotel anyone?

omar, barrymore, garbo, monroe, welles, guinness

lancaster, wayne, gable

when stars were stars, when movies were movies

nobody’s made a great movie since 1965

well,..maybe one or two

almost all of them are rated ‘C’ for crap

18 screens///could have been one for each person there 

two other people total in 6:25 showing I was in

I think they were looking for a bar and stumbled in by mistake

they sent the extras home

pick a seat - any seat

almost no one in garish neon splashed lobby

wearing too much makeup and perfume, red stilettos

that cries out for company and an arm to lean on

large buttery popcorn been sitting too long

good and plenties, milk duds, snickers

everybody in the film says fuck repeatedly

as if that increases their street cred, their hipness

their degree of coolness

the closing credits can’t come soon enough 

walk out to a practically empty car park cold night

Checkout Charlie

grocery store checkout late night
almost closing time - employees wanna go home

standing in line buying orange and blue cupcakes 

for my late night snack/fourth meal

loopy older guy ahead in swim trunks 

blue ragged tank top with US flag on it 

finest pair of china plastic sandals

shiny/// just off the boat

pushing 60 - an alcohol bee buzzing

salt and pepper hair, 8 o’clock shadow

buying some cheap wine and beef jerky

trying to chat up 20ish girl standing, waiting behind him

with long yummy tanned legs

displayed via torn blue jean short shorts 

long dirty blonde hair

girl smiles awkwardly as too friendly man

embarrasses himself and her

with his unwelcome attention 

innocuous babbling banter

-making it even worse-

cashier has trouble scanning items

prolonging the agony

Pure

9 to 5, 3 to 11, graveyard shift
lunch with the moon and stars

and a few red skeletons 

dead to the world and themselves 

it’s all the same to me

lining up to punch a clock?

where’s any freedom in that rote by note?

I’d rather punch myself in the head

spend the day watching thunderstorms gloom & boom

from the sacred chamber of my room

or be beachside buzzed and listening 

waves crashing, tides coming and going 

or listening to forest- whistle crack howl

may not have much to my name

but I don’t have made-up deadlines to meet

fake camaraderie of the office jungle

working with the stab-in-the-backers

no mortgage to worry about either

just a ‘cozy’ next to a car lot

no car payments, no insurance

I find the odd job here and there

I get enough food to fill my stomach

with a little drink or two on the side

walking past the pines and the oaks

life can be simple

that’s freedom in my dictionary 

I walked away from the one world gone crazy entered another below the s.o.p.

I’ve been above and didn’t like the view

my home is where my feet are 

next to an ocean, mountain, or highway

that’s pure, baby

Complex 107

get home from work
spending all day with the snakes and the jerks

open the door—apartment complex 107 

and today it’s italian 

sometimes it’s beef roast

I’ve got to get to know who lives there

they eat better than I

the aroma lifts me off the dirty foyer

carries me upstairs to my floor #3

beer and whiskey bottles by the across

the hallway neighbors door

swiss cheese carpeting

dingy hallway of the broken lights 

stick the key in the lock

of a door battered battleship gray

door jam jammed with gouges

too many ins and outs

midnight moves behind in the rent

too many desperate nights spent

doors slammed shut

in fits of rage, alcohol fueled adrenaline 

burning in their 455 cubic inch engines

and four barrel carburetors

step inside turn on the light

faucet dripping again

the decorative touch of negative space

jigsaw puzzle of a wooden floor

with a couple of pieces gone

maybe under the refrigerator 

I’ll get charged for that I’m sure

outside the bedroom window

naked trees in need of leaves

their ragged bare feet covered in snow

branches waving at me

they peek inside the bedroom window 

at an air mattress with a slow leak

a cheap clock radio on cardboard box

brown suitcase dresser overflowing 

a big stone from great smoky mountains park

that I grabbed in the dark

and smuggled home

dinner- a half dozen donuts and some coffee

from the dunkin’ on the corner

there’s a dunkin’ on every corner up here

prone position in front of the tv

eat and fall asleep////rinse repeat

Blinking Red Lights

moon like a friend who doesn’t say much but’s always there to listen
time just spent wandering is the best time of all

sometimes there is a valid reason why something is not on the beaten path

sometimes it’s worth taking the unbeaten path just for the solitude of it

sitting on the bridge looking down and watching the water

not thinking of anything, just watching

it can be pleasantly mysterious to be a ship of undetermined origin

the less known about you the better

don’t volunteer information

pre-planning be damned, some of the best situations in my life were ones I just fell into

a happy victim of randomness

thinking back, I needed more happiness

I don’t think I got my quota

decided to stop by the old hole in the wall bookstore 

for the weekly poetry reading

pass the understanding, the head nodding and the wine

after some time listening to the desperate poets

desperate to make their words heard, desperate for a little attention maybe

trying to find themselves- their place - their voice

walked outside into the freeze

red lights in the sky blinking forlornly in the darkness of a cold desolation sky

I think they’re indicative of an upcoming airport but I’m not sure

they just blink and blink and blink and don’t identify themselves 

walking back to my hilltop apartment 

cutting through the old cemetery across the street

from my third floor window 

I can see the spirits milling about in the darkness

Thoughts Of A Crematory Worker

new face in the crematory
welcome buddy, so what’s your story?

did you die doing something you loved

as if somehow that’s supposed to make it better

still death is death is death

dust to dust, ashes to ashes

ancient fortune says you will probably die alone and poorly dressed

if so, I’m ready to go now

hope you had a good life

now walk through the valley of the shadow of death

or death valley california 109 in the shade

everything comes to an end jack

nothing lasts forever, nobody lasts forever

a lot of them wind up here

1400-2000 degrees fahrenheit

they take the pugilistic stance many times

but there’s no fight left in them anymore

1-3 hours and then it’s 3-7 pounds of cremains

kinda like the fine gravel from a road

then in a box and from there

in an urn in the ground, on a fireplace or unclaimed 

scattered at sea, I think that’s the most romantic of all 

fair winds and following seas

Frisco Bound

just because it sounds romantic doesn’t mean there’s any love in it
vases hold flowers but not emotions

they seep through cracks onto old wooden tables

shaky-unstable legs giving way to the creepings of old age

dripping lost mauve on the floor

and the emotions now evaporated with the passage of time

the time has passed like a freight train on its way to detroit

chicago st.louis or all the way to frisco

now long gone and rumbling by the golden gate

sounds of passing traffic on the not so far interstate

transporters, broke trucks, tankers, flatbeds

all humming good night as they pass with their red lights

and the driver jacked up on coffee so he can drive all night

when there aren’t so many cars in the way

snowbirds making their way down to florida

their home in st. pete or sarasota or points south

living what they think is the good life

the trucker thinks he has a good life

away from people shut up in his cab slash office

country music twanging from the radio

when he drops that load, he’s got another heading back

after a short rest and a greasy hamburger and fries

he’s got a 1 a.m. all the way to colorado where he calls home

among the pikes and the peaks

and the snow covered highways lined with tracks

of tires and tears