Urbanality

Urbanality

I was never one to write about sunsets or birds,
to be honest that shit bores me to distraction.
I live in Manhattan so I haven’t seen a sunset
in three hundred & sixty five days, and birds here,
well they're just another pest to be controlled.
I never really liked to listen to sweet ballads
and there’s something pathetic about the blues.
I prefer the hard rocking sounds of Hindi profanity
sung by cab drivers, the tune of droning car horns
and the distant wail of another siren’s song of ending.
I never got much pleasure from hiking or picnics
and I have no real desire to get back to nature.
I’d rather choke down a cart hot dog for breakfast,
avoid piss puddles on the subway platform
and hide behind Ray-Bans and two hundred dollar ear buds.
I never understood the fascination with beauty
or people’ neurotic obsession with falling in love.
I’ve seen a lot of well groomed hair and make up jobs
and have had the shit kicked out of me more than once,
but beauty is a rocks glass, love is a generous bartender,
and the poetry is between the first sip and "hit me again".

SMG

*(Re-printed from The (&) Ampersand III)

Mechanical Perturbation

Mechanical Perturbation

From three thousand miles away
a heartbeat is difficult to detect.
The insulation of distance mutes
the sound of sinus rhythms as they fade.

My first car had a bad fuel pump,
the diaphragm membrane developed
a hole and the car began to lose power.
As the hole grew, the engine got weaker
until one day it just stopped.

The day you gave me my first “A”
I think my heart skipped a beat.
The wall of doubt had its first crack
and you’d handed me the hammer.

A new fuel pump for a 1963 VW Bus
is not a stock item so I had to wait
almost a week for the part to arrive.
I used the extra time to change
the oil and adjust the valves.

The first heart transplant took place
in 1964. For lack of a suitable donor
they used a chimpanzee heart;
the patient lived for a little over an hour.

If they can't find a donor, your heart
may stop before I hear it beat again.
Cedars-Sinai is apparently out of stock,
and chimp hearts are no longer used.
I’m not sure how to fill the wait time.

I got rid of the VW bus years ago,
replacement fuel pump and all.
The wall is mostly rubble now;
all I’m left with is your hammer,
and three thousand miles of silence.

(Re-posted from Notes & Grace Notes)

Simplicity

Simplicity

Sunday morning--
sunlight chases tiny rabbits
across the bedroom floor,
and you are beautiful
in the shadows.

Blankets pulled overhead
keep Saturday night’s toll
at bay for the moment,
and you are enticing
in the goose down.

Newsprint smudged
fingers fetch aspirin
with sparkling water back,
and you are sexy
in the naked daylight.

I fell in love with you
on just such a morning,
3000 miles to the west,
and you were beautiful
in the retreating fog.

SMG

La Cantera

La Cantera

I remember that Friday night,
as I drove in circles, wasting rental gas,
and obsessively checking my watch.
Three hours from DC to San Antonio
plus the 5 months since you said goodbye.
I never told you how I cried and tried
to hate you, because when I saw you walk
through security 147 days dissolved,
like a sugar cube on my tongue.

And I remember Saturday night too,
after 18 holes, a delicate petite syrah
and two of the best damn steaks in Texas,
we laughed, drank XO and smoked Cohibas.
When you excused yourself for a moment,
every last man watched you catwalk out,
and then turned to me and said
“boy you’re one lucky sombitch”
I just gave them a nod and a smile,
because they had no idea how lucky I was.

*(Re-print from "Another Hotel Room")

Sunset at Trestles

Sunset at Trestles

Daylight danced
with lengthening shadows
along the strand
as night pushed
slowly down
toward the horizon.

Eight hours
of waves and sun
had washed away
the work week, and
we collapsed in sandy piles
of smiles and salty skin.

Driftwood smoke
mingled with
misty sea air,
the sun teased,
then fell into
a waiting ocean.

I kissed you
for the first time,
and when the moon
winked from the East,
I thought that we
might fall in love.

The fire burned down to embers.

I searched for wood to stoke it.

SMG

Inside Joke

A phone rings in the darkness
of a Tuesday night and I
raise my glass and whisper,
“please leave a message at the tone”

I am chasing heart failure in bathtub
or aspirated vomit on a toilet seat,
but I might be a few corrosives short.

The footsteps outside my window
continue to come and go, but they
only motivate me to turn up the radio
and crack another tax stamp.

You told me once that all things
have a beginning as well as an end,
and I laughed at your pessimism.

As I sit here alone on the crest
of Wednesday morning crash
I can’t remember why
I thought that was funny.

SMG

*(excerpt from "Another Hotel Room)

At Last: Babylon

I told you I would write;
but morning after promises
rarely make it to sunset.

On a night before,
we wrestled in the sands
along the Euphrates
in an awkward exchange
of vodka nicotine kisses;
ebb and flow. You lied
and said I was your first
but Darius and Alexander
had left their marks
long before I tasted
your fetid waters.

Harlot that you were,
I loved you, even
as your gardens withered
and the sands began
to devour your beauty.
When I saw the writing
on your bedroom wall
I ran for the Tigris
afraid of the imminent
devastation of you--
of us.

I made for Lagash
without a backward glance.
With the thunder shake,
and screams in my ear,
I found my way to safety,
and the pure waters of home.

I know my missive is late
but I carried it by hand.
A promise kept,
if only to your memory
and the shifting sand.

SMG

ee Bukowski

ee Bukowski

I pick-
ed
****up
thisextordinarywoman
(at
the track)
She
was new
toall
*****this bet
ting ******the ponies
****shit
and so (by
the
way)
impressed she was
with my
***********prowess
that
*****she
gave me
*****allofher;
money which I
lost
as quick
ly
as
I had
my own

SMG

Out of Chaos

Out of Chaos

In the time before time,
while I swam the Tethys Sea,
and wandered the plains of Pangaea,
you were there, igneous and undefined.

Through the Laramide epoch,
Chronos, Chaos and tectonic slip
worked their orogenic magic
and Gaia’s labor gave birth to you.

Into the Cretaceous I watched,
as a deep slow subduction,
drove you, compelled you upward
out of the plains and into my view.

I have crossed the alluvial sands,
and braved the ice of the Pleistocene
to lie with you by the glow of caldera heat,
and be quenched by your glacial waters

Dance with me, 'round the ring of fire,
and explore the depths of Mariana.
Sit with me atop continental divides
until we are rendered, consumed again by Vulcan

Reprint from: "Another Hotel Room"

Spanish Steps

Spanish Steps

The September sun pulls
beads of sweat from my brow
and I can still smell Beatrice
on my skin as I thumb through
a worn volume of Keats.
I want to stop time;
to savor this moment
and the memory of her skin
intermingled with my own.

The Piazza is alive
and so am I, and maybe
for the first time I know
what happiness feels like:
The smile of a woman,
the taste of her lips
and a warm Chianti
shared in the darkness
of a Roman night.

SMG

Reflection

Reflection

I stood on the Ponte Milvio overlooking the Tiber,
and watched as it carved through the travertine
and sandstone of the millennium. As the sun set
I could see the dome of St Peter’s wax and wane
through bird shadows cast in waves of evening flight.

Time passes without emotion between the seven hills
and the water flows without memory; from Le Vene
to the Tyrrhenian Sea. Here we are old and young,
Christian, pagan and Muslim, world wise and weary.
I have never seen a clear reflection off the Hudson,
but from this vantage point I can glimpse eternity,
in the tarnished majesty and endurance that is Rome.

SMG

Walk in the Park

Walk in the Park

Leafless
black-brown
branches
cut across the sky
like cracks
in the canopy.
They strobe light
the December sun
along the brittle white path.
Central Park
in winter
is staid
and sorrowful;
the cold empty heart
of New York.

SMG

Late Fees

Late Fees

I know you watch me,
over spectacle rims
near the bridge's end.

You shush me
over index cards
and collected late fees.

I want to tie you up
or hold you down
and scribble poems
on your breasts
in red fountain pen
and let your screams
echo through
the Dewey stacks.

We both know
pain and love
are partners
over time, overdue.

SMG

Jordaan

Jordaan

I found myself  on a  bridge over  the Prinsengracht canal
in the disconnected calm  of three joints  from a coffee bar
and the cool predawn air. The click of Rembrandt’s footsteps
still echo down the cobbles at this hour--  Once, long ago,
I dreamt of the scene,  this moment;  fog  tickling  across
the warm canal water. I thought back to the person I was
when that dream was formed and I realized that I missed him.
He was young and idealistic, so unafraid, with a swagger
that  could  only  come  from  hubris  and  ignorance.

The damp morning air  sat on the shoulders  of my  jacket
and I smiled as I watched  a young  Dutch couple  fend  off
the chilly dark, oblivious to the painter and me as we took it all in.
The distance between that boy and the man that I would become
seems so much greater than the twenty five years it took to travel.
That  boy’s  dreams  have  turned  into  my  sad  reminiscence,
a longing for that time before disbelief and defeat; the un-jaded
days of wonder lost along the way. I wanted to see Amsterdam
before I died; I realize now that it’s too late.

SMG

Scars in the Afterglow

Scars in the Afterglow

Her skin still glistened, wet
with the remnants of ecstasy.
I, with the gentlest touch,
began to trace the scars
on her back with my fingers.
Slowly she drifted off
as I kissed her shoulder.
I savored the saltiness on my lips
and her scent filled my senses.
The motion of time gave way to stillness
as I continued to trace the scars.
She woke, and with a sad smile sighed,
“so that is how it’s supposed to be”.
She dressed quickly,
seductive red satin falling
delicately over the cicatrix maze
that was forever etched in my mind.

SMG

Union Square

Union Square

A bum recites absurdist poetry
to passersby and collects change
in a fake Burberry cap while I
slowly sip my Sunday morning
and shop for open air jalapeños,
mushrooms and cilantro.

Paint bucket drummers provide
a steady backbeat as the weekend
consumers come out to worship
and the church crowd is released
from weekly servitude.

Across the square, a painter discusses
politics with a jewelry maker
and a guy in a Gumby t-shirt.

As the sun plays peak-a-boo
with the masts of Mannahatta,
I wonder how long the fresh cut roses
will last if I decide to splurge.

A toddler pilots a stroller down the sidewalk,
parents in tow, while four teens knee and kick
an innocent bean bag back and forth
above the ghosts of potter’s field.

The voice of the city is clear this morning
and it sings to me; a medley of ballads,
seductive love songs and, of course,
a full complement of the blues.

SMG

Fractal Memories

Fractal Memories

The Burden of Time
distorts memories;
blonde pilsner days
and coffee nights
of years gone by
foul and turn cold
when left unattended.

The shimmer and glint
of sunlight on water ripples,
dulls as it rolls away
in thoughtless waves.

The faces of loves
left and lost splinter
into slivers of regret
and flout recall; a puzzle
never again complete
for too many pieces
are now lost or broken.

SMG

SWF Seeks...

She wants
to be hung
half naked
by her wrists
while he
gracefully
etches her
with his blade.
She longs
for beaded blood
and tiny streams,
to roll down
her body;
stain her skirt.

She's never
been loved
that way.
No one
has ever tried
to please her
with such artistic
understanding.
There is no he
Who would
indulge
such a need,
no one who
would let her
truly surrender


KGB/SMG


Re-posted from Sleep Snort Fuck

Skiathos

Skiathos

On pure white sands
we tested our endurance;
speaking in tongues
and dead languages.
Eros, diligo, blysia, expeto;
lost words moaned
between half gasps
and screams in the dark.

We measured time
in moon shadows,
broken promises
and scars from lovers
long gone. In the glow
of muted embers
waves crashed
against the past;
a persistent hope
in the darkness.

SMG

Pipinoukhe

Pipinoukhe

I blew dandelion fluff
across the city sky last night.
I wanted to cover the sins
and blanket
the dirty sidewalks.

Each steamy breath
carried the seeds
of downy redemption
across metropolis
and into the night air.

The cab drivers
scurried out of the city
and headed to Brooklyn,
sugar cyclones
in their wake.

Pedestrians brushed
off my efforts
and cursed aloud
at the yellow bastards
as they raced for the bridge.

I began to tire
around midnight but
got my second wind
at two, so I kept at it
until just before dawn.

About six, spent,
I nodded off
and had dreams
of the old days;
back before salt,
plows and shovels,
back when the city
was a promise
and its sins
were still forgivable.

SMG

*(Re-post from Drink This Cola)