No More Medicine

If I glanced at you
from a stream of light
could I take the lead?
would it be
like being free
blindfolded
in the dark
all those warm nights
out in birdland
blinking lights
and laughter
at the park
parts of you
hidden here
and there
a trace
of an outline
with four legs
and a hairy stare
in the deep wells
of memory
for all gifts
eventually return
the source of grace
once secured
all things return
to their former shape
and space.
you are everywhere
the howl and the chatter
running around in
the hereafter
 what kind of theater
are we waiting
in the wings for?
the heaviness
which pervades
when strange emotions
shape landscapes
we use to escape

and somewhere
a place I don't know
yet with furry angels

stars with sails
angels with tails

when life goes off the rails
it gets wings.

- for Mack


p.s. - I promise to take good care of your daddy until we can all go to the park together again.

For Mack (cross posted on Facebook)

Mack 1996 - 2011

I wanted to post this in honor of Mack, who left us this past week to go run and play on the other side of the rainbow bridge. I only had the pleasure of knowing Mack for a little while but the brief time I spent with him was always nothing short of sublime. His sweet gentle nature and happy-go-lucky disposition could make even the grayest day seem warm and sunny-and this picture reminds me of that. We had such fun running, laughing/barking and playing together on our walks with Bob, to Kay park and the field. You always brought a smile to my face and to the many strangers who you came into contact with.

I know you will have lot of new friends to play with until we meet again. I told Champ, Taffy, Cody and all our other friends to look for you once you arrive so you won't be lonely. I know you are feeling better now so you can run and play again-and your daddies know they don't have to worry if you are hurting anymore. I told them have plenty of biscuits ready or there would be some serious woofing going on!

Love you, miss you and see you again someday.

Your friend Steve

Considerations On The Rolodex Incident

world war 2 buddies
who will listen as I talk
what is this house even worth
nothing but a last sleeping november
soft graces that once filled these spaces
a tired hand holding a lit cigarette
no more places left to go
no more reason
for doubt
for a mind
that yearned to soar
but feared flight
will I learn to travel
light
will I learn to travel
by the aligned constellations
I watch for
in the night

me and sailors
me and my guitar
just a lonesome road
you know
the ones you read about?

how did we get here
without a map and no idea
just some bitter idea
of perfection
that eventually requires
correction
lay a little here
and a bit with spite
and a little with each person
 in your rockets
we're all astronauts
exploring the unknown
travellign through astral snow
learning a little bit
as we go.

Note To Self Portrait

When Its Cold / One For The Ghosts

Love Letters From A Cemetary

San Francisco
love 2011
phantom floors
revealing new spirits
recording; we vanish into ceilings
the first cocoon of the spring
opening on the new sky
the passing features
walk rainbow beaches
one in a million creatures
touch you
then somehow
it all goes away

sincerely I remain
here to document
despite familiar
ghosts on a train
----------
how could anyone
have a problem
on a day like today
the sun is shining
the spiders are spinning
new webs to capture
like dreaming sailors
in their boats(in their sails).
on the sea(on the air).
-(vault)-

Note to Self

goddammit the world is such an awful shitty place sometimes.

Self Loathing In Texas

like a fish out of water
flapping away
on the dock
the clockis ticking
too long without

air
alone in the upstairs
room
the ice is forming
on the roof outside
I watch the ghost
leak into the
cold at night

I didn't think
I could move
nothing to grab
at blue wriggly blue
hazyness
fish underwater
while one boy
watched

laughing
from the
other side of the pool
must have slipped in

don't dive in
and get him
I wore cold
and blue today
for him
for one boy's name
to go away
for one boys name
not to be like mine
cover my manor
in boy hood rivalry
but from the other side of thew waves
the same thing that makes kings kill one another
and evil cain slaying abel
sever my heart
at the dinner table
try to carve off
my wings
and gut me
something to point to
a carcass, your preferred
jackass, skull and bones maracas
punching bag told to
love you so much
I'm turning blue 
eyes are red
sometimes too
And this is the guy I should be like?
kick you off
on ancient winds
rustled cattle and wild horses are all eventually free
you can't speak my language
tax my happiness
wait for me to fall over
plant some clover on my grave?
something for the worms
to savor? when my flesh can be their slave?
But you had to run 5 states away!
funny watching Goliath cave
happy the man with
his face that smiles
hahahahahahaah
hahahah...

Porter Street & Junk Annex

drug through
the eye of a needle
in Seattle
wouldn't I have thought
not to speak highly
of you love
push more stars into
your view
where only gods can see
no cheap stage trick
with a burnt side
of fried integrity

turn on turn on
not at all island sticks
turning inward
the wood spinning
the curls of
grain
stained hands
rinsed by
sine waves, rains, raves
turn on
the mind
turn on the moon
winter coming soon
devils deals with
dollars in the heavens
please politicans and
persnickety unemployed
electricians all slowing down
here in the corner
of your head
with melted disguises
they fell out of their guise
right out of black nights
right out of the sky

turn on
the strain
the water pools and
we slow down
time slows down
we turn the bed down
put your head down
its snowed in
glow turned
outside in
---------

Another One From An Electric Bird

Hey Love!

Big Nate in the house...

quick takes

clouds match explosions
hidden emotions
like slow gas leaks
become squeaks
then bleve
then fire

everything going south
the pillar is posted
the liar is hoisted
watch the money
drip from his
foul mouth


climax cinematic scenes
bathed in polychrome fusion
its all too beautiful and taboo
the last boy who said that became faust
and the scenery designer
too

Emotional Astronomy For Polar Bears

put this in a basket
float it down the nile
I've always got a smile for you
every time I tie
my tennis shoes


hush
his hand is on your shoulder
velveteen ribbon around
the borders
half in and half out
one end open to
the light

silken tie
lapel pin just so
did I see that?
did I catch my breath
a minute ago?
wooden paper on the ceiling
brass handle
on the exit door
heart beating speeding
needing to find
the way out

a leather book
with fancy paper
to document your afterlife
all the names of people you
hated
stated only for the guilt
excised; the reason we all came here
to pretend we're not bitter
splinter without
your glue
tongue tied statues
bear witness to what is
left.
the remains
and the truth
unexplained.

Box Full of Strangers

all treasure chests
left unearthed

become crusted and rusted
shut
full of sand and dust
busted locks
left yoked
in antiquity.

Paper curls, dyes fade
and edges blur
until time passes
seeing requires glasses
memory cracks
like a luxury car
without its chassis
dementia sets in
absenstia dominates
with gin and
perceived golden
ages gilded
in lost responsibility
self-pity
false piety
grand gaiety
for the queen without
a crown
broken down graceless
aging faces
relative to nothing
nothing that means
something that you used
to be; before clouds gathered
black death cumulonimbus
somnabulistic curtain calls
never famous just sadness
aiming for the stars
breaking up without witness in
the evenings atmosphere

and you take the paper,
the films, super 8 cells
not real just another
part of your hoard
another part of the tomb
built of cardboard
hidden away in unlabeled rooms
to be made quiet
undying, life in
full spectrum to ultraviolet
photos of an older life
glamorous clothes and the
promise of the American Dream
"let them eat cake!"
spoiled and spattered out
just another dead guy
floating in the lake
some loose documentation
but otherwise not remarkable
a brief history of the not really familiar
the damned, also-rans, men holding fish
and women holding fans
locked away with the rest of my life
we were jumbled up
in a crumbling box full of strangers
to be put out of the way
and forgotten...

Mr Red Eyes Marries Lady Violence

a chain of flowers
thrown into the sea
by old women, mothers
children missing
narco gang wars
financed by
men who's hearts
have grown cold
ordering death
like you order dinner
the order in which
somewhere at a table
smoking guns are
singing the etiquette
of violence watched
by closed eyes

One more rag doll body
rendered invisible
wandering in windows
with photos for a name
no instructions for an endgame
just one bar of chocolate
a golden ticket and some
unlucky bastard's body
thrown to rot
in a thicket
POW!
BLAM!
ClickClickClick...

Icy eyes were across the street(will you speak my language?)

on a day that was windy
we watched it go by
we called it a tragedy
but neither of us knew why

over the bridge
where men wore coal shoes
perfect color skies
lady will you answer these phones
that last familiar voice
or smile before we disconnect?

somewhere smoking trees talked about apocalypse
how they loved the view
even though it was all
over as far as they knew
it all went underneath the bridge
I closed my eyes
to familiar tears
liars in the sheets
who disappeared underneath
a legend
who was that masked man
I ask but but nothing answers in
the elan shrouded silence that lingers and howls in the air left
behind.

today there was a tragedy
but no one seemed to mind
to pay it any attention
though the tension
seemed to drag...

For Dinah

sad like a polar bear swimming
around in glass tank
removed from ice and snow
forever falling down a hole
shrinking and growing
from the potion that Alice drank
sailing on tears
in a leaf as the waves
curl and bank
and little cats stop
and say goodbye
when you
go away.

Wandered Time And Forgotten

the evening is quiet
some kind of afterlife
no one speaks
nothing is speaking
but you listen all the while
even in the shades of the lapping
of the waves of the river and its rinsing hush...

he's quiet now
footsteps behind me in the room
no one has gifts
everyone is breathing quickly
are we heading for the races
the look of failure
and faintness
on faces
pull the protecting blue blanket tight
can you hear me?
the shape of your face
is a faint trace on panes
my breath in the night
pull the blankets tight
the sound is the same
retuning and returning
like hammers that beat
out dreams until you're
too unclear
puddles rippled forever
disturbed by evil forces

instead of a beautiful clear reflection
something comes slow and quick hiding behind spears
and breathes into you something like knives
dead and clear
meant to leave you with some hollow space inside
to fill with doubt
magically
to follow evermore
even in the afterlife
exchanged for pain
never make bargains like that again
even as the waves lap
the sap flows
some new life shines
glossy morning banks
here in a
new afterlife.

New Kitty Pix

one of Nate sleeping and one of Tweed and Nate negotiating for a timeshare on their brand new kitty condo.

One Month, One Death, New Cat, Two Cats

One month has passed since I lost Josquin. I haven't had the heart to make up his urn with a picture yet. There is something, somehow finalizing about that-like somehow it is the last thing we will do together-that I keep putting it off. I still 'see' him out of the corner of my eye every few days and feel a firm brushing against my shin every so often when no cat is in the room that it is hard for me to doubt he or his presence are still very much with me. Moving the room around has actually been helpful in shedding some of the bed juju around current events. Sometimes its good just to shake things up visually to help move on-so onward!

Tweed is still adjusting to the new kitty in his life. There were the first few days of hissing, angry confrontations and recriminations that all new cats do when meeting in mixed territory. They are now 'mixing' into the space of the other cat much more so. Nathaniel comes into my room and snoops, jumps up on the bed and has gone as far as climbing into tweed's area under my bed-but is still skittish when I approach at times. He is getting better. I know he was traumatized by losing his previous owner. I found out he had been very lethargic at the adoption center, not eating and even sleeping in his litterbox which is a sign of depression. They were worried no one would take him there and he had been at the shelter for months previously which only added to the trauma. It helps to know that he was saved. Even though I couldn't help Josquin, I can still make sure I help some other kitty instead. That is what I am building my 'fly to some place better' spaceship on, at least...

Luckily Tweed and Nathaniel are both coming around to one another. They interact-they smell one another and the hissing is gone. Tweed has already started to eat from Nate's bowl and I have seen Nate eating kitty grass in my room as well so he seems to be getting the picture and learning that sharing is okay here. I know they need some place to play that they can climb on and use their claws so hopefully I can get a cat stand they both like and will share soon. No claw marks in anything serious yet other than me. There has been a small spate of urinating on the chair-surely by Tweed as Nate wouldn't pee where he sleeps-and hopefully that is something about attention and not territory. I have hopefully solved it by putting out Josquin's old bed on the chair and just praying that Nate would use it which, amazingly, he has. Nice to have them around being used. It was a shame when Josquin stopped using his but I now now that was probably because they were too hot once he became really sick. Nice to incorporate some of his legacy in good new memories. Still think about him all the time...

Caught In This Sudden Shower (victims of circumstance)

there is a hole in my sleeve
where my heart used to be
an absence of fabric
otherwise static
running from each other
like rabbits

 in snow

I hear you
outside vision, a whisper
without a reply,
a rarefied silence.
wind sweeps besides me
and steals away
with a memory
like old glass
like spiders webs
sagging under dew
the conflagration is won
the flames and embers
have burned down from
junipers on fire
in fields of steel
seared in flights of ecstasy
guilty of applying
the patina of forgetting
as each bead is clutched
and counted
bullfighters swing their
blood cloaks like air filled
with smoke and death
one wingless bird flies over
new york and changes everything
in a single breath
the named faces are faceless
fearless, nothing more to know
alone ships dot the future like Seurat
but cling to hope that is killed
without the threat of
hidden, maddened gesture or
within the arc of a whip
lashed liars with their
poison tongues
speaking to
a wall.