guru / trev

he was a shitty yet
willing parent
to a kid with
shitty parents

he liked to fight and
defend
smoked careless blunts
with a seasoned
efficacy
climbed trees on acid
always had this
girl or that one
standing very elegantly a few
feet away
green or purple natty
dreadlocks
and a smile
that brought those
around him out of
bad trip nightmares

perched on a central
park midnight rock
spitting weird elastic truths
or sitting in the
6th ave taco bell by
the window before
the fire
deconstructing a chili cheese burrito
cackling like
an illuminated isaac
newton

he played hackeysack
he scared off the
plainclothes de-tecs
smoking a cigarette
eating an avocado or
spooning out a mason jar
of skinned coconut and honey
or laughing larger
than my entire lifetime

anathema to assholes
peacebringer
ducking out when
the scene was shady
we exploded lighters and
conducted other
petty mischief
around fort greene park
or gobbled a quick slice
of brooklyn pizza
high on chocolate thai and
blathering about
saturday morning
cartoons

he giggled like a child but
later straight fucked up a
drunken asshole near NYU
who was
talking that bullshit
completely ignorant
of the fact that he was
speaking to the negro brooklyn
buddha in
black jeans
a dedicated smile that could squash a
lifetime beef or
send shivers down
the spine of those
who would
do harm

sitting at chelsea pier (he
pretended I was fucking
him and his girlfriend to
ditch unwanted
suitors) we smoke
cigarettes and
try together
extremely
hard to make sense
of it all

i called his house
once
his father's inebriated
voice barely
knew he had
a child

let alone a man
who had
saved
my life

pray

i'm self-improved
honed to a superfine edge
a careless knife
wild hair
fucked up jeans

mumbling through the errant city
mind emptied
taking the next unknown corners
mesmerized by mirrors that play
videos of the insecure child
with a badluck god

he was insincere
sometimes he ditched synagogue to
play streetfighter at the
candystore
sometimes he wrote
secrets in the corners of the
looseleaf behind the
pink line and then
tore them out
burned them
eradicated
ate them

sometimes he intoned
murder prayers
concentrated ill will on
his enemies like
orbital lasers
sometimes he stole large
things which were small or small
larger things
sometimes he died
back when he was
supposed to

sometimes he
was still here

what time is

he is sincere
he waits for culminating
reason in the folds of icy blankets
brain cell massacre
the hum of machinery
the sounds of lonely technology
warmed by ideas and options
he has always known

the years that poured forth
had always been possessed of a
certain magic
a phantom haunting his own
objects
a decade of painful material accumulated
ornamental and tenuous like
a faded translucent garment
favored
as veritable avatar
playing the part
of himself

it doesn't stop
being night
the chemicals
are always emptying and
become mysteriously
replenished
the circuits of daily
life continually
routed and fulfilled
the familiar strangers are
always waiting to be
reactivated

a distant sound
doesn't alarm him anymore
for a few seconds
he forgets himself

the world is round

it's past the time
he woke up
emptied of resources
a vast collection
of blank refrains
perfect mantras that
celebrate these
hollow derivative
gestures

teenage lies and self-mythologized
conspiracies
angry solutions to
homebrewed situations
the art of convincing
the half-interested to fuck
this damaged scaffolding

decisions whose pedigree a poisoned
brain jettisoning accountability
putting on adult garments that
filter sensations like touch or
shamelessly absorb the crass
sunlight

calendars emptied of meaning
beleaguered journeys down mystic
nocturnal freezing dawn avenues
prescribing value and achievement to
events
alchemy constructing cracked armor

he collected antiques
odd old phrases
former glamors
underlined text in stolen books
literary snake oil
remembered adrenaline
disintegrated tshirts
betrayals
passionate angers
smoking the soft moss that inevitably grows on a romance from 14
years ago

he thought memories were a building material
he thought he was old enough to enjoy his simple needs
young enough to make each warm day new
he thought that avocados on sale for 99 cents and
they have those greek yogurts he likes
he thought trains running local between yankee
stadium and fordham he
thought be home after midnight don't
lock me out thought25pushups
inthemorningthought wonderful pronunciation
of hebrew for a spanish kid thought
the world isn't round
it's flat
like a map in a nintendo
game

seize

i try to
stop falling apart and
there's the blackest
sun ive ever seen this

green reflection like the
inverted camera of a
pond shifting askew what
was a smile to
self the

sound of footsteps and
pride there
is an echo and
addiction and
blood inside a
smile to
selfishness and

everything is quiet and
calm and muttered in
a pleasant harmonious
language

i walk around

im the most normal boy in
the world

the fuckup

missing
folded
legs
outline on a scarred heart and
in the choked remembrances
a kind of miserable peace

because of an act of mad destruction
a resolve to tear
two hearts
to
two hearts

and watch him desecrate
watch him despise
as he conquers the real
with an army of old ghosts

and watch him feel heroic and
flex his loose judgment and
render two hearts to two
hearts to gather his own
headfucked world

watch him dissolve and
deny the chance to fail
taking any nearby
nearness for
profound
shithead philosopher
pouring another round and
lost in the irony

he pushes everything away and his
heart is like two hearts much
like every heart
one damning and afraid and
one damning and afraid and
one risky and one
that is used
to
breathe

shell game / frontman

not handwriting
or words between
or wet shadows or
a touch on dark clothing

choose melting surfaces to mate and
rawfeel elements to carry
slower and delicate downwards like
an ache

grows

in rooms that were never mine
mashed together like remnants of
thoughtless consumption

the only thing between sweet pure
heart and madness and
the bitter end an incalculable puddle
of time culpable and

i shift the scraps that once held my
name or names
and it is all a hastily assembled
bit of 3-card for
passersby or
i

swear i've had my moments
me hero
me bold or sharpened
dancing all the right moves
me invisible
me shutting my damn mouth
me opening it to say the right thing
me correct
me heeding my own warnings
learning a bit of guitar or some scales

but i've mostly stammered while
strumming shit luck like an
instrument of vines

only writing it down
when i can't remember the words