Sunday, October 19, 2008

Now I'm A Crow

(for Lori)

Listen to her crying,
Crying for worms.
Her loving dysfunctional and
Severe; her loving keeps you
Guessing and praying.

We pray on our knees like dead soldiers
Propped up by some mad dictator.
We pray like hungry children craving cereal
And a parent’s serial knowhow.

I imagine climbing into each other’s skin,
A hobo suit like Manson talked about during
One of his many rants from a desert outpost
Where young women became his slave and
Young men turned into innocent bystanders.

Now I’m a white devil
Now I’m a prisoner
Now I’m a peasant
Now I’m a surgeon
Now I’m a rolling stone
Now I’m a traveling salesman
Now I’m a painting
Now I’m a pyramid
Now I’m a poem
Now I’m a black night
Now I’m a blank page

Listen to her crying for someone to fill her with love,
Someone who does not question who she is or why
Her arms have become black wings.

October 19, 2008 1:14 PM

Thursday, October 16, 2008

We Gotta Move

We gotta move
No denying that

You are Chosen
You are Blessed
You are Beautiful

We gotta love
Yes, yes, yes

Give yourself a gift of life
Hand yourself over to the mystery
Passion swims throughout our DNA

White book etched in red
White book proves we’re not dead
Pages like leaves change colors in autumn.

October 15, 2008 8:02 PM
(for Lilac)

Communicating With Ghosts

My best friend a ghost
And I speak to him
With my mouth closed.

My best friend a cauldron
Of strangulated guitar chords
And dire circumstance.

I will never forget the first time
I met his inner voice and how
We collided like freight trains blinded by light.

There’s so much I wish I could tell him
So much that got lost in translation
My best friend a ghostly remembrance.

They say take the high road
They say the path of least resistance is a godsend
But they never tell you how outdated recovery can be.

Twelve steps to Jesus
Seven steps to Buddha
Three steps to the gutter.

I went on the road in a white van
Preached about Divine Providence
The whole time O.J. was on trial.

My best friend stayed behind
I knew he was jealous that I was capable of letting everything go
My best friend hung himself because it was the only mode of Communication he had left.

October 15, 2008 1:11 PM
(for Charles Wince & Jim Shepard)

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Promised Land

(for Lilac)

You are a land promised.
A land I wish to visit again.
The voices I hear are not my own.

I remember driving you back at night.
Sitting in the car and listening to the frogs.
How waiting for you always filled me up.

You are a land of promise and prosperity.
A land small children laugh and play in.
The voices we hear are not in our own heads.

I see you from across the room.
Light falls around you like bayonets.
The stand we take must be our own.

October 13, 2008 11:05 PM

Saturday, October 11, 2008



there’s a poem being written in my head
wants to come out and play for keeps
wants to call you on the telephone

there’s a poem standing on a bridge
cool breeze delivering these words fresh
I’m not telling tales out of school

you’re an empress of the blues
knew it first time I tasted your cooking
you’re a master of blending and purring

there’s a poem being written in the cosmic traffic
chicken soup for the soul a big fat disingenuous lie
discovering a stranger in a strange land god medicine

I feel the blues everywhere I go
they stalk me like pillars of pepper & salt
there’s a poem being written in my blood

for you

Charlie October 11, 2008 3:39 PM
(for Val)

This, That and the Other Thing

Write you a poem
Right some self prescribed wrong
Glue the wings back on a butterfly.

I’m listening to Jim
I’m not obsessing
A golden rule still holds dominion.

We talked on the phone
The silence brought us closer together
So thankful you saved me from self-wreckage.

Caucasian White plays in my Grado Labs SR60 Cans
It’s like a dead angel kissing you when your heart is open
It’s like driving off the road toward oblivion or Columbus, Ohio.

Thursday, October 9, 2008 12:04 PM

(for Val)

Space The Final Frontier

The sun a spaceship we enter and ride.
The moon a covered wagon
We sleep inside like drunk cattle.

When I dream I swear it’s not of you.
I dream only of strangers sleeping with strangers.

I wish I understood personal space
And why intimate encounters are too often
Devoid of prayer or solitude.

The sun a mother-ship we must learn to respect.
The moon an automobile in need of clean fuel.

August 30, 2008


I’m a poet
I’m a Jew
Been writing this same poem for two thousand years

I was ignored
I was crucified
I was forgiven for someone else’s sins

I’m a romantic
I’m a cynic
Been complaining since before I was conceived

You are a princess
A refugee
Been planting the same seeds for twenty two years

You were placated
You were compensated
You were driven out of the garden for crimes you refused to commit

Together we are a dream come true
The monsters under the bunk beds gave up their ghosts when we United
Nightmares were less scary when we listened to each other with open Hearts.

Charlie July 24, 2008
For Lisa Lisa