Category Archives: poetry

Irish Code of Silence

Of course the bottle is empty

And the job is steady

You never break promises


You never make promises

It feels like violence, this silence


To Aurora, from the Protector

Let me protect you from the bastards

I think I’m serious

I’m never shy about disgracing myself

Someone has to vomit on the hip messiah

While mumbling Aurora

Then the lines

Aurora’s a half awaken angel

Drunk on the salty dust of the morning

Those lines, again and again

From my masterpiece unwritten

Because I get distracted by the emanation

Arising from the antiseptic disinfectant towelettes

My more patient, graceful custodial self

Utilized to sparkle the floors

Of my aggressive monkey mind

After the vomit

Burst from my lips

Like erupting lava


So don’t waste your time in these bars

That the bored liberals romanticize

Because the neighborhood’s not gentrified

And they can annihilate their inhibition

In the bathroom stall

Then inform some unwashed Internet contemporary

That Time is the new God

And love died inside their broken

Dreams of Christmas


Bar, bars

The barriers trapping the prisoner

A word

An object preventing freedom

Also the place where we’re supposed to be drunk

Happy believers in the flag

That the stone statue died for

That you should want to fuck on

Because we’re the best dressed meat

Bobbing our heads to the bass line

No, damn it no

Don’t think there’s uniqueness

Some old time touch and feel experience

Tongues of deliverance

I’m just sitting in the bar waiting to protect someone

In the bar, behind our bars

Endy Chavez in the World Series

I was feeling low

In front of the machine

That’s smarter than me

Watching an old baseball game

In an attempt to subvert

A detailed personal thesis

On all the reasons to panic

Including fears of inexplicably

Eating pen caps, AA batteries

And more generalized madness

Already covered by certain episodes

Of The Twilight Zone

Meanwhile, the game is rolling

And Endy Chavez stepped to the plate

Seeing Endy Chavez in the World Series made me think a lot of things

He made that stupefying catch that time

Defying Sir Isaac Newton and keeping the glove open

To deny that should have been Scott Rolen home run

But that was not the World Series

And the Mets lost, and that kind of mattered

I also thought

Endy Chavez is fun

Graceful, fast, full of effort

He’s a hitter like I’m a person

Good for a line drive once in awhile

Mostly trying to leg them out

The rollers and choppers and quails

That can be stretched for doubles

It reminded me of us

The way we’re fighting to fight

Denying our luck by entertaining the pressure

The pressure I picture as the spike pit from that arcade game

We played in the pizzeria back in ‘95

With our garlic fingertips

Kaleidoscopic child minds cycling candy pixels and floating gold rings

You get older and your head gets filled with other things

The desire for a soul quelled by the rationalization

That nobody has a face in the comments section

That everybody has a personal identification number

And explaining what makes us special

Would make them suspicious

We have appointments to uphold

And a diligent sadness to impart

Through all the love we reserve

And all the words of love unsaid

Hey Endy, do you ever feel the wall with your fingertips

After nabbing one at the warning track?

Ever feel the padding meant to preserve your ribcage?

The warmth from the summer sun absorbed on the wall

Like the tinfoil trapping the heat from the hot dog unwrapped

In the upper-deck

A wall clarifies

This is where the game exists

This is where the game is observed

Outfielders collaborate with the barrier

Their foot spikes leveraging a leap

Against the hot padding

Their bodies rising


Arms extending into the audience

For a moment of helpless waiting

Humans have always made walls into art

Endy and his brethren

Working with the object

Like the kids in the skate park

It’s only supposed to be a railing

It’s only supposed to be a ramp

It’s only supposed to be a wall

And Endy, ever stop and say

I am Endy Chavez, I am a part of it all?

But oneness is elusive

And everyone’s obsessed with protection

I’m supposed to be me, like a shield

I’m supposed to be me

But who appreciates Endy Chavez taking a low and outside fastball

Flipping his wrist to produce fortuitous backspin and whistle a line drive straight above the cap of the third baseman that was ready but unable to counteract serendipitous placement with his own precise muscle memory

While Endy cruises into second base like an assured surgeon

Parking her Lamborghini in the reserved space

Before saving someone’s life in the morning

The mind perceiving the double

Belongs to me

Yet I can’t answer

What that means

Except that maybe an individual

Can be better known

By the specificity

Of what they believe to be


So, that’s what I thought when I saw Endy Chavez in the World Series

Texas lost the game

They lost and they could have won

With a little more fortuitous backspin

But hey, they could have not been there to begin with

The Texas Rangers could have been sucked into a state of

Nonexistence due to a reversal of time linearity

Caused by an unexpected miscommunication

Between the offices of the fifth and sixth dimension

About where the meeting was supposed to take place

On May 16th, 2011 when the Rangers Professional baseball club received a complete game from Colby Lewis, who honed his craft in Hiroshima

To bump their record to 22-19

Endy Chavez had three hits, including a double

And compared to a serious mishap

Cosmic or otherwise

Losing the World Series doesn’t really mean anything

Like, isn’t crowning a Champion just an arbitrary demarcation

Separating one season from the next

Partially camouflaging the fact that sport is absurd

And the true pleasure is in a moment of forgetfulness

Instead of everything we want anything to be about?

Control, domination, the victor and vanquished

The disgraced and satisfied

The separation we knife into existence

So I should relate to a shark

With a weeping, bleeding seal between its teeth

Joe DiMaggio played for the San Francisco Seals

Nobody ate him and he had a glorious career

Well good for the Champions, anyway

Good for them and their lucky tongues tasting the champagne

There’s supposed to be a winner and loser

There’s supposed to be Endy Chavez

He’s supposed to do everything Endy Chavez does

And we’re supposed to breathing

We’re supposed to be feeling, too

We’re supposed to be in love, aren’t we?

We’re supposed to appreciate this moment

This Way

I feared a revolution

For I knew I would be a commander

Intuitively understood I would lead

A legion boot deep in blood

Down a hollowed street

The eateries turned holes

In the walls of a world that

Used to be


I feared for losing my bed

And that was natural

I need a place

I need a place to sleep

Don’t come to my door


Got kicked in the head


They handed me a chain and said

Your game, your time

Stand in line


One second follows another second

My mustache is colored gray

My holsters are colored brown

My solution devices are colored black

I mastered those with experience




I had a memory of walking my dog


a hill and feeling safe

Washed dry

Through the God in her eyes

And the setting sun above the tree line

And the paradise on city property

And the blue blanket of empty

Safety’s the highest priority

A God that gives permission

Was the God I believed in


I feared it was always going to be this way

I had to stand above you

And choke the life out of you

To save a bullet

Your skin was forgiving


And that old song’s playing

I can taste the vodka on my tongue

A tongue never forgets

And never lies

I used my tongue

To commune with you

All those nights


Then, when

It was an explosion of light and noise

It was a fear of women

It was the dance-floor in Miami

Where I forgot my name

It was the promised change

It was peace at the apex

Of a swinging pendulum

Waving hello, goodbye

Hello, goodbye

It was always going to be this way


So tell me the dark matter

Holding the universe together

Can take a joke

Because I feared

A revolution

Coming to know

The self

Holy Summer Night


Somewhere Between


Lucky and free

Off the train

And onto the scene

The thick trees smile

Forever, they may be

The air tastes like life

And the stars are your private canopy

Resting atop a fabulous melody

This moment is a memory

Oh, holy summer night

I stay alive

To feel your light

Oh, holy summer night

I stay alive

To love your light

Above and beneath

Nothing to be

Surviving a dream

Called reality

Stay awhile, with your pit bull smile

Forever, we shall be

The air tastes like life

And the stars are ours to see

Guiding us toward

Life’s desire fait accompli

This moment is a memory

We are a memory

Oh, holy summer night

I stay alive

To feel your light

Oh, holy summer night

I stay alive

To love this night

Is This How It’s Supposed to Feel

Amber, forgot how to smile unconsciously
She ran into grammar school friends asking
Remember me, her life shifted into a maddening, subtle frequency

Bobby never considered interior anguish
Then his leg broke on fourth down in the afternoon when his
Dream was vanquished, and alcohol suddenly felt like a pile of warm blankets

They met beside a keg on top of wet grass
It was Friday night and the moon hung low and red
Skeleton romance, the confused youths they do a desperate ghost dance

They sing
Is this
How it’s
Supposed to

Was what I felt
Was it something real
Is real
How we’re supposed
To feel

Amanda, hoped to impress strangers with a false sense of certainty
She considered herself on trial, engulfed in shyness and shame
Permanently, and when they whispered in a crowd she wondered ‘’are they plotting to hurt me?”

Bobby ripped confidence from an invisible cloud
In front of his imagined enemy’s face
Proud and pumping violent grace

They kept each other company atop a soft bed
It was Saturday morning and Bobby
Caressed her pounding head, nothing was delivered and nothing was said

But they were both thinking
Is this
How it’s
Supposed to

Was what I felt
Was it something real
Is real
How we’re supposed
To feel

In a dream
How often are we
In a dream
Our expectation and reality
Are they independent
Or part of the same the same the same the same the same
Or is it a dream
is it a dream
Is it a dream
A scene
A dream
A scene
A dream

(We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service at this time)


Good Conversation

Denial is exile
Evaporating upon revisiting the half wake
Where ideas and dreams
Thoughts and reality
Begin interlocking
Something is knocking
Rapping upon my door
While I continue searching the floor
For something more
Besides dust and skeletal remains
Of dull ancient pains
Opening a bare cupboard
Where the past does reside
And my dangerous romanticism does hide
Analyzing events long vanished
Into the foggy haze of history
Looking backward is a physical act
Resulting in a loss of momentum
I have this reoccurring tendency to become frozen
Wondering what could have been done
To prevent what has already been
And all the while
The art is whispering
True love like perfection
An idea realized elegantly
Justice done to a righteous thought
Without a bone being bruised
Or an item being bought
Like a Van Gogh painting
Starry, starry night
The mind taking delight
At beauty so obvious
That even an atheist and devout religious
Individual could positively agree
That life is worth living and consciousness itself
Is in fact a miracle surpassing all rational understanding and understated
Intellectual discussions
Over beers with peers
While surveying the wasteland separating
Entrenched opinions and misled men
Lobbing grenades without venturing beyond the lines
To see if their designated opponent would like to play a game
Share a smile
Instead of continuing an argument while ignoring
The absolute flawlessness of Moonrise
Or the impeccable optical illusion of a Barry Zito curveball
How if one simply recognizes the fact that they are indeed breathing
And capable of performing a task so well that it is personally enjoyed
And publicly appreciated
That this fact alone proves this world can make sense
And we all might have destiny
That ends in a sunset
And if not then maybe at least
A moment where the complexity is at least recognized
So here I am
Inhabiting strange terrain
I am simply typing but my skin is electric
I am simply typing but my eyes are sparkling
I am simply typing but beautiful blue streams are passing through
A suddenly enlivened peripheral perspective
Which can be altered respective
To the contentment of my heart
And the fulfillment of my job
To thoroughly and originally
Write and connect and inspire which requires
Peace of mind and the relinquishment of negativity
And wallowing
What’s occurred is gone
The present moment never left
Maybe my problems are similar to yours
Maybe you have your own cross to haul
Maybe we are similar
Or only identical in total difference
And yet here I sit
Seeking an explanation
For your presence
In my private little world
Where we have become the dream
And you are welcome
So very welcome
To join me
For a good conversation

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