Morning Thoughts

lead head

crinkle eye

palm-blade memory

the failure of good people

extraction stone

illusory

love

I have been here before,
on the mat.
Stay down and let them count me out,
my heart is breaking.

I have played second fiddle to
kids, noncommittal immigrants,
wanna be rock stars, better dancers,
cheating boss bowls of jello,
and even a cup of tea.

And now I am second runner up!
The winner is........................

No one.

Nobody is actually better in every regard than me..

It's a new low. I think I'll celebrate.

I Know a Place

My haunt, my sweet mistress,
paying you this afternoon,
to be cradled in your dark arms,
for some hours of distracted bliss.

We will never be normal, it cant work.
You are only concerned with money.
I am only concerned with comfort,
and so here we are again in the darkness.

Your story, always someone else's story,
casting shadows of light on your
blank faced, butter flavored Johns.
Next week, my love, another nine fifty.

Empty Glass

Yesterday, I watched the president of our country raise an imaginary glass to toast his foreign counterpart. Everyone in the press had a good laugh over this, and in the coming weeks we will hear pundits on the left and the right either lampooning, decrying, or praising this gesture in their typical fashions, doing what they need to do in order to sell those ever more valuable 30 second spots on radio and tv, or quarter page ads in the paper. In any event, when the the public's imagination has moved on to the next spectacle, it will be true that no wars were fought over, treaties signed because of, bridges built in spite of, scandals caused by, or marriages ruined because of this small, literally empty gesture which, absent the presence of an actual glass, managed to make room for a little humor in addition to the ordinary platitudes of diplomacy.

This would have been an unremarkable, daily presidential news clip if not for one wholly remarkabe thing. This is the very first time, since I first heard of George W. Bush in 2000, that I ever saw him do something that I would have done. Exactly what I would have done, hands down. (or perhaps bottoms up) Of course, I would not have uttered the words "good will" or "great nations". I would have just raised my imaginary glass and said "up yours mate", and pretended to drain the vessel of its imaginary Macallen 18. However, the contents of the cup or the nature of the sentiment is not the central issue. I am still a bit disturbed by the fact that I now have a singular, if somewhat tenuous, similarity to G.W. I will now be haunted by the one event that has caused the Armand circle to intersect with the G.W. circle, linked only by a single degree, but linked none the less. I believe, perhaps hope, that this one event will be the only manifestation of the alignment of our sensiblilities, the remainder being too oblique to touch without violating the laws of physics. I do not say this because I have strong political convictions which are antithetical to the views of our president, for I have no such convictions. Rather, I feel that I just don't understand him, or can't relate to him, with the exception of this one instance in which the substance of something imagined is more profound than the substance of the real thing.

Don't Stir the Soup

Quit poking at the soup!

When it boils, I go to stir it,
and then, somehow it stops boiling.

Then I take out the spoon,
and it starts to boil again, so I stir it.

Then it stops. So I stop.

Then it starts,
and around we go.

Well mixed, oft tended, cold soup?
Not for me.

I'm throwing away my spoon.

Let it burn!

Cup

I think it is the lack of coffee that is getting to me. It has been twenty mornings since the last cup. Of course, I am not addicted to it. It's just that I have been really jittery and cranky without it. It is not only the cuppa that is missing, but also the banter and the obligatory after-walk, the disappointing Tribune and the Russian and the French. My routine has been upset! It's not the financial and personal problems, the lack of money, primadona guitar kids, hospital bills, and the Ex, my missing bells. It's the coffee. Or rather, it's not the coffee, if you take my meaning. I think I will go on tuesday and drink that really dark Forte' stuff. That will make everything right, I hope.

4:35am

I did not sleep last night.

You, breathing slower
and deeper,
welcomed a dream,
despite my gentle hands.

Charles Shaw: 1
Armand: 0

Still, I listened to the rain
until Ben Webster's tenor
screamed like a distorted
morning rooster from
your cursed clock.

Timed Out

This afternoon I wrote you a long email.
It was the longest email I have ever written.
You asked "how's my week going?"

I wrote about everything.
The good stuff and the bad.
I wrote about my feelings.
I wrote about every nasty detail
of my dispair, and about the
beauty of the recent rain, my son's
broken arm, and dancing and music.

It took me an hour to write this email.

By the time I hit the "SEND" button,
my session had timed out and my
words had disappeared into the ether.

To make a long story short:

I love you.

Driver

I wake
I drive

the rain

I kiss
I smile

the rain

I drive
I visit

the rain

I drive
I wait

the rain

I drive
I watch

the rain

I drive
I hug

the rain

I drive
I eat

the rain

Woozie Sling Boy

I see you.
I love you.
I love you too.
Two noses, two mouths.
Matthew is in need of a haircut.
Dan is not.
Kara is in need of a haircut.
My cyborg left arm.
Two oxygen tubes.
Compressor does not dance.
I can focus.
Do not place items on top.
Compressor does not dance.
Legolas, Zini, Warbolgs.
I am tired.
Compressor does not dance.

Orange in Bloom

I ordered a Latte, which is not my usual fare.
I figured there would be less caffine with all that milk in there.
I walked upstairs to join you in the loft,
A place where I had never been, but it felt like home.

You sat accross from me and talked about your work.
You looked into my eyes while we spoke, which did not go unnoticed.
You seemed comfortable with small talk,
The deeper story will wait for another time.

We left our empty cups, stepping into the larger world.
We walked toward the sun, on streets where you don't have to drive like a mexican,
We talked about places, and baggage, and bloodbath histories,
Circling back to your door, where we say goodnight.

last ping

ping.

If we had eyes, they would meet.
I see you, you see me,
but we are not really there.

ping

If we had voices to hear, then what?
I tell you, you tell me,
but we don't really speak.

ping

If we had lips, they would smile.
I am silent, you are silent.
but it is not the same.

last ping

Tomorrow the eyes meet,
the voices speak, and hands touch.
Tomorrow there is no medium;
only the air between our smiles.

Unity, Duty, Destiny.

WE ROCK!!!

You write the words.
You call the changes.
You play the bass.

I turn up the amp.
I run the machine.
I play the guitar.

You sing the words.
I sing some words.

WE ROCK!!!!

Djun Djun Djun!
Djun Djun Djun!
Djun Djun Djun!

Single Cell

I have been asleep these many years.
My one time pad once at the ready,
has languished this past decade in
a back room's forgotten drawer.

What was my purpose? Now with
the shop, my children, an ex-wife,
and a few hundred dollars in the bank,
my once torn roots are nurtured in new soil.

Far from Idaho, far from St. Jerome.

When the morning comes, I will be
sad to wake from this dream. I don't
remember why. Why must I be the
man of my youth? I am no longer that man.

When the call comes, I may choose not to answer.

Out of My Element

I have watched the swell,

rising by degrees,

quickening in pace,

until its crest ruffled

white and spoke its first

words to the world.

I have watched that short

lived peak curl forward

with indentured gravitas,

throwing the light and

shifting the sounds with

fleeting beauty in a narrowing eye.

I can feel the pull.

I hold my breath,

close my eyes,

and hope.