good luck, babe, progeny of tori amos & kate bush, the 1980’s, their “tell” -stratified debris of an earlier generation of people- now buried under chappell roan’s civilization, and so it goes, guthrie gave way to dylan, madonna to gaga, dicaprio to chalamet, not to say tori and kate are gone, but they are, & one day roan will disappear too, obvious, the young push out the old, why does this matter? because we all hold too tightly, grip less firmly, because, in the words of sufjan stevens, all things go
Category: Poetry
Seeing Kris Jenner In Capri
warm italian day, capri, summer island, boutique windows reflect back tanned skin and dripping gelato, inside -crimson coral gold rings, linen fabric folded, draped, elegant, expensive, clothes no one wears except on yachts in mediterranean opulence, then there is Kris Jenner, like a native, she belongs on the other side of the glass, her bodyguard in black t-shirt hovering nearby, no one notices, until they do, they, meaning my wife, a quick elbow to my ribs, that’s Kris Jenner, and I should care because I know Khloe, Kim, Scott, versed in keeping up with flat screened family drama, but i’m sweating, ready to sit poolside back at the hotel, yet she, my wife, is feigning interest in the shop where Kris is trying on jewelry, enters to browse, to linger near, and why? as if some scent of fame might rub off on her, as if she really wants that cloistered, sunglasses, hat-wearing life, this goes on for several minutes, until finally, like a hunter, my wife gives up, leaves the tracking of prey to others, who now notice, stare, elbow their partners, as I walk away I can only imagine how this will go on and on, from store to store, as Kris ignores the tourists, buying everything under the sun.
Stream #3 or Borrowed
for some of you
know my method
my way of writing
is to take a line from
something i just read
for some of you
borrowed, now mine
how precious to
hold and do differently
this life, better than
the one before
and we all have had
a life
before, especially the
buddhists, hindus, and
believers in more than
football, beer
and sephora, the
surface shimmers, glimmers
with hope that the
veneer is real, but
for some of you
meaning, me, it is
thin ice
and i’ve already broken
through
into the cold water
Stream #2 or Artificial Intelligence
they told me long ago
we must keep up with the joneses
and so we lost our horse
bought a car, a fridge
a tv, a microwave, a personal
computer, an answering machine
cellphone, email, you get the
idea, now A.I., euphemism
for ending humanity, too strong?
no, not really, and again they
say it is inevitable, you must
learn to live with the robots
because the waymos are
here, they aren’t going away
because someone, somewhere
is making too much money to
slow it down, so we teach our
children how to write papers with
machines doing the the work, because
well, this is the future, post-writing
when whatever we people think
doesn’t really matter, only the algorithm
knows, it knows where we go
what we watch, when we sleep
it predicts our next purchase, predicts
the future, is the future, resist
whatever that means
Stream #1
what i should do
is not hesitate
like in the past
go boldly into
this blue ink
nothing, it is
everything, but
only for me
in this second
i try to tell the truth
and nothing but
what i’ve learned on tv
those sitcoms like
three’s company
and imagine
that all of life could
be the regal beagle
a stage set in
the 80’s, and yet
this goes on, we call
it netflix, my old
nemesis, my old
friend, what i should do
i don’t, the humans
make mistakes
the revolution
will be televised
but there will
never be a
revolution
Budweiser
king of beers, with
horses trotting through snow
men holding cans
red and white
etched on coolers, on
tap handles, pulled by
bartenders, all over this
land, we love to
drink it up, cold
those majestic bubbles
eventually go stale sitting in
plastic red cups, or on
stained shoes, missed drips
unsteady moments, swerving
to get home
no, not royalty
but it can rule us
this little liquid
we love it so
Homeless Ice Cream
every morning i drive by ben & jerry’s
haight-ashbury, hippie history
he sleeps on sticky stairs
remnants of mint chocolate chip, the
sugary smell underneath sleeping bag
comforts his drunk, drugged out body
pressed against concrete like
ice cream against waffle cone, but
this isn’t dessert, i think
of the hundreds of tourists’ feet
smiling, licking
walking on his bed
Instagram Influencer
watch me applying tinted serum or wearing snake skin heels, i’m on the gram, insta, & luckily you pause to watch me, because i matter, this matters, my feet, my face, my expensive complexion, i look good, toes covered in dead reptiles, you make me happy with your likes & i make you happy as you ponder buying products to be like me, symbiotic, our relationship, me, wealthy, well-kept, well-dressed, you, trying to keep up, keep trying.
When I Used To Ski
injured vertabrae is my reality, what do i miss? you ask in february, easy to answer, cross-country skiing, white snow, pine trees, vast mountains, i’m nothing & everything, expanse of time & space, gliding on undulating slopes, effort sweat spreads, limbs working hard, heartbeat, blood knows i’m at peace, no cellphone reception, only the next climb, one ski in front of the other, smooth swish, bits of ice crystal on boots, now just memories.
When The Holidays Are Over
no more 8am waking up, dean martin really can’t stay, chestnuts stop roasting, the hallmark channel starts to countdown from 364, the radio quits playing it’s the most wonderful time of the year, dead christmas trees adorn city concrete, jimmy stewart disappears back into nostalgia, family says goodbye, credit card bills get paid, calories are cut, gym memberships rise, green & red sweaters go back into cedar chests, thank you cards are written, hot chocolate loses its luster, mistletoe romance becomes memory, new year’s resolutions begin, to do lists resurface, everyone gets a little older & 2023 says goodbye.
