Tangents:Chapter 1 -The Fermenting (Excerpt)

Prattle on endlessly and make certain that the aquarium in the Indian restaurant overlooks those who chose the buffet style dinner.
Glass walls that bounce back the city bus in all its glory are merely reflectors of what’s actually going on in the piss and dirty streets of Cambridge.
The lofty are ploughed under and the musical is betting on the sweet sound of the Bolivian flute to send them to the other side where they will find the Promised Land.
Couched in clichés, we corner ourselves in hot summer late afternoons where the in-goers and street hangers wish kiosk doom on the token holders.
The hum and brazen criss cross of car horns curls dangerously around the narrow roads that wax historic in all their blue parking sign,--(P sign on corner)—splendor. A bite of warm and friendly Chinese food and then a thick room temperature Guinness at the Black Sheep and the sudden doorway bum frightens me and how I wish I could park somewhere and get on with it already---

Formations

the horizon darkens again with slate colored anticipation, as rumbling flashes murmur their impending crescendo
squads of birds become V formations of here comes the rain
the horizon mumbles something about a purplish billowing line
witch hands scrawl the bottom sky with yellow pencil
scare show of eye blinding instants

6-16-10

Sounding Board For The Masses (or how I learned to shut up and speak)

How to begin?
At times it seems endless. This lofty position I’ve so glibly accepted as ear to the world; therapist to the minions; and sounding board for the masses. If I thought for one precious second that all this time spent nodding my head, and lending poor advice were being wasted, I’d say, “Enough is enough already!” But au contraire mon amis. I foolishly set forth into the uncharted regions of mans love-clouded mind. I wantonly excoriate my dearest friends for mistakes I haven’t even made yet. I laud the virtues of patience and tolerance, when in fact; I am the largest transgressor of both. Yet the words continue to flow. The love-lorn continue to stagger up to my doorstep, laying their tangled lives at my feet, expecting me, of all people, to put things right for them once again. But who will lend an ear to my darkest anxieties when they finally become unbearable? When will my time come, or will I always and forever be the receptacle of other people’s sordid unravelings? I see not the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but I do see where this is all going…

The Big One Regular Kid 1992

Untitled

Floozies
With cavities
Live in the trees
And the breeze
Blows the hair from their eyes
And they become
Bowling balls
In the halls
Echo ancient robots in the hallowed caverns of the Earth

circa 1984

THE THESPIAN AND THE MOONGAZER

I looked for her
through years of
moon-gazing,
knowing
we both discerned that satellite.

She clothed herself
as actors do,
and she sang
the angel octaves-
spinning under spotlight

My world was featureless-
a tectonic slumber
of silent plates;
ashen ridges on
cross-stitched faces.

Through the grist mill
of a brick skyline;
she laced under cars.
She blossomed through windows-
a billion year body.

Captured to your script,
I buried myself
under her Mediterranean eyes,
and the hunger of
the coliseum.

John Wesley Harding

In the smoke den of the 90's
John Wesley Harding takes the swing to the thing
and exultantly proclaims
it's the world and all it's problems
the world