on the hour when the ship comes in

the other night 17th street fired wildly into itself
and shot off the lights we’d hung
to illuminate all sorts of things, and one of the lights
exploded and went off into the night like a firework
like there could have been a giant cartoon POW right there
over the city at night
which is dark and where all the stars are probably just airplanes
where sometimes the buildings look like they’re stretching
and where the other day I read about how nick drake’s face
never looked quite right with a smile on it
and someone told me about a point in life
where you can never go home again.

i have reason to believe that we all will be redeemed in graceland.

I want to stuff you in a garbage bin until it's time for me to find you again

I want to place continents between me and everything that matters
just to see what happens

I want a cigarette and I want a beer,
I want a split wet beaver to stick my rock hard dick in
because sometimes I feel like that building that says 'boner 4ever'
or the people who sleep in the cars with the seats rolled down, and write out secret reports in the language that occurs between radio stations,

I want to write you very important notes and keep them in my head
because it's never the message it's always the act,

(let's dynamite something soon and spend time in an aquarium
eating all sorts of things wrapped in bacon.)

you should know I want to drench you in milk and honey,
because I am told they are comforting.

you should know I have written my best work in my sleep,
I hope it stays there.

there are sounds coming from the garbage bins
I am growing impatient,
I am shopping for the dynamite


you should know that in this light the buildings are mountains, the fog is ringing them,

that off in the distance, we see something on the horizon,
we have taken to the streets,
we have thrown our wants to the ground,
where the wind will blow them in the face of what’s coming,
because there is a wind now,
and everyone has a jacket.
and everyone has got to be ready.

did you remember that everything is good here?
will you please come home?

something about hospital beds, and good intentions

what lead us here?
gps & text messages
google maps & wikipedia

I drop names like there’s a hole in my pocket
and it’s full of names.

“you should always keep a fresh pair of socks, no matter what”
I’m sure someone’s said this before
but that doesn’t make it any less so,

and “these days I use the lord’s prayer as a means of drowning out all the little things
instead of sleeping
I can’t tell if it works or I just get tired of the bickering”

and I heard tell of a youth movement in the north
that may have moved so far in that direction
that it is now south
(I’m sure I read about this sort of thing before)
they have seen the face of the father in the pbr tall boy
in the sweaty mustache,
in the backwards motion of a fixed gear bicycle

this is not an indictment,
this is reporting.


you know there is a war every second
there is one going on on this very page,

and like katie couric,
as I tell you this, my eye contact rarely wavers

and sometimes it’s not a matter of choosing sides
as much as it is walking in between the bombs
through shelled sidewalks and smoke ringed building tops

but don’t let that stop you
from taking a stand
on anything you see.

like the man says
“It's hard to find the news in poetry,
but men die every day for lack of what is found there.”

doors opened and closed all over philadelphia. next door the birds made sounds to imitate the noisy things they may have seen.

he was sitting on the couch with the two small black pillows on either end and the blanket he folded around the top. when she said i'm leaving you don't listen anymore, he was looking at the table.

on the table there was a ring from a yuengling bottle, one of those moisture rings but without the wet. he was looking at it, not because he wanted to clean it or because he was mad that it was there, but just to look. she said i'm leaving, did you fucking hear me? and but while he was looking he said to her no no baby please you didn't understand, cmere an sit with me a little hey, hey, shh but all he meant was if i could pull the bones from your body i could build a scraper and it would clean this right off, i know it. she already had a large bag packed full of things like underwear and soap and shampoo and tampons and a toothbrush and nonlatex condoms, she was ready or to put it better, she was prepared. he wondered if you could lick it off, and regretted it. he said hey, hey, she moved for the door.

she thought about that couch and the things on it. she thought of history, like the sort you find in texts. she thought about all the things she could forget. and how there’s a sort of surrender that happens that gets confusing when nobody sets any terms. he scratches at the ring.

notes from a walk that will be picked apart

i want to stuff you in a garbage bin until it's time for me to find you again

i want to place continents between me & everything i hold dear & then see what we build & what we neglect

i want to want a cigarette and i want a beer

i want a split wet beaver to stick my rock hard dick in like that building that says 'boner 4ever' or the people who sleep in the cars with the seats rolled down & write secret reports in the language that occurs between radio stations

i want to leave you elaborate & revealing notes & hide them in places you might maybe look because it's never the message it's always the act

let's dynamite something soon & spend time in an aquarium eating all sorts of things wrapped in bacon

i have reason to believe i have my reasons they are old & buried deep inside all of us all it takes is a mountain or dynamite or road work or the proper sounding gear

it is written in sounds & spoken in pictures & it takes a certain amount of punching yourself in the face to see it because you can't see a thing when you're trying that hard to look at it

i want to drench you in milk & honey because i am told they are comforting

& i can only think standing up in motion or when i'm sleeping

i have written my best work in my sleep i hope it stays there there are sounds coming from the garbage bins i am growing impatient i am shopping for dynamite on the internet in this light the buildings are mountains the fog is ringing them