HAPPY

a girl who can lace her fingers together
behind my neck and
hang there for just a moment
to tell me
she is happy

this is what I need
as the days tip over
week after week
into the faint exhaust of memory

there's a cut on my shin
and i can't find my glasses

i suppose that's only natural
for a guy who goes to work and
comes home to sit with the TV
like a sick friend

skirting the parties and
questions from people
who don't know any better
(or any worse)

the grey pills do their job
most days and do it so well
sometimes I want a sink full
so i can never be sad again

but a girl
to lace her fingers together
behind my neck and
hang there for just a moment
to tell me
she is happy

this is what I'd die for.

SCREENS

I sat down to watch a DVD tonight
but there was too much outside my window

the fat girl next door
who stands on the sidewalk
flirting on the cellphone
with her boyfriend
and smoking cigarettes
while her husband is inside
changing the diapers
and thinking of much worse

words to call her than fat

the young Hispanic dudes
caps flat-brimmed and cocked
to the side with
tattoos on their neck
baggy shorts
arms crossed over their chest
glaring out at their world
a world of working two jobs
and making car payments and

staying out of other people's trouble

the distant music from
a backyard party across the alley
squeezing past the garage
and up the back steps to
whisper and giggle and

uncork a midnight I wasn't invited to

the tree in the front yard
turning another season
filtering the streetlights
through a riot of scarlet and orange
branching up
arms extended

in October surrender

Approximate Conversations, Vol. 1, No. 2

"They say if you go to the loudest spot that is closest to you, and stay pefectly still for 5 minutes, something happens. Make no movement - remain perfectly silent and hold for a full five minutes. You have to be real careful and consider both volume and distance to hit it just right."

Something happens. What happens ?

"Well, the kind of thing you see in kung-fu movies. Or magical-realist novels. A doorway in full, a bell not rung, and an arc of color and perfume."

When should you go and for how long ?

"To explain : Say you're downtown and there's a car alarm going off. But there's also a construction site around the corner. What do you do ? Remember : TIME! That car alarm is going to get shut down in a few minutes, but those cranes and bulldozers ? All afternoon. However, if the car alarm is going off right in front of your apartment, VOLUME! Who needs to go around the corner ?"

OK - And I go there and ....?

"Something happens."

Something happens?

"Something happens.
Yep. And if you stand as perfectly still as that junior-high king/queen spotlight dance,something like light and volume will exchange particles.... "

Approximate Conversations, Vol. 1, No. 1

"Someday scientists are going to make the connection to the spiritual
realm. Probably the physicists first. They spend all their time
watching the atoms fly around - all that sub-atomic shit, you know ?
They'll make that connection. Guarantee it."

Science is science and religion is horseshit.

"I'm not fuckin talking about religion, dude ! Take all the priests
and rabbis and mullah motherfuckers and line 'em up against the wall!
Fuck 'em - I'm talking about the present-day, eternal reality of
spirit which can be OBSERVED AND CONFIRMED BY SCIENCE ! Do you think
I'm some kind of dropout dumbass who never read a book ?"

What's the difference between religion and reality of spirit ?

"What's the difference between a flashlight and a supernova ? One is
an imitation of the other. We understand and need light - always have.
Eventually we figured out how to duplicate it and keep it near us.
But it's NOT the original reality. We are dealing with surrogates
until we can get the real thing."

Why can't religion get the real thing for us ?

"Because it is happy to settle for second-best. It tells you BE QUIET
AND OBEY YOUR LEADERS AND FOLLOW THE RULES BECAUSE OUR RULES ARE THE
BEST WE CAN DO ! This is why science will have to settle everything.

How do you know science can settle everything ?

"Science has no Pope or Bible or Torah or stable of unicorns. Only
observation and conclusions. The physicists will probably get there
first. Watching the atoms fly around - all that sub-atomic stuff with
the quantum mechanics and whatever. Fuck, man - If God is the
illustrator of all this, then his signature can only be found buried
deep under the paint, woven into the background, and disguised as a
finger-smudge".

A work-in-progress...

AQUIFER

in the arc
above my daydreams
i saw fireworks in blood
sketching out the profile
of forgotten saints

as the pulse of my apartment walls
traded sleep for coins of permanence
and trucks down the street
blasted chambers into concrete hearts

I thought of winter and
poured another rakia

visions
silouhette of visions
visions and rumors of visions
never stopping at the door
swirling on in
eddies of uncontested color

the color of madness
in plain shoes
finding their way from sidewalk to window
and slinging the days back from
when she had time for my lies
allowing me graceful exits from
my own failed sermons and
this plaster prison

i see for once that
time is loaded into copper jackets
waiting in clocks and computer screens
to open up anywhere
on the chance to grieve

as the passing boom of
car-stereos below my window
thunder up the glory of speeding youth
and crash in beautiful terminus
the curves and whispered bend
of saturday night into no tomorrow
there are wishes and

blankets that need folding
cupboards to stock and
voice-mail reminders
that pick at my skin like constant divorce

but i swim in the exit stream

to sheer linen flags
over summer yards
where radios and picnics
steep themselves in the
eyes of a thousand boys and girls
shaking off the incense and intimidation

under the ribcage was worst
though it didn't show and
you could walk it off
eventually

to the creek
down to the banks
under the elms and
into the shade of uncertainty
with a crumpled pack of
menthol courage

i saw lightning

trains roared and hawks circled
although these days I haven't
had to dodge either one

and I often wonder
as I wait for traffic lights to change
what the Iroquois word for surrender was

as 15 year-old tabby cats
thread my ankles
in figure-eights
Tuesday morning repeats itself

in tongues of persistance
barbed and fireproof
from the walls of variety
though here is a pattern

to blend into the hardwood
and stay in the kitchen
where no one speaks of
silouhette stains
under the sink

though lights across
the street change floor to
floor and wink through their curtains
at me tapping out a smile
on this keyboard of sparks
and deliverance.

Alexei Ramirez. The Next Clemente ?

Of course not. He doesn't have the upper-body strength of "Bobby".

All he has is speed and charisma.
And a knack for game-winning moves.

How do you say "messiah" in Cuban ?

XXVII

she's 27 and I can't help it

when she hugs me hello
and the earth spins off its orbit
in daydream highlights
under the sun we both share
but never indulge

as pistols scream over
lace and vanilla and
junkies nod off to
a Gershwin score

I can't help being
wrapped up in her
close and warm
as the equinox

slender hips pressed
belly flat and breath
against the earth

I think I've fallen off the edge
every time and she just moves
moves the tide

moves the tide.

Happy Mother's Day

(THIS POST RE-PUBLISHED BY REQUEST)

Today is Mother's Day and I thought I would share a story with those of you who, like me, have slightly odd tastes and, perhaps, a bit of the voyeur inside them. This goes back about ten years, when I was placing a call to my mother on that most important tele-communications day of all, Mother's Day. It was early evening - perhaps 5:00 or 6:00 Central Time U.S. - and I had picked up my cordless phone to place my call. My normal habit was (and still is) to pick up the handset, click the TALK button, bring it to my ear quickly to check for a dial tone, and then start dialing. Logical enough. I think 99% of the popualtion does it this way. (The remaining 1% have lost their phone priveleges.)

However, on this particular occasion I apparently picked up the handset, clicked the TALK button, and dialed "1", and then brought it to my ear. And what I heard was one of the most oddly beautiful pieces of music I've ever encountered. Over the phone, anyway.

I heard a calliope of beeps and tones coming from other callers, who were at that same moment dialing their own mothers. They were out there in tele-space somewhere - all over the country - seperated from their mothers by geography, but not by modern communication. The calls were singing out. Some tones were strong and clear, as if the caller were on the same line. Most of them were in the audible mid-range, where I could discern the pitch and duration of the "note" being sounded. It was a constant swirl, like the revolving doors of a downtown skyscraper at noon on a Tuesday - the excited and hurried rush of individuals pushing their own path through a shared telephonic doorway. And there I was, right near it - but not a part of it. An invisible doorman.

The most intriguing tones of all were the faint ones. I listened intently for them. They were so fragile and rare that I imagined these calls to be the most important. Phone calls placed from the desert, a lonely motel, or a snowbound cabin. Last-minute phone calls. Change-of-heart phone calls. Phone calls on the night before surgery.

I went to the kitchen for a glass of wine, returned and sat down on the floor next to the phone stand. I stretched out my legs and the cat invited himself to stretch out over them. We relaxed there for about twenty minutes, listening to the distant music of telephonic exchanges. I thought I might actually overhear a conversation, but that never happened. I don't know a lot about telephones, but it was obvious that this was an extremely busy day on the routers(?) and that the overflow from the dialer pipeline(?) was spilling into my home reservoir(!). Whatever the technical reasons, it was a curious glitch that provided a few moments of imagination and wonder.

I drained the wine glass, clicked first the OFF button, then the TALK button, and proceeded to call Mom. It was now my turn to join in the song.

win PLACE show

She was the daughter of Unbridled's Song (Breeder's Cup Juvenile winner and Florida Derby champion) and the grand-daughter of Unbridled (Eclipse Award winner and Kentucky Derby champion).

She had won four consecutive races coming into Saturday's 134th running of The Kentucky Derby.

Her 1/2 mile workout time on April 20 was 46:60 - the fastest of any other horse that day on the track.

On the first Saturday in May, the entire world of horse racing turned its attention to Churchill Downs in Kentucky. Eight Belles was the only girl in a field of 20 boys - champions all, with superior bloodlines, top trainers and jockeys, and visions of victory.

And she defeated all but one.

Big Brown crossed the finish-line four lengths ahead of her to take the win, but seconds later, the eyes of the racing world turned to Eight Belles yet again. She had stumbled badly and collapsed on the track, breaking both of her front ankles. The track veternarian rushed to her side, made a quick call to the owners, and a decision was made.

She was euthanized there on a stretch of Kentucky dirt, under a Southern spring sky, with millions of fans watching - and grieving - from around the world.

In nautical terms, the phrase "eight bells" means a sailor's watch is over. In everyday use, sailors use it to mean "finished".

"Client Number 9"

Did anyone else notice that the Spitzer scandal story broke on the same day The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame held its 2008 induction ceremonies ?

I will not suggest any conspiracy. I will, however, note the sad irony of Spitzer's reputation being destroyed within the same 24-hour news cycle that celebrated the music industry's most narcissistic glory orgy. You see, he first made his name prosecuting major record labels who ripped off artists - most of them rock musicians. He won huge back settlements for deserving songwriters who otherwise could not afford the kind of high-powered attorneys needed for such work.

Kind of sad to imagine sleazy corporate rock honchos toasting his demise at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame after-hours parties. I'm sure that happened. I'm also sure that one day, another Eliot Spitzer will come along and kick their fat asses on behalf of underpaid artists.

But hopefully THAT guy will have the sense to avoid call girls and stick with the groupies.

Barack Obama, 1961 - 2008

OK - now that I've got your attention, I have something to say that has been bothering me for awhile now. I am really starting to worry about the safety of our nation's first legitimate African-American presidential candidate. Our nation's first populist - and popular - anti-war candidate since Bobby Kennedy.

I first got a little nervous when I heard a couple of reports about his plane being mis-directed to the wrong airport in Iowa. The media kind of laughed this one off as one of those zany campaign trail mis-haps. Ha Ha ! Those Washington politicians don't know Des Moines from Ottumwa ! After that came a story about his plane narrowly missing a runway collision during take-off at yet another airport. And this was when I started getting really worried.

What if there was something more sinister at work here ? What if someone was carefully setting up a scenario in which a final "accident" would occur, taking Obama's life in the process ? If you think about it, the best way to make an accident look "inevitable" would be to stage some near-accidents before-hand. Goddamnit - I hate to think like this, but I can't help it. Especially after what later happened in Texas.

Supposedly, the Dallas police were told by The Secret Service to stop searching people at the door to an Obama rally. There had been such a huge turnout, someone made the decision to keep things moving along by dropping all safety-checks and allowing everyone to enter unsearched. What the hell was that about ? Is it really a good idea to let political candidates make an appearance before a live crowd without conducting the same inspections you find at a baseball park, for Chrissakes ?

I'm not buying it. I'm worried. And scared. I'm fucking terrified that there may be forces at work who want to see Barack Obama's rise to national leadership stopped and discarded for good. He has distinguished himself as the anti-war candidate with no embarassing authorization vote in his Senate record. His speeches have drawn record crowds and inspired young voters to get involved like almost no one before him. Charm, composure and intelligence have marked his every move upon the national stage. This is a man who took his Harvard law degree to the streets of Chicago to work for housing rights for the poor. At every subsequent step in his public service carreer - Illinois legislature, U.S. Senate, Democratic presidential nominee - he has proven himself to be worthy of his supporters expectations, hopes, and ideals. Its almost certain that his ideas for change, and his potential to carry them out, have got to have some people in some certain quarters worried.

And that is what worries me.

Thank you for indulging me in a paranoid rant.

THEN

I stare at photos
from the 1970's and

wish for grenades and flower vases
that pass for God
in a slow dissolve

there used to be a plan
drawn in blackest of ink and
stamped on the foreheads of
altar boys who could have been me

we who never volunteered
saved by our own reluctance

and the parents and relatives
who disapproved
still like to imagine
their heroes in stained glass.

Just A Pretty Picture...

Nothing more - nothing less. And isn't that enough ?

San Francisco Zoo Tiger Attack

Do you realize that a 12-foot wall is basically a CHALLENGE for an adult tiger ? And about 9 times out of 10, he will beat that challenge.

C'mon - I have seen COUGARS jump 12-15 feet, too.
And to think that a tiger will NOT respond to a taunting from a target that is within jumping distance ?

Please, bitches.