I rushed to my station of fury,
Keyboard tapping with anxious staccato
The pedantic response recomposing

The words quickly become pattern
Like a perpendicular Newark skyline
Spewing its filth into the free American air

My grimace like the Ipswich river’s oxbow
Isolating me further from life’s nutrients
irrational fears, flaccid hopes, un-brushed teeth

Granite ledge greets
the weary foot soldiers
surmounting the thickness
with no one to fight

With scarce amenities
aching ankles
and an obligated descent
I’m mysteriously happy

The quiet heavens
and rarified air
intoxicate me
with untold truth

*dedicated to Jon Neihart, a friend.

schoolyard days
portray me purely
before the eruption

the tea leaves
random but not for me
foreboding and bleak

You’ve read a few books, and with 17 years, full of hair, white supple skin, myopic opinions, this appeals to you, the disenfranchised and dissatisfied.

Explain to me, Mr Rich and White why I need your words and arcane symbols,
and metaphors and clever transitions to teach me nothing, nothing at all.

Who are you, with your English degree, expound on a tree, iambically?
Who cares about, your trysts with Ruth, your twisted truth, and vapid youth?
So you found new ways, to shock and amaze, and express your craze, using poets’ clichés

You pollute my world with your filterless Camels, saving my Earth, stealing my air,
either buy a book or get out of my store.

She took the wheel, taught me to heel, told me the deal I signed in ink

I watch the game, it’s still the same, but much more tame – feet on the floor

Those memories, gone with the breeze, she took my keys……

While in a trance, I learned to dance, she must enhance my way of life

I let her loose, gave her a noose, now I introduce her as my wife

I take her hand, at her command, and learn to understand her ways

But on week ends, she’s with her friends, the couch extends…..

And now she’s getting older

And just a little fatter

But you know what really matter’s is this:

She leave’s me alone

I can’t address this mental mess, but must confess I am asleep

I played the note, God I devote, I just provoke this girl to weep

In simple terms, this girl confirms, that money earns your right to speak

I can’t ad lib, a baby’s bib, she took my rib!