Lovesick

Hope is a mine shaft
with sagging wet timbers
rotted nearly to the middle
it's dark and black in both directions
and I'm frantically preparing new timbers
to keep it from caving in
I'm so dirty
and my back is screaming at me
but I'm not ready to leave
despite the worsening situation

For her
freedom comes in solitude
the peace of the quiet perfections
loving herself like a holy relic
constructing her perfect altars everywhere
while the moon and flowers secrete
their poetess bait
always surrounded by delicate things
and the delicate superstitions
of millennia ago
her feelings have become
Mosaic Law in her heart
and I am just a Gentile
a simple man with no Kabbalah
and filthy children
unroyal and unequal
unlearned and blunt
I drag too many broken things around
in my broken down old cart
the one I'll drag around
until I'm crooked and beaten by time
I'm made for work
maybe not for courting queens
or for the decoding of souls

Hers is a freedom that is deeply offended
when a man as imperfect as me
comes in to try but fails
with his dirty boots
and clumsy love
and rusted sword
and dirty wooden-wheeled wagon
full of boys and broken things
I came with good intentions
but no turns were right
I could not satisfy her
all the patience I could muster
wasn't enough
all my fallen man woundedness
was too much
all my attempts at witnessing her
were inadequate at best
and damaging at worst
There was my breathing dog
my boyish boys
the dirt under their nails
and how they can't remember
the cloth napkin rule
their warring mom
who sued me with her boyfriend
and the devastation that created inside
to know I had more battles to fight
a fourth tour with no breaks
There were the times I yelled at her son
the time I yelled in her house
my lines in the sand
the lines that got trampled
and the ones that held up
and hurt her heart

Ultimately,
she decided that being alone
was the best thing for her
that I am not up to the tasks she needs
not a man she wants afterall
a man she did too much for
a man she never got enough from
a man that wouldn't
scoop her and her son up unconditionally
so she yelled at me one last time
when I was stuck on my couch
and left my life
with the finality of a guillotine

I have joined a chorus of headless men
I have failed, executed
along with her last long-term man
and if you were to ask us about her
we would easily say in unison

She's a Queen

with a thousand things
gracefully unsaid
because we were pretty decent men
in different ways
and we both understand
that we were rejected
by a woman who knows she is great
and demands greatness in return
many greatnesses
we didn't measure up for her
we weren't enough
for our own particular reasons
in our own particular ways

So I try to keep that hope of mine
for a second act with her
from caving in on me
and it's hard
because I can see how happy she is
I can read it in her love poetry
to her porch and to herself
her songs of life without me
the love songs to my absence
they have sweet Spring melodies
and ring in my ears like dynamite.

Arch

I once tromped right through palace rooms and temples like I deserved to be a statue
I walked right into the elders' council chambers and sounded like a young Scrub Jay
when the blisters started mounting on my spirit
when my smile cracked like thin lake ice
Everything changed

Freedom is a caustic acid bath
turns out
I get to do my own walking
but those traumas will sure stack up
until nobody's heart is clean enough
and I'm breaking up with a woman I love every part of
forced to heal alone
back to the desert wilderness with Moses and the Jews
back to the fishing boats with the gnarled brethren,
away from the women,
back to the beginning of the journey that never ends
burning in the sun, working the nets, working the chisel
back to the search, scanning the shore for the Lord
to atone for these wounds
these little suicides I committed
back when I thought I deserved things
like freedom or access to temples
those years of being so sure of my steps
before I had a bunion
and all this pain.

I Hate the DMV

The DMV
consumed eighty five percent
of my work day
and when you're self employed
that feels like just another form
of taxation
to take me away
from working on my dreams
to force me into
an obedience ritual
so I can wait for hours
to show a knealing human being
some paperwork.

Then I went to Taco Bell
and marveled at how much harder
their task is
to make food and give it to us
in five minutes
in a way that doesn't kill us
from bacteria,
it inspired me.
The workers at Taco Bell
served at least 80 people
in less than a half hour with
8 employees.

The dude who took my order
a high school aged tall black kid
Was all muscular and made direct eye contact
He displayed perfect and clear customer service
listened intently and moved the line along
and the government would just love
to slow that kid down
all that efficiency is dangerous
all that connectivity and the independence involved
in busting out thousands of bean burritos
for car fulls of stoners until 2am

California has over 30 prisons
full of men like that
and they made the license plate
for my trailer
because without an army of slaves
things like license plates
wouldn't make the cut
as something to bother with
the DMV would barely exist
and we'd just drive our cars
and everything would be fine.

Simplicity

I use two knives to do everything in the kitchen
because that was how I was trained
by a Haitian man from Queens
who made millions of dollars on Gumbo

For every new garment in my closet
another garment has to go
that's my rule
it's how I would run
government and taxes
if I was in charge of that
smaller closets are better
just like governments

My favorite way to sleep
is under quilts my grandmothers made
I love how I feel cradled by their hands
long after their deaths
long after I am a grown man
I let myself feel protected by them
I miss their crooked fingers
their sturdy kisses
the way they cooked meat

Life has never been this simple for me
this deliberate
spacious
and clean
there was so much about living
I just had to test
so many things I believed in
but wouldn't you know it
my Great-Grandpa had a secret girlfriend
a secret we know about
four generations later

It's best to keep it simple
best to keep it clean

Kill

It's about a return
to the sand and grasses
the thorns and blood and ticks
the hidden fields off trail
where dozens of butterflies live
Raven black with the blue of jewels
like almost being allowed to re-enter Eden

It's about the stillness
hiding with a weapon
until your human clumsiness is forgotten
and all the creatures return
hawks in love circling
just twenty feet above

I saw my prey a few times
but not enough for a good shot
the sun made me tired
on the long hike out of the fields
I ate old trail mix
because I was very hungry
and with my unloaded gun
resting on my shoulder
I had the peace inside of me
of love and forgiveness
the peace of a slow and mighty river

The Center of a Man

This hurts
today there is nobody to share with
I don't know how to be so inspired by little things
at an age where everyone has grown out of that
or had it pushed out through obedience

A simple breeze through leaves
still feels like a temple to me
I count the folds of plastic
in the front of a shotgun shell
I forget how to spell Karen
and paint with oil
to trade speed for alchemy
I have learned patience

My tribe has scattered
every last one of them
so I will go to Wal-Mart to buy camouflage
and tomorrow I'll hunt for the center of myself
down the barrel of a shotgun
pointed at a wild turkey
with another man who's tribe scattered
I will be in my feral center
that only I can hold
this instinctual core
that my culture would see me surrender

But I can't
it's where all the beautiful things
I've ever had
get created and destroyed
Where I make art
where I take risks
where I can kill an animal to eat
where I make love
and where I apply a blood choke

The center of a man
is a little big bang of violence and creation
Without it many would go hungry
and the babies would be too cold in the winter

Somebody always has to break the ground
and I'm sorry it's so hard for me to be sorry


 

Loss

In life
in these waterfalls of frailty and pain
there is the nearly unbearable responsibility
of lacing these boots
there's the heavy load of concrete
how it always breaks apart
the searing image in the mirror
the way it distorts everything
this pain beating in my chest
it's the undeniable countdown of heartbeats
the quickening of the rain
all the impermanence
all the hope, it's either noble or futile

Regardless
I will hang onto it like dental floss
I'll tightly grip it
the memories
of the softest whispers
the brightest eyes
but here and now there's only this windshield
an empty truck
a country song
about lost love that should have been
songs of regret
songs of wishing for better men.

Don't

Don't try to bring me to ruin
well you won't
but don't try

You'll fail

I will rebuild
over and over
until I can't breathe

My organs should have failed
but they didn't
because I willed them not to

my will is stronger than oxygen

that's who I am
in my heart

a man
who will die
only when he wants to

Anarchist Thoughts

               I.

Leaving the country always feels good
this greatest empire that ever was
that can destroy the world ten times over with bombs
if it wants
but it won't
it'll destroy itself
it'll unravel like a loose knot
tied with slick rope by numb fingers on a freezing night

               II.

This is an election year
the song and dance our masters give us
so we can believe we live in a democratic republic
At least the People's Republic of China
is honest with their one party rule
Oh and they have good education
and health care
and way less prisoners

               III.

There are other nations I wouldn't want to be stuck in
without a doubt
I know it isn't all happy beaches and delicious street food out there
although there are a lot of beaches and street foods
but we are a nation that sells war to ourselves
with the delusion that our way is best for the world
and then we finance those wars and our 700 military outposts
with money borrowed from theocratic dictatorships and communist authoritarians
we don't have any money of our own anymore
we spend more than we make
take more than we give
and consume more than we create

              IV.

The actual value of every paper currency in history is zero
No fiat currency survives the test of time
In 2008 the whole system was two hours away from collapse
and the ATMs would have stopped spitting cash
and all the banks would have closed
and all our deposits would have vanished
like a jealous thought whispered away by a lover's kiss

             V.

The dollar itself is the biggest financial bubble in the history of civilization
And living among the madness and spoils of empire
has made me slothful and apathetic
or ravenously ambitious
although all that feels firmly in the past now
and the only way that feels firm and calm to me
the only balance I can find
is in anarchy, prayer, and getting things made

            VI.

Nobody has real authority over anybody else
That's a thing we do to give away responsibility
but every time we do that little pieces of sovereignty go with it
like erosion on a logged hillside
it's as unnatural as a logged hillside
       

The Quiet

The night

The dark like a wet wool army blanket

a room within a room

The voice of Jake in the distance

he’s like the guys who bring guns to the campground

and talk loudly four campsites away

The network is down

it is no match for trees this tall

with all their falling branches and ravens

Magalia

The valley wind wanted to get away from itself
so it hurried up and out of the valley
and blew through the pines
three thousand feet up
bending the tree tops over
making that soft applause sound
like millions of tiny people in the sky clapping

The wind looked over its shoulder
to see if the valley noticed its absence
and relieved, the wind settled
it ducked down and filled the canyon
a branch cracked from the weight of the wind's wake
it fell and stabbed against the single pane window
the dog gazed out that window
motionless
for a solid minute
a full sixty seconds

It is warm tonight
there's no need to burn up the wood
or work in the garage any longer

The Handshake

In the cold morning wind

with the little rain drops slicing

like mist on the freeway

I brought the mug to my lips

the heavy green mug

a souvenir from a dream

I tried to build

and might try again later

I don't know yet

but it's heavy and glazed

and I'm proud of it because I tried hard

and a pilot can't blame himself

for getting hijacked by terrorists. 

But I needed the coffee to pick up

from where we left off the night before.

We were talking about the arrangement

but passed out early watching a movie with my boys

and the coffee was so damn good this morning

roasted on my iron skillet with my son. 

I just dropped it

not the coffee but how much money I wanted to make to write the book

It was agreed to with some timing modification

no back and forth

some monthly, some lump sum

percentage of sales agreements 

Just all fair and agreed to.

It was so easy

we are men used to talking about money at this point

we've been around it enough to know 

about its utter absurdity

little artistic engravings printed on paper

trying to look all powerful like it has a soul

we talk about fiat currency, how the dollar is doomed

and then turn on a shiny feather-light dime

to talk about sales strategy

without it seeming contradictory. 

Doing business leaves a man

unable to shuffle back in to the herd.

You'd rather lick rocks for salt

or entertain yourself with the trees

or eat miner's lettuce for lunch.

We shook hands firmly

typed up an email to have it in writing 

talked next steps

and he left.

I was what I always believed I could be

just like that. 

After years of reading and striving

and rebellion and poverty 

laziness and working way too hard

and dreaming and poetry

love and death and rebirth

and the proper seasoning that comes 

from age and taking risks to live a life you won't forget 

and losing everything

losing everything is like polishing a stone into a mirror

until the skin on your hands rubs off

and blood smears all over the mirror stone. 

I know why there are terrorists. 

I know why there aren't more writers. 

Yukon Gold

I went ten years 

with hardly ever having potatoes

in the pantry

there would sometimes be

fingerlings or little blue ones

or two idahos for a specific recipe

but the potato, the staple 

fell off the list.

Then I went broke

and the potato became a prominent

food source again

because five pounds costs a couple bucks

and Yukon Golds

are as good as cream.