looking ahead

she brought it out to me
a full glass of whiskey and cola
a good one
the way I like it
the sun fell a thousand miles
down
and the
                 dusk
            took its place
       just over to my right
    stood the mountains
encapsulated by
the oncoming slaughter
            of
           the
          night
everything felt fine
the world
the falling sun
politics
love
hate
and the
lack of world peace

Of the city

At night you can hear the sullenness
of the city.
The concrete under foot,
the magnitude of the people jostling
around,
all of the conversations
which pass by your ears.
You can hear things you never thought you’d
hear.
The ground speaks with each new step.
Bubble gum stuck there for years,
dried up, hard, one with the pavement.

At night, you can smell the movement
of the city.
Movement
and
melody.
Breath from passersby
and smoke of cigars,
cigarettes,
pipes,
perfume,
body odor,
pheromones,
grass,
different kinds of beverages,
all kinds of food.

At night you can see the history
of the city,
edifices,
constructs,
love,
hate,
all of the differences encompassed
w/in it.

If you listen,
hear,
smell,
pay close attention,
you can.

Something on something that was said before

IN the bowels of madness reap the harvest of
madmen,
sanity,
pretentious sycophants,
and raving rightwing fascists.
I SCREAM in
to
the twisted cornucopia
of time
that has so
vehemently
protested against
itself.

Kiss me first one last time

Wave after wave of battered down worthless pride
and what do I have here in this life?
I sit wondering about tomorrow
about the whole grand shindig,
if it will last,
how long,
all that.
Piano man sings his lullaby.
Chick up there on the stage
sings baby bye-bye and she winks
at me.
She tells me everything is alright.
Sip that drink honey,
I’ll be home tonight.
But it is okay because I do not mind
if anyone is home.
The piano man takes a break
and the wine pours itself.
Laugh.
I know.
I laugh too.
I laugh at the sickness of it all, friend.
Can I call you that?
Friend?
What is that?
I lost all of mine.
They weren’t friends anyway.
They were just precursors to poor judgment.
Knock it back,
all around,
breathe the town,
take it all in.
Carry me home,
open that drawer,
see that thing, dark-grey,
now,
press it against my supple flesh.
That’s it, baby.  You got it.
Kiss me first,
one last time:
then tell the world
it lost another angel.