Monday, June 11, 2012


I dropped the kid off at the High School
and it was the second to last day of the year
summer already fired
from the barrel of the gun
and she said, "There goes Bobby M.!"
as a car spun past us
in the opposite direction of the school.
"Where's he going?! Oh yeah . . . seniors don't have to go to school today."
and I said to her, "Damn! Seniors don't have to go to school on a Monday morning! Why do I have to go to work? I'm calling my boss. Should have been a High School Senior instead of a lousy Funeral Director!"
she laughed as she exited my car
kids running around electrified
by the anticipation of summer break
in the air.

The Indian had texted me at 6 in the morning
from somewhere South of Galveston
and it was the same old line
"why is so-in-so mad at me?"
she was a real flesh and bone Indian
with emotions and memories
real cheeks with tears that would run down them
not made of wood at all
and certainly not sitting stationery
in front of a Wyoming tobacco shop
for all eternity to torture.

I smelled the death
as I crossed into the realm
opened the door and stepped timidly
into the other world
even got to punch a time clock for the privilege
wet plastic rubber bodies
that new casket smell
direct cremation on a social security budget
nothing like watching the hands of the clock move
the minutes fall away
will sitting in the cold silence of a mortuary
waiting for the phone to ring
it's the kind of slow madness
that gnaws away at the brain
like an army of termites
directed by the cold scythe of the reaper
biblical locust clouds swarming the sub-conscious
chewing while you sleep awake
waiting for the next desperate soul
to circle the drain
and go

I rechecked my cell phone
and remembered
the prettiest gal in the prettiest blue dress
who, quite sternly, pointed out
some defects in my ability to maintain
and establish personal relationships
in other words
let the past go dick-hole
summers in the air
and like a good John Mellencamp tune
the melody is one of nostalgia
and mid-western longing
where the highway is ripe to burn rubber
all the signs pointing to anywhere but here
and, by God, that gal in the pretty blue dress
was ready to ride . . .

Damn! If we could all just
take a second to strip off our clothes
step back and take a look
I think the shock
would send us barreling off
into the summer nights
like an angry boar
rooting for better times
foraging for all those golden moments
we will someday
fondly look back upon.

Imagination on ice
in a cold stupor
like all the stiffs in back
slabbed and chained
wearing their mask for the rest of eternity
the true face has flown
and stolen with it
all the story of the life
and only the flesh remains.

I tap my fingers on the desk
from the window I see
sun, movement, figures, trees, birds, mountains, colors, sand,
asphalt, stop signs, flags, people, fixtures, rocks, lizards
and life, yes oh yes, glorious life!
flowing all around
but the hamster still runs the tiny wheel
caged up inside my brain
I am a tamed beast
tapping the glass
looking out at all the spectators
who are looking in.

it's back
I have wasted it
like shower water anticipating a naked body
without a BBQ
without a pretty gal
with no fast car
tenor sax blowing against the hot humidity
blood pumping the heart
let's go!
where are you
I'm here
stuffed inside a filing cabinet
dressed in a dark suit
at a desk
pushing a coffin
clicking my heels
dusting an urn
just waiting
wanting . . .


Sunday, June 10, 2012

Not Everybody in California is a Goddamn Surfer

Are you lonely . . . wishing your life away on the dusty window seal? Sunday's are a dull blade of longing against the wrist. The fog moves in . . . the fog moves out. The desert is a vagrant mirage trespassing on my over-heated psyche. This is a town of ruin. Our shadows run wild against the fire light of flaming buildings. Slash and burn. A town filled with crazy unions and intertwined lives that radiate the sickest sort of energy. Relationships burning alive. Fuel for the fire is abundant. No hope. No survivors. And even fewer witnesses.

I'm sure it's the same everywhere. Just insert your town's name here _____________________________.

So, Ohio called me
and Ohio said
that everything you do is just temporary
and that is the essence of relationships
and Ohio's neighbor was laying on his couch smoking a grip
and the Neighbor said, "oh look . . . it's Mr. California. Mr. Doesn't Believe in Monogamy."
and Ohio looked at the Neighbor, "Look motherfucker, not everybody in California is a goddamn surfer! We don't all live bohemian lifestyles! I'm just saying that different types or relationships work for different people. "

Ohio moved from California to Ohio
a few years ago
now he is in the mid-west with a family
and San Francisco was sitting in her living room
gazing out the window at the Pacific Ocean
in a floral print summer dress
sipping a banana-strawberry nut smoothie
she was still young, voluptuous, full of life
and she knew Ohio to, back when Ohio was California
and I knew them both way back when there was
magic and mystery
still in the air
when our lives were still new and threaded through
with so much promise
and I was in San Francisco back then
when San Francisco & Ohio were living in Joshua Tree
and I had a new baby girl and a baby momma
somewhere far, far South down interstate 5
and I let that roll away
because I was to busy playing with strippers and junkies and rock'n'roll
and that was the beginning of the end
so the say . . .

They have come
and they have gone
and I am no closer
to the truth
about relationships
what is right, what is wrong, what works, and what doesn't
all I can tell you is that it is just all speculation and dice rolling
like investing in futures markets
with less return
and when it comes down to it,
the sad thing is that,
we're all doing what's best for everybody else
and never what's best for our hearts.

It's always left undone . . .

When relationships unravel
they create great, catastrophic messes on the floor
and people are so un-compelled to clean them up
we just stand there and stare down at them
marvel at our lovely disasters
and we nurture our messes
grow them up to full scale disasters
and we make all kinds of shit out of them
like talk shows and divorce lawyers and swords to stab back with
movies, plays, songs, salad dressings,
paternity tests, drug habits, and psychiatric wards.

There are a few out there that I have left hanging
and a few that have still never settled up with me
and don't think I haven't forgotten you  . . .

I've never been much for sweeping
but I believe it's time
to grab the broom and the dust pan
high time to clear the air and swab the decks
a lot of blood and a lot of tears
spilled through out the years
and they all must go.

I drove away from the party today
I pushed the gas pedal and moved on down the road
the radio on the FM dial . . .
"it's hard to look right at you baby . . . here's my #, call me maybe?"
the best we can hope for are moments
and when it comes to relationships
just remember that
if you have a few moments that you cherish
that you can claim
and still cradle in the palm of your heart
then you can count yourself among the blessed.

I've got a few moments that no one can ever take from me . . . ever.

And remember that this isn't me talking
it's merely Ohio
and his doctrine of, "everything you do is just temporary. And not everybody in California is a goddamn surfer . . ."