hats off and beavers up to javabill on his birthday.
second: any interest from anyone if i were to tour during the spring? say, april-may? say, east coast/south/texas?
this would be in advance of a probable relocation to … ABQ.
Barry’s Lounge, Mendon, MA
in this bar
a man trying to sell his leftover windows matters
“they’re shit windows — american standard”
“s’alright, it’s just for the basement fer chrissakes — how big are they?”
“yeah, these are fifty-sixes, standard size”
“shit, i need like fifties — mebbe i can do something
with them though — ”
“gimme a call mebbe we
can work something out — they been sitting there
long enough, they ain’t going anywhere”
he matters as much as the Portuguese roofer trading stories with the Marine
“when i got my flight number — and this was vietnam —
once you had that flight number home they couldn’t do shit to you —
i told that fat fuck to go fuck himself
every time me and guys from the unit get together — we have
reunions somebody tells the story of how i almost got in a fight
with that fat fuck of a major — is like that now for you guys?
do you get a flight number? hope to christ for you
you don’t have to go back”
“yeah, me too”
they matter as much
as the would be blues bar owner
who comes in flashing green
talking about opening finally in three weeks
and goes out with everyone talking about how much
he deserves it, sumbitch always works so hard
it all matters as much as the Memphis-Akron game on all the TVs
and they matter far more than
the dumbass longhair
sucking down Jack Daniels
talking to no one
listening to every word
and everyone here knows that
including the longhair
they know it as well as well as they know
that it’s dark outside
and the rain makes it seem darker
so who wouldn’t rather
be inside
the longhair stares at himself for a long time
in a free square of the back mirror
under the American Flag
the bartender asks if he’ll have another
he nods and pulls the bowl of popcorn closer
says “it’s five o’clock somewhere, and somewhere is here”
and the guy on the next stool says “you got that right”
Barry’s Lounge, Mendon, MA (fragment)
in this bar
a man trying to sell his old windows matters
as much as the Marine trading stories with the Portuguese roofer
as much as the dumbass longhair sucking down Jack Daniels in silence
as much as the would be blues bar owner flashing green
as much as the Memphis -Akron game on all the TVs
as much as the dark outside and the rain
the cigarettes that barely stay lit
the American Flag
against the back mirror
(Note: I think i’m about to create a whole series of poems based on the dive bars of the Blackstone Valley. Think i can get a grant for research?)
Praise God I’m Satisfied
if there is something more intimidating
than a guitar played well,
i’d like to see it. long lines of twang
catch and hang me up like nobody’s
business. it’s like religion — i sit before
someone praying and i understand
the words, even admire them,
but i still wish those were my answers
coming down in response.
take the song on the radio right now:
some guy i don’t know is making some old Martin
sit up and beg, and i’m puzzling my way around
how it would feel to play that way, even though
at the same time i’m imagining his hands broken
and the club owner turning frantically my way
gesturing to get my ass on stage.
all this is by way of saying
that when you touch my arm, it’s like
Blind Willie Johnson is saying “Praise God
I’m satisfied” while blowing the slide up and down
the twelve rough strings of his old Stella,
and i’m not feeling holy enough to receive that grace,
even as i am wishing
that you would tremble this way
when i put my hand upon yours
in turn.
i do not believe i’ve ever had a worse christmas.
hanging out with bill and sou tonight (and alex, jessica, chris, rushelle, tim, paul gagnon, anne, allan, and everyone else who came through) made up for a lot of it though.
now i’m in bed and ready to snooze a bit. until the next go round, to all a good night.
Continue readingangels on high
if
an angel exists
even one angel
let me be
a failure
in his sight
prostrate
upon the dirty floor
of my room
trapped in
the great song
of his wings
let him
lift me
upon exalted arms
lift me shamed
into a new life
beyond
the grey streets
the holes in my nights
the things i see
when i close my eyes
to sleep
and do not sleep
i knew it would be, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
this is the loneliest and saddest xmas eve i’ve spent in my entire life.
i’m fine, but still…
you can know something’s right, follow through on it, and it still hurts.
i’m not one of those who believes that happiness is the be-all and end-all of existence. at least, not moment to moment happiness…fulfillment takes time, and pain, and suffering in some degree.
i am suffering tonight. i expected to be suffering tonight. that doesn’t make it easier.
happy birthday, rachel and alex!
and — for all of you — trim your trees, light your candles; and i think “may your days be merry and bright” applies no matter what the festivities may be.
peace. may the new year offer greater opportunities and happiness than we’ve known.
and thank you. you all kept me coming back from some pretty horrible edges this year. may i do the same someday for you. more to the point, may you never need me to; but if God forbid it happens and i can, i shall.
love,
T
do-over
there are days
when humans long
to have their swim bladders back
long for prehensile tails
and pre-opposable thumbs
there are days
when humans daydream
of evolution as a lazy river
sluggish enough to let them travel
against the current
there are days
when humans hear the story
of a two year old watching
his mother being raped
for three days straight
by a man clutching
a thirteen inch butcher knife
who had been let out of jail
on a stabbing charge
just before the kidnapping
there are days when old skeletons
are dragged from the earth
scraps of skirts still clinging around the hipbones
they stare nameless out of their forensic bags
for too long
there are days
and days of swollen bellies
and empty eyes
flies in the corners of infant mouths
days when the animal spirit recoils
there are days
when it is hard to recall
why some
call humans
the peak of creation
there are days
when the creator
must long
for
a do-over
The Fox
I still think Sleater-Kinney is the best rock band in America.
And the shirt I bought from Janet on the “All Hands…” tour finally fits.
thanks to everyone who showed up at SPEAK tonight.
um, that would be me.
and here i was planning to offer holiday oral to all, um, comers.
Continue readingthere is a ripple effect
there is a ripple effect
when two ripples cross
it only appears that
nothing happens
what can happen
is that the butterfly
in the amazon
drowns
what can happen
is that the mountain
is shifted by the wind
just enough
to throw off the compass
what can happen is the angel
bursts out of the tomb
and splits the tree
what can happen is
the faces of men
become fluid
and seek their level
uncertain of results
of joy or sorrow
magic or business
i throw the second stone
did ya ever have one of those days
where you just know you’re done, and it’s just right?
yeah. it’s one of those days.
i am not comfortable
with what people think of me, even when it is good. especially when it is good.
Dark Matter 