Paint splatter on spruce trees

There is a blue sky
reflecting in the eyes of a hornet
with layers of iridescent color
that man's eye can only
begin to see.

There is a wide tree
with roots at the base that
burrow further into the ground
than any one man can dig.

There is a true love
that rises every morning
bright and alive
affectionate and caring
that ceases to shine only when
man's eyes are too heavy to appreciate
its light.

Discontent, Winter 2005

With every comfort
you re-evaluate what
you deserve and what
you're paid and with this pay
you buy what
you want and leave what
you need to everyone who owes
you.

Sideways glances,
you're so calm and unimpressed.
I'd like every sarcastic fuck
and every unflattering sunset back
and I want you on the next train out of this town
so I don't have to tell you I've lied all along
and you don't have to tell me what more you want
and how hard your life is without it.

This middle-ground,
it's littered with misunderstanding
and all I need right now
is to be sure of something.

We don't know the difference between right and wrong

if we did
we wouldn't use eachother
or kill our chances of productivity
with sex
and selflessness.

Alcohol isn't an anti-depressant
it's an over the counter
sleep-aid.

Television and Art

Maybe I don't write
with the largest
vocabulary
or with a sense
of art
but this poetry I read
the abstract and a-linear
plays out like free jazz:
it might sound great
but what do you think when the record ends?

Does it make you think of politics?
Men in blue suits and red ties shaking hands and starting wars.

Does it make you think of sex?
Two bodies rhythmically connected.

Does it make you think of art?
A bohemian in a black beret and an apartment in lower manhattan.

I get sick of pretense
fast.
Does that make me a savage?

On the Roman Empire

Think about a battlefield
eleven miles wide
think about the blood and horseshit
that soaks into the ground
and how fertile that plain will be the following year

The peasants will plant corn and barley
to share with one another

The following year
during harvest season
another battle will enrich more soil

I hope someone reminded the peasants
to wash their crops well.

A World

In a world without god
flies gather on shit
and men and women love each other
purely.

In a world without god
the loneliest people find solace
in the fact that there are others
who are as lonely as they are.

In a world without god
there are people crying and children
who laugh purely at the amusement
that life itself provides.

In a world without god
the empty staff paper is filled
with notes of rejoice.

In a world without god
the future is bleak and the possibilities are endless.

On Writing

I like it when a poem doesn't say a whole lot.
When it dances around a message
like leaves around that statue of Garibaldi in Washington Square Park.
When the poem can speak
without ever really saying anything.

I like to read three pages and think two sentences,
like the author has you by the ears and he's dragging you along,
and you're kicking and screaming.

I think the finest poets can stare at a sky so big it seems to end below their feet
and sum it up in a few short words:
"No sky is bigger than another."

"On mushroom-top trees"

On a bus to chicago
the third I was supposed to catch since
last night,
I see half a dozen pine trees in a forest of dead oaks
as if to say "we understand our purpose,
but serve it only to the hawks that nest in our piney branches"