he fell in love

it had ceased to be a mountain


pressure in his legs from god


life in all its cuts and bruises


hard breathing just our way


then he walked off clean and free


air of strawberries, cream, mint


invisble as everything else until


he wished himself back into being


out there, in nowhere, 1 mile off


distant ground, color of grocery bags


so afraid happiness wakes us up


Moment

I am the floating jukebox:

As if it can't exist
beyond words?

Hell, we drown in moments
every moment!

The Now is a 100-story building*
where a single elevator arrives
at each floor the same time!

100 songs sung this instant!

Press a button, and I'll play you one.

Or hear them all now,
and get speechless, man!

*1.  sign says art, like shakespeare
2.   art is pretentious
3.   I wouldn't like anybody in there
4.   green line on the sign, not lime, funky avocado?
5.   car sounds are a blanket
6.   corniest college students, midwest, not like the old days
7.   I want to eat something
8.   thank you god for that blue sky
9.   like a big piece of paper
10. like when I tried to learn to play guitar
11. there was no art. just play the book
12. the way my Mom painted her furniture
13. I don't smell any food
14. I worship a blue sky
15. I'm not at home
16. I'm not watching TV
17. lunch will be cool
18. just me, a beer and something somewhere here
19. I'll think fun thoughts
20. no one would publish me
21. as if it's just another gag; I hope not
22. black jeans are badass
23. mocassin deck shoes, no socks, cool, baby
24. tacos?
25. I can get tacos anywhere
26. a perfect 75 degrees
27. breeze against my face, you need it at 75 degrees
28. I'm thankful
29. no one I know here. surprised
30.  i feel like i've time travelled
31.  how it can look like a hometown but you don't see anybody you know
32.  i'm glad i never had to be alone
33.  is my hair OK
34.  the light so bright sometimes I should have worn goggles
35.  all that heaven and hell bullshit infrastructure that got toppled years ago, but it takes an eternity to hit the ground and turn to dust
36.  falling on me all the time
37.  I'm a good person
38.  but I sure don't know what happens after we're dead
39.  maybe return to some sort of eternal energy
40.  like a toulouse-lautrec is going to walk out of that art store
41.  i'm doing good in life
42.  i love beer
43.  was i the reason my family all broke up
44.  i forgot i had cancer
45.  always some squeaky voiced reminder. no pain or discomfort yet, except from treatments
46.  i wonder what the 1950s were like here
47.  i bet just like andy griffith
48.  but I'd never want to live there
49.  love no fast food joints downtown
50.  I'm a castle
51.  the sun is my father
52.  i feel like I'm back East
53.  professors, insurance salesmen, ladies who lunch, secretaries
54.  feel like a ghost, invisible, floating unseen, and god, I love it
55.  i've been here several times before, and it's always this way
56. O'Hara's is now a bros bar, but I wish it could be my home
57. shamrock's make me feel like angels are beckoning
58. maybe a salad, with heirloom tomatoes
59. the sky has no personality, and I like that
60. all the black cars. why?
61. living the postcard
62. scared a lot as a kid about a lot of things. glad I'm not scared any more
63. those library doors were classic! automatic. made a racket as they opened and closed.
64. the old bank is now a Starbucks. what's happening to this world?
65. hairdressing school cracks me up
66. that old fountain and the traffic circle, something we normally tear down
67. love button-down collars now, but i didn't always
68.  my family's in good shape. this is their big gift to me....no worries
69.  peace and sunlight and money for lunch and beer, so great
70.  i'm so glad i have no religion
71. sometimes i want danger and sometimes i sure don't
72. hard to write anything when you're happy
73. the palette is so corny. everything done on computers. like building pyramids
74. no reason to think about dinner
75. myself as a ghost of a kid all over these streets, as if i could almost see myself, almost as if
       i always knew i'd have this day.
76. we don't accomplish much, but better food and drink is OK with me
77. i miss the road, but not that much
78. these trees once saw dinosaurs and caballeros
79. planning on a three beer buzz
80. everything is so much slower than me, but i like that
81. glad i'm not a drunk
82. if i bought the record store and the comic book store, people wouldn't see me for years
83. i even know two city councilmen
84. you'll never see a taxi in this town
85. loved my grandmother's gingerbread. it was so big, my parents would let me eat as much
      as i wanted, the only food where that was allowed, and it filled me up and saved my life
      many times
86. miss her
87. i'm a lucky man
88. despite the cancer
89. i could say goodbye to it all right now, and take it with me
90. two gelato places. which? which, godammit?!
91. a free man
92. people don't know how to drive
93. poor kids don't know how to hot rod a car any more
94. i'd like to be looking out of that second floor window
95. never thought this would be me one day
96. safe
97. god i love craft beer
98. i'll be gone but someone will be walking down this street just like this
99. things start getting stupid and dull just two or three blocks away
100. watch out for the gum


What Uncle Billy Said

To understand anything actually true,
my uncle said, manhattan to his lips.
you have to look at this world crooked.
Car crash and the windshield's broke.

Drowning in big surf. Blind in fog or
rain on the road beyond wiper capactiy.
When tears take over from a sad movie.
As if everything's here to get in the way.

When you see something, but hardly,
so you're sure it's not the whole thing,
and all words fail to describe it,
that's the truth. You see it crooked,

tell it crooked, hear it crooked.
When it's straight and clear and simple
and easy to grasp as a hammer or rock,
that's the lies that have built up over eons,

or a new liar reaching for your wallet,
maybe, or just a guy trying to get attention.
"Uncle Billy, where'd you learn all that?"
"On a jungle floor, blood in my eyes.

"Not my blood."


OM

I was a breath of air,
and then, and then, and then.

T. James Rowe

Story is when the doctor slapped me, I slapped him back. Name? T. James Rowe, and all the women I ever met can tell you what the T stands for. Cried loud at police cars. Tantrums in every bank. Crapped in any church. Never played Army with the others. No Cowboys and Indians. I was Tarzan, and I liked Africa. Animal kingdon ruled by iions, elephants. Natives just raising their families. Until European gangsters. Vine to vine, rope to rope, I flew. Naked. Screamed from my kidneys. Hiked atop backyard fences forever. Parents in red shock—baboon ass. But I knew I could wait them out. Everyone tucks Tarzan in. Sent me to a kids' asylum. Only place comfortable me. Those kids taught me to me. Cool-eyed gangster on release. Eyes tooled for casing the joint. 12. Patience would be a problem. Walked longside schoolyard fence, burned my skin, they tell you what to do in hell. But work. Could save. Me. Paper boy. Lawnmower. Sprinkler ditches. Pool guy. Pool contractor. Son of a bitch. Anyways, the T is for Truth.

The President Is Deranged—165,000 Dead So Far

66, and nothing to do.

Not since I was 12

and could hunt treasure,

buried, but not without clues 

hourly on KRLA that summer.

Or read and re-read the Magic catalog

I got to order anything I wanted by mail.

Hope...hope...hope...

nothing.



Song After Song After Song

Music roams off,
comes back again.

Music roams off,
comes back again.

She whispered that she can't talk now but she wanted to talk to me some more. She's with this guy who thinks he's all that, but he's not, and she's got to make a life change, but not tonight. Gives me her phone number, and tells me to never call her past 5 o'clock.

Music roams off,
etc.

Another verse, monotony and hypnosis.

I think she thinks I'm one of a kind because of what I said about green deer and dolphins and how all politics is enchantment, and really everything else, and she has a face for European museum walls and a body for jungle wear.

Music, etceteras to the bridge, which is the surprise, which alone is enough to feel chains loosening from around our shoulders on Houdini nights.

And the bridge goes something like this: I waited days, then called her at 9 o'clock, and she said she told me not to call before 5 o'clock, and I said I don't give a shit, to be honest, and she said she can't talk right now, and I asked if she was married, and she said no, but she thinks she's about to get engaged any day now, you son of a bitch, I told you not to call now, and she hung up.

Blah, blah, blah, etc. etc.

No, that's not right. We need known melodies and beats as a safe place to live.

I called right back and said I'm only going to do this one time. Write down my number. Next phone call is up to you. 555-5309.

I knew she'd call me. You knew.

Music roams off,
comes back again.

Music roams off,
comes back again.

It turns out I was the guy who made her realize she needed to marry that guy because I wasn't really going anywhere. And I got back the ocean and the moon and the stars, and movie images of mustangs and Indians, and cars I wanted to own one day, and speeches I'd make, and shock waves I'd send. It's like I waved goodbye to a beautiful woman, happy, on the back of a ferry heading to Sing Sing. Lovely kisses, and cold toast goodbyes!

I'm OK in such an unregulated world
because of dreams, and plans, and a glass of wine or two.

I'm OK in such an unregulated world
because of dreams, and plans, and a glass of wine or two.