nothing concluded 170

as plain as
day time next door
you can hear
the conversation
down the street
silent autumn
nights until
the dog starts
yelling about
being short again

laughter and maybe
it’s a party
or someone
celebrating
all alone

remembering the idea
over and over
again rereading
in order to move
something around

jump start
creativity when
it stumbles
over it’s own
redundancies

is there time
for another
pot of joe
not knowing anyone
by that name

like my ring
when I shower
for fear of the drain
(and when I wash
the dishes)

extended summertime
feel in the night
air as I drift in
and out of a deep
or shallow

thought depending
on the moment
and if the sun
was out all day
most likely outside

at some point
look to the stars
through the trees
in the back yard
as high as eye can see

head down
full speed ahead
like the old days
in a closed down
restaurant

resonating like the bell
returning to the
mindfulness of
each moment
as they stack up well

and they may
fall over at times
somehow
still hovering
above ground

metaphorically
driven to find
the next thought
and that
might be all

there is
to it
driven daily
and certain phrases
don’t like to repeat

everything changes
and it should
for it’s own good
and the good
of all involved

in a thought
can’t tear
away from the page
like a surge of energy
holding the pen there

exploding longer
than the usual
one page limit
as of late
nothing concluded…

halfway across

listening to the rain

knowing somehow that act alone

is about as free as we get

halfway across the country

in the middle of nowhere

someone with something special to say

back to the solitary nights

this pen is the crutch

can see as I walk from here to there

until morning and the eyes begin

to cross like they were t’s

until morning

when sun shakes water from leaves

behind the wall

underneath all the darkness

and rain written black ink white page

trying to fit back into my skin

after all these years

so many thoughts uninterrupted

dreams waking three

maybe four times

after sleep has come

nearly one am with nothing to say…

my brother travels(for the record)

my brother travels westward tomorrow

might take two full days
before he is high in the mountains
thoughts and positive energy for
his safe passage…

for the record

we are closer than ever today
he needs to leave in order
to someday return
and no matter where
he finally settles
we will always be this close
 
for the record
it is a dream I will
never let go of
and when I wake he will be gone
my guru the man
I call my brother
and best friend…

red alert(for the record)

red alert

more restrictions
will apply pressure
on the liberty
it’s been planned
months years even decades now
admitted surprises work better
to induce fear
it’s probably how the rich
we don’t know run the world
no longer merely pre midnight thought
hung out on the postgame show
tires screeching
as for some the night has
just begun
still drinking coffee
as if to stay up for a fight
 
for the record
obviously internal
no one else is here…

and beyond

 

first night productive in a couple of weeks

the wind picks up and suddenly it’s 100

back down twenty or so it seems

even if it’s still high eighties

planes overhead that sound like cars

when I used to sit at Bickford’s

drinking shitty coffee and smoking cigarettes

completely crooked standing still

at the bottom of the hill

looking upward and onward

passed all my mistakes

empty pockets where hands once were

too generous until the hole dug

enormous and I don’t know which way is up

branches crack in the backyard late

someone taking the shortcut home

what if I leave some morning

and no one hears from me again

these days truly stranger than fiction

how many pages spent until something

makes sense here and beyond…

better than snow(for the record)

one hundred degrees

is not the norm
in the north east
this humidity can only
be experienced
not even talked about
everything is melting
ideas onto paper
nothing can stop it
water eating ice
sink swim or fall
whenever January to July
further beyond the coldest month
 
for the record
the heat is better than snow
take it over cold
any day and just as
pen melts into page
the temperature
starts to drop
and twenty degrees
in two hours
how about that
the rest of the night
enjoying a smile
like no other…

time's up

a minute

later date

would be

difficult

idea pop

into the mind

at the strangest

time’s up

ready for sleep

and it’s tomorrow

out on the porch

right behind

my ears

eyes don’t do

much good

in the dark

time’s up

most likely

most likely

more angry than

anything else

crash

no one hurt

quite the mess

one the way home

most likely

keeping someone

awake worried

without a call

music somewhere

far off in the night

music getting

closer loud exhaust

to match it all

these thoughts

don’t add up too much

of the time spent

cross-eyed thinking

some nights

out on the back porch

is the only remedy

for what has passed

too fast until tomorrow

bring back tonight

until all the sirens

cease until

well

they don’t stop…

wrinkle hand

wrinkled hands now

thirty-one years

what’s been learned

enough ten years ago

now knowing too much

can we ever  know too much

wrinkled hands put down a verse

or a whole thought

no one moves

everyone is asleep…

nothing concluded 169

back wood smoke

and the sound of music
far away carried
by the wind
across the city
 
nearly every sound
the dog goes nuts
and I still think
it’s because
he is a short dog
 
the coffee is strong
because I made it
tonight and not
the usual drive round
the block tonight
 
five minutes
prior to now
still sounds
from outside
across the city
 
new shoes
surprises are
always nice
partner in crime
upstairs just a minute
 
back down
comfortable
being the pair that
will be eternally
nothing concluded
 
only months now
until serial thought
shifts to another
avenue (title)
everything changes
 
so small no
one will notice
until we all
wear microchips
in our pockets
 
maybe we do
and don’t
know it
already in the license
an endless ramble
 
ten years later
same conclusion
            none
to speak plainly
nothing concluded…

only the moon

ee cummings proved how abstract

words can actually be

certainly uncertain about meaning

more than to invoke the spin

it might get dark fast tonight

only the moon shows

through the transparent clouds

overhead seventy-two days

how many cigarettes

have I avoided

and how could I miss

such a horrible habit

someone sick enough

to intensify

the draw

exists in this world

where are we now

some would say the end times

and isn’t that period

supposed to last hundreds of years

why are the rich and powerful

so willing to blow shit up…

write quick(for the record)

not nearly as hot as yesterday

got home from work
picked up the pen
write quick
what else would I do
 
for the record
overhead traffic route
a plane every twenty minutes
and on ground
a train every ninety minutes
been out for the last time tonight
the dog snores on the floor
 
this time only 8 minutes
between the planes
this time around
maybe a circular descent
put it down on a page
if the plane was a pen
anyone else listening
to the night
seeing these words
verbal interpretation
of these strange thought
visualizations wish I could paint
 
for the record
only slept five hours
last night
suppose that’s all I needed…

storm getting closer(for the record)

the rumble in the distance

a storm getting closer
maybe it will cool
this stagnant air
 
for the record
can’t remember the last time
it was this hot here
still drinking hot coffee
out of a mug bought in NH
dog at my feet on the floor
trying to stay cool by a fan
floor is cooler in the kitchen
how can I tell him that
sitting in the western most wing
of this house also white
another rumble and lightening
flashes closer still
heat wave might just break tonight
 
for the record
scent of rain coming through
the windows with the breeze
haven’t moved much
in the last few hours
had other plans until
the pen took my hand
as if it was afraid of the rumble
above the house
and the rain in the trees…

this late

hardly ever this late

night writing retired

years ago on a porch

that no longer exists

in memory alone

have to wait another

ten minutes since

brother left door if you are

looking from the street

remains quiet tonight

inspiration left behind

as if by design

everything from above

falls rapidly approaching

wishing for another trip

down a flight of stairs

somehow not becoming

familiar with surrounding

areas of the mind

field running but getting

tired of the commute…

terrible reign (for the record)

it’s almost tomorrow

thinking about war again
a strange idea
the Solomon solution
bring down the temple
no one will make it through

some terrible reign

for the record
an artist is hard at work
thinking sitting
on the floor at midnight…

shoes on nowhere to go

still got my shoes on but the feet

need to rest for the night

not going anywhere

sleeping downstairs

and it’s so hot I stay awake

could be thunder

or a jet rumbling above the head

deep in the night sky darkness

short thoughts like stray heart beats

just in case I skip one or two

because of an allergic reaction

to something in the air

shorter breaths and eye lids flutter

as if to tell me something

and I am not listening

wanting to see the sun rise

three days in a row

stays with me all day long…

still a puzzle(for the record)

more terror in India

yesterday
who benefits
first question always
who suffers
always the same answer
innocents in the way
and soldiers doing their duty
 
a means to what end
only truth seekers piece
together the puzzle until
it becomes a clearer picture
still a puzzle made up
of half-truths splintered
with boldface lies and rumors
 
for the record
the real motives still unknown
as usual
some sick and twisted formula
no one know how
never mind if it is even meant to work
 
for the record
day two page seven
writing out under
all these numbers might get wordy
does anyone really mind…

long day done(for the record)

it’s raining again

humid and sticky
is there a difference
waiting for my wife
to come home
long day done
at last
 
for the record
no idea where the account
is going maybe still stationary
as I sit puffing like I knew
a magic dragon
and the fireworks
are a week late
destroying the silence
at eleven before the train
pulling into downtown
not by much at all though
as I speak or write or think
all of the above
and then some…

reveal (for the record)

a book for numbers

not so much for words
account books
should contain truth
the hard truth
not always what is told
left for some to discover
and reveal
 
for the record
quitting smoking isn’t easy
don’t let anyone tell you
different
 
for the record
grew up during the birth
of hip hop music
and hip hop culture
and appreciate what it taught
about the truth of our society
 
for the record
thirty minutes has passed
or was it 45
dropping these 9 o’clock bombs
of my own thought
armed with only a pen
and a book with horizontal lines
the most tense thoughts
on future and what it holds
positive ideas pursued
land of negative news
distorting the truth
and hiding it indefinitely
 
for the record
someone has and will call
me a conspiracy theorist
or something like that
but I can’t help it if they
don’t want to think up
a better description
 
for the record
nothing could stop this pen
the thought conveyed in
so many ways now
this might go on all night long
no one will mind at all
from where I sit
on the back porch
east side Brockton, MA
 
for the record
someone powerful
is manipulating the weather
not talking gee OD here
talking man
and I don’t know why
maybe it for the good
those planes in the sky
higher than regular flights
streaks of white
soon-to-be clouds
just notice
tell me I am crazy
 
for the record
this would all be considered
opinion
if it were considered
at all
by anyone claiming
considerer status
 
for the record
the president of the usa
called the constitution of the usa
a gawddamn piece of paper
and the latin words
new world order
are written on the dollar bill
go back to sleep
nothing to see here…

muster one

who is actually independent

just a thought

15 minutes before the fourth

it’s what most of them call it

something else entirely

too tired to be awake any longer

passing out in a desk chair

pen in hand might put an eye out

after midnight now and

fireworks still light up the town

sometimes it takes all the stored

strength to muster one…

above a certain point

honey taste

the yellow pack

fog takes over

as if the clouds

are afraid of heights

something which

eye am not

allowed above a certain point

anymore but not any less

struggling with the pun at times

in the other hand held the poison

on the eve of day fifty-two

battling one addiction

at a time and excited for the day

when the pan stands alone…

nothing concluded 168

each one is

a different session

doesn’t matter

which spot

one whose table

it appears as though

no one saw it coming

back ten years ago

when things seemed

simpler

each one

it’s own entity

strung together

like malas

on the wrist

got to go like a 3

year old after

some water and a long

drive out west

nothing concluded

home is where

the heart is held

strong no matter

the distance

from there

to here

and back

if necessary

and someday

we all might have to live

underwater

will be the norm

someone will think of

something crazier

nothing concluded…

empty stomach

writing with revolution on the mind

it starts with one pen one mind

one love for freedom

one can see the moon full now through

the blinds listening to revolutionary songs

fist clenched and raised

thoughts bright like the moon

reflecting this son’s light

writing with the culture of hip hop

on the mind knowing it’s a part

of this life lived

writing with no rhyme or reason

stands firm seeing through the fog

carefully placed in front of eyes

hoping for the best

knowing the worst calls the shots

writing still with revolution on the mind

writing revolving evolving into a stronger

being pushing out to the edge

and over down

to the pit bottom

of an empty stomach…

short ladder

nothing left

to do but

sleep it off

like a long day

or night depending

on the position of the sun

if you can see it

from where you stand

or sit or kneel to pray

or something

like that

nothing left

to do but

think a moment more

and then

sleep it off

like too much of the good smoke

or not enough

depending on the height

of the ladder…

no sun again

608/2006 (1035pm)

still colder than it should be

warm by now

and the phone won’t ring

around each corner

somehow no one

has anything to smoke

killed the spirit

one month ago

been hiding in the backwoods

ever since nine o’clock

out on the porch

waiting for the sky to clear

everyone needs a dose of sun light

almost the first day

of the warm season

and somehow only rain

has filled the majority

of the days and nights

lately far from the spot

sun shines on smiles all around

the eleven train is on time

and that should make someone happy

and the last hour of the day

does not bring a call

as previously thought

drowning in all this rain…