Nothingmore

she warns me:
once we are back inside
i’m not mention you again

let’s be real here: i left
you against my will
i was never good
not with break ups
we were ripped apart
like claws cracking from the shell

i have never forgotten you
nostalgia is a beast
similar to mental illness
in that it scratches your brain
causes you to linger in worlds
no longer existing
as i am wont to do
i often stroll along brackish waters
duck under floating churches
hovering over graves
and ever watchful ravens
listen for your early morning rumbling
the call of ringing bells, buses and boats

we are all lost at sea at times
no beacon to guide us
adrift without neon lights to steer
us in the directions of lost habitation

do i miss you? of course
do not shed tears
or reach out for me
cast up your nets and let me go
as i have done for you

i was ripped away
like a suckling pig
from its bewildered sow
whisked away to feed
the hungering masses
of pioneers gone west and forgotten

not forgotten, not forgotten
that’s not what i meant
let’s be real here:
i have let you go
a fond memory, nothing more

Good Times at the Paper Moon Diner

there remains enough charm
in this old run down mobtown
secrets and treasures remain hidden
a paper moon diner tucked away
between rusting car parts
peddle-slow creaking trains
and boarded up row homes

tread the alley ways quickly
and quietly: with an air of defiance
safely turning blue-lit corners
avoid eye contact with the
yuppies, strangers, newcomers
homeless, crazies, crack heads
students and black-clad armies
preparing to barge into houses

in the safe arms of her
brothel-turned-bars
her haven of old gin joints
sailcloth factory condos
you might still stumble upon
the old bay town’s charms

you are one of the lucky ones
in a city were some have lost
hope the sun will again shine
or doubt in paper moon surprise

Tennessee

take only what you need from it,
but tell me are the trees falling
sometimes, i think there is no where
i would rather be than tennessee
would someone take me past the street lights
down to the river’s edge, and cast a spell upon me

Booklust

whoever believes books can’t take you places
obviously has never sold one on amazon
that was an affair to remember:
starting off with a simple transaction
of selling a book up river to new york city
and then phone calls inquiring of delays
a northern accent and a southern accent fought
then found a similar, curious attraction
culminating in hot, thickly accented phone sex
coupled with firm knuckled fists and panting

oh – to remember the title of that book
and sell it again and again, one for every state
with an adorable and alluring accent

Duppies

a jamaican mile
seems a long thing,
relatively relative
almost subjective
but these are the lengths
you’ve came, my doctor
to find me here tonight

we are both afraid:
you and i.
about those things
lingering among the trees
the stories we tell pickneys
haunt, us, too, good doctor
strangle us so that not even
our voices or capabilities are heard

there is fear in the mountains
and deep in cockpit country
people still talk and second guess
who is who and what is what
medicine means nothing
in a place where people
fret about what follows them
home at night, seen and unseen, good doctor

there is something frightening
clasped around my throat
fierceness burns in your eyes
so easy to blame the nothingness
that does not exist
or whisper to one another:
we need just breeze off a while
set those duppies free,
whatever demons they might be, my doctor
but sprinkle a little rum and salt
for my safekeeping and safe passage

A Rulebook to Spreading Ashes

Miyajima

Save a little
for the little island
off the coast of
Hiroshima, I beseech you
and implore the goddess,
to end her curse
against trespassing lovers

France

Let my soul mingle
awhile among the vines
of Languedoc Rousillon
outside the old chateaux
where they served up
sacrificial lambs on
Independence Day,
a fitting place for me to stay.
Take, too, a portion to the alter
in Reims and bask
in Chagall’s stained glass
and know I am with you

Jamaica

Toss me into the Ochi
as if it were the Acheron
pardoning and carrying
me to the life beyond.
Spare some of me
for sprinkling
along colonial roadsides
through Fern Gully,
Bog’s Walk and that little
country road in Clarendon
where goats ramble on

Maryland

For my Maryland
there should be remnants,
just enough to say adieu,
sprinkled from the Belvedere:
free to roam, soar and land
in the harbor, mountains,
coasts or city streets-
wherever she will have me

The Ohio

Lastly, a few ashes
should drift down the Ohio,
river that runs through
my veins, my confidant.
Let her be the Lethe
that carries and cleanses
what of me remains
from your mind
for all of time

Floridian Haiku

how sweet a kiss is
when the scent in the air is
filled with hibiscus

California Privateers

the countless,
incognito folk
unfurl their masses
ready their rigging
hoist up their anchors
fly their flags proudly
set sail for seas
plot maps for places
where acceptance
exceeds tolerance, though
the sun is setting for many,
with hurricanes on the horizon
is it better to wreck this ship
smashing it upon the shoals
sending it to the depths
where those who have
fought before rest forevermore
or best to fight the fight
fire the canon
engage in debate with
supreme swashbuckling
does such an armada exist
a coalition of armed privateers
ready to right the wrongs
of a people displaced and disgraced?

1 night 12 kitchens in the midwest

1
he prays over the pile
of bills wondering if there is
a way to make ends meet
or if it is as hopeless
as trying to tie knots
into his son’s spaghetti o’s

2
he thinks in sarah jessica parker fashion
if he’ll be home at a decent hour tonight
or will he dine alone again with only
a beast that cannot care less unless
the bag of food is left unopen on the steps

3
such a fanciful fowl does nothing
to appease or impress their guests
as she hoped it would on this last night
she decides and slowly tucks away the knife

4
making merry in their
old riverfront mansion,
two entertaining twenty
steamboats serenading and
slipping by their candlelight supper

5
she wrings her hands
imagining the room filled
with laughter echoing
fork-scraped plates
after 63 years his chair
should still be as warm
as the food they keep bringing

6
she cannot look at herself
even in mirror-mild reflecting glass
with her finger tapping
she considers the taste of cotton
maybe marinated in water

7
there is a ding and a slowing whir
steam unfurls and trails behind
as they scurry to another room
eating bites between
the antics of a sponge
shooing away mice and flies
trying to figure out equations
without parents present

8
as long as the wine cooler is full
his mcmansion will not be without
sustenance and so he settles
for a gin and tonic, desert a sidecar

9
she strains herself with 40
years of cast iron memories
still trying to get a recipe
from south of the river right

10
she cannot keep up with
the rachels, emerils, paulas
giadas or contessas
but with the help of a box
she finds solace and certain comfort
and her children get enough

11
they lower their heads below
his thorn-pierced head
and lethargic eyes
hoping to eat in peace
but he seethes, metal rattles
and soon the dishes fly

12
he is never full enough
long after the food is gone
the scent of foreign fishes
fruits chicken-feet spice
red peas and rice
haunt him from afar

Out of Sorts

pardon me if i seem
out of sorts lately
but maybe
i’ve forgotten
who i am
on account of
who I’ve reinvented
myself to be
in a land where no one knows me
but vodka and beer seem to flow almost free