dmseay

tis warm…

6 years…

warm…

have i looked for you…

have i looked…

have i…

Manhattan…

bodegas…Chinese groceries…Bronx…Brooklyn too…

behind buildings…bathrooms…bars…Greek diners at 3…

Bryant Park…Madison…Central…
Alphabet City was bare…

gazed in Montreal…

imitation…imitation…

fake French accents…

seedy secondry…wanting a flame…

a flicker…of your brilliance…

parked in lots under moon’s kiss…

never seen…Montpelier…New Haven…Philly’s arms did not embrace…a vagabond turned-away…

to midnight growls in streets of muck-n-mire…by painted ladies strolling past…and children selling candy on corners to drive-through buyers…slowing-down just enough…just enough…

ghosts…aberrations…dancing banshees…hauntings…clarity eluded…confusion tomorrow’s hangover…

not once of love’s lips was i kissed…not once…

till now…till now…

6 years in exile…

life abandoned…

and in this darkened hour…

down a hall…away from streetlight’s glow…

warmth does lay…warmth does lay…

…,honey…come back to bed,…

a minute… a minute love…

kk…

goodnight 6 years…

goodnight…

there was these bunched-up blinds raised ‘bove the windows in her kitchen…

pitch black ‘side…lights a distance away…cars passin’ on backroads…fall was ‘most gone…next year…next year…

Stephen King book lay on the table along with cleaning products…few lists…empty yogurt container…used spoon…

all these boxes….everywhere…boxes…marked Old Style…an’ Vizio…Chuckee Shaw…some items…toilet paper…mouthwash…scrubbing brush…

next day she left…gone…

just walked out the door…

not even a goodbye…

didn’t see it comin’….

see things now…

differently fool…

less anger…bravado…smaller piece…

do not run…nor quick step…

own pace…slow gait…make ’em wait…

don’t shoot shots…whiskey sipped…snifter please…

women…women…slowly…no rush…their knowledge is now known…cat’s outta the bag…just sit an’ look pretty…they’ll come…

no threats thrown…not a word…it’s in the eyes kid….the eyes…do i look like a bitch…

this store is now open…

shop ’till ya’ drop baby…

at ease listening to Kind of Blue…

begin 49…

like Miller…Mailer…Mamet…Miles is now more…

so much more…

’bout art…life…women…differences in knowing…and truly knowing…

these notes cling…

so much more…

nothing tight…no-longer looking to scrap… fuck…fidgeting fell wayside…simply flow…so what…so what…

to be at peace…cry during a song…holding a lover’s hand over her head in bed asleep…yet gripping worn fingers of mine…this i’ve longed for….

that…is Kind of Blue….

god damn that kid from East St. Lou….how dare he blow so sweet….

you move me motherfucker…

these melodic friends of yours…Billy…Philly…Coltrane…Cannonball….oh….fuck me…

how thankful…what peace…

Flamenco sketches…

i see them…i see them…

at ease listening to Kind of Blue…

begin 49…

like Miller…Mailer…Mamet…Miles is now more…

so much more…

 

 

listening to Monk and Coltrane…

facing 49…

pop called…,where am I…what day is it…where are you….,panting…always panting…

i’m here pop…

where’s here…

home dad…home…

what…on the porch…the back room…garage…are you smoking again…

no pop…no…

well…you’re not home…you’re not…

my place pop…my place…

you don’t have a place…you’re place is here…with me…right…

no dad…no…

oh…I see…gone…just like when you was a kid…just left…not a word…poof…vanished…

s’not true dad…that’s not true…

hell you say…

i gotta’ go pop…

fine…just fine…you fucking cunt…

goodnight dad…goodnight…

listening to Monk and Coltrane…

facing 49…

 

the purr of a coffee-maker…

two Norman Mailer books…one is Advertisements For Myself…..the other…

fragrant deodorizers….office…bedroom…

smell of bedbug spray stuck to hardwood floors…grab a mop…wait…scratch that…

cabinets…filled with short-cute-little socks in pairs…generic Q-tips….toilet paper…some soap…Trazadone…Wellbutrin…Depakote….need new batch….towels in different colors…purple…terracotta…a limy green….government reward letters…

card-table…it wobbles…matchbook in-place…

two cushioned folding chairs…

and a bed…

a bed…

come…

this eve…

it is not easy…nor luscious…just is…just …

endlessly roaming streets…looking at boys in bandanas…fat chicks in tight skirts…lights blinking…on..off..on..off..on..off..

and in taverns empty beer pitchers turned upside down wait to be filled by bartenders who’ve seen better days…salty…bloated…mad at a nickel ’cause it ain’t a dime…wait…that’s me…

out-of-work mechanics brag ’bout this broad and that…black-oil under yellowed nails wrapped ’round mugs hoisted to Billy’s baby boy born last week to some black bitch on the Southside…guess who’s coming to dinner….

cars pass-by…busses pick-up crazies like me left out in November’s rain…take one pill an’ pocket the rest…

savin’ for the big sleep…the big sleep…

to dream….

ah…to dream…

seen as crazy…

artist…mad writer…fool…

reading Bolaño…learning life as craft…discipline…not to let a line go-by…notepad by bed…no chances…

i take his truth…wisdom…beauty…poetry written in darkness…no lies…no…lies…his page is honest…

crazed mad artists…taken-out…flogged by commerce…expense accounts…movie deals…executive orders…show me numbers…always numbers…

knew a woman obsessed by numbers…she got them…but not my soul…not my soul…

seen as crazy…

artist…mad writer…fool…

reading Bolaño…

reading Bolaño…

the poor will always be poor, he said, guys’ll kill ya over a buck thirty-five on a food-stamp card….guarantee that motherfucker,lit a cigarette…looked me in the eye, an’ if they don’t kill ya’ in a single shot…they’ll do-it over time….

kids at car-windows as i drive-by….eyes ‘bove tops…head-first into SUV’s…a shimmy an’ a shake givin’ out poison in the streets at market price…coke…crack…speed…wanna o.d. ….come see me….

porch lights out…shoes tossed over wires….that smell…something’s cookin’ down the block with whiffs of ammonia…peroxide…detergent….Tide gets bones clean….cooked and stirred…stirred and cooked…by a chemist without a degree….P&G’s on the phone…you’ve been called-up to the majors….

drive ’round this town…home-town…left long ago…. divisions grown wider….blacks hate whites…whites hate blacks….Macedonians hate everybody….guns blaze throughout my ‘hood at night… constant turf war….a battle of commerce….cop cars roll-by….on their way to diners to talk shop….tough nights for the boys in blue….harder still for those without colors at all….

i hear sirens…it is dark….

there may never be light…

who goes there….

it is I….

I who….

a past… ghost… rotted corpse…

i know not thee…

don’t you…don’t you….

nay…do not…

my name was America….

ah…did not know thee too well….lesser and lesser as time went by…into winters where cold turned to hot…snow became rain…lines formed in either direction…you were chaos…one big mess…

so…you did know me…very well I see…..

yes…yes…let me forget…shhh….please…let me forget…

what…freedom…liberty…

this you speak of….fool…scant…little…very little…gold was never given…neither silver…nor diamonds that shine….bread promised…bread…so much for promises…

might a man make his way in this world….

perhaps….perhaps…

well…

one must find the world first….a starting line…not the abyss…jam….stuck in the muck and mire…this freedom…this freedom…was mocked….mocked…from the get-go…a pistol fired…no-one moved…no-one…

see…

go back to your grave…go…we’ve been haunted enough…

please…

shh….no…i knew a man…he bought your dreams…paid…and paid…and paid…

now…

his is not in a mansion…but…a shanty….no chariot for him….miles are walked…to toil…all day long beside men who also believed….yet they were the punchline to a joke set-up long ago…by Puritans…Puritans…freedom….freedom…

there are no givens in this life…

right…right…

so…

so…so what…so what…