SACRED DESERT

sacred desert
it took me less than an hour
to pack my things
and head out of town
Las Vegas
that mindfuck in the desert
but then it took me
more than two hours
of bumper to bumper
to get past the Hoover Dam
and down onto 93
which was open and free
open and free
just like the surrounding landscape
and I hauled along
thinking, “goddamn beautiful.
it’s so goddamn beautiful out here.”
the ageless one shop towns
the faded billboards
retreating back into the earth
the scrub and broken rock
the dry air and the blue sky
the valleys that sink beneath you
and the mountains on the horizon, which
if you ever reach
will slice you open
a place as pure as death.
then my friend calls me
on my cell phone and I answer it
but don’t say, “I can’t talk
because I’m driving.”
instead I say, “not right now, man. I’m
watching the desert
pass before my eyes
and it seems to be something very sacred.”

REFLECTION

reflection
after waking in the morning
I get out of bed
and hit the bathroom
do a piss and a shit
while flipping through a magazine
that tells me how I should be eating
how I should be exercising
how I should be fucking
and what clothes I should wear.
then, after getting up off the toilet
and washing my hands
the only thing left for me to do
to start the day off right
is look in the mirror
and laugh in the face of madness

THROWN OUT

thrown out
she was blond and big breasted
and I had been chatting her up pretty good
when the end of the night came
she wrote her phone number down
on a cocktail napkin
handed it to me and said, ‘call me.’
the following night
I started rooting around my room
looking for the napkin
checking my pants pockets
and my wallet
and all over my desk and floor
but then I stopped
and standing in the middle of my room
I remembered that just before I left the bar
just after I told her good night
and that I looked forward
to hanging out with her again
I had blown my nose right into the napkin
and after doing that
while she was standing there watching me
I’d thrown it right in the trash
along with the rest of my chances

MUFFIN STUFFER

Muffin Stuffer
he went by the name Muffin Stuffer
and he was the head doorman
at the Irish bar where I worked
and most times when a girl walked in
he’d check her out
then look at me
and with his eyes open very wide
he’d poke one of his fingers
into a hole he’d made with his other hand
and make a loud kissing sound.
hour after hour we sat in the entryway
checking IDs and staring at the walls.
Muffin Stuffer was capable
of only very brief verbal exchanges
and most times his words were unintelligible
often just grunts and snorts.
at the end of the night
we’d sweep and mop the floor
take our fifty bucks each
drink our shift drinks
and listen to the bartenders bitch
about this and that.
then, tired and mostly sober
we’d lock up the place
get into my car and drive down Route 1
and when Muffin Stuff felt the time was right
he’d say, “here” and I’d pull over
to the side of the road
where he would get out of the car
and run into the woods
without even saying goodbye

HERE COMES NOVEMBER

here comes November
could be a fucking corpse
long dead and frozen
but it’s just another
cold seat
park bench
and above me
the near naked trees
with the remnants of bird’s nests
that slouch in the branches
while the north church
clock bell
clangs five times
welcoming the dark of night
which roars in with the trolleys
and the buses
that pick up and deposit
all sorts of mineral people
that grow together to create
the livelier aspect
of this town
but then a mosquito
a fucking mosquito
bites my face
and I’m stunned at the audacity of the thing
it being November and all
she should be dead
but she’s not
and I scratch at the lump
on my cheek
and daydream about
another woman to love
but I cannot picture her face

GLORY DAYS

glory days
he was the kind of drunk
that never got sick
in the nights
but always when he woke up
so
in the mornings
while I was lying on his couch
my belongings crumpled in a nearby corner
I always came back into the world
to the sound of him throwing up
tremendous heaves
like he was screaming death
at the toilet bowl.
then his footsteps
pounding across his floor
back to bed.
I remained on the couch
watching the snowflakes
dive down and sting the earth
while I mentally planned out
another pathetic day.
this was my life as a dog walker
in January 2009:
living on a weak broth
of hope and pity
and doing just fine

SINGLE

single
she had a smooth face
pretty as hell
and a pony tail
of long dark hair

we shared a glance
as we pushed our carts into
the cheese section
and she continued on
while I stopped to pick out
a block of sharp cheddar

when I started again
I looked up ahead
and saw the backside
of her blouse
and her black pants
and what an ass!
it was big and round
and didn’t match the rest of her
but it all made sense somehow
like it was the sun of her universe
everything else
just gravitating around it

I lost distance
when I stopped for milk
and then had to go back for orange juice
but in the next aisle
I almost caught up to her
as she selected
a salad dressing, balsamic vinaigrette

for five aisles
it went like this
her gaining ground
me gaining it back
until I skipped the pet section
hoping to pass her
near the bagels
or the sourdough bread

maybe I would say hello

but she didn’t appear in that aisle
or the next
and by the time
I was picking out celery
at the far end of the store
I knew that tonight
like most others
I’d be eating alone