Tuesday, June 17, 2008

what makes their eyes go dead?

you always hear how their eyes
were black holes
as they committed some
like the man
who just stomped his
2 year old to death
killing him way past dead
last weekend in california
or the woman who
drove a knife repeatedly into
her aging father's back
or even my cousin
as he held his young wife's
shot gurgling body down
so it could bleed out
while family and cops
stood in horror
and we saw black holes
dead eyes in his face
he didn't even look like my cousin
some zombie stranger instead
just like the father killing his
baby son
people holler
people grab at them
they don't hear
their black eyes don't see
they just do what they do
as if possessed

where is the chemistry in this?
somebody tell me
there is an explaination
and don't tell me about the devil
tell me how
the 'normal' person
suddenly does these things?
the good neighbor
the good co-worker
the good child
don't tell me about the devil
but i do believe
their soul is gone
how did that happen?
what ate it up?
and can we make it stop doing that?

Monday, June 9, 2008

the big question

he said it’s our
1 year anniversary
and I remember
meeting in the forest
camping with friends
under starlit skies
and music filled air
outrageous drunken behavior
his willingness to be
as stupid as me
there’s something there

and now we sit
temporarily civilized
eating escargot and lobster
in a fine Italian restaurant
holding hands across the
linen tablecloth
his maniacal grin
still charms me

back at my place
he drop his head
wiggles a big toe in the carpet
looks at me shyly and says
I have a question

I say let’s have it
He asks…may I
keep my toothbrush here?
As he waves a non-descript toothbrush
Soft bristle
In front of me
Like a 10 carat diamond ring
There’s something there

Thursday, June 5, 2008

guilt & time

there’s always this lingering
sense of inadequacy
for most poets writers artists
there’s never enough time
to produce as much as we want
or if we stumble upon
unused time
if we don’t use it wisely
to leave a written legacy
to leave the art world a better place
the guilt creeps in
no not at the moment we chose
to waste time
to read a people or enquirer magazine
to watch america’s top model
or the girl’s next door
to take a nap before bedtime
but the next day
as we look at picture frames left empty
poetry manuscripts in an untouched pile
paint brushes and exercise machines
gathering dust
that creepy little guilt
that is small enough to get run over
the next time we indulge ourselves
in the pleasure of nothingness
only the guilty would call it