1995, 16 pages.
handbound and printed, November 1995.

This Is The Way Things Work

empty house
and
princeton rain
and
bigelow tea
and
sandalwood smoke
and
i think-

this is
the way
things work:

odd
and
clumsy
and
awkward
and
half-honest

we both know it;

this is
the way
love works:

oblivious
and
interrupting
and
unfair
and
confusing

we both know it;

this is
the way
pain occurs:

slowly
and
skillfully
and
relentlessly
and
inevitably

we both know it.

When I talk like this you listened:
It is as strange as strange will sometimes be
but not that odd if you look at the way we work.
If you were an apple
and I was as evil as I make me
I would swallow you slowly
despite the way you turn the things you say to fact
and talk of dishonesty but speak in half-truths.
If you were a cup of tea by itself
and I were impoverished and real
I would drink you.
If I were alive the way I say I am
and you were alone the way you claim to be
we'd run and laugh and lie and love
and fall like all souls do.

Are you ever on your back
and think
there is someone inside you
or around you
and its really just yourself,
and the weight on you
is in your mind
but the feeling you get
is as real as the moon
and intense like a song
and as warm as an unforgiving furnace,
and the way your mouth opens
is like when you breath for the first time
after holding your breath,
and how tight your eyes close
is as firm as your grasp on the blankets,
and the way your fingers bend
and the way your ankles turn
and the way your back arches
is like when a shiver
of unreal
impossible
absurd
and
incapable
recognition
takes a hold on you

Old jersey to new york city

houses eight feet apart
i can feel your pain
new brunswick;
union;
rahway;
linden;
new jersey-
so old to me.

oh america,
new jersey,
please save me
cause im dying
from your twenty-five cent
enforced street parking,
VFW post rundown and cracking,
like
polish food kitchens,
extreme weather confusion,
bubble gum smacking
middle-agers.
new york city:
dirt town america,
please save me-
I'm going down
on you

Feeding this machine
we're all alone

and in our obesity
stocking up for the end

fighting the feeling
and blending into

correcting our vision
impaired

turning same to unique
pour food into our tank

acting like clowns
blind dumb hungry and fat

Dollars saved and soul lost

the black and orange
town checklist
caught me once more
and i defended myself
with a quick purchase
of a fake-princetonian hat
ive wanted to buy
and did
before leaving town
hungry, poor, and thin.

i left the windows
in that room
bleeding
like they always did
and the stripped radiator
kissing the cinder wall
in reflection of drying
snow-dampened shoes;
a folding chair facing out
at the naked branches holding snow,
an empty dresser talking
to the empty desk,
and a tangled strand
of xmas lights
tickling the wood wall
with warm leaving light.