Everyone says how lucky he must be
but everyone just wants what they can’t have
grass is greener
also the color of envy
the cliché-ness of this feeling
is a Flava Flav clock around my neck

Anger: unaware of it’s origin,
no documentation of it’s
conception, no recollection
of how it “got here”

Anger: drink tea in
the ran of January, hydrate
your eyes by staring
up into the sky with hungry
irises mimicking turkeys

Anger: drown:
yourself or myself
one self will feel it’s
lungs fill

.

Hazel - a lighter shade than the
hazelnut dessert we shared last
night which I had to wait an
extra 10 minutes for. Although
this allowed me to catch the
Giants score (and final Giants
touchdown catch) yet again, leaving
any question of comeback to
the Lambeau attendees answered:
Not Gonna Happen Cheeseheads.

Hazel - your self-described eye
color. I always imagined the color
to be a gentle blending of
blue and green instead of green
and brown. Willingly I
would stare at your hazel eyes
in order to map where the brown
interwound with green, how colors
divided the territories in your
iris as laid out in the Treaty of March
1978. Willingly I would dedicate
a lifetime to exploring those
eyes. Permitted examinations are
periodically halted for a meeting of
mouths: soft and hard-assed simultaneously.

Hazel - the feeling of this
abbreviated public rental car
shuttle good-bye, forcibly
stoic farewell in front of a
stranger. You in your virginal
buckeye white, myself in
federation blue, these hugs
are forgotten during the embrace
as I think: “IloveyouIwantto
kissyouIwanttobenakedwith
youIwanttoholdyouwhileyou
sleep.”

Return plane ride is weep-free.
Two weeks. Two weeks. Two
weeks, you’ll be with
me.

My mother cried when I was drafted.
The tears wet her cheeks and
wet my apetite to fight
for Diocletian.

Scared and proud I bent and snapped
to the will of the empire.
As I left the Po River Valley
I knew it would never be seen again
by me. I’d been transplanted
to Rome.

The transition was hard, as they all are.
Cut into shape, fit to be in the army;
regrets died, I was whitled away.
They gave me a helmet and a feather.

Fly true and sing; didn’t even see his face,
but I didn’t miss either. I Crashed
right through the third and
fourth rib: man had sprouted twigs
while I ploughed head first
into my first cousin; she
cried.
It hurt.

Tendrils of discontent, distinct
against pink scar tissue,
press throbbing veins
shut. “None
shall pass.” This too shall
pass. I too
shall pass.

I cried myself to sleep last night. At my desk, in my office, I have
cried everyday for the past few weeks. Every day requires more
energy to keep each fragile piece of D. Joseph together. When
a fragment comes lose I forget where it originally went. I hastily
glue it wherever most convenient - other pieces have begun to shift:
I only have some many fingers, my wingspan is finite, there are too
many leaks to plug in one night.

This is not a poem. This is not prose. A confession I type as I recall
the glow I feel when we kiss. The glow I force in the hole filled
innumerable times before by bad breath and paranoia, email addresses
and jpegs …

The glue has all been spent on falling fragments.
My arm strength is the last resort to hold the glow
tight and firm in rib cage embrace. White hot,
lowly blue a condemned man unaware of what
he is due. A debtors prison whose walls D. Joseph
cannot see. He asked god for this, D. Joseph thought
god would not care.

This is not a poem. This is not a prayer.
D. Joseph wishes the repossessors
would come calling for what is rightfully
theirs.

I say my life is a vacation
I got the tan to prove it
life been burning me
don’t got the lotion to soothe it
but it’s all relative
and my relatives
from north of the border
are used to being colder
so my skin is fairer
and I am aware of
weaknesses passed unto me
got my mind chewing over
leaving this reality
if my life is a vacation
why do I want to vacate this station
but wait
let’s slow down
I am aware of
strengths passed on to me
I know who these tormentors
are going to be
I’ve stood on the roof
feet glued to the spot
looking at the bloomington sky
thinking about a drop
same spot Claire thanked me
for a cross-legged conversation
in a gym a few years before
this is the deepest I been
but I am floating at the top of the bottle
this is my Finnish winter
but I’ll finish a winner
“I’m a Champion” I tell myself
every breath is a praise
unto myself
gotta prop myself up
or I am going to shell myself
bunker down
hunker up
loosen this belt
tighten this noose
get ready to cut loose
I’m a champion
I can’t lose
can’t lose
can’t use
won’t move
won’t stew
I’m a champion
tighten up the belt
I’m on vacation
with these burns
hope I don’t melt
loosen up these thoughts
another drink
I’ll feel svelte
I’ll feel smelt
another drink
I can’t lose

I am in the brad pitts
in need of ed norton anit-virus
wanna be carved from wood
by a blind man
on an Alabama gulf coast porch
wanna pick people out my teeth
pick people out
in my mind
snipe out of sight
with a quip
shovelfuls of shame
soil of doubt
pile up the graves
make a name
fasting
always be hungry
always running forward
looking back, looking up looking ahead
never satisfied
snicker in my sneakers
squeaking at the squawkers
posing for the gawkers
clipping the mohawkers
no chaps
but I’m tracking
no bucks
but I’m firing
wearing orange in the trees
out of season out of reason
ain’t plain
ain’t just salt and pepper
bright and foreign
I don’t even comprehend myself
can’t sit still on the shelf
roaming
no charges
boasting
no larger
than
my mind will allow
but I got a big imagination
can you imagine
haven’t found my yoko
don’t got my christmas album
no children’s choir
more like tyler
munching on una cucaracha
vacay in cabo
not looking for muchachas
but I am liable
to put up that front
Im an edifice
I must insist
on making a fist
to friend or foe
got my defenses up
you got my trust
but you got my bullet tip
on the cusp of my lip
I’m watching you
don’t make a slip

you can look at me all
you want but
you might not like what
you see read me like a pamphlet handed outside a phone store
instead of a text book in a junior high spit your gum in one
doodle in the other read neither need neither
both end up in the trash their words trickling
down your ear lobes linger as icicles
both authors think “oh no”
“shouldn’t have gone
whichever way the wind blows”

Sipping
Vacation on the ocean
Gamble on the river
Gulping
Face my irrational fears
with irrational actions
Head first
Lash out
40 days
Biblical measurements of time
40 nights
Think in movie titles
So easy
To drift
So easy to lose my buoyancy
So easy
So easy
I should drift to sleep
instead
I’ll drift to sea …
So easy