eating ice cream in the back of a unitarian church

sunlight filters through stained glass hues.

I sit and savor pistachio/blueberry.

hiding from the rain, forgetting about instinct.

an invisible organ plays hymnals just for me.

unsure if this is prayer, because no one taught me how.

but I am hoping Hashem hears my inner monologue.

I don't ask for anything, just say thanks for everything.

lick the spoon and consider the afternoon.

a hobo sleeping in another pew starts snoring.

I hope she is dreaming of her version of Heaven.

while the Epicureans retreat to their gardens.

my Canterbury tales continue to trail forward.

I am a proxy poet to the world I live in.

protagonists don't have to be "likeable."

I don't have cash or coins.

so I sneak Starbucks giftcard near her satchel/pillow.

outside, the Union Square spring air.

mixes songs of nostalgia and future hope.

the Rumbler reminds me to look down.

and I see I have spilled dreams all my Ramones shirt.

#cheeseoftheweek

Fun Midnight Mix

1. Bean Fields by Shannon & The Clams

2. Look Sharp! by Joe Jackson

3. So. Central Rain by R.E.M.

4. Oblivious by Aztec Camera

5. Substitution by Silversun Pickups

6. Never Mind the Back Problems by Frank Turner

7. Life Is by Jessica Pratt

8. They Don't Know How to Fall In Place by The Lemon Twigs

9. Funeral for Justice by Mdou Moctar

I like life's little smelly time travel surprises

Cutting steakhouse onions

instead of working,

singing while jerking off,

life is good. 

Time travel exists,

and I am doing casual keto,

reading while some ghost

is playing the piano. 

It's just rained,

TTPD is playing,

I am caffeinated

and celebrated. 

I am never more present

than when I am trying

to get a good booger

while driving. 

And here I am

in Orlando fucking Florida

with different parts of my past

whizzing by me. 

I know nostalgia

is mostly blues music, 

but it offers surprises

in every song and smell. 

Scorpio Moons

and thinking about someone so much that

you appear in their dreams

and unintentionally receiving information

about people.

and being constantly permeated by the

visceral lived experience of everything. 

“We can’t all be Catos.”

Animal, Surrender!

I say, to my mirror self.

Mistakes are virtuous

if you learn from them.

And creativity, like philosophy,

is not an end state—it’s a process, a practice.

It’s the attempt, not the outcome that counts.

It’s an intention, not a disposition.

Buzzer Beater

My family were Bulls fans,

being from Rockford,

which is near Chicago,

and while I loved Michael Jordan

just like every 90s kid,

the minute the new Orlando Magic

drafted Shaquille O'neal,

I was hooked

I was never proud to be from Orlando,

hell, I still tell people I'm from NYC,

but I was proud to be a Magic fan,

and proud my "city,"

which was more famous for the Mouse House,

had a major sports franchise. 

I am part of a generation

of kids—now adults—who were borne

of transplant parents

from places like Chicago and NYC,

who have loved the Magic 

since the beginning. 

Being an underdog

comes with a sense of pride, 

and of course a chip

on your shoulder, 

and I have this beatific small market chip,

allowing me to be part of something,

a community, a big heartbeat. 

I will finish this poem

when the Magic win their first chip,

and mention Penny and Lil' Penny,

and Nick Anderson's missed free throws,

the paper poll that lost us Shaq,

Tracy McGrady, Grant Hill's ankle,

and the Tim Duncan plane rumor,

and Stuff and a bunch of other stuff. 

paint-splattered shirt

Paul Auster's dead,

the Magic force game 7, 

I am caffeinated 

and celebrated. 

The Avett Brothers come on 

at the dentist,

and I time travel

to Brooklyn, 2009. 

What's the statute

of limitations on love?

It's like putting a poncho on

over a backpack. 

In a Ramones t-shirt,

and weekly jeans

a jellyfish snapback,

drunk on daydreams.

Always order pancakes

for the table,

and try to start the day

without excuses. 

Don't Be a Dildo

Hey KJ,

if you see this

call me

and let's just laugh

at it all. 

We rocked and fucking rolled in the attic with delinquents from New Haven, The Problem with Kids Today. They are an awesome new band with an old sound and their debut album Born to Rock is super rad!

Along the corner of (my) history and the mystery of (my) future

Shoutout to anyone

who can land from a flight

and go immediately to work,

because I am exhausted. 

When I returned yesterday,
I had a meeting on Clinton Street,
between Walt Whitman's
and Biggie's Brooklyn.

At the corner of Atlantic,

I grabbed a coffee,

and fled for my life

because she lives around here.

At the closed library

on the corner of Union,

I sabotaged myself

but somehow saved the day. 

The person approved 

my idea for the poetry section

to be renovated this summer

which means I will be here more. 

On the corner of my history,

there is me and my past,

but I am more concerned

with Melvil Dewey and the future. 

proselytizing joy

"Okay, Miles. Take us there."

I deliver the affirmation lightly,

letting Miles Davis know he still has the reins here. 

We're somewhere around the 13-minute mark 

of Davis' colossal 27-minute "Great Expectations." 

One movement ends and another begins; 

as the color drains from a contorted trumpet – 

a benevolent sitar takes over. 

It's a relief. 

I know that, 

while Davis is playing, 

this conversation is between the two of us.

At 41, 

I am as fortified as I have ever been 

against self-judgment, 

but I think gratitude is arrogant,

even though I make gratitude lists every damn day. 

We've all had to push through 

the vulgarities of regular life,

and work really hard

to continue to hold on. 

The things that helped me hold on

are music, basketball, gratitude,

being humbled by a nine-year-old,

embracing my age,

welcoming being weirder yet gentler. 

Exiting the noise of your youth 

and entering a peaceful phase,

there will still be grief and pain, 

but once you've opened that door, 

you might be greeted with Miles Davis 

and benevolent hope.

the empire of your spirit is enough

not the marches or countermarches,

but the midnight dimness 

of the non-events of the day,

the ideals and aspirations,

the debts and lessons,

that codify real life,

the everyday poetry of doing the dishes,

the nightly philosophy of being satisfied

with simple virtues like love.

Bulletproof

I love the little bubbles

that butter makes in my coffee;

I sip them slow and quiet.

Life is a lighter shade of loud right now,

and I wonder if it will speed down...

Despite the wound on my chest,

bullets are bouncing off me,

ricocheting to yesterdays.

In the end 

of the beginning... 

Light me on fire

in an olive green suit,

black button down shirt,

and some Jordan 1s

that my daughter drew on.

Eat plant-based cobra meat with Larry Bird while refusing to believe lacrosse is hard

I wish tears shot put,

sprayed like a squirt gun,

the kind you win

with tickets that the arcade.

I wish tears made a sound

like a leaky faucet,

turned upside down

like Dr. Seuss' nightmares. 

I wish tears were cold,

like water from a pink Stanley,

next to a plate of lava-centered Totino's Pizza Rolls

for contrast to tongue. 

Fax

The fact that she quoted

"You've been chosen as an extra

in the movie adaptation 

of the sequel to your life"

has been rattling around 

in my head for days. 

The fact that her big eyes

laugh at my dumb jokes

has been killing me,

because eyeball laughter

can't be faked. 

The fact that every time I'm reminded 

by a younger version of me

to be fearless at examining 

the human condition 

and to put a lot of time 

in between love,

I revert to fiction. 

I am so freaking honored to bother Taylor and Ryan of one of my all time favorite bands Local Natives, fresh off the release of their incredible new album, But I’ll Wait For You!

Good Boogers in Atlanta

Chasing fireflies 

in Chastain Park;

didn't know the moon was pink

until I ran smack into her.

Life is a mistress,

her kiss so sweet,

her lips so sour.

My vulnerability

strong like bull;

my sentimentality 

is igneous.

I recognize I am a black cat

giving bad luck to others,

but she is a clover to me. 

We eat Popeyes

because we don't give a fuck,

nothing lasts forever,

especially not us. 

Started life 

behind the starting line,

had to play catchup just to get here.

Leaving for Orlando tomorrow

so we go down to Marlowe's Tavern,

where she can get her drank on

while I do my sober pet thang. 

Blowing good boogers

in the shower,

hope it continues. 

Don't pigeonhole my past

for I am a different person

than I was back then,

and you don't know me since when. 

centripetal farce

round and round we go,

where we stop (die)

nobody knows.

give in to the glory of a little can of Spam,

killing a life of monkey's hope.

I dial a dream,

while sitting next to Medusa,

nor swayed by cruel intention

so desperate to remember your name.

the sure burn of uncertain fire,

but how else do you see love?

legends speak of primordial gods 

who shaped the world in its early days,

but the artist’s painting captures more essence 

than the forest of Heaven untouched by human hands.

At arms' instinct taught war,

to recall what you hate most

inside a dream inside of hope as a joke.

eustress

poetize positive problems...

heading to Atlanta this weekend,

and then to Orlando the following weekend.

all involves good things, 

like cold plunges and concerts,

cookies and playoff basketball,

but I am the worried cunt,

always asking what if?

my resilience to happiness

is still a hurdle.

Name this poem whatever you want!

You don't need a helicopter crash. 

to live in a perfume adverb.

Florida fucks with my head.

it's not often we get a second chance. 

Singing karaoke while the sky is falling.

we only get to go round life's carousel once. 

I like your t-shirt. 

It makes my heart hurt. 

Never felt so confident. 

In nothing at all. 

Cake

I am so sorry
for hurting you.


Back then,
I simply wanted it all.


Now all I want
is time and cake.

a hat on top of a hat

I wear a Louisville hat for you,

and when people ask about it

I quote Bruce Springsteen

and keep the convo moving. 

It's from the 1986 basketball championship team,

but it makes me feel closer to you, Kendra Jean.

I know it's stupid but it's true,

and I can only control 

what I can control,

like the hat on my head.