To make ideas solid, follow these steps

Step 1 Stop Thinking
Step 2 Unpack your piece and pack your mind
Step 3 Find inspiration
Step 4 Write about it
Step 5 Repeat the above steps until your ink runs out.

Nuclear Jersey

I live in nuclear Jersey, where atoms collide like billiard balls on New Brunswick exit 9
I live in nuclear Jersey,
where people are raised on converted farm fields, six lane highways, and Romanian barber shops
my state glows in the dark, like Ramada
in nuclear Jersey, fiber optics replace arteries
our polluted sub-urban over-populated strip-mall-shopping blood flows through congested jughandle-turning veins
up there in our stratosphere ozone molecules are dying from second hand smoke
and down here people don't breathe, they puff puff choke
because I live in nuclear Jersey
we built a garden with a heartbeat
we create a steady state of constant evolution
check the pulse
you can feel it in the air, like cardiac arrest suddenly
except your body goes comfortably numb painlessly
nuclear Jersey is perfectly stable but powerful like a meltdown
so buy a fallout shelter and enjoy your stay.

twin

every poem has a twin
every poet has an inverse vertebrae to convey
every imaginable thought, halfway
every poem makes sense until the halfway point, when you find yourself stopped on the solid double line,
paralyzed by the poet's double vision
unreal precision unpacks truth on the page
but you have to flip to finish

[flip page]

this sentence
after sentence, after sentence until all sense is lost, like the famous Frost poem
except both paths lead to the same destination

a light bulb
goes off
while floating
on top
of your head

every poem has a twin
every poet has a dark side.

Stop Thinking

Stop thinking.
Being alive does not require it all the time.
Being intelligent does not require it all the time.
Frankly I think
that I think
that I think
that I think too much.
I've made a hobby of thinking
Like playing tennis the mental duress is excruciating,
and also like tennis no one is there to offer kind words of sympathy.
That's why I quit tennis
But quitting thinking is hard,
harder than not smoking a cigarette after vodka shots,
harder than forgetting that smile that makes my eyes water,
harder than saying no while thinking yes.
Thinking gets in the way of passion,
and passion, it its chaotic and often regrettable state,
is still beautiful
Its mystique is disturbed by wandering thoughts,
It's potential is untouched because of some ill-advised question marks
So stop thinking,
Enjoy yourself for a while,
In a simple way,
Without certainty or uncertainty,
And I will be there,
thinking of you.

blurry vision (poetry for the insane)

everything made more sense when i was blind.
now, my vision misleads me toward a path i used to not see
i used to be locked in a room illuminated darkly by clouded lights
now it clears and steers me toward an opening, in the corner, small, a mystery
i crawl in, like an insect, and it hits me
confusion
fear
but i stay on track, not giving up, never giving up
trying to understand where i am and why
i want to cry and laugh at the same time
why?
my eyes used to make more sense when i was blind
i know
ignorance is swiss, full of holes and cholesterol
so,
what makes a man be a man?
vision
what makes a man kill a man?
nuclear fission
what makes a man make sense?
not this poem but the point remains: i saw a ghost.
and i still see it now, in front of me
it haunts me by reminding me that history is bound to be repeated
unless your vision of it is completed and ctrl-alt-deleted, twice
or thrice
or maybe fourth time's the charm
if it doesn't work on the fifth then sound the alarm
six times, plus one for good luck, seven's ok but eight really sucks
nine makes me wonder if i'm still awake
if ten makes this poem i may need a break,
because it's too late to really see what i need
my blurry vision got better but i still don't have speed
so,
what?
what's the point? does there have to be one?
good night.
i'm tired
this isn't fun.

first funeral

my mind becomes blank when i think about it
death
inverse creation, tragic
a feast for the earth, the soil licking its fingers,
swallowing people in their little wooden boxes,
funeral processions with people crying, black shirts,
who’s fault is it?
mine or yours, it doesn’t matter because all of us are the same,
just waiting for that last day
the father tells us to pray, i smell his incense,
beautiful
his peaceful voice resonates and comforts and brings out tears
i remember being a kid
i remember last week when we ate dinner together and she put salmon on my plate, i said i can do it myself,
and she said instead of complaining you should thank your grandmother
i remember standing there and hearing people cry, a room full of sobbing, and the father said pray, pray at home and in church because her spirit will feel your words
i cross myself, it’s been a long time since i believed in god but i can understand why people do, now,
her face is looking up, peaceful and i swear i can see her chest moving, i swear i saw her breathe,
i have to look away, it’s my mind tricking itself who knows why
my mind is blank when i think about it
death
inverse creation, the end,
when we gather and set a place at the table for her,
with water and bread for nourishment during her next passage,
and her picture from years ago, looking at us from the past,
and we at her through teary blood-shot eyes,
we remember and tell stories, try to articulate who she was and what she meant to us,
we eat and drink, it’s quiet between toasts,
i’ve never witnessed so much quiet at a banquet table before,
it’s my first funeral
my mind is numb, it drifts away, i drink another, put my glass down, and pray.

no bonfires

I've got a room full of musical instruments
and a head full of memories
too many
erase, i try to like Memento, impossible to do
it makes me reach for Motrin to relieve the headache and make my pain into a prosthetic
three
orange
pills do the trick like the street walkers in New York
perfect dosage but expensive
better choose store-brand generic next time.
I've got a room full of books
and a head full of ideas
bonfire,
I need to start
easy to do, to make space on my shelf for sea shells, candles, and little statues
maybe next time, when winter comes back I will
for now, I need peace and quiet,
and no bonfires.

Random Acts of Violence

I enjoy random acts of violence.

Behind my peaceful countenance there is a hunger for murder, bodies, and guns,

destroyed civilizations like Genghis Khan and the Huns—

I thirst for complete destruction…. I thirst for blood.

There are skeletons in my closet, the remains of people I killed

The closet is filled up to the ceiling with men, women, and children because my reach is endless.

I make Osama bin Laden look like a Buddhist monk,

I get belligerent before getting drunk,

I poisoned cookies with cyanide just like my neighbors,

I even poisoned Shop Rite potatoes.

I like bombs, tommy guns, and clips that rip through innocent people, spilling blood on the streets.

Peace is boring.

I want explosions and rage that build with every bullet

until collapsing with massive collateral damage,

I manage to get by with violent nightly news highlights and still lust for more

I want another world war!

Love is for whores,

but hate is the wave of the future-

If you object we can debate this over some tea, truth serum, and torture.

Yes, I enjoy random acts of violence.

I set fires to kindergartens during nap time and again for lunch

then during dinner I'm a sinner and like al Qaeda I'm a winner.

I made God put a gun to his temple

and framed his suicide to seem accidental

Breakdowns are mental and terribly fun

I like to shoot guns,

so what are you waiting for??

Get out of your seat and run.

Random Acts of Kindness

I enjoy random acts of kindness.

Behind my violent façade there is a thirst for peace, hugs, and love

kisses for all and white flying doves

I thirst for complete ecstasy….. I thirst for bliss.

There are teddy bears in my closet, the remains of gifts I bestowed

The closet is overflowed to the ceiling with white ones and pink ones because my reach is endless.

I make the Dalai Lama look like George Bush

I meditate before shove comes to push

I prepared cookies with sprinkles for all of my neighbors,

I even baked them organic potatoes.

I like laughter, feasts, and sips of red wine that give people warmth

time after time.

Peace is adoring.

I want explosions of passion that build without pausing

until collapsing hate in a massive love earthquake,

I take a moment to pray nightly and hope to learn more

so we can avoid another world war!

Love is for all,

and spreading love is the wave of the future-

If you object we can debate this over some tea, torte cakes, and fortune.

Yes, I enjoy random acts of kindness.

I set examples for children with righteous behavior

some have even mistaken me for being a savior

I made God strip the walls from his temple

and showed people that division is mental

Love is fundamental

the rest is excess

so what are you waiting for, recess?

Go on, get out of your seat, move your feet,

hug one another and carry on this peaceful beat.

good luck, bad luck

dirty wheels get stuck on cars where roads don't allow docking,
i'm stocking up on bad potluck dinners, meanwhile mavericks battle the phoenix suns
and bums outside are getting the run around from suits,
glistening with diamonds and spades, clever clovers and heartless trumps donald ducking away from reality t.v.
I'm starting to miss that mind numbing addiction but fuck it
time to suck it up, ride through the storm and form an inner resolve that king arthur couldn't put a sword through,
or pull out of, whichever way the fairy tale goes
I'd rather be washing windows than complaining about the brain waves I make when I paint pain invisible and let it fizzle like the good dr. pepper, left alone like a leper time and again
I try to colonize this page with rhymes and send it out to every single person in the room next door,
what would you need it for? listen clearly, eyes focus on my red liquid pumping oxygen,
feel the pleasure that metrics can't measure, it's like a treasure peninsula where pens insulate and spirits never break,
don't ever mistake me for blake, a lamb, tiger, or snake
I'm amphibian, a prime rib meridian raw in the middle and rough on the outskirts,
belly full of spirit like teens seeking nirvana, instant gratification and multi million dollar publications
time is on your side while mine is waiting for breakthroughs,
waiting to make proof that bullets can't pierce through my flesh,
not again, it's like I'm spending my life on instant replay, no luck making headway,
I'm playing too many head games and it's overtime, any moment now it's all going down,
genesis the sequel, when the world will end not with a bang but with a boomerang bringing back memories that make us forget the apocalypse in the first place, by god's grace give me a break
...
but I'm not a kit kat, my nine lives will end today if this day never ends,
like zack morris I'm saved by the bends while radioheading a wall ever since I can remember,
I'll be gone til november rain breathes life into this desert storm around me,
I lost what I wanted and disillusionment found me sound asleep, imagining better days,
searching for better ways to stay awake and shake this negative energy once and for all,
optimistic I know but if I wasn't I'd be crying right now and that would be no way to write a poem.

We.

sometime along the line

I

we

fell into different orbits

now,

you

are older,

and beautiful as before

our orbits meet once again, by chance

unexpectedly

and instantly.

The past, I remember it all

after four years, after all these constant orbits,

I can still see back along the line

before you and I drifted apart

probably without a goodbye

I was young, eager to conquer and see everything,

to feel everything

my thoughts were drowned out by scattered desires.

And today, I remember then, now, and in between

every single part comes back

as a chapter,

and either this story will culminate with an explosion

(because that is what happens when orbits collide).

or we fly by each other, smile, recollect for a minute,

and then keep on flying.

tired

be quiet.
it's 9:30 and primal therapy is on my mind
as I rewind through the last 24 hours
I'm feeling swamped like Jack Bauer but at least he gets to carry a gun, tell people what to do and save the world.
it's 9:40 now
just the sound of me, my keyboard clicking, and broad street humming along,
like a song created by concrete acoustics and rubber percussion
with a modern twist of irregular rhythm
one, two
get ready for it and...
quiet, because
it's 9:46 and I am nearly ready to marinate myself for the night,
that is, sleep
I keep thinking: if someone forgets to wake up my alarm, would that be such a bad thing?
well,
maybe.
9:51 now and I'm five minutes closer to seeing the morning sun along route 280.
soon broad street will wake up,
wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up

be quiet,
I'm already gone.

from here to there

it's,
beautiful out here
all clean streets with sleek buildings and water fountains,
well-dressed people running errands and credit cards,
elected officials signing multi-million dollar bills into law
and enjoying the view from historic rooms of the state capital.
maybe I missed the railroad tracks
because,
it's beautiful out here,
while over there, people struggle to put food on the table,
those run down neighborhoods are polluted with heroin needles
and potholes because roads don't get fixed over there,
races don't mix over there
maybe,
pink floyd was right,
that it's us and them,
divided by lines of money within the same city that represents
the state politically, it's completely
wrong
this has to be, but it's beautiful out here
and who should we blame?
the government? the system?
it's all the same and making amends takes more than protesting in dead ends.
making a change takes more than writing poems and spreading the blame
on The Man
he doesn't care.
The Man and Big Brother met last year, turned gay and moved to Canada,
so stop blaming The Man
because The Man is now only a man
and he is busy holding off the amen movement that says God loves everyone except homos,
sort of like the government loves everyone except hobos,
and,
I don't know.
out here everyone accepts this discrepancy like it is natural democracy,
but beauty belongs everywhere, from here to over there.

[inspired by trenton, nj although I am not sure "inspired" is the right word]

in the mood for poetry and other deep thoughts

I’m in the mood for a love poem.
I’m feeling good about this like my soul mate is out there, getting ready to be found
or right in front of me, who knows?
but now I’m in the mood for a What-the-Fuck!-is-going-on poem
I want to question social habits and war advocates
I want to raise my fist in denial and charge my rhymes like electric wires!!!!
actually, What-the-Fuck is the point?
I’m really in the mood for an angry poem that breaks windows in every room
and assumes the worst about people,
so
stop
listening
Stop listening so I can’t tell you how I’m in the mood for humor
one liners is what I got
but maybe I can’t be funny today,
just melancholy and tired,
wired by caffeine and deflated by green nicotine,
everyone is the same, telling me this poem is lame
I'm exhausted like princess Diana running from fame
with constant question marks trailing me,
anxiety is taking me down
I can say it straight to the point or around,
there’s no escaping this poem, it’s hot pursuit
I’m running on foot and losing
sometimes the pain can be soothing
but who am I fooling?

ah,
fuck this poem, I’m in the mood for some chinese food.

Feel the Love

As Islam gets conquered by Crusading rapists,
facing weapons, fires burning cities to skeletons,
Ottoman control grows.
As Ottoman control grows with precise conquests like arrows
and gunpowder bombs, belligerent armies pick up their arms
and spread like a plague, plowing through populations.
As usual, Jews get killed, always
as part of God's master plan,
rabbi, my man, if you still think God has your back you may be mistaken.
Let's blame Abraham for being ambiguous
he fathered enough murderous messiahs
to kill all of us, all of us poor souls
who know that religion brings peace only to people already deceased.

Feel the Love.

Feel the land give birth to people
who give birth to war
that gives war to death
that gives birth to CNN
that gives birth to Osama
who gives birth to new cycles of insanity.

Feel the Love.

lessons I learned in college

I learned hindsight is always twenty-twenty minutes too late
I learned that Starbucks specials can make you sedate and relate to a lesson
I learned in school -- namely how to cut corners en route to B.A. diplomas
I learned how to walk, talk, and think
and forgot it all after my seventh drink
I learned that T.V. is addictive because of Law & Order detectives
I learned to detect misplaced modifiers and
I learned to replace slang with satire my homeboy Anthony Burgess can admire
I learned there are no limits to inertia
I learned how to play by the rules and to swallow losing
and shortly after I learned how to cheat and think on my feet
I learned music notes that I can't really use
I learned about drugs that I tend to abuse
I learned unique and I learned the trend
I'm learning right now how this poem should end.

did you vote? (2004)

George W. Bush,
that evil political puppet
fucking up every day
American lives needlessly blown away
that evil conservative,
the national deficit blowing up
social security screwed up
for you and me
Iraqi freedom operation, disaster
2008, wish time moved faster
inauguration protest
turn back, throw eggs
grocery bags cost more, inflation
lower taxes don't matter, be patient
because Cheney controls Bush and that evil administration

wait ... did you vote this year?

no, not me
black flag, I want anarchy
no, got lazy watching Desperate Housewives on T.V.
didn't want to drive to vote, trying to save pennies for my gas money.

did you vote? No
did you vote? No
Did you vote? No

Well, then shut the hell up and stop complaining.

the electric taste

tongue-tied to a word that does not exist,
the small looks big and the big looks small,
magnified by a million and still murky
while looking deeply, you see what I see.

then a sound

suddenly it gets faster and faster
the trumpet breathes out soul
and stops
it gets faster
and finally an explosion so high, it makes you sink into your chair
while listening deeply, you hear what I hear

the electric sound

richer than a thousand tropical fruits in taste,
slower than a turtle,
faster than a Japanese bullet train
electric currents
mind numbing and addictive
you want it
you want it when it rains
you want it when it's cold
you want it with people
and you want it alone
you want the electric taste to spread like the plague through your body,
then stop,
then begin again,
and finally explode... until the next track.