when the rhythm fizzles out

it finally hits when your favorite song doesn't hit you anymore and misses the target,
your chest still beats but the rhythm fizzles out until it's just a redundant thump
slowly
becoming
inaudible

and it finally hits you when your favorite CD collects dust on the shelf and misses the target,
as memories decay into fast moving particles of intentional amnesia,
your mind censors itself and turns cold like a grave long before your body is shoveled away

then it hits you when you sell your detuned guitar to buy drinks at the bar and it misses the target,
when your dreams disappear and turn to nightmares of fighting the 9 to 5 debt to yourself, with interest on those strawberry fields you've dreamed about forever
and your chest still beats but the rhythm fizzles out until it's just a redundant thump
slowly
becoming
inaudible

it hits you every day when you pass a school yard and see children playing games that you used to remember playing
and it misses the target
that memory is lost and replaced by varying doses of nostalgia, question marks, and anger

and then it hits you at last that you're as good as dead if you forget yourself,
because even if your chest still beats the rhythm will fizzle out until it's just a redundant thump
slowly
becoming
silent.

fermented poem

so here it is, the poem that I have been fermenting like fine wine for nearly two months now.
o.k.-- maybe fine wine is giving it too much credit,
maybe I should just write it and do the edits because the paper is hungry
I haven’t fed it since you left, and that’s what it’s about, this poem if it ever finds its beginning,
let’s pretend the lights are dimming and the mic is in my hand
what can I say?
whatever it is, I haven’t said it before because I’ve built barriers with invisible metaphors,
introspective to the point that my view came out defective, deflecting me from the light spectrum into the dark
you were my spark
and still are.

untitled

everything is spinning

it's dark and the shadows in my apartment blend into each other

I reach for the wall.

my friends on their way out

their jackets are on, and their shoes too

we are standing by the door, saying goodbye

"goodbye"

"come visit us in philly"

"i'll try"

"ok"

black out

political dream

I had a political dream but it drowned out from the screams and moans of a prostitute I picked up not long ago
my wife didn't know but that didn't matter until the Feds tapped into my cell phone chatter
before, I used to be the sheriff of Wall Street, where bankers bowed to my feet
now I’m ashamed, my legacy is stained and I’ve got no one to blame
my penis is so lonely
she gave public support but my wife won’t bone me.
meanwhile, my call girl is in
record deal, Hollywood, the silver screen
you know it’s just a matter of time
she’s making it while the media redefines me as swine
it’s bullshit
I’m Eliot Spitzer
I ran New York
I’m a full silverware set, that slut is a plastic fork
this is America, I’ll make it back
Bush won the White House and he smoked crack
life isn’t white and black
I’m not the villain
in a few years I’ll be forgiven
just wait
I’m Eliot Spitzer, make no mistake
I’m evil genius, conniving, and fake
and you all, you love it
you want to be me
you want my money, power, devout wife and family
and you definitely want my premium call girl,
don’t lie, I know that you do
well if you dream big in politics, all this can happen to you.