“interrogation of flies“ I sit at my desk cigarette in hand half cocked, not lit ashtray, ashtrays no longer exist papers arranged by ear by year slop across the desktop or what the cat lady dragged in priorities rise and fall like a tide always coming in always high tide I would like to think I made something of this life wife, kids but no, here I am, here am I, mired in this, my domain, my cage.
notes… in my head I saw this beaten down disheveled lifer newspaper guy, who can’t smoke at his desk furiously anymore, and like any of us he misses the “good old days” regardless if they were actually good, they were the routine, and most of us fall in love with routine, but then we wind up, here and there, with a waking moment like “what the hell am I doing here?” and then it passes as furious and visceral as it felt, falls back to the routine, so this poem is not technically about me but definitely has some pieces of me in the bones…
and…. if you do me the honor of sharing my content, cool, please do, just a hint of credit would do nicely though on the karma meter, and thanks for the look, the read, your time, I appreciate it.
how things shift, magically, well, OK, quite naturally, but damn it seems like magic sometimes, my yesterday mindset seems just like a forgotten relic of the past, a lost wagon train on the plains on trails before highways, the snow, what was of it, has melted away into the witness protection program, transferred somewhere upstate, even though, I have to say, the temperature is much colder today, thirties, all day, but somehow… someway, this is a better day, the sun is bright, if not warm, just bright, and brilliant through the trees now as there is no leaves left to absorb the inferior solar tilted version in winter, stark naked lines outlines of trees against the blue, some clouds here and there but mostly strands of gossamer across an azure canvas, nothing more, the air is crisp, a strange thought, but something about cold winter, still winter air, just has a certain feel when you inhale, almost like you are drinking it through a straw, at least that is my perception, how things align, today is my ‘late’ day to work, so along with the weather cooperating the traffic is a usually a toothless tiger, and it was, what a difference one hour makes in the commuting rat race, at least in this state, even the road seems nicer, sure, concrete and asphalt are not going to win any pageants but they sure look better bathed in the bright sunlight, I can spot the the batches of rust on the bridges and make out images in them like cloud formations, this is truly a conspired concert of events all coming together in the polar opposite way, than yesterday, I can hear little orphan annie in the back of my head, where the hell was she yesterday ?… well, at least I found a cozy parking spot, in the back lot, I’m actually a few minutes early, how novel, for this week, so that is the lesson, a simple one I suppose, one we all ‘know’ but perhaps need to throw our selves a reminder now and again… the sun will come out tomorrow, or perhaps ‘could’ is more accurate, but find a field and bury your doubts, you never know when things will turn, for the better, the chance is always there when you open your eyes on to the next day’s dawn.
I wonder about peaks and valleys, and which I am in, the grind, three days of mind wrenching winding traffic, each day a new excuse for this vile serpentine of red braking lights, stops and starts, twenty some odd miles that stretches into hours, three days of unrelenting mess, monday, rain, somehow rain is anathema to brains, I truly can not explain the phenomena, I don’t enjoy being late, but I don’t rather leave even earlier and wait, and wait some more, tuesday, more of the same, not sure of the problem that day, an accident rumored in the truck lanes, perhaps, makes no sense that traffic on a separate road is slowed due to an unseen wreck, that wrecks the entire morning, that feeling, when you finally make some progress but then look at the sign ahead and realize you barely have made headway or halfway, and then maddening local ordinances make street parking an asinine adventure, a loop d loop traverse around the neighborhood until a proper, semi-legal spot is found, for now, only to run out and move the car in an hour, to avoid the local ticket brigade, more than happy to enforce the one inch you crossed toward the end of the block, then there is today, wednessday, snow in the forecast, snow on the car when I left the house, none on the road mind you, barely any on my hood mind you, but like rain snow apparently blinds cognitive ability, and certainly motor vehicle functionality, I begin to wonder if I am a mountain, being sucked under into a subduction zone, for at least then I will melt and be remade into vibrant new magma, but these days I feel more like an old mountain, bordered on the sea with waves pounding upon me relentlessly, eroding me, piece by piece, grain by grain, into the ocean, dissipated among the shores barely aware of my once mighty mountain cohesion, death by a thousand laps but death just the same, like slowly sinking, one day realizing your height has left on permanent vacation, maybe it is all this gray, the concrete median, the asphalt, the lack of sun for three days, the shorter days, the monotony of urban construction projects in bland display, I always thought to myself why don’t they decorate some of these bridges with art, these damn drab bridges crossing over, all the same, one by one without a name, not deserving of one either, overpass number such and such, just past mile marker such and such, and spiraling down thus, I look up, there is snake rock, NYC skyline off in the distance, the snow is just enough, just enough to coat things evenly, like a beautifully breaded perfect recipe, just enough so you can see the original lines under of everything, the tree branches, the rock outcrops, not so bad I thought, finally my exit reveals around, still a little late this morning but nothing out of total bounds, I pull up to the office, make that left I always make, and behold a spot right in front to take, or even three, hard to believe, I feel like a kid stealing a candy bar from a grocery store, I twice look around, I know to heart all the local laws, today is not a restricted day, here is not a restricted spot, for once I have to give in, and believe in my luck, so perhaps this is hump day after all, and I am at the top of said mountain, not realizing I was climbing, all this time.
notes… does this need any ? curious of your thoughts after reading this…. are there any other commuters out there? hello? is this thing on ? tap … tap … tap ….
“summer the lover has left my bed phases pass as the world groans colder sheets witness to warmth now transform a shelter for the winter come once spring fling now just an austere dream so here I lay, sleep, now dormant beast”
notes: just something that appeared in my noggin, then I lost it, forgot where the heck I jotted it down, man that is annoying, then I had to read (translate) my awful handwriting…. yay !
a flock of seagulls, no not the band (and was that hair a viable option… ever?), a flock of seagulls, hmm, ‘flock’ seems a bit fancy for seagulls, maybe a ‘collection’ ? no… that sounds a bit too much like a bunch of stuffed taxiderm-ical feathered statues staring at you with those creepy dead hollow eyes, a ‘gang’ of seagulls ? hmm, they can be rather aggressive in these parts but that does not seem to fit the ticket either, a ‘gaggle’ of seagulls ? that seems to fit, even if the name is owned by their cousins the geese (I am allowed creative license with species just so you know), so a gaggle of seagulls it is, not on the sea, quite more inland, choosing to be, in the parking lot of my local strip mall, a pizza place (very good local joint), of course a chinese spot as well, a laundromat, a supermarket, a nail place and then a hair place with predictably in the middle of them cuddled a spa that seems sketchy (aka massage parlor), a bangin’ bagel place, a liquor store, jeez, this really is New Jersey to the core, I think that covers all the major food groups of Jersey: Taylor Ham, Egg and Cheese; Bagels; Pizza; Eggrolls and Wonton Soup; and the adult beverage of your choice to wash it all down, and somehow this is the domain of said gaggle of gulls formerly of beachfront property realm ? I suppose the scavenging is superb to attract such a far off crowd, especially lured away from the beach and shore which I consider so much more (fresh seafood buffet galore), than this, some so random new jersey parking lot bore, but they did not leave their hierarchy behind, there is constant shuffling for the best of the parking lot lamp perches, to scoop up the scraps of those passing through their new inland shore as tides of people come and go, then there is the bench, the on deck circle, those waiting in line on top of the buildings, all in line, waiting to be called up to the scavenging front line when one of the larger more established gulls is caught not looking or is sleeping it off some where quite satisfied, it all seems so darwinian and yet wholly unnatural all in the same breath of thought and observation, most travelers through do not pay them (the gaggle) any mind, I like to take at least a little time to observe their idiosyncrasies and evolving society, I wonder, would I leave the beach… for this ? this concrete wash with no roaring ocean, a beach all to yourselves, for the most part, only that pesky invasion of summer bodies which bring sacrificial food anyway, the waves, the surf, the sun, the ocean smell, swapped, for this? belching cars and urban smells, I wonder again, could I do that? leave that behind ? how high and mighty I must be, at least they started on the beach, I have never gotten there to begin, except to visit for a spell, I surely have never set up shop for more than a week on said beach, touche gaggle of gulls, at least you have at once or past called the ocean shore your home where I have found most of my life on pavement and concrete stone…
music… had to be obvious, except I remember when it came out before GTA made it popular again, I was more of a Duran Duran kid I have to say… yeah, me the uber metal head into all sorts of craziness musically, my first musical love was Simon Le Bon, don’t tell anyone, don’t want to lose my cred…
so, we are getting ready to go out, where? I forget, it seems like we have been everywhere but then again, there is always something new to explore out there, and then she asks me “do I look fat in this?”, geez, even after all these years, how many years has it been actually? I get lost a bit in my own thoughts thinking about how it seems like a lifetime, no, more like all time since we were together, almost like there was nothing before and I imagine nothing after, as this is all I know, and she notices my stargazing look and interjects again, “I asked you a question!”, oh so you know how these things go, awoken from my momentary haze I utter ‘you look absolutely amazing for your age babe’, then realize, even a bright comet that nears a star still melts, as this quickly lost orbit comes back around as a perceived insult, “what do you mean my age?!?!?!” her steely blue wolf-rayet eyes blazing, she looks like she might go supernova at this point, I try and salvage my position trying to read the sudden gravity of the situation, ‘c’mon honey, we are not in the cradle nebulae anymore, youth is totally wasted on the young, you have the experience to pull it all off, there wouldn’t be anything without you, you know that’, she seems satisfied enough with my response, off the hook for a moment I suppose, the solar winds can shift so suddenly you know, even with all these years navigating the expanse of her character is like mapping the stars and trying to track all the other celestial bodies flying around out there, then I remember where we are going, to her father’s, always the same, a sunday, after all, even after all these years that seem like forever, he works six days a week, still, six days in and out, have to admire the old man, still letting the creative juices flow even at his age, although he is not as touchy about it as the old ball and constellations over there, glad she can’t read thoughts as surely she can turn as cold as the darkest black hole, and who wants to deal with that on a day off? ah, to be fair, when she is on there is nothing brighter in the sky to guide by, but boy does she takes her time getting things ready, like she is building civilizations from the ground up starting with amino acids and the like, at this rate we will have to travel at the speed of light to get there on time, such is life, such is the routine, you think I would be used to it by now, you think I would, I guess standing still is not in my nature, like an electrical impulse just pushing my molecules all around, apart and together, all the time, anyway, who am I ? you may ask, I would say it does not matter…
notes... just one of those that popped into my noggin, an idea, a conversation, so here it is… raw in form but from this form as is….
so, I paused upon the lake (ok , pond), a somewhere I have driven by many times but I was quite determined to have my lunch here today, and for whatever reason the universe popped into my head (during said lunch) and said “in your lifetime” and the simplest of thoughts derived there hence, the words above, it is all right there really, it is all you have… life and time, nothing else.
I wonder as my life expires if the last sound I hear will be like the ending of a record pfft… pfft… pfft…
notes… I was locked in the dark depressing doldrums of traffic, feeling really grey, like everything around on this quite unremarkable day, so I turned on the classical music station for inspiration, the recording must have been aged, in fact later a soft whispery voice dated the piece from a recording in the 1950s, these words popped in my head, I scrambled to write them down and not smash into the car in front of me at some astounding forward speed, like 15 miles per hour as seems the pace I was meant to take this day…. (I hope you all get the rhythm of the piece, the beats that is)
…and of course thanks for the set of eyes, your time, the likes, comments, psychic suggestions, restaurant reservations, constellations… and well, everything…
“upon christ of church fairfield township nj cemetery“ for all for now for all seasons kept be by brother be for here I lay laid to rest bound to ground consecrated in earth soul released to soar to higher temple mound, a marker, a name engraved crumbles, to time to fall tracing words, fading stone faces temporal worlds, flight drifts away embraced, in softest warmth bathed, in most divine light eternal grace, to triumph the night
notes… these are the ruins of my state, people who settled here before we were even a country, this cemetery is near ruin but not in total ruin, I drove by a few times and just was drawn to call to attention this place, these were all lives, loves, stories, people, all enshrined here, many hundreds of years past, that fascinates me, because soon enough this will be me, on this plane of existence at least, dust and dreams, we all come to this road, this destination, regardless of any declaration, or any direction in which we wish.
Music: a little heavy, a classic song in this person’s opinion…
as I sit here huddled in a hotel room in Elmsford, NY (for work), I try to be positive, well, I must admit the hotel is nice, no complaints there, the weather outside? eh, we were supposed to get this crazy storm, turned out to be a normal one, it’s cold to be sure, snow on the ground, that heavy wet snow that can’t decide if it wants to melt away or just fall into your car in heavy avalanche sheets the second you open the door (happened), I don’t hate the winter, there are times the snow hangs out on the tree frames like a perfect frozen gallery, it catches the light, and is quite beautiful, but not to drive in, not with people up here bearing down up my rear end as they are much more accustomed to driving these parts, man the anxiety builds, being stalked followed so closely when the two lane road becomes one, and one with ice, crunching under my tires seeking the dashed lines mostly obscured, I talk to myself as if the two bright lights behind me can hear me, “what are you doing? where would you like me to go?”, I have all wheel drive but I still would rather not pretend this is some sunny perfect day, I contemplate pulling over and over and over (is that a good spot?), I do not understand pressuring drivers in this sort of weather, but I only had five scant miles to travel from the store I was at to my temporary slumber chamber, I was counting, ticking off the tenth miles on my GPS, trying to balance (tame) my mania about pulling over to let this jerk-off pass, and finally I come up on the hotel, on my left, I signal, there is only one real lane by plow, so Big Mr. Pressure behind me all of a sudden becomes a shrinking Lilly and slows down, what a dick, and they pass freeze frame slo mo as I make my left, range rover… now going slow as a sloth, slower than I was when I was the lead dog, man that is typical, but at least I am ‘home’ for the night, at least tonight, just have to find a spot, why the hell is a hotel in this area so busy on a December night ? All the well, I find an adequate spot, I debate the old ‘should I prop my wipers up’, I don’t, I just want to take a shower and crash, thankfully this place has good water pressure, ahhh, damn that is nice, relaxed, and here I am… the photo? Cape May from a couple weeks ago, it reminds me to relax, that’s all…
as I sit here huddled in a hotel room in 
Shades of My Garden 