On turning 30

one would expect
that i should become something different.

i would have expected
something radical,
something shocking,
tangible-

as if i were
the dung beetle in the metamorphosis,
or
uncool
like an aging rock star.

but there was
nothing.

nothing happened.

nothing,
dear friends that i could scare
or impress you with.

after all the hype,
the stories,
and
tv shows about
turning,
being,
 or
becoming 30,
i can tell you, with a shrug,
“it’s nothing to fear”.

30 was no monster.

Still,
like Grover
in a child’s book:
There Is A Monster At The End Of This Book,

i just turned
the penultimate page,
and
it will just be me
at the end
of this tale.

cute furry loveable me.

07'

odometer

there were so many maps,
so many signs
telling me where i was,
and how far
to where i wanted to go.

This is the long drive,
the drive
ahead,
and the places i can only see
in the rearview
mirrors.

the long drive,
to the final destination.

another mile i have gone,
one more mile.
another
distance covered....

Saying fuck your speed laws,
while keeping an
eye out for
other crazy drivers.

Picking up hitchhikers,
some kind,
some unkind,
some lost,
some worst than i.

The empty roads,
were for thinking.
The
busy ones
for faith, curses, and crashes.

so many miles so far,
many more to go.

I can not remember
the begining,
and
can only image the end.
either way,
i am constanlty in motion,
sometimes toward one or the other.

Driving in the light,
and surrounded with a world
standing still as i moved
constantly away.

driving in the dark,
with only a small
stretch of
visible light.
but enough to
make it to
the dawn,
only to do over again.

there were so many maps,
so many signs
to confusing
so,
I asked strangers for
directions.

I have asked you
where i was,
and you answered, but
you could only
tell me where you were.

I want to say it was
all worth while,
I want to say i am a great driver,
as opposed to a bad one.
I want to say,
I know where i am going,
the detours, the sceinic routes....
they were worth
it.
i'll get there,
i'm on my way.

it doesn't matter
how much
pressure
i put on the pedal,
as the odometer runs regardless,
and records another mile

07'

A poem for the girls in the yellow dresses. ( in reference to that dream i had )

I felt hurt,
not in the dream mind you,
but after; when i had woken up.

it hurt to know that you made fun of me.
and i know it was a good one, because your good at that sort of thing.

I felt hurt,
not in the dream mind you,
but after
that dream
with the two women, both wearing yellow dresses.

it was you and some other girl
i used to know.

you looked beautiful in your dress,
i think yellow suits you.

yet, i chased the other girl, because
chasing you isn't what i do.

sorry you had to leave.

i thought it was
because i was occupied, but i know you
had better things to do.

I still appreciate the visit.

you got all dressed up,
even if it was just my dream.

but when i was awake,
I heard that
you had made fun of me.

hell,
even a doctor’s gotta tell
his patient he’s dying,
and still
collect
on
the bill.

i can take a joke.
god knows,
i can take a joke-
but not the truth.

07'

No bars can hold me, now

it came
alittle
like
a
metal file,
buried
deep inside
a
cake.

the bars can't hold
me anymore,
not now, not anymore.

there will be much work
tonight.

but for now,
i imagine how nice the cake,
not the store bought kind.

she baked it herself.
homemade,
from scratch-

i am moved,
as
i lick
frosting
off an
old
rusty
metal
file.

Then pull a comb out of my back pocket, and begin to prepare


07'