August Recorded

The following three pieces were recorded in NYC last Friday Night. (details of how to access/view the videos (when available) are posted in Cold Millers

*

Henry, Robinson and Prufrock

*

 …were all having a drink

together during “happy hour”

in the corner bar at the end of the day.

*

Henry, the pussycat

in black face

was putting them away

three to the other guys’ one.

Soon fell silent.

Glared vacantly glaze affixed

away from the conversation

only to occasionally nod

mumble

“Yasssssum Boss”

adjust his glasses

motioning to the bartender

for “another.”

*

Robinson carried the

bulk of the conversation

speaking emphatically

about reading the “classics”

again to perhaps escape

the shadows of a neglected

intellectual and spiritually

suffocating domestic life

and just walking away

some day from the

pale gutless specter

he was fast fading

away to.

*

Prufrock

not really listening

but was contently

being rather preoccupied

self-consciously

with the shallow impression

he imagined he was sending

of a pale introverted angst

haunted weakling consumed

by doubt and fear of mortality.

*

Meanwhile

She sat down the other end of the bar

with an Oprah “Book of the Month” selection

she had just purchased on line in digital format

and having just inquired with the bartender

just who those three strange men were in

the corner near the window

and when he replied,

 

“Don’t you know who those guys are?

They just happen to be very famous writers.”

 

She sighed.

Sipped her Margarita

and stared intently

regarding the three men

down the end of the bar

and imagining the

brilliant conversation

they just must having.

The insights

The talent.

The fire and passion

truly creative souls

bring into the world.

 

She sighed.

 

“My………how interesting writers are !”

 

                         From Cyberstein 2007

*

C-Phone Section

*

 There’s this plump lady

sitting behind me on the train

and she’s so upset

Her Daughter-in-law Marmy just

had a C-section

and Joshy her son (I gather)

didn’t call her quick enough.

Evidently fell asleep

after it was all over.

 

So now she’s just calling everyone

she can think of…

Right now she’s talking to Kiki

and in that whinny, world weary

blubbering voice dripping

with hurt and solicitous

concern registering her

sense of indignation

and outrage over the

very idea of inconsideration

simultaneously delivered

in a repetitive loop

of script driven relief

over mother and child doing fine now.

“but the very idea of it all”

is reported in an episodic

guilt trip serial update.

 

And all I can hear in my head

is that quote from that half forgotten

J.D. Salinger story where a

fellow passenger on a airplane

is overheard in the next seat up

to exclaim

in what must have been

rendered in that same tone

of insufferable sob sister proclamation,

 

“Can you believe that the Doctors

took an entire pint of pus

out of that lovely body of hers.”

– CyberStein 2007

*

Maul Set

 

Kaufman’s parking lot sits

with the outlines fading twilight

half empty or half full

according to your consumer confidence.

 

Replicant industrial grid spread out in hologram

3-D horror. The blue bright print aglow electricity

in knots.

A view to marvel indeed.

Brilliant brutal and impossible to live in.

Except as a puck in the crowd

Inside this virtual reality Nintendo smegma..

So here’s to tonight at the games with full soundtrack

and prestigious commercials

while we at home all wait for a regional break

to give benediction in I told you so

for John Dos Passos

who wrote the original formula

as did ever Henry Miller do the script treatment

about the war to end all wars being over.

But the future just ran out of juice

and all the small engines have bad hair days.

 

Just as last of the roast beef sunset slices, the

access ramps into black spaghetti, one the civilian units

is intercepted by the patrols signaling compliance with a

triple set of pustule bubbles of red, white and blue strobe

beams that cast ghastly shadows in a wide circle.

 

There is the dull metal snapping of automatic

weapons fire briefly until there is a sucking sound

and a flash of brilliance, followed by the concussion

of the car’s gas tank exploding.

 

Patrol Alpo six tango Romeo and Map reference: Arbrys

Grid Map 4EY MARK 23:57 hrs. has just scored a bulls eye;

short range missile back talk deterrent system.

Log book shows probable cause.

Strictly routine.

Another Rubber Eden 1997

*

Dreaming in Paintings

*

*

There are these blank canvases

In my mind every night

this sleep brings dream pigments

To adhere as clear as if etched

In razor brushes so indelible

Frame after frame

Like some other persons’  home movies

From another dimension.

 

In the morning I can’t remember

Anything about them

Except I can still see intact

The memories of what

I don’t understand

Recognize

Know my place in anymore.

 

But these paintings are still there.

Like pages unwritten

Yet containing this message

I know is there

Like being aware of portals

To a spirit world

Picture window

To what

the eye has no seen

The ear has not heard

What no mind has imagined.

 

Returning back to

This corporeal reality

Which seems so gray and shallow

Is a real drag

After knowing those paintings

Where fire is water

And earth  is air.

Dancing between

in the disambiguation there.

 

                                                                  Uncollected  6/2012

*

Those Yellow Jackets in my Memory

*

…..had managed to build one hell of a nest

Aggressive and persistently stubborn

They just will not leave now.

 

And as the Summer deepened

He had to make a choice everyday

To live with it

or

get rid of them.

 

He tried everything.

Chemicals

Dirt

Dilscoyante

Alcohol

Cinder blocks.

 

Nothing worked

They just kept building this

Plush deep hive in his head.

 

Finally the day came

When he knew he had to do something.

 

Yes.

He was going to be stung.

Multiple times

And it was going to hurt like hell.

 

But this arrangement was just simply unsustainable.

 

So he took out his pen

And started poking and stirring nest

With the point till the

Ink flowed like blood and poison.

 

 Sure now his head was filled with dead insects

But man……how quiet it was now.

*

I promise to keep your photo on the dresser

 

 

Another month blooms

from inside itself to life

May June July

as flower explosions

scent the time sky

while memory invoked

moments seeded in youth

Sunrises with snow white

air born cotton fibers

Dawns with a high full moon

still hanging in the blue sky

leftover midnight @ dawn

May June July.

Another month blooms

from inside itself to life.

 

You once yourself

did as much

to awaken in rebirth

on either coast strange or familiar bed

with a yellow light streaking through

custard bedroom curtains

spilling on and firing the ivory of the sheets.

untroubled by any horizon of doubt

from the meridian of the coming day.

 

Her arms reached for you

while a picture of someone else

sat planted eyeless on the dresser watching

you moving from the small of her back

into that coal shock blackness

of her wild thatched hair

cascading on to her shoulders

bodies entwined rising from the mattress

singing into other ears.

 

From Greetings From Gridville

    *

Last Butt in the Box

 

Out in alley

Of the one way street

Where on this one end was the gynecologist office parking lot

To the other where the police station was

He stood in the center in an odd shaped

Abandoned entrance to someplace

Long closed off with bars and a pad lock

With the word Master embossed on it.

 

There were two open rectangles on either side

Cut out empty glassless windows to look

Up the alley to the freight trains passing

or

Down in the other direction to parked patrol Cars

or

Straight directly across the street was the kitchen

Of St. Vincent’s Rest Home

Where the gals in the kitchen watched me in there

while doing the pots and pans.

 

There was only one way in/out for him.

 

All that first half of that year he stared at those

Bars and locks behind him while he smoked.

All the while

Thinking

Why are you looking back ?

and

What in hell kind of job had this been ?

 

Later in the afternoon

He would stand in there for the last time

Wondering out loud about how he came to find

Himself in this strange place…

 

And eventually

 

Finally figuring a way out

 

So he took one last look

Around his latest

abandoned one way confinement

 

Thinking

after I’m gone

Will those gals in the kitchen

 

Wonder just what did become of that man

who once stood out in there ?

 Uncollected 8/2012

*

 Yank on the August Angst

*

 

Selected image Fragments to consider while listening to

Blessing in Disguise by Sonny Rollins

*

And she spread em

like Vaseline on a

lawn mower muffler

as her August lawn

needed mowing

*

Turns out she was a gift card

To the Dumps

*

Her top was in the process

Of coming off over her head

As she pushed him away

And then pulled him back

Till their eyes were but inches apart

And said

Ok I’ll do you

But you had better make it nice.

 

And he did.

O yes he did

*

Thanks god that dirty fly swatter

Of your heart

Finally missed me.

*

 Working hard outside

In the burning Summer

Afternoon sun is

Very much like a good long vigorous fuck

Afterwards you ache all over with satisfaction

And the post-coitus cold beer chills it to the bone.

 Uncollected 8/2012