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
adjust his glasses
motioning to the bartender
bulk of the conversation
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
not really listening
but was contently
being rather preoccupied
with the shallow impression
he imagined he was sending
of a pale introverted angst
haunted weakling consumed
by doubt and fear of mortality.
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.”
Sipped her Margarita
and stared intently
regarding the three men
down the end of the bar
and imagining the
they just must having.
The fire and passion
truly creative souls
bring into the world.
“My………how interesting writers are !”
From Cyberstein 2007
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
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
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
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
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.
Another Rubber Eden 1997
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
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
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.
in the disambiguation there.
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
get rid of them.
He tried everything.
They just kept building this
Plush deep hive in his head.
Finally the day came
When he knew he had to do something.
He was going to be stung.
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
Down in the other direction to parked patrol Cars
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
Why are you looking back ?
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…
Finally figuring a way out
So he took one last look
Around his latest
abandoned one way confinement
after I’m gone
Will those gals in the kitchen
Wonder just what did become of that man
who once stood out in there ?
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
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
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.