October-Vox 3.0

October 2013-   Time to break out the Holiday Costume Personae of the season. Trick or Treat…but probably neither….  Boo …man…Boo… by my very presence.

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Taken out in the American Trash

1471 1st Ave. NYC

Halloween 10/2010

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*

I was standing at the urinal

in the Men’s room in American Trash

and the devil strolled in and positioned

himself next to me and unzipped

and I glanced over and said

Hiya Satan.

Long time no see

How’s the old demon tonight?

He coolly regarded me in the mirrors

reflection in front of us

and corrected me saying,

That’s Lucifer to you son.

He asked me what I was supposed to be

A beat writer I replied

He smirked.

Finished pissing

vanishing in a plume of fire and brimstone.

And I thought,

What….no deal ?

So I retreat back into the barroom of humorless costumes

as the night of masks passed with a the dead captain singing

with a ring toss dildo attached to his loins

that love won’t keep us together

when Bad Barbie strolled in

still in the box

with a five o clock shadow

and unlit White Owl Tiparilo

ordering a drinking next to me at the bar.

And of course.

She had a proposition for me.

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                                     From Sometimes Grief –  10/10  

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End of October

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The day had been the kind of grey

that elected itself spokesman

for the afternoon.

The voice chilled with a certain

knowledge of pale blue diluted

into a chilly white that promised lassitude.

The voice is saying the seasons

are in collision and we are in the locking in.

Fall has spent weeks gathering on the ground

and Winter as of yet is disinterested

in the whole business

refuses to go to work

so the ground shuffles the leaves like

a card shark ready to

deal ice cube deuces for your hand.

The time of the mask comes and goes.


So the night fills and drains costumes.

Stalking Quick Bank; Celebrity hero murderers,

Syntax gender victims seeking damages; Purple

suited stunt persons’ blubbering compassion and

politeness; decapitated rock stars, mutilated

millionaire ex-cheerleaders and just plain folks

caught in the crossfire, car jacking drive-by

random acts of brutal insanity of choice or chance.

Legions of green, yellow, red, black and white

three foot high grunting kicking punching power

midgets morphing into respected connected influential

public officials and politicians that are shaping the

course of personal liberty in your lives.

The traditional allotment of vampires, ghouls, demons

and blood thirsty fetus snatching liberal aliens.

What freedom the night affords.

All the secretaries become waitresses, the waitresses

become actresses, the actresses become whores, the whores

become Raggedy Ann’s become princesses, who become

gypsies and then as the dawn breaks they all turn back to

secretaries.

The great hangover of our self-deception on

all souls night.

I watched you swim the twilight

while the trees are stripped of their delicate garments.

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You are swallowing the dusk in buckets

drowning in a swirl of mad flight as the undertow of

the wind sucks and pushes brittle leaves dragging

their finger nails along the sidewalk.

On the way home, I’ll buy you a pumpkin

and we can carve a face into it and take turns

guessing whose it was once.

 -From Another Rubber Eden 92

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 New Work 10/15

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Selections from CD 9/13 release Quattro-Vox w/ live links located below new work

Quatro Vox 5 image*

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Across the street 

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Across the street that Muggy October

Sunday afternoon there was this little girl about five down the driveway

and she rides up to the neighbors house on her little pink and while

sting ray bike that just recently had lost

 its training wheels and had sparkly streamers

 on the handle bars of blue and gold

.And she has black hair pulled up in twin ponytails

 wearing a white hoodie pink pleated shirt with rose ruffled socks

 and black & white Mary Jane plastic shoes.

and I think she knows nobody’s home

standing there in the empty driveway

 but she’s looking for that little boy who lives there

to perhaps play with I think

and he is a terrible now version of the Dennis the Menace

of the neighborhood and has to ride the school bus

at 6:30 in the morning to a special school for behavior problems.

 And she dawdles a bit wishing he was home

finally she decides to ride her pink bicycle way

after leaving something in a yellow box on the red steps.

later his mom pulls in the driveway in the white car

she’s wearing green and black striped dress

and picks up the yellow bag goes in the house up the red stairs

but there’s no sign

of the little boy.

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Port Sour Wine

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All the sounds you miss

Dependent in lost think

right at the juncture of a sentence

elusive for you for reasons

better left unheard

but it isn’t always the sounds you miss

it has the pulse strain or perhaps port sour wine

and you can’t kill me till I’m dead

and all the words deferred to silence of better left off unsaid

beware the five barriers

physical conditions

cultural differences

Personal Problems

Prejudices

and of course

that old stand by

Connotation 

 Detonating all available denotation

 in shrouded sonic mushroom clouds of deafness

sounding a lot like all that you miss

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October is fronting again

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October thought itself into existence

promising color and resistance

sporadic warmth

but most of all they knew the drill

the  general consensus was it was everyone’s

favorite season

Sentimental prattle 

few would speak against it

 but the truth was it really was all about

so much dying

a lingering that some color lied to your face

and pending harvest rotted in the fields

but whatever came next

was always just a chilly gray November rain.

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Meaningless Games 2.0 

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Again listening to the end of the baseball season

to a couple of meaningless games

for a mediocre ball club left over from a childhood addiction

now nurtured and militant nostalgia stubbornly giving two craps about a bunch of overpaid men boys playing a simple game you always loved and you were not really very good at that.

It’s nearly the bottom of the ninth for summer

more like extra innings from lawnmowers laboring next door

 and smoke curling in shaft of twilight sun light

So I listened to the play-by-play for the home team

On a vanishing radio signal for the memory of another summer pastime

diminishing that can’t forestall the coming chill of the air

you can sense the encroachment

now you start one of  the last charcoal fires on the grill for the hamburgers and hot dogs

and think about third-place as opposed to fourth place and in the drone of the propeller   airplanes and an errant train whistle there are the names of retired old ballplayers

I can hear the fading signal of  the play-by-play

 to the ambiance of the ballpark they tore down to build a parking lot

 Just like we were torn down

now just ghosts in the past and in the elevation were once embraced

 now just bricks with our names on them

 in the courtyard strangers walk all over without a thought

in their heads.

 

If you look for our names in the box scores

They wouldn’t probably appear

but we were once in the line up

dancing in this bar just across from the Van Wyck Expressway

to Marvin Gaye singing what was going on….

 

And to this day I still really wonder

What really was going on ?

Uncollected 10/13

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August 2012 016  this one 3

So go ahead…..ask me about my garage

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No I don’t talk incarnate

or my park a car in it and

if you’ve got a car that needs a house

then everything

you own will want its own home

Nope never smelled that way again either.

I walk through that doorway never as much

getting a whiff

 you can look it up

I drink beer in there at an old shrine of my own design

go ahead refer to it as my Man Cave and I’ll reply which one ?

 And then better duck pretty quick as I smack your ass

up the side your cliché driven useless Facebook head.

Yes but of course tours are available

year-round

 call for prices

no reservations are….. not necessary

Just show up sometime and leave your reservations home

Along with your limited perspective

And pop up advertisement mind.

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October whispered behind his back

*

 

There was this single abandoned grape on the stairs

it was only a matter of time before somebody stepped on it

he received notification that the boxes had been shipped

 in this empty room he anticipated his colleagues

it would be the predictable struggled to keep his mouth shut and mind alert

and the clandestine asides the knowing looks contributing to the distractions

as that one particularly irritating little smug fuck

who was referred to as Diet Dr Thunder smirked and looked at the floor

when you spoke and referred to the class you taught

as being out sourced.

 The guest speaker today was from Turkey

 in the meantime he watched the clock

 They would all be here soon

 take their places around the table

 at present he sat alone in his accustomed place.

As October whispered behind his back

(Uncollected 10/13)

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IMAGE0128

 

3 selections from the CD Quattro Vox related to the season. The live audio links are located in the grey boxes to listen to.

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In a chilly Kiss

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 In that first touch of coolness

that arrives in a chilly kiss

that reminds exposed flesh

 

Yes. I’m here again

with the touch of my lips

or my muddy boots.

 

So pucker up

or bend over

Because here it comes again.

 

Soon the colors will blossom and ignite

The fuse to a combustible conclusion.

 

But tonight

All that matters

in that grounded star

that crawls in the dirt

towards you

on its knees to you

singing

                   I’m here again.            

-From Sometimes Grief     

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October Older

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 Pull in the soften light

as October nears past

a new moon across the sky

in the next street over

here where your absence

passes aspiration in a blur

of newer older days where

Fall emerges fresh

in still born green leaves

patches of watercolor encroach

like your temples gray

Turning away from the truth

the days are sneaking years by you

diminishing the sight

stiffening the limb

Time winding you down

 your energy ebbing

singing alone in the empty driveway

the vehicle of your flesh

is late

and growing later all the while

so I still strain to hear the sounds

I need to

while resisting the same I’m forced

to endure

the terrible ticking of the now

in my ears

A sound I find

I cannot refuse or resist.

– From Sometimes Grief

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October Bi-Polar

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The light now

At this cusp of

The season

Can change

As many as

Three or four

Times a day

 

At dawn

Shafts cut

Cone funnels

As light mist

Snakes S shapes

Upon the asphalt.

 

By noon

The sky is a bruise

And softly cries

For something better

Than what was lost

And not knowing

Just what

Comes next.

 

Mid-Afternoon

Perhaps Summer

May briefly return

To warm and

Talk the briefest

Of bows on

The way out.

 

By Dusk

The chilly black eyed

Shadows like dark circles

Under the eyes

And the subsequent tears

Falling now are for real

As is the chill dark of the night.

-From Sometimes Grief

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