fighting irony

My Lighthouse Smoke Detector Goes All Night Long

I will never forget how you looked at me
Your moment of realization as pained
as a punch to the gut as clear as cut crystal
untouched by my sweaty hairy-nuckled paw
empty of the whiskey that gives it purpose

Just 15 minutes earlier you greeted me
with barefaced enthusiasm!
like a daughter whose Dad is on Leave
not an inaccurate metaphor, not because you are girl-like
(you are all woman)
or because I’ve been away at war
(inner terrorists are my Iraq)
because there is something about you
that makes me want to take care of you

I have known this for a long time

And I swear, your eyes, I saw them sparkle
which I thought was just an expression

I’m sorry you thought I was different
We spent that whole day together
both of us hating the morning
sipping our orange juices, slipping out of the
lecture for coffee and doughnuts
insufferable hours later, charging the fading daylight
a newly formed duo, laughing at the others
all of The Others, believing so much so easily

Years Pass.

In the colorful static of night
you come to me
as the blinking light of my smoke detector
a steady warning
My own personal lighthouse
blinking red, warning of the rocks ahead
keeping us at a safe distance,
from the treacherous shore of memory
from one another,
without reward

Good Day, L.A.

The woman to my left upends her third
cup of coffee, sparks the fourth link
in her chain of cigarettes
Secondhand pleasures to me now–
All I inhale, the toxic trails of passing tailpipes
Sip and stare into my opaque oracle gone clear,
my morning Salvadorian mud
now Japanese green, doctor’s orders

Los Angeles,
What of the lake or the leaves
the autumnal in between, when
the Equinox, a gym
the Solstice, a sunglass boutique
When there is always green always sun
always salty-sweet Sunday laziness
always sun and sun and more
Sun

Los Angeles you are our city now
And I can’t tell, I cannot
if this city–if the collective
if I, if you, if we
are in a state of advancing
maturity or incipient decline.

Incriminating Evidence of the Former and the Latter

You again?
With your pigtails your smile
Is that really necessary
For you to be smiling
All the time?

Every time I see you
I look for something sad or damaged
darker than you let on
Besides the real color of your hair
which is as much a mystery to
me as you

Could it be you have no secrets
no place you won’t show me

But what of that night
when you came home exhausted
Didn’t say a word to me
though I was waiting on your stoop
taking care of your dog

Oh, but yes I have, I’ve heard things
Don’t think I haven’t heard those things
Nasty incriminating things
about how lousy you are in bed
how still
and silent

This I refuse to believe.
I still believe in God you know
sometimes
mostly at night
next to your shadow

I am alone here, tonight
The morning coming quickly
the blinking cursor blinding
the awful squeal of city bus breaks
the smell of snowing diesel particles
nothing like your smell
sounding nothing like your squeal

Will You Be My Madeleine?

Like a new pen
you are filled with promise
nothing yet
On the Record
only the perfection of irrational
imagination

Too soon you will be hazy
appear as a mind-screen
Double Feature
with the soft vanilla scent
of Junior High love
behind the disappointing discovery
of padded bras, misshapen breasts
and then–
the realization!
wondrous imperfections
outshine cold plastic models
of gym-health lectures

Or will you be even less?
another dew drop
another sharp bit of ice
in the Cloud
expanding the infinite grayscale
of sloppy solipsistic
grey matter

Tell me it gets easier.
We have so much to care for now.
So little to care about.

But we keep walking
most of us
into the hot haze of memory
away from the promise
our ink long dry
scraping our sticks in the sand
if only for a second to shout
We’re Here!
We Exist!

The Other Half of Me is You

You are not like a boat
but you sink me with the weight of words
the anchor of time
capsizing me before noon, most days

You are not like a bee
but your sting swells
the part of your violence, under my skin
the closer you get–
the noise from distracting to deafening
–the fucking noise

You are not like a snake
but you scare me still
always hiding in the grass
waiting to swallow me whole
most days, before noon

What you are is:
a turbulent plane ride
a third world train wreck
a Father with his hand held high
the fists of discipline pounding
away away away
at the
dreams of rising
above it all

You are also this:
Springtime
Buds of pink and purple, no matter how brief
Lining the streets of urban decay

It’s 4 am
the phone rings
reminds us that death happens
death of loved ones
most mornings, my own

Staring at an Empty To Do List on a Glorious Autumn Morning
Outside of Los Alamos, New Mexico

Whatever happened to Oppenheimer
after the Atomic Bomb
Or Leo after Gisele
Where to now?
And should I even begin
again (Again?)
after you

I wish I remembered more of you.

There is not much to say here
except that your eyes were clear
your taste in music excitable
and infectious–but second guessed.

Oh here’s something more!
Your tattoo misplaced–
shame to the man who exchanged
a hundred impotent dollars (euros?)
to scar the lower beauty of your back.

Listen, don’t you think it’s time now?
To stop escaping our everydays
You to the beach
Me to the coffee shop.

Admit that, hey we tried
did you?
best to keep moving on now
leave the flashing lights
to the blessed
the bless-ed
the carefree
the chosen ones–
of which, I am not chosen
and you, well…
I’ve been wrong about this before.

But either way babe
You and me babe we could
face this shit, head on head first
fight for something–
isn’t that what you all want?
for us to fight for something?
that something being you
instead of always fucking

…waiting
and waiting and waiting around
waiting around for my nicks to stop
bleeding for the sand to be vaccumed!
for the jack and coke to hit bottom
for the pot dealer on his stupid! fucking! moped
for your vegan cold soba noodle bullshit
for you to reach across the table and
smile at me like you did when we first
met and I didn’t speak because I was
so fucking depressed that everything
was fucked up forever
so why even bother.

But if not, if the other, if back to the daze:
I would appreciate some time
away from the thought of you.