40s

A character sketch.
Feels more like an epitaph for a friend, at this point.

40s
a man on furlough
sliced in two
40s
Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force band
blaring out of his record player
lifeguard fatigues in a foot locker
at the head of his bed
he aches for a time when
men were men
chivalry and vinegar
piss and honor
cigarettes were homerolled
and men drove ships and sticks
he's got the annotated Sherlock Holmes
bleeding dust on his chest
muted trumpets bluesing
to the rhythm of his snoring
while his Droid charges
Droid does
and he loves it
forty more years
he'll Google it in his forearm
a man cut in two
40s
one in each hand
he laughes
smashes them on the ground
real men drink Black Velvet
on the rocks
freezer-chilled
in tight jeans
and a fist-pumping black muscle T
foot on the bumper
of his '65 Ford Fairlane
this is a bass player
the rhythm and soul of a punk band
he will kick your ass backstage
then take his girlfriend
to a nice lobster dinner
to talk Casablanca
and genetic replication
he's old school
it's not that he can't do one night stands
he just like to cuddle
sex with girlfriends
just feels better
this is the old man
who never met the nursing home
he and the old lady
still shoot geese
from their cabin on the lake
they go to church on Sundays
they get down after Bingo
and move at two miles an hour through Costco
so, so carefully
holding each other's hand
they block the entire aisle
but you smile
when you're stuck behind them
fuck it
they're too cute
this is that guy
in the 40s
kickin ass on a Saturday night
the airman on weekend leave
killing Jack and his friends
his beard
his lifejacket
his knapsack
his swimsuit
straight 40s
his cellphone
his soundsystem
his laptop
straight 40s
a century apart
and from what lies between
he kept only the best music
to jump around
because he stays in shape
he swims sprints --
and runs 40s

she II

On one of the summer camping trips, I had a rather me moment - we were lying around, talking in our sleeping bags. The campfire embers were long gone. But one of my friends had an aura that I had to try and capture, so I ended up in Tiny Car, scribbling the first draft by the dome light in my car.

I met this girl
with Ving Rhames eyes
see
he's the archetype of bad-ass
at that level of incredible
Zeus is a nobody
you're Mount Olympus personified
you can't really get mad
so much as reshape a gigantic smile
watch Pulp Fiction
even with the gimp
his eyes give him away
they're always laughing
I'd seen those eyes once already
but
it was a glowing green forest sprite
imagine that level of self-confidence, self-control
make it feminine
Blackberry-sized
you've got the tiniest, floating Triceratops
wrapped in a Tinkerbell suit
with manicured, slender fingers
the capacity to flatten Scandinavian forests
and the self-satisfaction
to have not even tried
the simple delicate flick
required
I found her
floating in mid-air
caught in a moment
a half-smile on her face
wings in the middle of a heartbeat
and such serene eyes
you know those fingers
could turn you to dust
the king of the jungle
sits brazen, with few predators
the queen of the forest
has the sly implacability
that comes from having none
she doesn't go medieval
she surpasses Hiroshima
at that point
you are a cloud
she never comes down
you can see it
in her Ving Rhames eyes
she has a Cheshire cat grin
and the James Brown version of funk
that belongs to 20 something women
the trademark of the international traveler
the small, tasteful, silver nose ring
a reply
to Cheshire Cat's question
“where are you going?”
the obvious answer
her natural habitat
sunshine, smiles, stories, somewhere abroad
where days start
with afternoon cookouts
on Mediterranean apartment rooftops
sun drenched, full of tomatoes and wine
they run through midnight bar crawls
dancing on a boat
that floats from bar to bar
on a river somewhere in the Czech Republic
and races to the train
to catch deep desert sunrises
this
is where she's going
all in the same orange sundress
simple
sweaty
artfully, perfectly confident
if the Cheshire cat dare ask
how will you know when you get there
she'll reply
that's hardly the point
and less than half than that
in the getting there

synesthesia

Sitting in Adam's when he started bumping Summertime, I had to write the first draft a few weeks ago. It all went from there.


I'm synesthetic
when I hear certain things
especially music
I see colors dancing in the air
Katy Perry
I Kissed A Girl, and I Think I Like It
when I hear it
I'm seeing the Great Pyramid of Giza
in flying, speeding wallpaper patterns
colored in bright, vibrant Lisa Frank colors
neon pink, yellow and green unicorn style
I was driving when I first heard it
almost drove off the road
took almost a whole verse
before I realized
it was only a song
I see colors when I hear music
it's beautiful
I wish I could share it with you
Thrice
an alternative thrash band
they have a song
Dont Tell and we Won't Ask
spiraling, looping, speeding guitar
drawing abackground of deep purple
smoke on the water skies
granite verses written in 12-bar canyons
darkly lit
while another guitar dances
a burning pixie
leaving a glowing electric trail of yellow
tangled with the liquid light counterpart
of the singer's voice
scribbled bright green
they do a complex duet
leaping off of the cliffs
to float
dancing fire
through that deep purple dark night
until the white supernova of the chorus
comes crashing in
to bathe you in pure, white hot fire
in that moment
it feels like recognizing one of your own
that is a feeling
I wish I could share with you
synesthesia brings you so much beautiful
sometimes, nothing happens
but when it does
anything everything always beautiful
even, especially, the surprises
Sublime
Summertime
and the livin's easy
it's the colors of Louisiana nights
a purple convertible
slicing down muddy roads
through caves of golden brown stone
and dark green vibrant jungles
melancholy masochistic in the moonlight
blended in dark vinyl palette
flowing liquid in LP
slow funky bass-driven rotation
this is a scene shot in low contrast
like colors dancing
at the edges of an early Nintendo game
and I want to share it with you
because these colors swagger
they move from the hips
this is the mix
that's Buddha and Balboa
grown sexy sittin' confident grinning
Topgun of Tonight Hill
it's feeling male jaguar
just looking for some panther
knowing you'll find it
because broken people will find a way
to smash their jagged edges together
and pretend they make a whole
it's so easy to slip
when you feel like shit, 'cause
my girl spreads her lovin' all over
so you slip
and you slide
jukebox songs cost two quarters
but not the ride
on the riverboat barges
straddling the Mississippi
on this Louisiana night
the Bourbon street bars are closed
but you haven't had a last dance with mary jane
you know the cruise sinful
scandalous and evil
all the people in the dance
are young hungry sexy and hurt
it makes them dangerous and wild
it makes them fun
and Summertime
is not the soundtrack to all this
it is this
in audio video surround cerebral sound
it takes the dark cancerous yellow
the cowardice you feel
when you bury self-pity in false pride
and try to lose yourself deep inside
you say no but you know
you'll hear someone cry
desperate and eager, eager and desperate
there's a twisted power
in that dirty yellow streak
when you're sharing someone with someone
and you don't want to share
but sharing is the only way to keep someone
you've already lost
in the taking the making the pretending
the pregnant green jealous pain
turns a dirty yellow streak of confident cowardice
synesthesia
can make even that beautiful
I wish I could share that with you