bold is stronger
taste
less caffeine as
the roasting burns
the buzz.
pike is a stronger
buzz
less roast
as
preservation weakens
taste.
so you
get a nice high typing
in the morning if you
systematically
arrange your sequence
at a reasonable
price too, without
the cabal murdering you.
The price we pay for free wifi. – mh clay
Outside, the chair was right in front of the building, and they were drinking rotgut wine. I noticed two Latinos and a West Indian with one of those high caps with yellow, green and red swirls. One of the Latinos wore a waist length, brown army jacket. The third guy was in a big, overstuffed armchair, springs splitting through. He …
this poem’s not going down
the way it’s supposed to be.
your reaction will probably
not be
the way it’s supposed to be.
my life is not
the way
it’s supposed to be.
my job…
the moment is not
the way
it’s supposed
to be.
my meditation is never
the way
it’s supposed to be.
every rule i read in a
book. they never apply to me –
they’re not the way they’re
supposed to be.
the food,
the drink,
the air
are not the way
they’re supposed to be.
agreements are not the way
they’re supposed to be.
expectations are
never, never, never the way
they’re supposed to be.
vacations,
recreations,
anticipated fun – they’re
not the way they’re supposed to be.
whoever made up these pictures
sure didn’t do it
the way
he’s supposed to be.
and yet
everything’s perfect
because nothing is the way
it’s supposed to be.
and THAT’S the way
it’s supposed to be
We suppose so… – mh clay
Nick was in the bedroom, occupied with a musical question. He held a red, Guild Sunburst acoustic guitar. Nick was a musician, and contributed to the support of the small family, along with Donna, the wife. She worked mornings as a kindergarten teacher in a private school. The school was one block east, on Utica Avenue. They were on East …
haiku 1
there are few noises
sweeter than a car alarm
shutting itself off.
haiku 2
a single poem:
you are as rare as a day
in dark alaska.
Sweet relief, the first. Erstwhile love comes, the second. We say “Thanks!” to Carl. – mh clay
Frankie Mann operated a small, Brooklyn music office. He often hired a junkie sax player named Freddie. Frankie’s father, Mambo, was a gangster down in Florida. He financed Frankie as a front. He also used a fat singer named Peter Vallone, who told jokes, usually with an Italian accent. Now Doctor Frankel stared kindly at Brown. Frankel sat erect in …
creating it is always
fresh.
talking about it is always
stale.
Still, a breath mint before speaking attempts the illusion. – mh clay
We first wanted to start a wedding band. This is where I met Scott Howard. He was a fat guy playing keyboard across from me in a Manhattan rehearsal studio. The next week I had him over at my house. I watched him wobble up the walkway. We lived in a place called the Butcher’s Co-op on Midwood Street, Brooklyn. …
she does not want to know the dark side
she wants to know if the green napkins are
the right color green for the catered affair
if the band will play the bride
and groom’s special song
if the cute little candy bar wrapper
which had been especially designed for this occasion
by a very hip paper products company
will have very cute pictures of the bride and groom.
there is no room, no space for the blues.
she has done what scientists
buddhists
psychologists
philosophers, eccentrics
have not been able to do –
squeeze out the dark side
ennui
spelled e-n-n-u-i
pronounced ON-WE.
french
every major 20th century american writer
addressed it.
hemmingway in the 20’s
kerouac in the 50’s
bukowski in the 80’s
dissatisfaction with the conditions.
even when the material things are okay,
something’s always peeving us.
yes,
something isn’t right
not just right.
even this little wedding as it is.
i keep thinking of my writers
and their stories
about episodes of their lives.
sitting at a small desk, taking a pen pencil paper
typewriting instrument
and getting the feeling on the page
sharp
hard
clear
really etch it
so you know it hurt.
none backed down.
they stayed in rooms and cried;
their words
played blues as well as anybody ever did.
Fantasyland polished greens and blues, pressed to paper; expressing a bruise. Too honest for what Walt had in mind… – mh
Tony was trying his thirteenth draft on this piece, 1234 words, into the top of the fifth double spaced page. It was a true story in Tony’s own life about how he almost got screwed, due to the follies and games that men play, out of a musical gig. The musical gigs were important to Tony as a livelihood and …
