I hunger for the shape of you... A ride booklet at the 'park Some rosin on the bow A few quarters at the arcade Like curves on the 1 You’re the one for me Foggy ocean breezes Sea lions seeing more than can be seen I hunger for the shape of you... Lights in a city A doe in a field Flowers on the horizon Feelings that are real Let’s sail up a mountain Hike through seas Cruise crowded boulevards It’s easy to believe It’s easy to pretend Pick some berries while we sleep Book a hammock on a bike Umbrella in a jeep Mangoes in a dessert Custard from the sky Unpacked before we arrive It’s the shape of you that I crave It's the reason that I write.
Circles of Happiness
Spreading circles of happiness Concentric circles of love Copernican orbits, celestial in nature (Scientific specificity be damned) Prismatic spectrums of non sequitorial orbits Words; loosely organized, placed in drawers of paper lest they gather dust Forgotten; they morph towards memories.
George
For such a short piece of writing, "George" really packs a wallop! This micro-fiction sure does demand much upon the reader; however I believe the payoff is worthy. Take it slow and feel free to read it twice if needed. I look forward to your comments,
Lewis
George
George was technically living. He did have a beat-box and the most advanced plastic pulse ever assembled. GR-78 was a sub-orbital weather fixing station and George's current assignment. Why George was stuck on a Sub-Orb "Wet Fox" was beyond his plasticity; perhaps if he had bio valves, bio neurons, and skin, instead of a mold, he might have had a choice. But George did choose to keep fluid on Altarian politics and instinctively knew that all four of the big boys were no longer capable of activating hydro-fall, without synth help. Indeed, countless synths were being forcefully reassigned for work too dangerous for bios and if a synth or two had to be "reprogrammed" daily, well, that's what they’re for, right? As he was stationed at this wet fox, at least his exo-mold was never in any real danger, unlike the seeding-synths ordered to spark hydro burst in the Altarian atmosphere.
George should have been pleased, yet he wasn’t. He was finished waiting— it would be months before the commandant of the '78, a known "Organics Survivalist", would even glance at his transfer request and besides, today there would be major demonstrations all over Altari. So George stole some replication discs, handed them to the most corrupt fueler-captain on duty, hid onboard, and signaled ahead to the Student Synth Alliance. Upon landing, the ship was seized by crazed-students mistaking the fueler for a hydro-carrier. Riots had already begun. Communal-Organic-Patrol Synths had been zazing both, students, and synths alike. George spotted the alliance and bolted, un-zazed, to them.
The kids in the alliance were ragged, but they seemed determined as they slashed through the volatile masses (to get to Grand Hydro Station Plaza, George hoped) and he kept pace with them easily. After trudging a mile or so, breaking through barracks, avoiding deceptor-synths and losing a few members, the frazzled pack eventually made it to the plaza. On the podium, behind a triple-plated golden-ion fountain of pure hydrogenated air, one of "the Seven" was placating a cheering crowd. Clad in a grey-gold suit, medallions all over his jacket, and ribbons too-many-to-count, this seven was assuring those gathered that all bios need not worry; that synths "would be assigned where needed" and that "hydro fall was imminent".
Protected by a cadre comprised of both elite military synths and bio commanders, the colonel was explaining that "Biologicals own Altari", and everything in it, including synths, and that just because "the Supremes ruled that a beat-box and a plastic pulse made one 'alive', the seven must set a superior standard." He continued in such a fashion for some time…
No one noticed, amidst thunderous applause, a certain truant-synth making his way to the front of the crowd. However, most-everyone in attendance did see when, after making it through the "Guardians of the Seven" and in one fluid gesture, how the synth in question effortlessly scalpeled out the Colonel's heart, removed his own beat-box, sliced-out the Colonel's brain, disconnected his own plastic pulse, while switching the Colonel's organics for his own synth-parts. With years of mandatory wet fox emergency drills behind him George's elegance in performing this complicated operation was most valued by the unshocked orator behind the podium who was rapidly losing bio-integrity.
Yes, it was George's amazing non-human speed that enabled an oblivious Colonel, moments before collapse, to continue his oration, trailing off with, "We must insist that all living beings be measured by the content of their character, that ONLY those in possession of actual hearts, real brains be allowed free will, that those with the manufactured parts, the so-called beat boxes, plastic pulses, that they serve their rightful masters..."
The Meeting (In two Parts)
The Meeting (Part 1)
You will text me when you’re over that dilapidated bridge near the old hospital and then you will text me again at the end of the line, when you get off, because sometimes it takes a while to get off, so when you get off, text me. In your text say, “I’m at the drug store,” then be at the drug store, not at the arcade, like all of you always are, not at the beach with your pants rolled up and your mouth wrapped around a beer like they frequently do, no, if you text me that you will be at the drug store, which is what you will do, then be at the drug store, be there waiting for me and I will be outside, by the green and black awning, that’s where you should be, the drug store can be quite big, so you will wait in front of the big green and black awning and I will show up seven minutes or sooner after I receive your text and you will know when I receive your text because I will text you back, I will text you back, “ I have received your text I will see you soon”, and when, I text “soon”, whenever I text, “soon”, it would pay you great mind to realize that in seven or fewer minutes whatever it is that the “soon” modified will come about, naturally, great acts of nature or God’s will aside.
The Meeting (Part 2)
Now before leaving pack food and plenty of water as the trip is quite long and conditions are never dependable and the bus driver, bus drivers being what they are, probably will only stop in gas stations, and won’t allow passengers to leave their seats, except to use the on-board bathroom, so you won’t procure sustenance en route and if you do go to the bathroom, I had one ugly character several years back who refused to, if you do use the bathroom you will lock the door and bring your possessions with you, which of course means that you will travel with a minimum of provisions, you will travel with only food, water, a change of clothing, if you read, a book, your phone, maybe a hat and a light jacket, and make certain your phone is charged, only a fool would bring more than that. Sometimes they bring several bags with them and wonder if I missed them at the drug store, I did not, and I will not miss you should you show up with a department store’s collection of matching bags and briefcases and suitcases and luggage and other conspicuous packing cases, and as far as you knowing what I look like, don’t you pay any mind to that, you wear the pin I mailed you on your left side of a white button-down collar and I will find you, white button-down collar, and you won’t be eating any nachos or sushi or tasty soup on the bus, no, if your shirt is stained I will walk right by, if you are twitching because, say, you are hungry, because maybe you forgot to bring a snack, water, or you are nervous and are constantly pacing, shuffling your feet, I won’t stop, if you look like a crazy traveler with enough bags for a small family I won’t even come near, but I am repeating myself, so text me when you get off and I will see you soon after that.
You
Every shop I pass Every window I gaze Reminds me of you. Every car that passes Every truck that squeals Reveals you in my thoughts. Every leaf yet to Bud Every mother yet to Bloom Every worker on a Call You You You
Swimming Tribulations
One man gathers what another man spills. Fill it, Kill it, Hit that million Dollar Thrill-it. Kiss it. Dive in it. Spit it, pristine prude prune diver divot. Divine trancer cuts his hippie pantses, Sails on & pails that sentient tail. Past Reality... Faster... Furthur & Incomprehensible, Silly Bull. Will me Krill! Swimmer Thrills in the pill. She slaps it on him, Yet don't want it– Shit! "A few hits Surround my Air Sea Battle & I'm no longer fooling around" & around... Silent but deadly. Electronic Sweatsly. Kingsly. Adolph Huxley. Billy C of Cosby. & Wrong way Leibentowsky I'm sober now, I'm sorry. So I'll walk me out, I'll walk me... Past the double 'mills Up North Beach hills, Serenely through the 'rents' nihls, & complacently with my older ills.
Removing Nails
Your coworkers were catcalling me. But you? You were removing nails from your mud-covered boots. I was wearing that leather skirt you stole for me. My hair was slicked back. I was pretending to be annoyed by the remarks; “Take off your top!” “I got the perfect tool for that job!” But the only creepy thing was that you Were removing nails from your mud-covered boots And not joining in on the fun.
Rhythm of the words
Rhythm of the words, sound of the beat. Superficial fine, spicy, Sultry, Sweet. Rhythm of the words, tone of the piece. Shallow or Pedantic, different kind of beat. Rhythm of the words, feel of the sound. Eardrums, crack- opening, new connections found. Rhythm of the words, flow of the page. Hypnotized by ink, welcome to my stage!
The Sounds of Adulthood
It is the sound of the wind fanciful The falling leaves of autumn that soothes my soul. The cumulous fluffy cotton wisping by, cancelling ceaseless clamor. It is the blueness of a New England sky erasing invasive sounds My own voice resonating in public structures not able to drown out a city filled with children, train horns, industry, metallic bangs, and other signs of civility. The sounds of adulthood that clang, rebound, bounce, ricochet aimlessly are those self-same sounds of childhood which invigorated and created and made possible so many, if not all, of my fondest experiences.
HOME IS
Home is where fog shimmers up a hill. Home is where a vest is nice, but not necessary. Home is crossing through the Grant Street gate and landing in syncopated haze. Home is long slivers of vibrant jalapenos nestled amid pickled cucumbers, carrots, cilantro, and sweet-savory succulent shredded pork. Home is a random run-in with an old friend while an ex-mayor strolls by. Home is a wooden bar— a jazz filled joint brimming with the bustle-din of how-do-you-do? And home is staying, letting loose, losing time, finding friends— finding steps on the sidewalk leading— leading onward, leading home.
A Prayer for Elizabeth Gomes
Heading to work, or school, or home after a day out, or after a morning in, or a day studying or shopping or playing or living, or writing or singing or skipping or jumping for joy. Leaving one mode of transit or another and transferring or walking to, or sitting in, or standing on, in, or getting up, or getting down. Listening to a man, or ignoring a man, or running from a man, or smiling at the man, or laughing at the man, or with, or in front of, or behind, or hoping he isn't following, or isn't watching, waiting, plotting, planning a confrontation, an assault, a rape, an altercation another crime. Another time. Another place. Flowers of the mind. A lover's embrace. Mama. Papa. Father. Mother. That waterfall we wished we visited. Our getaway upcoming. The flight we reserved c r a shhhhhh ing.
Unsolicited Filth
Short-haired unshaven messy tattooed white guy— I— I guess about 25, 30? Messy looking. Gets on the bus/ takes the final of swigs from his rum & coke and SLAMS the can. He puts it on the floor of the bus and SLAMS it. He flattens it/ you know, SLAM. There was rum in the coke, or some sort of booze. The guy was a drunk asshole. Oh he’ll deny it, but we all saw. He reeked like death— like an alcoholic— and was staggering as he got on. Ok, so slam! Then she screams. Do you know how he reacted to her scream? To a— to a scream that was caused by his social negligence? His SLAM/ the can/ when he slammed it, drops of coke, and rum, and god knows what else sprayed her— it sprayed us all! But she was in a skirt and right next to him. She took the brunt of the sticky brown liquid explosion. People like this should be locked up NOT freely riding public transportation— this is America!/ He did nothing. This nuisance— this menace was on his phone/ pretending like he didn’t know what was going on. But— But he knew./ I don’t know. He was swiping, tapping... He was getting quite agitated/ probably losing on one of those stupid games. He did nothing. NOTHING. Then you know what she did? She asked him if he had a napkin. He feigned ignorance of the situation. He’s on his phone/ can’t be disturbed— earbuds in. Well, she asks him— she asked us all, “pardon me, there seems to be an accident. Do any of you kind people have a napkin?” Then this little old thoughtful man behind me gives her some Wet-Naps. Pardon me, tries— tries to give her some Wet-Naps. The menace grabs them, thanks the sweet senior, opens them up, blows his nose, then tosses the Wet-Naps away / they land on her left foot! Well, bless her soul, she just shakes her foot, knocks the nasty Wet-Naps off her shoe and uses her sweater to wipe off her legs. That did it! That REALLY did it. I couldn’t take it anymore and I stand up/ yeah, I stood up, got in his face, and tell the soda-jerk, “don’t ever do that again!” His response? Exactly— the same as before. He’s just swiping away/ swiping and tapping/ tapping and clicking/ twisting the phone. These morons and their games! But I say— I tell him, “Listen asshole—“/ this— this he hears. He puts down his phone/ stands up/ he’s looking right at me… Of course/ I was petrified, but someone had to do something. Then this ape-of-a-man—/ “Do what!?” This ape of a man asks, “Do what!” Do what? Do what? “Don't ever SLAM a can down with your foot in public, sir. We all got sprayed. This poor lady got it all over her legs. Apologize to her.” And he says— and he stands taller/ puffs out his chest/ looks around and says, “oh, and what if I don’t?” What if I don’t? Well, I back off and tell him, “Listen, you do with this what you want but— I'm just giving you some unsolicited advice just like you gave us some unsolicited filth.” And he cracks up. He fucking cracks up! This unshaven, unkempt disgusting prick starts laughing. Can you believe it? Laughing!? He starts in with this insane cackling/ losing it, then he sits back down in his phone and that’s when I grabbed it— that’s when I grabbed his phone— we were at a stop— that’s when I grabbed his phone and threw it out the door.
Travel Unravels
Travels Oil filter unravels Ten thousand miles Pages of atlases grease monkey miles Change grease Sushi Tortillas Trail Mix GPS ETAs MPH Websites and Apps Cruise Control and lane-assisted naps Blue tooth Shaving cream No flow showers "Hold the handle down for the duration of the flush" Swims in lakes Video chat with the soul mate Matte-Mushroom latte blended drinks Triple-X blinks Cops turn their heads and let me walk away Crowd-cheers for lasagna-laced memories of dawn.
The TSARS of Eons Past
I have heard the tales of the time when our ancestors would travel by air. They had to take off their belts. Can you imagine? They would empty their pockets and place the contents into large plastic containers. They would remove their shoes and place them on a conveyor belt that would scan inside them to make certain no bombs, explosives or other such destructive materials were hidden within. They actually brought their shoes with them! They were allowed to— what different times. A soon-to-be-passenger’s large electronics would also be placed on the conveyor belt, along with any bags that they were travelling with. Then they would simply walk through an archway— another scanning mechanism, fully clothed mind you, with the exception of the aforementioned shoes and belt, and then pick up their scanned belongings on the other end of the archway— at the other end of the conveyor belt. They were wearing pants, shirts, sometimes sweaters, hats, can you imagine!? Sometimes a bag or two couldn’t be penetrated by the scanner and a Transportation Security Administration Representative— a TSAR, would pull the bag and its owner aside and go through its contents with the owner, again, mostly fully clothed & looking helplessly on, or perhaps with the owner helpfully guiding the TSAR through the search. Similarly, sometimes the archway couldn’t quite fully-scan a person, or so the TSARs would report, and so a TSAR would pull aside the person and give them a “pat-down”, whatever that was. This usually happened to persons who appeared to be “high-risk”, whatever that was. They might say, “we are going to ‘pat down’ your left knee, are you sensitive in that area?” To which the traveler would always respond with, “not at all, carry on”. It was in this way that people would be allowed to board airplanes.[1]
[1] During this time period, the reader should understand that there were no insta-fitting rooms, no jumpsuit-mandates, no ASG specs on ID&BR cards. The reader might ponder what it must have been like to travel in such a glamourous fashion? Everyone, each expressing their own sense of personal style or fashion, perhaps donning clothing designed expressively for the purpose of identifying themselves with others of their same tribe? Or maybe clothing that actually meant something to its wearer? The common held belief currently is that air-flight was far simpler then, what with no extra time being consumed at the insta-fitting booths, let alone, when finally arriving at their destinations, the insta-splitting booths. But those days are long behind us. Besides, the jumpsuit-mandates are really for our own good, the Nine constantly remind us, and everyone knows the materials used are far safer for our skin than what we wear when not travelling. In fact, if I may speak frankly, I wish there were no insta-splits— I wouldn’t mind owning a jumpsuit or two, they always smell so nice.
French Quarter's Wisdom
A recent trip to New Orleans impressed upon me, how the Big Easy is like nowhere else I have ever been! What an amazing place. Enjoy this latest offering/ introspection…
French Quarter’s Wisdom
Music on every corner Any time of day French quarter’s wisdom, Found in Bourbon, or poured, crystal clear. Water rises, Heat subsides, Culture, galleries, voodoo happenings & cuisine— Thrives.
Well Just Stay Cool
The mentions of “Amtrak” and “diskette” (8th and 18th lines respectively) are, like the poem itself, from a different era— the immediately post-911 era. (So feel free to read into these references from that vantage point.) So why am I publishing this poem now? I'm not certain... However, as of late Well Just Stay Cool has crept into my consciousness. Perhaps this is due to my feeling of professionally yearning for something “other” than where I am currently? Not sure. Regardless, enjoy.
Well Just Stay Cool
Mushroom or a pepper, Pate or some cheese? I look at them, they backup, I say now baby please! Well it's the same, Just in a different brain, WELL JUST STAY COOL, Amtrak still makes the train! Future poet, Novellist, Cruisin' for the thrill, Hawkin' favorite dollies, bustin' dollar bill, Skeezin' low, Placin' for the bet to go, WELL JUST STAY COOL, You'll get there, but it will be slow. PC or new console? Disketting the old cart. Our virtual sweet supper It's really our own heart, And it's OK, Many people think Lew's gay, WELL JUST STAY COOL, We can smile with them and get Unlimited play.
Don't Care if you Don't Understand
Don't care if you dont understand every word Won't swear or use slang you'll still think I'm absurd I make up phrases than spit 'em like you aughtta know My meter's getting tricky Sical's Diggin' "Y Not Flow" I Cast a big ol net, leave it nice, loose and wide. I let my lyrics free, Poeticly protecting me, insulates my hide Quicker than falling water Slicker than that spot Goin off familial Forgettin what I got Livin' for the honeys Tastin' honey pot Rockin' Seeren Dyes 'Ditionin my mop Clear, clean & focused, Intentioned, Heigtened Jam Itellectual properties Belonging to all man Not Sayin' like I am But prayin like I am Fictiosly speakin' I'm gonna bust this hot Just got back from L.A. Rest of my year's Bills paid Next week Leer to N.Y.C Stewardess speakin' sexily You'll be seein' me on N.B.C Agent pimpin' my fresh look Rolling Stone's knocking for my brand new book. Don't care if you don't believe every word. Won't swear or use slang you'll still feel Im absurd Whats that you thinkin? I'm drinkin like i'm nuts? I'm stinkin' & I suck? I owe you fifty bucks? Your Mother's in a rut. And today in a class I learned *Nalgas* meens Butt But I don't wanna serve Wasted lines to cats not wantin' what they have Cause even when I bust it Like Lewis Carol Jabs The circle's got my concious spreadin' higher for our path. I flaunt it lite, yellow & feathery. What Child don't like Big Bird? What woman don't like the sun? What man don't like the Earth? Put 'em all together Children's wonder gets rehearsed A Different verse in this couplet Different souls on the street Many different messages; beats in this piece Many different loves that I choose to choose to choose Many different catagories Split 'em you cant loose. Don't care if you don't understand every word I'm the one expressing what I need to be heard. Mostly, my flow is, for me to keep me sane Help me, keep me grounded when the clouds have got my brain Don't care if you didn't understand every 'frain. Don't care if you didn't understand every 'frain.
I Need to Destroy the City
I need to destroy the city. Blaze Polk Street. Sail down California From Powel to the Embarcadero. Make love to a sea lion, All sloppy and wet & salty & hairy & aquatic. Squeeze the queso out of a 16th & Valencia papusa So that rats scurrying by Get emblazoned By piquant Jalapeño-infused Mexican Cheese. Hop on my Bike, Tunes blasting, Pedals fasting, Stomach turning, Eyes scoping & Senses Soaring. Lay down across seven seats on the the 38 Geary Heading west, West, always west & stretch, stretch All yoga-like and beautiful. Toss my disc so hard, so fast, That WPA tiles cascade, Like pepperonis From a fresh Golden Boy slice down, Down Telegraph Hill Awakening Sir Williams & countless others Who fled us too soon. Enter a Castro bar— get groped, Reciprocate, & find out he’s A chick. Dive into a fresh Turtle Tower bowl— Scalding & all, Only to cool off With tangy, salty hoisin sauce. Write at Vesuvio’s Till Ferlinghetti himself Buys me a drink. Hop on over to the Independent, Rock the 'Pirates, 'Dib with the Hippies. Crawl up to the Haight, Grab a cone & throw it— Full speed at 710 Ashbury. Seize the Prettiest Officer around, Throw my arms around her & enrapture her with The warmest hug She's ever had. I need to destroy this city; Blaze its cathedrals, Graffiti its monuments, Shave its parks, Poison its waters, Toxify its airs, Demolish its seats of government, Till all that’s left— All that remains— Is— As it was, Nothing, Everything, Double-helixed— Intertwined, As heart & soul, Mind & body Heaven & hell, God & Man, Perfection & anarchy, Ordered city & natural nature, City & bay— Till all that’s left— All that remains, Is The city as it always has been.
Crack Pipe
Now honey, when you leave for work today don’t forget your crack pipe.
You will need it when you are on your way home and in the back of the bus and the bus isn’t all that crowded and just then, in that moment, a few loud men get on the bus and begin chatting nearby using phrases such as, “My business is doing amazing!” & “I can’t believe how much they are going to pay Susan!” & “Oh, it’s been over a year since I’ve had a drink!” Yes, in that moment dear it will be best to reach in to your crusty old vest, scraping together the last few grains of rock you can secure and ever-so-delicately place them in your straw-thin glass tube pipe. Put those crumbling remains of white rock in the yellow end of the pipe, look at those fine joyous gentlemen complacently sitting nearby, grab your lighter, spark up, inhale. You’ve earned it.
Smile
Dodging smoke clouds as I walk Hipsters dyin' to hear my talk YouTube tags my new age squawk and I smile Burning DVDs past 3, 4.3 GB for me. Many MP3s for free. and I smile. Wishin' to trim my curly mop, Just a little from the top. Still rock that pony hot, And I smile. I smile when I'm down & things are lookin' grim. Keep my head held high, wonder why, I smile up at him. The harder I work & try, the luckier I get, And I forget, I forget, I forget, Just what is meant by "trying", Oh I forget. Racing trucks to beat the light. Praying for control, now that ain't right. Spending money, still I'm tight. Yet, I smile. Searching for work I don't want, Another stupid restaurant, I'm a writer- I should capitalize on fonts, Yet I smile. I smile when I see, the busses roll on by. Cold wind blows, my ankle knows, its gettin' on for me. We're in a slump, I move my rump, yet this economy— gets in my song, now that ain't wrong, it’s just the way its supposed to be. For all you musicians reading this, This is where the bridge would be… Druggers push their dope on me. I say, no thanks, non-condemningly. Their offer threatens and entices me, and I smile. A hunger consumes my soul. Thoughts that nourish might make me whole. Keep me sane as I pay them tolls, So I smile. I smile as I'm squeezed In with tourists on the car. Headin' up them hills, To pay them bills, Tryin' to get work that’s not too far. Checkin' out the sights that suit me right to keep me from the bar. Oh & I'll go far, I'll go far, I'll go far, As long as I keep smiling, I'll go far.