Urbanality

Urbanality

I was never one to write about sunsets or birds,
to be honest that shit bores me to distraction.
I live in Manhattan so I haven’t seen a sunset
in three hundred & sixty five days, and birds here,
well they're just another pest to be controlled.
I never really liked to listen to sweet ballads
and there’s something pathetic about the blues.
I prefer the hard rocking sounds of Hindi profanity
sung by cab drivers, the tune of droning car horns
and the distant wail of another siren’s song of ending.
I never got much pleasure from hiking or picnics
and I have no real desire to get back to nature.
I’d rather choke down a cart hot dog for breakfast,
avoid piss puddles on the subway platform
and hide behind Ray-Bans and two hundred dollar ear buds.
I never understood the fascination with beauty
or people’ neurotic obsession with falling in love.
I’ve seen a lot of well groomed hair and make up jobs
and have had the shit kicked out of me more than once,
but beauty is a rocks glass, love is a generous bartender,
and the poetry is between the first sip and "hit me again".

SMG

*(Re-printed from The (&) Ampersand III)

Drinking

Drinking

At one point I thought
I could drink myself into oblivion,
kill myself one shot at a time.

Whiskey was the journey,
intoxication the destination.
Alcohol, like blood
coursed through my pain,
fed it, nurtured it, an orphan child
held by a dispassionate nun.

I learned to live with the knowledge

that pain, like death, was inevitable
well beyond my control only to be

quelled, never cured.

Drunkenness however
was completely in my control.
A roaring lion on a leash,
a raging fire safely
warming my house of straw.

SMG

From "Another Hotel Room"

Booze

Booze

Oh
to worship
at the altar
of drunken
abandon.

Confess
your sins,
and revel
in liquid
Absolut(ion).

There
is salvation
in intoxication,
for I am 10 feet tall
at 100 proof!

SMG

Knowing

Knowing

You are not a choreographer but you make eyes dance across pages; draw beautiful pictures with your words. They sing to their readers and perform amazing verbal plays. You don’t fold papers but you bend phrases into magical birds of flight. Your whisper is soft assonance, your cry, crafted consonance. You twist steel metaphors into wild animals and weave words like a Panama hat maker. You don’t cook but you tantalize the pallets of those starving for creativity and culture. You remove dead literary appendages with buzz saw tenacity and sew disparate pieces into a fine tapestry. You don’t carve ice; you chip away bits of frozen heart and color the leaves of fall with artisan adjectives. You are languid and lithe in a gown of Longfellow with Langston Hu(gh)es. You do not make wine or brew beer but we drink in your elixir of verse and become intoxicated on the bouquet and effervescence. You create images that stick and emotions that dissolve sweet and savory on the tongue. You are a poet!

SMG

Impulse Control

Impulse Control

We met under a neon sign

at the Coyote Moon;

a rundown bar across

the street from the Ramada.

She asked me for a cigarette

and smiled as I fumbled to light it.

She carried her years well

but her eyes looked a little sad

behind the smokey blue glow.

“Are you married” she asked

and I had to think hard about

if it even mattered anymore.

“Some days more than others”

I replied. She nodded and looked away.

Our Camels burned down

and the conversation stalled,

so we moved back inside for a drink.

She drank Smirnoff straight,

and swallowed like it was pride.

I noticed the wetness on her lips

and wondered how it would mix

with my scotch as we walked out
to share my last cigarette.

“I don’t like to sleep alone”

was followed by a well-dressed

exhale of smoke. “Who does?”
I shrugged, then I kissed her

on the cheek before going back

inside to close out my tab.

SMG

Don't Tell Me Your Name

Don’t tell me your name

Don’t tell me your name;
I won’t remember it anyway
because I killed those brain cells
two or three bottles back.

Just call me Sunday morning regret
and scream whatever you want
in the darkness.

You told me that you left
your vanilla suit at the cleaners
but you won’t need it
on this bad boy escape.

All I want from you
can be had without words
and what you need
requires no long thoughtful gaze.

I want to give you stubble
burns on your thighs,
rolling back spasms
and make you question
everything your mother told you.

In return I’ll take
your nail track brands,
lipstick smudges
and your lingering guilt
home with me in the morning.

You can be a slut for a day
and I will wear my Mickey Rourke mask
until we wash off the night
and go back to our assigned seats.

72 Hours, 27 Cocktails, & 5 Women

72 Hours, 37 cocktails, 5 women

We finished fucking for the second time and I had to hurry and get dressed. My flight out of Minneapolis/St Paul was scheduled to depart at 6:50 PM and I didn’t want to miss it. As she was driving me to the airport Allison asked when I was coming back to Minnesota. I assured her that I would be back in a week or two and that I’d call her as soon as I had an exact return date. She pulled up to the Northwest terminal and I kissed her goodbye, grabbed my bag and headed for the gate. Once I got through the security check I found the nearest bar. I needed to get a bit of lubrication for my two and a half hour flight from Minneapolis to Dallas. The Hospitality Sales & Marketing Conference didn’t start until lunchtime on Saturday. I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I left on Friday evening instead of taking the early Saturday morning flight.

By 10:30 PM Central Standard Time I was in the lobby bar and by 10:45 well into my second Johnny Walker.  I was watching the Mavericks beat the crap out of my Lakers when Dana, who I did not know was coming to the conference, appeared next to me. I hadn’t seen her since last year’s conference but three more cocktails, 20 minutes of small talk and we picked up right where we left off. I crept out of her room sometime after 2:30 AM, stumbled upstairs and passed out.

My usual morning run was cut short, by an overwhelming desire to purge Johnny Walker right in the middle of downtown Fort Worth, so I headed back to the hotel. I met Dana for coffee at 9:00. She looked like she was up for another tumble but I had plans. I made up a half assed excuse and headed back to Dallas/Fort Worth Airport in my embarrassing blue Ford Taurus rental car. The flight I was meeting was, fortunately, right on time, and within minutes Jennifer’s steel blue eyes were cutting thought the crowd.

We walked to the car and I was trying to figure out the logistics of having Jennifer and Dana in the same place at the same time.  As I opened the car door for her, Jennifer smiled and asked “so do you want to do in the car on the way, or are we going to wait till we get back to the hotel”.

“I…umm…well” My stuttering response was just what she was looking for. Jennifer loved to get me flustered and somehow always knew the best way to crack my faux cool façade.

When we got back to the hotel I carried her bags to her room.  Before I could put them down she was pushing me onto the bed.

“The conference starts in twenty minutes Jen”.

“Well then you better quite using your mouth to talk or we’re going to be late”.  

I am not sure what happened to my tie but I ended up having to go to the opening general session without one.

The general session lasted for two hours and then we were on our own until the reception. I took advantage of the time off and went up to my room for a quick nap. Everyone was scheduled to attend a reception before we shuttled to the Texas Rangers game that night.

At the reception I played a precarious game as I moved from Jennifer, to the bar to Dana and then back to Jennifer. Fortunately Sales people love to talk almost as much as we love to drink so I was able to keep getting them involved in conversations that gave me time to slip around the room. I had just gotten my third Black on the rocks and we were told it was time to board the busses. My momentary panic subsided when they said we were going by sales territory and all of the Regional Sales Directors were on a separate bus. Dana was on the Northeast bus, Jennifer was on the West Coast bus and I was on a bus with all my buddies and this new girl Theresa. I finished my Johnny and knocked back a couple of Lone Stars for good measure on the bus ride over to The Ball Park at Arlington.

Our group was in the VIP lounge that overlooks the outfield of the stadium but I really don’t remember the game. I was doing some serious juggling trying to keep Dana and Jen away from each other. I got pretty lucky because Jennifer was watching the game and Dana was bored and went back to the hotel early. I ended up spending a lot of time drinking at the bar with Theresa and some of my buddies. The bar didn’t have any good scotch so it turned into a Beer and tequila kind of night. By the time the game was over we were all pretty drunk. As Jennifer was getting on her bus she handed me a key to her room and said “hurry up!” The ride back to the hotel seemed to take forever, partly because we were out of beer and partly because I was trying to figure out how to deal with this Theresa situation, she was wasted but still wanted to party. As we pulled up the hotel she announced that she had more tequila in her room and I should come up and have a few shots before bed. I had told Jennifer that I was going to stop by the lobby bar for one more but I would be up right after. Time management has never been my best thing so I was a little shocked when I looked over the passed out, drunk, naked body of Theresa to see it was 3:30 AM.

When I tried my key in Jen’s door it did not work, so I knocked. I knew I was in deep shit when I saw the bottle of champagne still chilling on the table and four candles that had all burned out before I arrived. My apologies and excuses were quickly dismissed as she yelled at me about being thoughtless and wasting valuable time. “How could you be down there with that skank when you could have been up here fucking me?” I had to admit that she was right but she just told me to shut up. “Just drop it and go to sleep, oh and don’t even think you are getting anymore pussy from me this weekend shithead!” After an hour of me apologizing and groveling she finally relented and we had the angriest sex I have had in my life.

Day two of the conference was pretty non-descript, morning sessions, group lunch and a big “rah-rah” gathering before we all headed back to where we had come from. Theresa had driven down from Omaha so she bailed as soon as it was over. I gave her my number and told her I would be in town in about a month. I drove Jennifer to the airport and told her again how sorry I was. We made plans for a weekend in Hollywood later that summer and she said she just couldn’t stay mad at me. When I got back to the hotel there was a message from Dana, so I called her in her room. She was crying and said “I’m in a relationship and that should not have happened”. “He is a real nice guy and I did…” I had tuned her out by this point, but I gave her my best concerned but slightly hurt voice, “I’m just so drawn to you, but I understand that it can’t be” What a great line of Bullshit! I left a Hallmark card that I got for her at the airport with the desk staff. The note was “You are very special to me and I only want you to be happy.

By the time I boarded my three hour flight to LA, I was pretty tired. I ordered two scotches from the attendant, downed them quickly and passed out. My girlfriend, Cindy, was waiting for me at the gate at LAX and her face lit up as soon as she saw me. Her exuberance was infectious and I smiled right back at her. She asked if I wanted to go out for dinner and I told her I was just glad to be home and I wanted to go back to her place and crash. We made love and she told me that she was having a hard time dealing with me being gone so much. I told her that I was trying to get a transfer to a local property but there was nothing available right now. She sat next to me on the bed and we talked for a while as she rubbed my back. It was good to be back in California with a few days to rest before having to fly to St. Louis on Wednesday. 

SMG

Picture Prompt Challenge (featuring Jacob Lucas)



No Curtain Call

Sometimes

when the curtain falls

it never rises again.

No phoenix up
from the ashes
of failure

or Jesus
resurrected

on the third day.

Sometimes

the lights

go out forever

and the stage

is never set again.

The final act

of you and me

was some time ago

and there is no encore

in the works.

The theater of us

has become

an abandoned stage

and the audience

has long since

left, in search
of a new tragedy.

SMG

This was written in a fog of 12 year old scotch and the loneliness of another hotel room. In  response to the One Shoot Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge



Pome Eighty One (81)

Pome Eighty One (81)

Daydreams turn to weak
aspirations long before
the monthly bills come
due you spend your time
wisely or did I see you
ask for change--Absurd
SoHo poets don’t think
so you better watch out
or you may drown in the
stream of consciousness
is the apex of Abraham’s
need I say more--Abstract
shun intangible images
as they are crutches for
the simple mind your
metaphors and similarly
beware the march I’d
love another drink--Imbibe