remember that one time? how long ago was it? probably too long ago to be vivid anymore. that’s how it goes. that’s how it went. maybe. memory is speculative at best. the past is always so long ago even if it was only recently past. and the vivid leaves as soon as the experience does.

so it’s a vague life living on a collection of incorrect coincidences being most inopportune at the time when time was without time for further consultation.

but something else is coming up anyway and who knows if it’ll be a major life event or if it’ll kill you but watch out for the updates. watch and try to make it vivid. add color where the future is bi-chromatic if able to be seen at all.
and when there was a loss for words what was really gone?

one time there was a chance to say something about that one time but the time has passed. the moment is dead, gone, buried in memories.

and when there was hell to pay, about how much did that cost? what currency was exchanged? what was the charge for? will the debt be carried over into the afterlife?
yesterday it was easy to assume the routine would be the same and it is so there’s that.

for better or worse is no better nor any worse than same old same old and the yeah yeah responses to be returned without so much as a concerned look attached to a face fast set to depart.
but then again there was that one time, you remember, that one time when it was within reach. when what was had wasn’t good enough and there wasn’t a reason to settle for less than what might be. you remember? it’s memorable even if it was only that one time.
took out a loan for another time. calculated and counted on hope but you wouldn’t cosign. maybe it was for the best. could be for the worst. who knows? what’s there to compare it to? what’s a comparison worth anyway?
who’s been more often read than whoever wrote home sweet home in latch-hook? and when there’s no place like home what does that mean for the rest of the world? oh, and to retreat a bit, the author of ‘welcome’ must have trillions of views by now standing on the stoop with salt on boots eager for a drink and some goddamn sympathy for once.

hell, life isn’t easy. take it from somebody who’s been out there and in here actually living almost every day for decades. living and remembering. remembering and trying to find something to focus on but always coming away from feeling sorry. feeling and then being. just once, can somebody else be sorry for a second? it’s been a series of apologies for longer than should be remembered but they always add form to the vagaries of yesterday. whenever that yesterday was without a shape to fill space but gaseous enough to make do. to make us feel full. to make us be full enough for the moment.
whatever words were said it’s up for debate now. watershed moments are lighthouses to avoid in the dark when those waves of other days come back. when a respite is not all it needs to be.
it’s what it was then it’ll be what it will be. what it’ll never be is what it is. to be current is to be a conversation. something a word might change.


Carry On (Capacity Pt. 9)

Carry On (Capacity Pt. 9)

Sometimes you wake up into those bad days. Those terrible days and you know you can’t go on. You must go on. You think all your Beckett thoughts while living in a Gogol world.  All you can do is carry on and even the burden of you own head feels like too much. Thoughts weigh more than one ever considers.

I’m hungover. I usually am. I’m coming off of some bad news but that’s how it goes. Nothing much goes my way so I drink. It’s not a cure but sometimes it just works.

Anyway, today I find myself or I lose myself in the aisles. I need something. I probably want some stuff too. I at least need toilet paper. I can go without eating for awhile but sooner (as in right now)  or later, nature will call and I’ll have to go. The bowels will never kowtow to depression. Believe me. I know. Also, beer doesn’t help. I mean, it did last night but now it’s after noon and the coffee didn’t do me any favors either in the downstairs department.

I tell you, every time I come here there’s one less thing I’m looking for and one new thing I don’t care about. Jesus, sometimes I just want it darker. Don’t let me see anything just give me what I need and let me pass away.

There’s A ‘How To’ For Everything (Capacity Pt. 3)

There’s A ‘How To’ For Everything (Capacity Pt. 3)

Anything that can be done can be done a certain way. There are always guidelines and instructions to follow. I’m not saying I know all the rules but I can always be of some service to somebody. Isn’t that the goal of any good neighbor, to be of some service?


I don’t know what kind of world we live in but I do know what kind of town we live in. I was born into it and I’ve made it this far and so can you. In all honesty, so can everybody. We just need to keep it under capacity. But, how do we do that? Well,

Step 1:

Know the limits. Always be aware of the count. Make numbers your number 1 concern. If you can’t learn to add, subtract and multiply then you’re done before you even begin. Look, you’re not a kid anymore. Your parents can’t do the math for you anymore and if you don’t know to do the math yourself then you might just end up being plumb out of parents. And, who wants that?

Step 2:

Now that you’ve familiarized yourself with the numbers, make yourself useful. Like me, I’m here telling you all this stuff. Where would you be without my advice? Likely not here at all so listen up because after I tell you once I have to move onto other stuff, you know? Like, I have a life to live too.

Step 3:

Gather information. Never trust one source. Well, I mean trust me and then look for a second opinion.

Step 4:

Be inconspicuous. You’re going to need be both of some use and yet not stand out too much. That’s how it works. Or, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. Look, you need to fly under the radar. You can certainly have fun, break a few a rules and enjoy yourself but be careful. Likewise, you can be ambitious. Have dreams. There’s nothing wrong with dreams but again, be careful. Always know the limits. Never forget the first step to living within the capacity.

Step 5:

Don’t smile. Don’t ever act like everything is okay. Depression is par for the course. Enjoy a dilemma. Have a meltdown. Always be a bit under the weather. Be oblivious to the possibilities of optimism. Concern will get you nowhere so if you’re too cool to be melancholy then aim for indifference. Live with it but don’t be happy about it.


That’s all I can really tell you. We’re going to be fine for awhile. We’re not that close but a time might come when they start running the numbers and when that day comes I’m ready for what comes next. Are you? If you’re not then let’s make sure it never gets to that point.

Something Else

I don’t know what I was at birth, how I was. I was there but I don’t really remember it. I wasn’t really paying attention.

I know what I am now and don’t give much of a fuck about what I was all those years ago.


I have grown into who I am. Tomorrow I’ll grow some more into something else. A seed given the opportunity to grow never retains its seed self for long but shucks its shell eventually for stalks, roots and leaves.


I don’t know what choices I was given but I have a few bucks and lots of stores to choose from.


I’ve been in some uncomfortable situations but I don’t know if there is a space less safe than a dress. OK. Maybe a skirt.


I’ve attracted the wrong kind of attention.


I wonder what the rose really thinks about the nightingale.


I like reds and purples. I don’t really like my hips but my lips are alright. I’d like to be a bit lighter like a peacock’s feather.


My head is up my ass sometimes. My foot in my mouth. My ear to the ground. But don’t worry, you can still get in on this. There’s more than enough body for you to do with as you are wont to do.

It’s up to you. Well, maybe not up but with a little inspiration we can work on it.


There’s no month to honor and commemorate what it means to have to put up with the effects of this humidity on my hair.


The year was 1995. Something happened. I wrote about it. I’m doing it again. I wasn’t finished. But now I don’t remember that something too well.  I’ve been through too many other things since so I’ll work on finishing something else.

If I Die In Custody

If I die in custody it’ll be something I never wanted even when I wanted  to die every day since I realized it doesn’t get better.

If I die in custody I won’t be listening to the Idiot by Iggy Pop but y’all should be for me.

If I die in custody at least my best friend won’t have to find my body in my apartment a week after my death. Although he still might have a body to ID.

If I die in custody at least my mom is dead and won’t have to cry about it.

If I die in custody tell my dad I didn’t do anything wrong. Tell my nieces and nephew your auncle would want you to laugh about it. Y’all best be cracking jokes about these cops, this city, the system and this pansy.

If I die in custody you make sure I get a good hashtag. Use the name I gave myself. Forget what the birth certificate says. Spell it all out. Don’t stop at a nickname. And use the right pronoun.

If I die in custody make sure the world knows they got me for being black, Latino and queer. I had three strikes against me so I guess I deserved it.

If I die in custody make sure a white dude writes a poem about it. I want as much airplay as possible.

If I die in custody I’ll never know what happens in Swamp Thing #40.

If I die in custody they got one more geeky nigger off the streets.

If I die in custody smoke a  bowl for me – the good shit. And don’t waste no liquor on me. My soul’s all good now. You need the drink more than I do.

If I die in custody I hope somebody comes up with some better ghetto camo so y’all can hide from cops after I’m gone cuz y’all’s probably next.

If I die in custody I know who I’ll haunt.

If I die in custody I might have gone out like a punkass bitch. I’m not gonna lie. Ain’t no reason to start frontin now. I might have cried. Maybe I begged. But it’s only cuz I knew I’d miss y’all and maybe you’d miss me too. I’m not afraid of dying but I don’t want to go out like that without saying goodbye. I’m not gonna leave without letting y’all know I’m out. We in this together till I say I can’t take no more.

That Experience Anymore

never learned to sit up straight,

stop dragging feet,

stand up tall,

take deep breaths


nor want to live –


gave what there was to give

listening to Ramones

and let fine German steel

cut through a decade

doing for others

who could afford

such luxuries.


went way wrong

to catch

fall of stars

burning hands

too sore to realize


not sure if there’s more to meaning but when something wants to be seen it appears

ready and dressed

for a final moment.


then there’s those who pray

– cupcakes

– kittens

– puppies

– a pony

for well-endowed


who won’t waste hope

on weaker wants


life is long –

only slightly more so

than disappointment’s



the grounded.


without a silence


go on

– boxes

in trunks –

en route

to stranger parts.


there’s no way to exist in




Does Not Return

Home is another way of saying

faucets drip

after being turned off,

coffee dregs are good for gardens

and the underside of pillows

live in constant state of autumn

with cool fallen down

away from warm drool

released when sleep

needed soliloquy

-hollow-                               for the walls.

The edges are smooth and joined

but slip in seasons moving

The house is Pygmalion to a hundred


and does not return desire

to renter.