you can't have my lunch money

you can't have my lunch money
i need it to eat with
for corn bread and honey

you're coming at me
like a foul hand of rummy
i'm not the bug-eyed bruise here
i'm not the twitching bunny

i used to be a painter
i used to be a gun
barrel loaded with a vapor
that would unveil drowning suns

i used to be a beggar
used to be a nun
footprint on my forehead
content with my rations

i used to be a cross
i used to be a pun
cracked the double meaning
to find out what i've won

you can pounce me from the backside
karate chop my tummy
but the challenge of this draw's
for you to drop your load
and love me

let's sit around

let's sit around
and be pragmatic
lube up our egos
like a barel of chap stick

burn up our fuel supply
with dark beer and slapstick
bury our treasure then
count our steps to map it

the wind is whistling off shore
seagulls glide by
like black and white boomerangs
across a salt flaked sky

whales wash up
become weighty
blubber sigh
time feels timeless
time slips
by

mr. green

mr. green proclaimed
when he was just sixteen
that he would have the rest of us
work his loud machines

how can we blame him
for his efficiency?
for his well used thread
for his clean kept knees?

how can we hate him
for his tossed naivety?
his easy lane
his undone deeds?

turn the gears
sweat hair no relief
the tic tocking of the blood clock
overpowers our hard wheeze

while somewhere on a blue
beach stretches mr. green
with his green eyed martini
and his stress free spleen

money fans his forehead
carried in on island breeze
the fine example of a man
who had the courage to receive

vital link

for steve
in the settled aftermath
of your late attendance
i take a tour of your leftovers
and collect them like presents

your button up polo
deflated like a ghost
an improvisational abstract rendering
of its once naked host

your hair in the sink -
the dark vein of a corpse
an onyx curl
against white virgin
porcelein

your lone gray sock -
an elephants trunk sunk
under the ruffles
of the bed's bottom
bunk

the sheets where you slept -
a crinkled cotton cove
a fleshy embryo
taking view from above

these are your memos,
your sticky notes
stuck
bright and yellow
like butter colored
ducks

this is your crumbs trail,
your dna and ink,
your unseen to the seen,
proof of purchase,
vital link.

star craving

none of this is us
a glitter spiked tiara
a flakey fiction
crust

none of this is how
we smooth the jagged peaks
we calm the maddened cow

none of this is why
we made the rubber chicken
we wear the patterned tie

none of this is what
we signed up for in the beginning
why we left the holy hut

none of this adding
to our fortune, free love, flight
with the covers on our lanterns
we're caught star craving in dark night

crayola spring

watch how nature spreads her seed
millions cast out in between
the cracks in sidewalks
the weathered shoe
sticking to sweaters
like a pioneer's glue

lifted by wind
to foreign places
hard skinned shells
without their faces
tiny blueprints
start up kits
next generation
keystone pits

a selfless shot
a super spree
a sacrifice for the continuation
of the next round in need

a plunk in the gutter
a snack for the sea
an itch in the creases
of a lover's twisted sheets

a grain for dark corners
a fleck for the beak
of a tomato feathered cardinal
flying through
crayola spring

so pass out your prism
your poetry and prong
hook the hungry wanders
hot press your pleasant song

invest in life
submerge the murky swamp
pass out your template -
a descending message
on and on

movement towards free

i hope that one day
when i see you on tv
i'll flashback to this beginning
ramon noodles, scratched up knees

to these late nights in astoria
colored porches, city breeze
walking sockless round the corner
to see plastic, lit up trees

to these triangle
sandwiches and
pregnant pots of tea
before we split in two directions
like a bunny's crashing skiis

to these talks of will and focus
and what to feed
our dreams
how the riches that we pined for
were the times that came for free

i hope that when i see you
see you on tv
you'll be glowing from the knowing
kindly noted for your "please"

thank you for the singing
for the strumming of my strings
from the corner of my matress
comes the movement
towards free