What goes into the melting pot?
That later a poet is poured out of it
What pieces of the puzzle, that can't solve itself, are brought together
Failed relationship with the Father
Both biblical and literal
Love for the Mother
Nature and our beginning
Disregard for the physical needs
A hopeless Romantic
Still hopeless at the end of the day

Eyes which merely watch the swirling poison; The glass in hand
The Love for that slight push...
Aiding the purging of a troubled mind

Poets will always find each other and huddle together
Without having searched for each other
Like how the empty bottles end up huddled together at the bend of a River

The River
It calls to me



Post Script- Co authored by Charlie Lathrop http://theashonasphalt.blogspot.com/

This is a town filled with Girls
When all I need is a Woman
Girls that have been raised to rely on Men
Taught that Men have answers, and money, and keys to nice cars
Learned to trust Men and what they say
Look at the squirrel, keeping it's distance
Even He knows to be wary of us Men
A Woman knows self reliance but wants to share it with another
A woman is strong
A strong Woman is unfathomably more courageous that a strong Man
A Woman knows how to cry,
I do not.

That means something
The Man, piss drunk, more than happy to hold his woman's hair back
While her body rejects an entire bottle of red wine
Comforting words, comforting actions, from and for the sick of heart with a sick stomach
Did he, with that handful of luscious hair and kind words on his tongue, ever stop to wonder "Will I ever Love another, as I've Loved you?"
Of course not
There was never supposed to be another
But the next day, along with the hangover, eventually comes despite your wishes
Along with the memories
Of Her banging on the door
Of you yelling you're fine
Of not wanting Her to see you at your worst
Of saving face
Drunk and childlike, fast asleep in Her arms, those arms that seemed like they could've wrapped around the world
My world at least
In those arms everything was right
A Mother rocking Her Son to sleep
That's all that's ever been wanted
That's all that's been longed for

Mere feet away, a group of Men
Men
Sit and painstakingly try, try, try to find times to set aside for their gathering
Find times to schedule
For communion
For worship
For Brotherhood
Should it be I, who goes to them and shares out ways with them?
That community is not something you set aside, it is something that encompasses you.
We pass our communion circularly and graciously.
All those who are present for the offering of soul are grateful, for none planned it.
But those who's path did not coincide with the Offering are not disappointed.
They know the opportunity will arise.
Again and again.

I managed to beat the Sun out of bed today. The gloomy, decrepit, day in her hungover stupor is finally preparing in the afternoon. Now the question of etiquette, Does the Brother or the Boyfriend give up their chair for the young woman? I'm your Brother forever. Give up your chair but remain at the table, there is work to be done.

Tools and utensils
Brightly colored
Scattered carelessly. Carefully?
The Blues
The Yellows
The Reds
Stand out and off of the off white fibers of the paper
Yielding Art with no meaning
Means something
The instruments and the muse that went into this empty idol
Carelessly left to themselves
Where was the visionless Artist when the visioned Fool trampled her work
Her three hours of bored work
Work for contempt
Work for the sake of work
It fades with the hour

Across the crowded patio, which serves as the stage for this drowning of eventual dehydration, can be heard the cry of
"Another Poem!"
Only to be met by the response of "Another Drink!"
Poems are read
Drinks are Drunk
Souls are bared
But the Poem of the night was the one unspoken
The Poem of the night was the drunk silently sitting indian style in the background, smoking a broken cigarette, rocking back and forth
Back and forth with the vibrations of the Universe
While the Artist sat in the foreground, reciting other Poet's poetry, baring other author's souls
Word for word
As his words dissipated into the air, the Drunk continued to rock back and forth
Back and forth continuing the vibrations of the Universe

Holy Trinity

Our stone and paper idols were prepared for the sacrifice with careful hands.
Eagerly we waited for the remainder of the congregation to arrive to partake in the bearing of souls
of Spirits.
Sitting indian style like stumped prophets that sat before us seeking spiritual renewal.
Moloch.
Fire brings redemption upon ancient alters unto God,
Redemption brought to us upon this night with sacrificed plant matter
Just as Cain but not as eager to kill Able.
But more than able, more than eager
Offering bottle to bottle to friend to stranger.
Shit.
Got the hiccups.
With the fire or the lighter?
Shit.
Goddamnit I had it all together.
Begins the flame.
Spirits the Inferno.
The alter ready.
The mouth of Satan Satan Satan
Offering but not receiving
Now devouring our souls in flame a blissful sleep.
Drink on.



Post Script
A Collaboration with Charlie, more of his work can be found at theashonasphalt.blogspot.com

"Until next time", She said with my breath leaving her lungs.
"Until next time", She said with each other's taste still fresh on our lips.
"Until next time", She said as the possibility of a future was erected and then toppled all in a moment.
"Until next time", She said.
And then She walked off into the darkness.

"...I want you to take him out there and scare the shit out of him." Coyote said to Rain, the girl who brought me to this house show. We had been sitting on the lawn when Coyote came up to me and started talking about some of his latest paintings, a rainbow he had seen, and correspondence after I leave town.
"Do you want to go somewhere else? Just us?" I had asked Rain.
"Sure, where?"
"You guys should go down by the River to where those shrines are. Have you been there and checked those out yet?" Coyote asked me through his bushy mustache. "Nah, I haven't had the chance yet." I answered back.
Coyote looked at Rain and then said to me, "Looks like you have the perfect chance now." and then to Rain,"I want you to take him out there and scare the shit out of him." He adjusted his cowboy hat with with one hand and pulled out his smartphone with the other to show me directions. "...down the road here and you see where this big grey area on the map, this dead area is? Right there. This whole area, that means something."
Coyote and I parted ways with a few words and an embrace then Rain and I were off to find this graveyard, to find this meaning. Later that evening we walked the paths of that empty cemetery, making up stories for those who rested beneath us, we never did find the path to the shrines by the river. "Hey lemme see those." Rain said, gesturing to my car keys. The second I handed them to her they left her hand, arcing tremendously into the darkness. Like She had thrown a grenade to save her life.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting with me." I carefully said to her, "But I'm not that guy."
I'm not that guy.

"We apologize for the delay." A cold electronic voice says over the speaker system. It doesn't really bother me, but it does make my accomplishment of barely catching the train a little less impressive. I'm on the train right now from Chicago that goes to all of the suburban towns surrounding it. Suburbia grows off the edges of the city like an infection, growing from it, feeding from it, needing it. Three college students sit nearby and I can tell right away that they are much better off then I am. They discuss all of the different nice and expensive restaurants that have dress codes and things pertaining to having rich parents.
"... Then your kids are going to end up going to public schools ten years down the road..." I hear the only American (A Man) among them say. The other man is Brazilian and the Only Woman is Chinese, both with thick accents. This fools me for a moment, and then I assure myself that they are in fact probably more intelligent than I am. At least more educated. I'm beginning to nod, due to the activities from the night prior, when I hear someone ask them "What year are you guys?"
"Second." They reply
Being the same age as me, they've had the same amount of time to get their shit together as I have had. I wonder who's happier. Them or I. The guy sitting in his sweaty undershirt, on the train, scribbling in his notebook.

I want to see your passion
Not your willingness to give in
I want to be lusted after
Not appeased
But I will still go through the motions with you
Like a waltz with no music
Always offbeat

Every center of every one of the infinite universes snugly fit together
Adapting to the landscape and those who are now neighbors
Giving with no expectation of receiving anything, but still receiving nonetheless is the best law of the land
Oh, Moon, how you've been cut to ribbons
How many homeless midwestern poets watch you from their friend's windows as they jot yet another word
The sound of music and the scent of wine and pot move my body to the seasons, the four beats of the year, resounding in time like a metronome, marking occasions
Certain songs will always remind me of certain people
Just like certain seasons will do the same
Children dance and cry out freely
No one scolds them
Men and Women dance freely
No one thinks less of them
"It needs an ending Rebecca, what do you got for me?"
A black bird with a violent red head, like her nail polish, looks for nourishment for this meal.
Not for tomorrow's, just for today's.
Living happily, living lawn to lawn.

Infinite emptiness. Two video camera lenses pointing towards each other.
That is all there is when my father and I look each other in the eye.
I didn't even cry when he asked me to live somewhere else.
I thought that meant I won, since he started to tear up just the slightest bit.
The only time I've ever seen that happen.
But I didn't cry.
Not in front of him.
Not in front of anyone.
There was snow on the ground that day.
We wore our coats bundled tight against the cold as She helped me pack my things.
She hugged me when necessary. A former lover.

The Tree goes through it's cycles every year
Switching between mediation and activity
Dropping it's seeds on the shaded ground below
So that it's offspring may go through the same cycles

I weeped the day I willingly left my Mother's house.
I tried not too. I wasn't trying to win though.
It was warm that day and I wore no shoes.
I dug my toes into the grass as I smoked a cigarette, trying to gain my composure.
She hugged me when necessary. My Mother.