Poetry



 In My Bag  

- January 18th, 2023 -



                                               





In my bag I got my laptop.
In my bag I got my hydroflask.
In my bag I got introspective dread
That comes to a head over the rim
of a whiskey glass

I got a noggin full of comic book facts
that vomits unprompted like a comet to anyone I pass
and Peter Parker is my favorite superhero in case anyone asks

I literally do not possess wisdom teeth, I think I’m a mutant. 
Although I do have someone else’s wisdom teeth which suggests
I might be fluent in some less than savory influence

But fear not, for I’m doing fine 
I’m not afraid of Scruff McGruff taking a bite out of crime
I’ve done my time and at this point, it would only be a nuisance

So everyone take look at my tourniquet made of blunt wraps
or my blunt made of tourniquet gauze
of which I use applause to bake

But that makes me feel fake so instead watch me
squat like Gollum in the corner having secret pleasuring sessions
with my precious polaroids of memories I intend to make







I also got hope to soak up every dope trope of New York existence
of which my subsistence is predicated
on the insistence of simply getting out of the bed in the morning
and avoiding that cursed box of triskets at the end of my hall

And in my head I’m in the red but I’m stubborn
so I carve those anxieties with both a butter knife 
and the untrained patience of a padawan
with the wonton purpose of being down to clown

so let’s wear our prom gowns to flavor town 
but trust that I’ll leave your texts on read because I’m 
too distracted doing op-eds on my own life

I got hurdles that curdle cause I’m
navigating the literary sewers like a ninja turtle and
one day I’ll bask in the struggle and scream like a llama
calling for its mama and here I am
just another soon to be 29 year old man-child of divorce

Finally, in my bag is a note by my late grandmother, Beverly Gauvain.

You’ll find it goes to show that it’s a bit cliché, but here we go:
Eat healthy, get plenty of rest
It's okay to say no, it’s okay to say yes
But most important, try your very best

So when the cop takes the risk to stop and frisk he’ll
find me to be 
very 
very fucking confused.


 Waiting for the Q  

- April 19th, 2023 -
                                       
It’s 2 am and I’m waiting for the Q
My ABV is high and I’m thinking of you 

That metal caterpillar pulls up and it’s empty
which at the time of day suggests I should be wary
But I step on anyway and instead of being led astray
I find that it’s full of assigned seats and ashtrays. 

I hold seances often though I fail just a much,
Yet that isn’t to say that my memory doesn’t come in clutch
as I build that hutch for me to sit on
When I’m summoning force ghosts searching for my obi-wan 

Because it’s strength in bonds and late nights and cake fights with tiramisu
It’s tears and bills and fears and swills of cheap beer 
It’s spilling our ills sipping our whiskey 
as Con-Ed cuts our electricity 
surrounded by coffee-colored snow
with little clouds popping out of our mouths 
conversing about what we don’t know about growing up

It’s commonly stated that it takes a village to raise a child
yet you don’t stop growing once you’re released into the wild
so let’s swap Gamecube memory files, bring out those mahjong tilestrade chikoritas for totadiles, and ponder all the while
With me and my memories we’ll hold a collective connection
and when I make it I’ll dedicate it to the clan who congregated 
and gave my uncomplicated insecurities conjugal visits of which now
gift me to the nerve to navigate each phase of life with as much 
verve as a certain sentient vase of Kool-aid

So when the doors shut and the train begins to exit 
I’ll see the people I’m so thankful for in attendance
Wearing cheese hats and foam fingers, 
thank you to my far away suburban mall rats and 
thank you to my close up city slickers

Because without these people in my life 
I’m just a Sears catalogue mannequin holding ramekins 
of ignored warnings, suppressed emotions, and untapped devotions
going through the motions of mundanity buttered by profanities
and the onset of insanity in hindsight

And so and in between New York, AC, LA and Philly
I’m conditioned and proud to be silly in additional cities
So let’s get pretty and enjoy
the osmosis of our company
Because time is our greatest currency
I’ll make a point to anoint you
my post-op conjoined twin
You can find me at the back of bar with two beers
hey stranger, come toast me
 On a Thursday  

- February 21st, 2024 -
                
                         
                                          



   

So I’m waiting for a greyhound
to take me back to my hometown 
There is a mirror in the bathroom near the 319
which is really all good and fine since
I’ve been spending timeat the beer and wine on the lower floor

But I’m telling you that this bathroom is another dimension
That when I look hard enough in the mirror I wonder if I am Glenn enough
where a multiversal equation sends me on a meteoric tailspin
Of me looking at my own half-asian face wondering about my worries and anxieties
And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in fucking Port Authority

There is something about staring at yourself and seeing the
passage of time etched like cartography upon your flesh
and I mean no jest when I confess that my reflection stared back at me
wearing a crown consisting of all the “right” choices that I’m proud to have failed

And then the other me made me feel bad for bailing on the amazing life 
we could have had had I followed the righteous path
of being just a real good boy

And quite frankly, that made me angry.

He said that I should want enough money to own a zoo
And I’m like, my dude, I’m simply too busy having a celebration predicated
on my imaginary menagerie 
of animal crackers gathering dust by my bedside table
But as long as I’m good and able 
I’ll forever find my way to the stables 
each and every morning with Aesop’s fables tattooed on my heart

And look, I know I got generations of anger issues built into my software
And I know that sometimes I wake up with warpaint drawn over my face like a prank at a sleepover
And I know that when I smile sometimes I look like got fishhooks erupting out of the sides of my mouth
but I will not take a cue from you and queue up because
I cannot roll the same loaded dice and take a cheat day
I don’t have that privilege and quite frankly that would be sacrilege against everything that we used to believe in

Don’t you see?
We’re the cream of the crop from a kin of confused hustlers
mumbling and bumbling and fumbling in this
amazing beautiful bustling metropolis
but the difference is that
I have zero plans to slow down

So I invite you to come on by, don’t forget your clown supplies, 
cough up some dough for a bodega quesadilla surprise 
and at 3 am we’ll smize our way to victory before falling asleep
in electric blankets made of poetry 
warmed by the engine of your makers space heart

Thus, I’ll surmise that the components of our life are
bare in the ways that don’t matter
but that my life has been filled with enough anti-matter to constitute
a strange and obscure star in the galaxy full of interesting wiles,
walking dreams, and running many miles to nowhere 

And when you pluck yourself out of a week in my life
to go back to the strife of normalcy, that my existence is the
reason for your celibacy against the odd and the strange
and those suspiciously flirtatious winks of the deranged

Just know that I shall remember two things:
One, I will love you regardless and
Two, I got a bus to catch