Home / 2012 / November

Ayn Rand is Forced to Confront The Mediocrity Principle

which states that no point in space
is more important than any other
the earth is just an average rock
orbiting around an average star
occupying a negligible portion
of one of the outer boroughs of one of
a hundred billion galaxies
which is all just to say
that Ayn Rand’s brain is no more
important than the shit I took this morning.
This is not an opinion.
This is science.

Everyone’s shit and Ayn Rand’s brains stinks the same
and if Atlas shrugs, let him shrug
gravity’s been gunning for that job for years
and even gravity is not more important than
New York City which is no better than
small-town Louisiana which is no different from
Fusushima Daiichi or
Chernobyl which is no worse than
the bamboo thicket where I
first learned to sharpen my heart
which is the same as
an Iranian mother holding her baby
because no one’s babies
are special or important
because you are just the temporary custodian
of a temporary configuration of atoms
and you, in  fact, did not. build. that.
This is not an opinion.
This is science.




Bop for James Murphy

Bop for James Murphy
                                and Joe, and Orion

Now in the age of letters yearning for a friendship
we don’t know if adults can attain, now in the age
of drunken facebook digital assimilation
the internet is the desolate hometown we’ve wished for
and still regret, we all want to be tethers,
infinitely elastic, our hearts.

Where are your friends tonight?

Ah, the life of beautiful letters
and longing, though someday that
message gonnna come burning
like a draft order once we have
enough urgency boiling in our blood
to build something better than 
our paychecks and our decency.
Already, my singe-ing fingers…

Where are your friends tonight?

Coffee makes me stonger and music makes me brave
and it’s so easy to forget our youth,
when we can’t be together we can still
be the constellations guiding each other home
every bit helps, the ocean is as unlimited
as we allow it, it’s all elastic anyhow but

Where are your friends tonight?
Where are your friends tonight?

The Ghost of New York Present

So I’m doing a 30/30 for November, and here’s the first poem of the month.

The Ghost of New York Present

After hearing about the blackout
for days, it took me somewhat
by surprise to see all that sunlight
glimmering the dim windows
and broken trees.
seems to be the day everyone
has decided they won’t be swept away
if they try to get a little exercise,
and the streets and bridges are
full of huffers and puffers, cramping
on cabin fever legs.

I have a headache from
the thirst of it all
but I can’t bring myself to
drink out of hoses and fire
hydrants like the displaced tenement-
dwellers of the Lower East Side,
or to be more precise
I don’t have a proper receptacle
or to be more precise
I don’t have the guts to ask to borrow
an empty plastic jug when my
faucet works just fine at home.

My heart is half-exhausted
from the running and the empty bed
and my lungs ache from inhaling
so eagerly the debris of life.
Is there anything romantic about
a cold and lonely man on the
empty banks of a river?
I mean when you actually see him,
not when it’s written down.