The Truth that Sets You Free

[truththatsetsyoufree]

people put down mcdonalds and the mall, but i find poetry there, the loneliness of being an american, which is the price you have to pay to ride the ride.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

i saw so many homeless people today, i felt more sorry for myself than them.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

i took a nap tired from doing nothing, and felt exhausted when i woke up.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

I googled myself

last night

and was disappointed

to find

I wasn’t there,

as if my data

wasn’t worth

the computer’s time.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

feeling fat and bloated

after some BBQ pork,

i entered the museum already in a foul mood.

I have no patience for Monet

or Renoir on a good day,

but now they sounded like a couple Dildos

on sale at the porn shop..

then i heard the tour guide

telling a group of junior high kids

all the names, dates, and prices

and why they should care,

and something snapped inside me

after all my years of schooling

and broken dreams.

you should look at art

with your own eyes,” I said,

“if you see a twat,

it’s a twat.”

the junior high kids laughed, 

but the tour guide called

the security guard

who told me my time was up.

“i don’t care.” i said

“i’ve seen enough bullshit

for one day.”

i walked home,

in a better mood,

feeling like i had accomplished

something of importance

and gave the world

a little lesson in art.

but one never knows

if something is genius

when it happens,

and only the centuries

will tell.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

the poet

i took a shit tonight,

while reading Robert Frost,

and musing on New England Winter

I pictured the cool snap

of the branch beneath the boot,

the muffled silence of snow,

packing into sheaves of ice.

The bathroom stank,

and I was ashamed

I could make such a smell,

but I walked out

with a book of poetry

like a shield,

and told my wife

I was a man of letters.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

I woke my wife up eating saltine crackers in the kitchen. i was naked, and felt like a pale trout in the wan light of midnight. “the fuck are you doing?” she asked, turning on another light to reveal more of my flesh, and dongle.  “eating saltines,” i said, showing her the crackers as evidence. “oh,” she said, shutting off the light and returning back to bed leaving me, and my naked soul to snack in the silent dark where i finally felt free from it all.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

we drank,

and we fought

and we cheated on each other,

and i thought i was tough,

could get away with being numb

because she cried first,

but after she left,

not even the whiskey

could keep away the pain

and no matter how much

i drank,

it just kept falling

through the cracks

of my soul

and spilled

over my body

like sweat

or blood

or tears,

it didn’t matter

what word

i used

to describe it

because

only those

who have

been there,

know what it feels like,

and by then,

all poetry

is useless.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

you can’t save anybody

who doesn’t want to save themselves,

no matter how many roses you throw at their feet.

you can’t save anybody.

who is already opening their hand

to take yours.

so nobody saves anybody really,

they just

do their part

so that others can save themselves.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

i was going to type the immortal poem

when my dog barked at the mailman,

and I had to tell her to be quiet,

but she kept barking,

so I got a cup of coffee,

hoping to keep the inspiration alive a little longer,

but since I had already drank a cup of coffee

about ten minutes before,

this one made me jittery,

and my brain began to fog,

as I wondered how in the hell i was going

to write a great poem now or even a good one.

When I sat down again,

the only thing I could think to write about

was trying to write the immortal poem,

but a poem about a poem

is always a mediocre poem,

and this one is no different,

but at least you can see how

there are always variables

beyond our control,

and all one can do is try,

hoping one day the wind

will blow in the right direction,

at the right time,

with no barking dogs

in sight.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Make Way

Gone are the long nights,

the cocaine binges,

the girls with lacy panties

who wear too much perfume

and laugh like hyenas in a pack.

Gone are the acid trips in the desert.

the wishing on stars.

and the grand theories of everything.

Gone is the belief that love can save us all.

Make way for the pancake breakfast.

Make way for the mortgage,

and the mall.

Make way for your wife, and kids.

Make way for dirty laundry.

Make way for chopping onions,

make way for tears.

Make way for poems about the good times,

that were never really that good,

because you didn't know

who you were,

what you wanted,

or why you came.

Make way for walking in the rain,

admiring the squirrels

as if they were strippers,

and birds as if they were pay raises.

Make way for truths,

you wouldn't have been able to imagine

when you were young,

and still believed everything

the world told you

about being a man.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Sticking it to the Man

These conspiracy theories are killing my brother

one video at a time,

as he inhales each line

like a Colombian drug lord with ties to the CIA,

as he withers like a grape on a vine full of GE pesticides.

I told him to lighten up, go for a walk,

visit grandpa in the hospital,

but he wouldn't listen,

and thinks it's more important

to spend his time waging war online

against the armies of the unseen.

Six months later, he lost his job like a junky

who od on heroin supplied by the US Army,

and though I have never trusted the Gov

or corporations or politicians,

neither do i trust documentaries

made by lonely people

who need a computer

to feel safe,

as they tell us

the computer is evil

and going to overthrow us all,

which is really a metaphor

for the problem

I have for all conspiracy theorists

like my brother,

who think they're fighting

against all the ill gotten spoils

of an empire built with bombs and technology,

yet can't go a day without logging in.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

When I think

Older now,

I look back on my twenties

as a blur of booze

and confusion,

wondering who i was

or if i mattered,

and when i see pictures of myself then,

i see a thin paper face

and arms attached with glue.

my father had died

my grandfather had died

both of them boozers

and just as confused as I,

so no wonder

i looked frightened and worried.

i knew i was going

to have to show myself the way,

without any map

or blue print.

I,

who had no hammer,

no land

and no vision.

I quit the booze.

I finished my degree.

I waited for a good woman.

I went further than my fathers,

and left my son

a little more bread to follow

to find his way out of the forest.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Chuck

Chuck is selling me a Toyota,

telling me it's a bargain,

but I don't know shit about cars

or finance,

but I do know a thing about people,

and I can tell Chuck's been drinking,

and has been down on his luck for a while

by the wrinkles in his pants,

and the stain on his shirt,

and when I ask him about the payments,

his voice speeds up like a hummingbird's wings

to tell me it's "cheaper than a California divorce,"

then chuckles to himself,

as if he's speaking from personal experience,

and that's when I decide I don't care if Chuck's bullshittting me,

because he's a professional bullshitter, a bullshit artist,

and a master of his craft,

and even if he's swindling me for a couple thousand bucks,

he's only going to get a couple hundred commission for his work,

and he's going to need a lot more than that

to pay for a new suit and a California divorce.

When I tell him it's a deal, he doesn't even look happy.

Instead, he gets on his phone,

shaking his head, and says,

"My boss is going to kill me,

I'm giving you such a good deal."

I laugh,

feeling warm inside,

happy to be making a contribution to the arts.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

our last valentine's day

trying to find my lady something to make her feel special,

i walk through the desolated aisles of the shopping mall

with its forest of lost toys, and broken dreams,

where everything reeks of desperation,

and boiled imagination. I can feel my soul

sucking out from under me,

and am about to go into a full blown imperial depression

when I see they are giving free samples

of chicken in the food court.

i eat it at the end of a toothpick,

and it revives me,

humbles me,

reminds me that there are perks

for living inside the empire,

and that I should quit complaining.

i walk out into the sunlight,

empty handed,

but soul in tact,

and I pick some flowers by the side of the road

that she will later call cheap,

but i know better,

my soul knows better,

and she should know better,

but i have to buy her a steak dinner

just to prove money isn't the issue,

because if history has taught us anything,

it's that both love and empires

have a hidden cost.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Imperialism

I saw this guy on the internet the other day,

so jacked up with ambition and greed,

his face looked like a cocaine crocodile.

His mouth ran like a polluted river

that never stops killing the the people downstream.

I knew damn well I couldn't afford to buy in

to what he was selling

with my poet's salary of boiled eggs and salt,

but I was captivated by his ability

to machine gun market advice at the speed of light.

i didn't want to be a part of his pyramid scheme

but I felt like a pauper

living in the middle of the death star,

suckling at the same imperial teat,

only on a smaller scale,

so I turned off my computer to listen to the rain,

and for one sacred moment

i didn't want anything else

but to listen.

Then the coffee started wearing off,

and I knew my rent was coming due,

my bills were piling up,

and I would have to drink another cup

just to survive.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Imperialism

I saw this guy on the internet the other day,

so jacked up with ambition and greed,

his face looked like a cocaine crocodile.

His mouth ran like a polluted river

that never stops killing the the people downstream.

I knew damn well I couldn't afford to buy in

to what he was selling

with my poet's salary of boiled eggs and salt,

but I was captivated by his ability

to machine gun market advice at the speed of light.

i didn't want to be a part of his pyramid scheme

but I felt like a pauper

living in the middle of the death star,

suckling at the same imperial teat,

only on a smaller scale,

so I turned off my computer to listen to the rain,

and for one sacred moment

i didn't want anything else

but to listen.

Then the coffee started wearing off,

and I knew my rent was coming due,

my bills were piling up,

and I would have to drink another cup

just to survive.