Monday, December 22, 2014


For Gabriel Don on her Birthday

What do you gift a girl with the eyes of she that has seen the world, surely more than just a ring
What is that potion thing that makes the heart sing, amour and Absinthe, I dare you drink a glass full
She courts the wind in a summer dress, pales dark corners with her face, fiery she you lovely thing

Walk these city streets with me, undo the underworld, blood and paint smeared on graffiti walls
Alarming, how the under dogs dream when she comes a waltzing with her Lower Eastside Artourage
The nest of them fluttering within dungeon of subway cars coming to stops emerging into light

Lifting like abracadabra, ghost of Christina in a community garden, it’s in the way she sidesteps
Sidesteps the sad men with blue guitars and tambourines, wailing while they swig bottles of booze
Burning smoke into them, smoke from refrigerated birds, blind ass and meat, of this we shall eat

We know torture as we surrender to this our serenade, she is wisdom at heart, lady of the la la leaves
They call to her, falling around her body, she is Georgia O’ of NYC, young and yet saddened by the days
Memory of Arabic women under siege, mothers of tomorrow penning poems of future melancholia

Saudi Arabia, oh dear Theresa of the teaching nuns undo your hijab, show your face, it is a fine face
Fair and your auburn hair, what artist wouldn’t want to demonstrate with splendor, his talent
Paint you in many ways, complement the many reasons, seasons you continuously inspire

With words, the cannon of them bursting onto empty pages, what flowers will do for a statue
Give glory to life, heave kerosene onto fire, drop form a blessed mountain top, dance naked
I give of this to you, our rememberances in virtual reality, it is a heart you possess, your glory I desire

Monday, December 15, 2014

A Lars Von Trier Movie
Black OBGYN’s caught Masturbating

In the city of my familiar girls wore thin from the sun in winter they dried as grape
Orange leaves that fell they wandered through wearing boots made famous
Within the pages of Seventeen I ascended upon teen queens brunette and blonde
With names like Brooke and Ashley dressed in tight jeans contemplating stardom
Winter came the years by we hovered around television sitcoms and soap operas
That wonderland I relived throughout books by Agatha Christie and S.E. Hinton

We were the Hardy Boys brown and scholarly courting knives and catholic girls
Kiss posters on our walls listening to urban radio we were rock stars and deejays
In the stairwells of public housing we brought girls to their knees stroked their hair
An army of us stealing our way into bodegas running off not ever paying a cent
At the street corners we stood throwing snow balls yelling insults at each other
My Septembers when I read Nancy Drew in a park in fear of neighborhood thugs

This a dream world where black girls had been forgotten in the yesteryears of home
Here I was emblazoned on fields of grass where girls stood to cheer holding pompoms
They were the first exclamations of love, proclamations of uncertainty what was a boy
At heart unnamed to many as lover just a kid with perks a talent afoot style to relish
Portrait of the artist as a young man caught making pencil drawings of centerfolds
A shaming of youth where white girls were untouchables like my mother’s Vasoline

Tomorrows babies Kath Kathing like Kathy most dangerous girl with a cobra tattoo
Purple lipstick red rouge black blackness what do you do with a black poet thief
Rimbaud redux an African Jean Michel painted my seasons in hell colors of sex
Sexing white girls watching the curiousness of their eyes what they saw in me
A devil sheep marching them to church altar the process of processing authority
My guard my god allowed me this the power to mold mesh the skin in Jewish faith

That a black man touching the flesh of Jewish girls Jewish sex builds a mind state
Who am I a Svengali third lover I waive a wand my pen is a sword I enlist by command
I am not the Black Marquis de Sade or the sadist who raped the minds and bones
I gave of my heart I tutored not torture tutelage, Flower King spreading rose petals
Black Cocteau in honor of theater girls who fell in love with words I had carved
Shaped put to test presented for them to perform portray, come from under to fore

Black man black coitus the fang of foo round the way girls never bothered to inspect
Concoct a concoction if you please for it would take potion to possess perhaps to undress
Time when the Christina Rossettis on Horatio street contemplated suicide I was a friend
How I reeled them in thinking of this city a kingdom of corrupted girls bargain shopping
I mouthed nipples pink in color flat bottoms strands of hair that fell freckles on the chest
I cursed the Sylvia Plaths into the memory of a Kenyan girl ghetto girls waxing poetic

Bring on the Boogie Down show me some rasta Bronx chics chatting tall Nubian girls dancing
Mo chique mo shimmy does Maya Angelou come in a black girl from the upper west side
Call it a broken home call my mind a house made of stone crumbling turning into sand
I’m a book with torn pages written on by the Elizabeth Bishops Emily Dickinson Anais Nin
Black girls wear masks they breathe in my neurosis through masks I call them Picasso girls
They tease me through a veil a Lars Von Trier movie black OBGYN’s caught masturbating

Friday, December 05, 2014


All Catholic School Boys go to Virtual Hell
After Making Love to Italian Mama Leone’s

I sat with the Catholic girls during the spelling bees at ol’ Saint Stephens grammar school
Poor little me, the damaged African boy who knew nothing about pussy,
What the Latin boys called chocha

Was it puppy love when Kathy Florio kissed me, sweat burning around her neck
It was the gang girls I was after, Sandra, Monica and Angela Savastano
They reminded me of the chicks in Faster Pussy Cat Kill, Kill, Kill

I was watching cable pornography then, Al Goldstein, that Santa Claus Jew
He knew what was up or in and out, Screw he called it, yeah that was it
I was watching people screwing, sucking, touching, it was titillating to say the least

Soon after my parents sent me to high school, an all boys parochial school
We wore blazers and ties, I was nicknamed G.Q. for throwing a scarf around my neck
The only girls I saw were the cheerleaders, jumping and screaming out my name

But sex never came until I started college, an art school where I painted nude figures
Plain white girls with little bodies, on white matted paper I drew with pencil
Thinking, imagining until I laid eyes on an Italian Mama Leone, oh the fat of the land

She stood tall, cute and all, the lard of skin rolled off her body but we were doing it
This is what I imagined sex to be, this is what I saw on t.v. that Goldstein jiggy
Her body bouncing on top of me, all that flesh, round bottom, booty, bodacious

So I had conquered a villa, set afoot the makings of a man, the tortured artist
Profound as the heroine punk Kathy Acker, my beloved Kathy I went to see a reading of
It was there I met Sharon, an Israeli diva with breasts, bulbous, oh how they popped

Back at her Christopher Street bedroom that spring season we listened to Elvis Costello
We kissed and fondled, each time she told me to wait, wait for a better time
So on her birthday we attempted the go but it was a no show, failed attempt at lovemaking

I had learned some women want you and when they did they let you know about it
Others gave you sex for free and when they did you better pounce or you’ll regret it
So when I met Christine, that older woman, she fucked my mind free, gave me all I could ever want

She was married but when her husband was away, I would slip in become king for a day
We took our troubles to San Fransisco where in the California Hotel we were legendary lovers
But it was youth I was after having been to the mountain top, I wanted to swim in the ocean

They came in licorice, candy cane, coffee coated lollipops, young girls from Unice high school
Inside the cafes they sat with older men talked about Titian and Van Gogh, posed for pictures
I found my very own Britney Spears who sang like Liza Minnelli, she aspired to be a star

It was occurring to me it wasn’t sex I was after, love was a discourse between two intelligent lives
I found one muse among many, I directed, photographed and painted but love ain’t that simple
Even Roman Polanski and Woody Allen were known for shagging the very actresses they put on stage

The Catholic boy in me felt he had sinned, I went seven years cold turkey, picking flowers for women
But it was the time of the internet, Century’s end, the chat rooms of the world had just begun
In an art gallery I connected with a woman across the pond, she was to be my virtual muse

For ten years we have never laid eyes on each other, the phone calls and emails
Now I find myself on Facebook where I reach out to other virtual girls, wanting not touching
It was one Polish girl I fell for but was it love, telling me she dreamt of me, touching ourselves separately

In lonely rooms, sending vibes across the world, who were we, was it that love had died
But my friends were getting married and having children, my brother had found a girl on Match dot com
I moved to the East Village where the art girls run like wolves, found a Brooklyn girl from MOMA

Our one night stand became a love affair, a typical, normal, get out of the bathroom I gotta pee affair
She brought me to Brooklyn, from Williamsburg to Bushwick to Greenpoint, I had found me a home
We went off to see her mother in New Hampshire but we fought, we fought like artists do

So I took my troubles back to my family where it all began, I made amends with my brother
I watched as my other brother became a father, I was getting on with life, it wasn’t sex I was after
I had found God, it was about self love, love of mother, father, brother, waiting to click like on Facebook