4 a.m.
wandering dark home
naked alone bare boned
nightmare after nightmare
after nightmare after nightmare
you suddenly look back and know
and understand your childhood
why you were so damn self-
destructive and accident-
prone and didn’t know
probably wanted
to just let go
to give up
to sacrifice self
to kill yourself
on a daily basis
wild child
you
were
so
out of
control
desperately
trying to gain
some form of control
and go to the refrigerator
to drink cold milk to hope
to heal soothe and coat
your beaten and
battered soul
the lights of
the paperboy
come into
the dead
end like
a film
noire
and it
is only
the deep
and rickety
rhythmic
breathing
of cicadas
which gets
you back home
5:00
acorns have started
to fall from the great
big oak and thud
onto car
outside
window
5:15
and think the only
thing you can rely on
the only thing reliable
are the garage doors
which go up just at
the right time every
time across the road
and babysitter who comes
out like some female super
hero with her perfect little
neat and tidy organized
steps and think i want
to follow them back
to where it all
went wrong
then forward
to try and make
sense of it all…
5:30
unable to sleep
i want to spoon
my wife ‘neath
the stars till
the end of
eternity
5:45
black velvet top hats
of jet-black crows perched
like puppets up on top tippy-toes
way a top ancient fuzzy lichen fir trees
who keep an eye out on me
who keep me from feeling excrutriatingly lonely
who keep me from doing something fucked-up and crazy
6:00
before you leave home
you put a little stickie
on the fish bowl
telling her
you love her
6:15
somewhere in florida, california
chameleons make their way in
6:30
when the sun comes up
you notice some flashing neon figure
of paul revere on his clattering horse
gracefully galloping
off over the colorful
dappled trees of autumn
in minuteman origami hat
perched, eager, reading
just below–”don’t litter”
sun rising over methadone
clinic of moby dick marina
golden arches of mcdonalds
and beautiful black girl
in silhouette shuffling to school
over the iridescent catwalk of rush hour
7:00
driving into work leaving
with the exact same primal scream
as upon returning like one of those
man-made mourning and
mysterious howling persian
holy pilgrim mecca cities
7:10
all the corn which has grown
out up over the gas station
has been taken out
of the ground
and all that’s left
are the brilliant copper
golden bamboo stalks like some great
glowing shroud from a post-apocalyptic town
7:15
dusty children faces pasted against windows
and whisked in school buses around dead
ends to lost vague amorphous destinations
they will get such reports back as–
“very nice kid but refuses to take off jacket
always feels the need to be the class clown
has such potential, needs to be tested
walks around the hall like he’s got the
weight of the world on his shoulders”
7:30
this morning while driving into work
out to the mental health clinic
right around plymouth
i heard myself
chanting rage against the machine
dedicated purely to abuse of power
breaking of confidence supervisor–
“fuck you i won’t do what you tell me!
fuck you i won’t do what you tell me!
fuck you i won’t do what you tell me!
fuck you i won’t do what you tell me!”
a modern day bartelby the scrivener
passing the pilgrim sand’s motel
literally right where the pilgrim’s
stepped off and landed thinking
of that teenager from way back
in the day from that great comedy
“fast times at ridgemont high”
who simply got fed up
delivering fast food
in his hi-ho matey
pirate uniform
and tears it all off
pirate hat and all
and chucks the
whole damn thing
out the window
and think how i’d
like to simply follow
that spar-spangled
orange corvette
wherever it goes
zooming off
all the way
to the end
of the world
somewhere
anywhere
maybe even
provincetown
or p-town
think that’s
what it’s called
but don’t know
maybe i’ll just
save up and settle
for a chinese meal
to try and make
sense of it all
7:45
inspector clouseau still in all his disguises
his moustache & beard & bifocals
drives his little white paint truck
through the village, suspicious
sincere & earnest
destined & determined
humming his harmless hymns
to keep himself centered, grounded
8:00
*
i know the fall is here by the density
strength and length of the opaque
clouds laying low in the morning
*
lagoon getting dimmer
and trees brighter
*
last dewy blast
of perennial gardens
*
when i see all these assholes tailing each other
i start to think about the concept of heaven and
if it’s all just attention-seeking behavior
who you know, nepotism?
i can’t even fathom
and if they’re admitted
pretty sure i absolutely
don’t want any part of it
*
instead of saying a prayer to myself
i hear myself muttering mantras
mumbling just to get by
*
the sign for martha’s vineyard ferry
ripped off and it just reads–
“eyard ferry” and like
that so much more
*
income tax & tea
thai bangkok cuisine
milk
lottery
angels
oils
roses
shiners
worms
welcome
pilgrims
bus reads–
mayflower link
*
you imagine the back of oil truck reads
“shipwrecked” and the last of the empty
flatbed dropping off remains
of carnival freak show set
*
they put the old timers
out in the cranberry bogs again
men in raincoats
in a field of pumpkins
Noon…
and get lost at last at the whitehorse general store
right next door to the post office and graveyard
with a dim light always on behind woebegone
ghostly time-stained curtains of lopsided
ramshackle rockinghorse shelters
on a seesaw ocean
of splintered stilts
and stray dogs
and shotgun seagulls
with soar throats wailing
soliloquies for the ages
bathed in opaque magnifying glass light
of some haunted season when the tourists
finally leave and natives gradually creep back in
young dirty down to earth
beat blue collar workers
already returning home
with booze and spirits
during dwindling days to fix
stranded shipwrecked souls
a cure to all those good
ol cold weather-worn
new england floors.
in the splish-splash somersaulting shore
you call up your wife to tell her–
“i loved your supper
last night, thank you!”
12:15
then hear yourself casually saying aloud–
“can you make a list to take out the lint?”
and even start to think is this what it all
comes down to, to this? then think just
a bit further and deeper and would love
to take out all the lint, all that built up
bullshit of all those past experiences
which never got healed or fixed
anger and sadness which still
sits stirs sticks right between
the stomach and esophagus
more specifically spoken
that place where we store
and keep it all in where we
always feel like we want to
just explode want to break
down and cry for no particular
reason restless and agitated
and can’t make sense of
it but just keep it all in
all that sadness and anger
more specifically spoken
and broken down and
sworn and articulated
which seems originally
like some idiot statement
but now that i stop to think
about it and dig a bit deeper
a pretty profound and trans-
cendent comment–
“can you make a list
to take out the lint?”
12:30
and it is only until later
until much later on
that you realize
everything is
pavlov’s dog
certain women
girls seasons
moments
transitions
cops
crab
apples
bagels
and lox
all realized
in revelations
at the drive-thru
during a rain storm
and even more so not so
much even these images and forms
but everything that came before
the cause and core the cause
to exactly what and where
and why and who you are
12:45
at lunch break sitting at the end of world
where they came in from the old world
searching for the new world and think
i really want to go back to some
form of old world way before any
of this folklore ever existed before
there is a broken window in a dim home
which looks out to the choppy ocean
to the sails and ghosts and seasons
where all the transcendent dreams
and nightmares and fantasies
and visions seep in
exact same seagull
simple skull and all
on skipping stone shore
who stands there
pensive reflecting
tender thoughtful
and wonder what it was like
when they first came around
spotless bend and spotted land
and declared land-ho!
which turned to holy cow!
to holy cannoli! to hidi-hidi-hidi-ho!
back to group home
boys and girls on the run
through thick pine and pachysandra
1:15
now all it is is perfect pachysandra
shrubs and hedges, dewy fences,
steeples, candles, pipes & ladders,
cops in drizzle, pretty jogging wives
and mothers, bed and breakfasts
1:30
you wonder when the stooges
are gonna show up with their
big blocks of ice and pianos
2:30
kids gone forgotten and unnoticed
enraged cause they literally really
are forced to fight the system
enraged from the original abuse
and neglect that put them in
enraged from all those
anacronyms which
could give a headache
to a god damn aspirin!
enraged cause of all the bozo idiot
clowns gathered around the clinical table
offering them old cliched hand-me down advice
simply following some agenda & protocol
& don’t know their ass from their elbow
don’t have the experience
don’t know the half
or even an inch
so decide just simply to go
it on their own, on the run
maybe for just one single
moment, day, even month
in one last mad
dash for freedom
last but not least seen
on the side of the road
looking for someone
some home they never had before
whisked from group home to foster home
from literal wicked step mom to aunts to uncles
so young
with spirit
and soul
the children & crows
& cat-calls & cathedrals
incarceration & resurrection
crushed dandelion & dappled specimens
2:45
beautiful tomboy
dogged us all
in basketball
(and let us all
know about it
leaving even
the toughest of boys
talking to themselves
muted heads hung low)
think they all
fell in love
with her
3:00
turkey vultures
come up to visit
from deep woods
then recede
just as natural
into the brush of trees
like some old
acquaintance you didn’t
even know you were missing
3:30
just started this job
and can already see
through the snobs & slobs
already–
“i’d prefer not…”
“i’d prefer not…”
already humming good old dylan–
“it’s just people’s games
that you got to dodge…”
already bullshit
already bloodshot
already brainwash
4:00
i literally find myself leaning back in clinical
chair gargling iced coffee aloud thinking
how i’m gonna spend my pay check
later on tonight and surprise the wife
hope she likes what i’m gonna get
her for the playroom and not be
angered or disappointed with
my impulse control disorder
4:35
looking out from my porthole
at the bottom of the ship
at the end of my shift
(where you see seasons shift
from deep beneath the trees
of basement)
i hear my colleague’s radio–
“boogie nights are always
the best in town…”
5:00
taking off to the smell of cinnamon
pop overs and pork chops and the enterprise
newspaper still wrapped up in a bundle on the porch
Sundown…
*
you want to grab
your wife’s hand
till the end of time
which ever one
lets go
first
*
they’re putting
back together
the sagimore bridge balanced below
glowing flow of twilight gorilla moon
5:15
to get a little feel and flavor
of the real world, of culture
whatever you want to call it
you always take the long way
and blissfully stray back home
through a very strange repressed
eccentric town of beautiful clowns
jesus fanatics
and dope addicts
firemen decked out
in their proud
buckle up
button down
firemen outfits
black and white bums
leftover gigolos by
the movie theater
judges with drinking
problems goth boys
and runaways
windy witches
wild-bearded
suspender wearing
whitman electricians
wino cowboy heroine
addicts in ten
gallons with
bo-legged
wooden
legs
shuffling
up from the river
beautiful young
pornographic
daughters
fragile fathers
good mothers
rich kids turned
to designer drugs
and self-destructive
behavior the joggers
monuments coming
to life on the corner
the paper-mache
cathedrals and
tin foil steeples
state hospital
state forests
and just around
the bend plymouth
rock with graffiti
scribbled all over it
as you return home
exhausted bloodshot
through cranberry bogs
and placid magic wand
paint-by-number ponds
gigantic splintered spindles
of real rough and tough
lincoln log rubber cement
sawdust fairydust forests
sea captain homes
bread and butter
butterscotch
bone-colored
with their great big
whiskey wraparound
widow watch creaky
candle hush hush secrets
in the waning windows
the little alabaster
ice cream girls
of the swamp
and sun-
streaked sun
pulled back
through
blazing
blonde hair
with silly
lily-white
seductions
in jackie o.
sunglasses
way before
the trend
even started
good clean-cut
boys diligently
driving trucks
as young as
newly-cut wood
just stacked up
the studs picking
up their liquor
and firewood
mischievous
flamboyant
delinquent
cops & robbers
pilgrim indians
crawling
on hands
and knees
through the
transcendent
pine needle brush
with foreign accents
and developing addictions
old antique book shop
and booze shop
in the dim
off season
golf courses
and resorts
ice cream
stands just shut down
the drowsy boxcar diners
and splintered homes
down long sandy
lopsided roads
last of pastel-colored
rafts of twinkling twilight
tucked into the setting
sun and when
you think about
this perfect neat
and tidy little part
of town can’t help
but to feel just
a little let down
a little down
and out
mild drab
flickering
brilliant sort of
somber reflection
shoving homebound
past weird mcmansions
of gleaming faux pillars
along side the highway
right past that little
piece of lake
where it always
smells exactly
like fried
calamari
corn bread
and cake
and know
right there
and then
you are
on your way
undercover cops
with nothing better
to do than pick on
pick up mexicans
in the dawn of dusk
in their sleeping bags
along the side
of the road
your down
in the dump
mug shot
redeemed reborn
laid to rest beneath
a beautiful blotted
long gone sun
Dusk…
it all smells like one of those
big old custard boston cream donuts
when the sun falls down and sky breaks opens
and the light like the aperature to one of those
brilliant 24 hour all-night diners lost and alone
and layed out in orange blaze sugar maples
horizon like a great big sloppy
cheeseburger with raw onions
a pretty young girl holds open the windy door…
5:45
that great big half wolf half dog
on his last leg still wandering
staggering tip-toeing proudly
sniffing exploring the dead end
and dappled leaves of autumn
just a bit slower a bit sadder
more pensive more reflective
a little deaf a little blinder
yet still so much
more alive
so much more
sacred caring
compassionate
kinder than any of these
so called upstanding citizens
6:00
you think you want to disconnect the dots. of these connect the dot people.
who live in their connect the dot worlds. with their convenient disconnects.
and try to connect yours. convenient and comfortable. ignorant and arrogant.
insular and delusional. phony to the bone. and play roles without soul. know
it alls who don’t know a thing at all. and pass judgment and passive-aggressive
behavior without an ounce of experience. integrity or honor. nor what they’re
most guilty of. don’t know a thing about you. your heart and soul. kindness
and compassion. your gut and generosity. everything you been through.
the suffering and struggle. and seen it all…
you think back to all those good ol episodes who was that?
the stooges? chan? chaplin? little rascals? abbot and costello?
really doesn’t much matter anyhow where there was one of those
man-made knotholes dug into ol black & white static depression
industrial residential picket fences and how these classic hysterical
slapstick thieves and delinquents sticking curious and mischievous
sockets through it would graciously let you in and find out everything
that’s really happening and very much feel that that’s the true core reality experience
if you ever really cared to look at it from the real righteous point-of-view and perspective
6:15
i love the image
of nodding out
on dope while
being whipped
around in the
tea cups in
the magic
kingdom
then haul me off
with one of those
humongous hooks
while still
nodding
out in
my mickey
mouse ears–
“book your own
special disney
vacation down
in orlando, florida”
6:30
fallen decorative pear
holds up the skull
of scarecrow
slouching in
lawn chair
as a kid couldn’t keep yourself
out of trouble just like these kids
but always knew how quick and
clever and smart you really were
7:00
drizzle falls
on the dwarf
watermelons
at dusk
on the table
on side of the road
7:30
the shadows of the dragonfly
and hummingbird buzz past
the last blast of geraniums
can’t tell you how much i miss
the aroma of formaldehyde streaming from
the windows of south brooklyn casket in brooklyn
along with the hanging puerto rican
sisters hollering their dreams
wishes and illuminations
when the last of the fall sun fell
on cobblestone creating pools
of deep splashing shadows
8:00
the homes stand out here
like mosoleums and museums
and man don’t see a single soul out
here but the gardener and mailman
garage doors
magically going up
then going down again
martian light on in the window
the neighbor on his tractor with
his light beer and lights on then
vanishes like a ghost into thin air
8:15
take to the top of my stairs
and just sitting there up on top
(like a pot of gold at the end of
the rainbow) is a little jar of vick’s
vapo rub and one of those nose decloggers
always know there’s a certain
part of the stairs a certain
part of the home where
the meals the stews
the casseroles flow
autumnal vegetables
the sweet squash
the eggplant
the turnip
native corn
the crows go in
and drizzle falls
on the hibiscus
in the midst of
misty foyer window
8:30
on kitchen island reads
a note from kid’s teacher–
“thank you for the
paper dolls & popcorn”
8:45
ladybugs creeping all over
the pastel-colored walls
of pink and pale-green
and blush and coral
buddha heads
resting their bones
on the coffee table
with son in bathtub
pointing his index finger
giving you permission
to dream of unicorns
and rainbows
9:30
dog is let down
scuttles down
down into
deep dark
basement
where just
the sacred
beacon from
tom & jerry
flashes all the day long
and will fall asleep down
there on the quilted rockers
10:00
all the haystacks
all the mums
all the white
and orange
pumpkins
have been
set and displayed
in front of the home
all the tulip bulbs below
all the acorns and pine cones
and pine needles have fallen
all the suns and moons
and widows and winos
all the leaves
and crab apples
and fall fast asleep
and sink into your
easy chair
right in front
of the great
red river rivalry
getting ready
for dreams
for nightmares
for a new day
of sleepwalking
Midnight:
it is true it is really only cumming
feeling like you’re going crazy
breaking down crying being
born dying dreaming that
are your one and only
instincts your fish
from siam every
evening keeping
you company
drinking
your wine
minding
his own business
me minding mine
what happened to those good
old chinese joints where
they used to give you
those warm and wet
wash cloths you’d
throw over your
head to hope
to heal all
the lies?
the stolen piece
of apple pie
and wine
Sunrise: morning tide
at dawn you sleep like jesus the night before.
it all happens in your dreamworld.
girl gets up and tells you–
it was all so real
and then it was gone…
Joseph Reich: is a social worker who works out in the state of Massachusetts: A displaced New Yorker
who sincerely does miss diss-place, most of all the Thai food, Shanghai Joe’s in Chinatown, the fresh smoothies on Houston Street, and bagels and bialy’s of The Lower East Side. He has a wife and handsome little son with a nice mop of dirty-blonde hair, and when they all get a bit older, hope to
take them back to play, to pray, to contemplate in the parks and playgrounds of New York City.
