April was Oppressive

there's a student housing facility adjacent to my place
with really rowdy college knumbskulls and titas.
the sprinklers are always on, making me feel
liberal guilt for gallons and gallons of water wasted.
six a.m. shoes get wet,
ten a.m shoes get wet. when do my shoes not get wet?

i want to call somebody sometimes to
tell him that somewhere a whale is missing his
swimming pool. i saw the cutest thing last night on my way home.
the usual Nic ticks were not sitting on benches smoking cheap cigs
at the student housing facility.

behind the limey foliage, were a boy and a girl. they smelled like
freshmen: thin, fresh faced, smiling. boy was teaching girl to skateboard.
it was almost surreal. the air was super chilly,
they were back lit by harsh lighting and they were laughing
really softly. lots of smiles, including mine.

Sometimes i Procrastinate

Definition Poem that was due for P. Schultz a month ago.

Home as Defined by a Nerd+ the American Heritage Dictionary

Home (hōm) n.
The Milky Way Galaxy,
Just the right spot, the sweet spot,
Home: Planet Earth, the Pacific Ocean, Hawaiian Islands, Oahu—
the gathering place.
Home is in my head, so I’m home no matter where I am.
I felt at home in NY, all the crabby cabbies and cops.
I felt at home in San Diego, gaslamps and comic cons.
I felt at home in LA, little Asiantowns and hobos,
Everywhere Golden Retrievers and mini marts.

1. Honolulu, HI
2. Varsity Ave.
3. Coolidge St.
4a. Glazers as a Sanctuary
4b. Seoul, my heart and soul, Queen of Hearts, My Mother Tongue Tied Motherland.

A Home can be where someone is cared for.
I made a home for my sisters,
my mother, my father can repose.
A place to return to, I would cook for you.
For Me a bed,
lazy sofa or tub tile floor lying.
The year I moved out was the year I surrendered and decided to thrive.
And now, I too am alive in my own place, my own space, my home.

hw assignments to face humanity

Da Numbah One

Some sit, Some stand while waiting for the #1
Across Kahala Mall,
two boys make a mad run for it, weaving in and
out of traffic. i learned long time ago
never run for it, it's not worth it. Monster Beats
on my headset blaring, Geto Boys, "Damn it Feels to be a Gangsta"
i see Fasi's Limo, but i don't run, "Cuz real gangsta ass niggaz don't run for shit,
Cuz real gangsta ass niggaz can't run fast."

TheBus pulls up and picks us up.
TheBus is half full not half empty (Not for Long).
We sit, Some chat, some contemplate, i reflect,
loose my space. My eyes wander to ads spotty,
City Bus placards MIA (i remember stealing in my youth)

THIS IS A PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT: THIS AD WILL NOT STOP CRACK USE,
WIFE ABUSE, ABORTION OR SMOKING--
THAT IS ALL, RETURN TO YOUR PATHETIC LIVES PEONS.

My eyes move down to scarred windows,
Large and Rustycrusty Roaches, crawl, critter.
Mucus, Food, Gum Wrapper, Gum, litter, in this vehicle we are
all headed in the same general direction.

i see mouths move but can't hear a sound.

Thank You, Noise Cancellation Headphones.
i choose the music and pollution, the soundtrack to this scene.
Besides, strangers are best seen and not heard, especially adults,
interrupting my desire to be alone.
Long is Waialae. TheBus is full by Tamura's and the bodies hum.
Chitchat cell phones texting Clockstars and College kids in repose,
We're resting against plastic,
scarred windows, Sacred Hearts McDonald's and St. Louis Cigarettes
Litter the street. Two Public Storage Wastelands,
Welcome to Your Future Home, on top of King,
a Humane Society,

theBus in decline, hug the curve of him--
Get off on King and University. Walk up to Glazers.

In Fifteen

my body parts hurt so i am typing today.
maybe i am just a little bit lazy.
Nicole asked me what my vice is.
it used to be an occasional smoke,
booze every weekend,
excessive amounts of social networking/
currently it seems that WoW has taken over my life again.
and if my mouth would utter those words, "it's just for three months"
then i'd be lying.

there's a particular line from Sia's song that is on repeat.
it's from "Some People Have Real Problems" and the song is
called "You Have Been Loved".

"Oh will you ever know
That the bitterness and anger left me long ago
Only sadness remains
And it will pass.."

it's the month; the body remembers. no, that's a particularly
false thing to say. i must confess, i am experiencing some
psychic pains. my kid would have been two this year, this month.
time is galleons, is a poster posted in Sam's cafe.
it's this fucking chilly ass weather, it's the rain, it's this place.
i have to do my poetry exercizes by monday. otherwise i've failed
P. Schultz and esp. myself. it's nice to have people who believe in you.
i cannot imagine absolute isolation/lonliness.
whenever i can't take it, i just dial up a friend and make a total emotive kid
out of myself.

Hello Somewhere on a Higher Plane

We were in Banana Republic, a dystopic version of course,
looking for a new trilby or fedora for Chad. There lacked
a sense of urgency, and the quest was not colored by
our usual masochistic tendencies.
i sifted through a stack of brown hats on a white case display, finding nothing
that would match Chad. Channing and Emily also came up empty handed.

Our best guess was to get some coffee to salve the disappointing hat search.
This is where it gets good,
Channing went on the offensive and Emily the defensive.
Emily was yowling about the lack of quality, selection
and style in the hats and Chan made a comment about her.
Something like,
"Do you actually do Yoga or do you just like to wear yoga gear?"
To which Em responded in a low whine,
"Looking for a hat for Chad is like looking for my Yoga Pussy...."
In unison Chad, Chan and Em said, "It's non existent."
And we started cracking up,
and couldn't stop laughing.

time oh time, give me time

feeling blue over "funemployment"
more like "left to own devices"
idle hands will tear at my body
reading "loneliness as a way of life" and it explains all the peter pans
i've been attracting.

Samuel L Jackson in Chinatown

Channing, Samuel L. Jackson remembers us....
i cant remember how long ago the goon meet was.
did you know that he was a vietnam vet?
his wife died of breast cancer and he's 52 yrs old.

ironic things said tonight,
"this has been real"
"indubitably"

i am missing a certain somebody immensely at this moment.
one could say it's the slowwwwwww coals of love.
he lit the fire, kindled the wood and tended to it when it was necessary.
Chad was told that this man was the only man i feel so strongly
about atm that i would slap Him in the face if need be.
whether we are near or far it's the same. i love Him the same
and this is freedom. i will never love another person at the cost
of me.

He Ate from My Plate

our first encounter,
i ate from His bowl a
white porcelain moon half
served with spaghetti not very well
made or fashioned because
we were too busy pointing out constellations.
He stopped time for me.
rooms to be introduced,
photographs to be explained.
a test, for sure, he walked around; without a shirt
He traced his tattoo, poke poke hip to back.
Moo Oleo: Regeneration, Growth and Reality;
i brought to him my brightest stars in return.

He lined a plate with olive oil,
salt and pepper to taste
for some meat.
Cosmos made with his pointer and middle finger--
i turned away in embarrassment.
He wouldn't eat with me,
and he didn't dare touch me.
Clever seduction.

Our second encounter,
He ate from my plate,
the onolicious poi and meat i had left half
eaten and only because i offered these scraps to him.
fire water in warm bellies,
chili oil on well seasoned lamb.
he offered these things to me,
and i took it willingly.

it wasn't in the kiss,
it wasn't his material but it was in the first bite.
Canines into oatmeal chocolate cookie,
He is something to be felt not understood.
He had approached me
with reverence, looking for forgiveness
and i gave it to him we both knowing that i do not forgive
and i do not give my time so freely.

will continue this later when i have attention span...