friends are the only ones who let you down and that's why they're friends

America east side providence risd inside the white room.
ideology uncertain tall blonde gorgeous inside the white room.
40 (ppl) abbreviated jumping singing dancing they know the words inside the white room.
she can't feel her hands he can't feel his face both feel each other inside the white room.
dirty bathroom drinks $1 free if you know tony or say you do inside the white room.
sunglasses black hair brown shoes ironic t-shirt silkscreen
from a paper bag drinking your eyes
they won't let go, they just feel her whole body
inside the white room.
on psycadelic dementia man in the corner only recognizes red
on euphoric hope girl in the bathroom smears the lipstick red
on incidental curiousity new boy gapes wide eyed and red
on intentional feeling they won't let go nowhere to go let's just go
inside the white room.
she the one he wanted was
he the one she didn't imagine or know was
they america east side didn't expect was something out of oblvion
inside the white room.
he another, tall blonde standing with drinks mojito he knew tony
drinks free if you knew he was the one that made the world round turn & turn
the blonde isn't he obvious was god defiant
the fallen deity angel-sheared and hipstered
a neuter providence americana experiment gone awry and washed
down the pipe lines of society satan
inside the white room.
he the other the lover knew which way was out but couldn't convince his mind
to make the steps as he clutched her oh how he wanted her
if he could only have her would she remember him
did she know him goddamn and goddamn who cares
he struggled to the door and pulled her here he said here
and the went out from the dissonance and the punishment
inside the white room.
it was whizbang in the corridor a sort of pollack in dynamic 3d
spitting white boys trying rap to try to impress the angry white girls
who didn't know why they weren't back
inside the white room.
it was a composition in green white &red
that's what he told her that's what she said
when the got back to a dorm room he said
he knew the owner its my friend he said
she didn't know what the fuck that's what she said
it was inside outside the end is too cliched who wants to hear about the obvious
the expected conclusion nay or may have transpired why do you care
the he and the she if they turned out a we then why would you care
what happened to me, back before we, back he + she,
back blonde and tall in the corner dreaming on pychosis
and putrid poets spitting rhymes without girls respect
back satan and static one thousand wishes and revisions
and wishes for revisions all sifted and unsaid in time
the moments recollected were something else in
there the recollected unrevised the edition left unprinted
the devil knew tony gave drinks for free if you knew him
providence risd side east america
inside the white room.



i like running in my robe,
seeing my shadow showing the robe
thrown out behind me in the wind.
don't say it, but you're exactly right,
i look like a wizard running across the quad.

academics used to dress like this-
they still do, in some places of the world
where knowledge is coat and tie affair
not something casually lectured to kids
in uggs and sweatpants, checking their email
on macintosh notebooks.

[i get the feeling that people are feeling sad
in keeney, a friend came by on his way to a long walk
it was 1:41 in the morning, a long walk meant
an hour plus- with headphones, listening to something
indiscrinable, there's something in the water I
promise you.]

i am foolish as hell
i want to major in love.

the way a dove shook down on me
her feathers, reminded me she was
an angel when the phone rang and she
had to go, tip-toed around the fact
that she was not in her room, and left
me sad and smiling simultaneously.

there's a suggestive illustration
on a dance album my brother gave me
and my mind dreams of x-wing fighters
attacking a death star that is made of
my professor's emails.

a sailor's life is drowsy
and insatiable when the weathers
down and the waters cold, frozen,

i had a dream that we were
film noir, trusted private eyes
that talked like the maltese falcon
real Humphrey Bogart
in a room that was nothing like our
room except that it had our flag,
with the triple x's
and a Botticelli- framed in gold,
but you couldn't tell because it was
a black and white dream.

a few boys from the hall
messed up the bathroom real good.
it was a twisted cavern listern

i asked the boys what they made of it
and they laughed like they hadn't done
and said stuff like 'if i did this,'
'if I had done this,' or 'I would'
and other hypotheticals,
I told them to defend it as art
and they agreed.
they laughed and confessed that they
would call it an art thing, 'if they got
caught' 'if they had done it'

a stillness hangs in the air that is
uncanny. the heats on, and on high,
we dream of arabic women from persian
harems that tempt good christian men
from their foolish religion.

i felt the floor for a couple of hours,
and told my joy that the word was tactile
'tactile, joy, it's all so tactile'
'foolish,' I later explained, 'it was all so foolish'

i willed myself to boston.
i tapped into the core that will run
even when the interface will not
atm, pin number password, how to ride
an electric chain, train,
cognizant just enough to know that i
needed to get to the University
listening jsut enough to hear a man
tell another man that he needed the b line
and I followed that advice.

love, is the spirit, that moves the great
waves, it is the storm off the coast that
we're all waiting for.

the surfers, and the sailors, and the mothers,
and the runners, and the teachers, and the firemen.
because life's just more interesting when there's a storm on.
always, it gives you a chance to remember who you are,
what's inside.

nice days are a distraction, a flirt,
a promise, but no assertion.
the storm reminds you who you are,
what you have inside to entertain yourself.

the robe's out rippling behind me,
i like running in it,
i feel like a wizard,
i feel like an ancient scholar,
an academic,
i feel like me, and smile
to remember myself.


Valentine’s day snuck up on me like some homeless guy at a train station. I turned around when I registered the stench and heard the shuffle of social obligation.

“Spare Change?” He asked cruelly, unconsciously demanding.

I squeezed by him without contact, painfully avoiding the conversation hearts, Disney valentines and required bouquets of flowers. The paragon of prepackaged amorous obligation excused me from its requirement as conscientious objector.

I spent the day like a horse with blinders, carefully filtering the images of the day to a level I could deal with. Some girl came up to me with pink hearts painted on her eyes and asked if I’d be her Valentine. I flipped her off, but not before reacting with a look of awkward isolation.

The day passed painfully slow. I wasted three class periods while the teacher went around the room with candy and questions.

“And who is your valentine, Jack?” my teacher asked sweetly, a siren of temptation with a bowl of m&ms.

I flipped her off, but not before shouting, “fuck your contrived corporate capitalism” at the top of my lungs.

I spent the rest of the day in the Dean of Discipline’s office discussing my comments to Ms. Shreigger. I apologized for the outburst, and for my disillusionment. I expressed my condolences that that Dean was forced to be a middleman in the American capitalistic system. A yes man, I may have said, pausing only to take a watermelon Jolly Rancher from his famous bowl of confectionary.

The Assistant Headmaster had me sent to the School Psychiatrist. The shrink identified with me quietly, confiding that he really didn’t “dig” the whole Valentine’s Day thing either. I asked where he went to college. He said Dickinson. We talked about Pennsylvania and water-skiing before he filled in a piece of paper “recommending” that I be able to return to class. I shook his hand, he winked at me, I got weirded out and left in a hurry.

I skipped advisory, Church assembly and my ‘afternoon obligation’. The athletic director put a note in my box explaining that if I missed one more Squash practice, I would be removed from the team and disciplined.

Dinner was Macaroni & Cheese with Meatloaf. I asked the student server where they came up with the combinations. He said he didn’t know, that I should eat what I was given and shut the fuck up. I asked him if they had any cupcakes without hearts on them. He said they didn’t.

“Besides,” the student server continued, “A heart’s not gonna kill you.”

I told him to shove the cupcakes up his ass and flipped him off. The Dean of Discipline saw me do it, and demanded that I spend the rest of dinner assisting the student server.

I got back to my room, had study hall and sketched Anime characters that I remembered from my youth. A friend stopped by and asked if there was anything I needed.

“Got any porn?” I asked gently.

“Sure, but why do ya need it?” He responded.

“It’s Valentine’s day.” I explained softly. “And I’d really like to make it special.”


in haiku or something like it, some thoughts I had before I went to sleep

part of waking up early
is seeing what the world looks like
with sex in her hair

part of sleeping late
is pretending that the world only
includes the two of you

part of taking a nap
is remembering that the girl is
probably running somewhere

part of staying up late
is knowing that the term 'midnight
oil' is total bullshit

part of waking up to an alarm
is smiling when you think about the times
you didn't have to.