MIKE'S
Michael DeVito Jr. orgnaized the
Eat Write Cafe's "Open Mic Nights"
at various Okinawa City bars from
1997 to 2005 or so. He now lives on
Staten Island and is a teacher. He
is sorely missed here in Paradise.
Eat Write Cafe's "Open Mic Nights"
at various Okinawa City bars from
1997 to 2005 or so. He now lives on
Staten Island and is a teacher. He
is sorely missed here in Paradise.
The Diction of Betrayal
speak: closed in the sacred corner
mind )guilt is an old thimble(
see: there in the distance, the
calloused troubadour plays
to the symphony of the warrant out for my arrest.
cardiac as it may be, my heart
says now
to all the places only I knew existed:
“Where are the reasons?”
there is a carpet being pulled out from under you
there’s a broken mirror blackness among us
there’s an alley full of ladders for you to walk under
but before you depart
“know ye: who he seen these present greetings is
only worth so much dust found in just so many sacred corners.”
)though there is nothing sacred(
abashed to use the word loosely;
broken hearted to explain betrayal usefully.
arrest warrants are on every pole for you too you see;
what was only so much dust has been taken away from me.
there’s a superstition out there with our names on it.
there’s a death bed ready and waiting to be warmed.
lies are most especially lies when spoken calm.
hear: my diction of betrayal,
my confession from a thimble.
)there’s just no telling(
there’s just a wish of explaining the loss of
all the perfume in your eyes
twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.
play me anything but the truth, Sam
play me anything but the ———
just play, man— just play
speak: closed in the sacred corner
mind )guilt is an old thimble(
see: there in the distance, the
calloused troubadour plays
to the symphony of the warrant out for my arrest.
cardiac as it may be, my heart
says now
to all the places only I knew existed:
“Where are the reasons?”
there is a carpet being pulled out from under you
there’s a broken mirror blackness among us
there’s an alley full of ladders for you to walk under
but before you depart
“know ye: who he seen these present greetings is
only worth so much dust found in just so many sacred corners.”
)though there is nothing sacred(
abashed to use the word loosely;
broken hearted to explain betrayal usefully.
arrest warrants are on every pole for you too you see;
what was only so much dust has been taken away from me.
there’s a superstition out there with our names on it.
there’s a death bed ready and waiting to be warmed.
lies are most especially lies when spoken calm.
hear: my diction of betrayal,
my confession from a thimble.
)there’s just no telling(
there’s just a wish of explaining the loss of
all the perfume in your eyes
twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.
play me anything but the truth, Sam
play me anything but the ———
just play, man— just play
“She is the east,
and Juliet is the sun.”
–William Shakespeare
She is the madness and I am the mind
in kind and in turn
desire is a dirty carpet
for a welcome mat man
all too many times with too much –YES—
I have retracted and depleted what
Faith and Trust are built upon
)breaking chairs over Destiny’s arm hairs(
vacant touches
sacked with malady
disparity and all its men seek shelter in
the soft pulp blood mystery
as if Adam were Romeo
)there are whispers laughing all around me(there
Are all too many yeses
Too many touches of malady
my desire carpet is dirty.
and Juliet is the sun.”
–William Shakespeare
She is the madness and I am the mind
in kind and in turn
desire is a dirty carpet
for a welcome mat man
all too many times with too much –YES—
I have retracted and depleted what
Faith and Trust are built upon
)breaking chairs over Destiny’s arm hairs(
vacant touches
sacked with malady
disparity and all its men seek shelter in
the soft pulp blood mystery
as if Adam were Romeo
)there are whispers laughing all around me(there
Are all too many yeses
Too many touches of malady
my desire carpet is dirty.
Untitled
this is exit wound strategy; this is good bleeding
music; this is wrist on fingertip tango; this is flesh
gripping philosophy; this is saliva mixed madness;
this is (We.)
this is…
the bleeding song's echo; the cigarette smoke's serenade
the daylight's night; this is)Adam & Eve nakedness (
this is cool open window thought.
the poems are somehow all beautiful here.
the pains somehow all just pains We endure.
I might think differently if not for this pen,
You— and all your {music}.
I might pen this differently if not for
the {music of You}.
this is time
ticking…………………………………………Perfect.
the kisses never cease when (We) are like this.
the closed—eye strategies just bleed; the exits just
fingertips; the philosophy just saliva & flesh & song &
cigarettes; this is open window Adam & Eve tango
nakedness; this is penned night music.
this is (We) &
(We) are this.
this is exit wound strategy; this is good bleeding
music; this is wrist on fingertip tango; this is flesh
gripping philosophy; this is saliva mixed madness;
this is (We.)
this is…
the bleeding song's echo; the cigarette smoke's serenade
the daylight's night; this is)Adam & Eve nakedness (
this is cool open window thought.
the poems are somehow all beautiful here.
the pains somehow all just pains We endure.
I might think differently if not for this pen,
You— and all your {music}.
I might pen this differently if not for
the {music of You}.
this is time
ticking…………………………………………Perfect.
the kisses never cease when (We) are like this.
the closed—eye strategies just bleed; the exits just
fingertips; the philosophy just saliva & flesh & song &
cigarettes; this is open window Adam & Eve tango
nakedness; this is penned night music.
this is (We) &
(We) are this.
The Serenity of Serena
(or The Art in my Life)
)Sketch for me something I can’t explain
and I’ll create for you a riddle using my own name(
Your paper bag alley parodies are all ne plus ultra
your mantra repeats “Grandma’s leg is a key. Grandma’s leg is a
key. Grandma’s leg is a key. Grandma’s leg is a key”…
to your house which is a car
that drives the world’s lug nuts along
the bottoms tops and throughs
of your huge illustrations of coffee-stained streets
while your pen & ink cables unravel
lyrical electricity which generates
stroke-smoking music only you know the words to
euphony you fit into precious locket portraits
(Sometimes I can hear it)
)Paint for me something I never imagined
and I’ll write you a novel full of my confessions(
Your glass-bottom boat eyes
float to the surface
swimming in the
shadows of penciled faces
ascending for air-wired heavens
to the havens of bedrooms
not cluttered by sleeping
not interrupted by
the minute movements you use to
breathe organic phenomenon
into this still life
suspended in the outer clay of space.
(It’s silver screen stillness)
)Cast for me an image I can carry with me always
and I’ll compose you a new philosophy within the hour(
To keep up with you
the edges of razors have no choice
but to fake sharpness
To keep up with you
paints must forge their own colors
To keep up with you
poems must pretend to know their own meaning
To keep up with you
the world must make-believe it understands silence
To keep up with you
razors must paint a world of poetics quietly
(But this is doubtful)
)So I’ll write you a poem without your asking
Yes, I’ll write you a poem without your asking(
Just so you can risk
a response in
your tiny canvas
intricacies
Just so I can
sound out my madness
Just so we may last
all the hours
treading water in breathless seas
Just so we
may remember how useless clocks
truly are in the codas of our art
Just so I sing for you
a song of Serenity
a poem from this heart
you’ve so carefully
colorized in me
(or The Art in my Life)
)Sketch for me something I can’t explain
and I’ll create for you a riddle using my own name(
Your paper bag alley parodies are all ne plus ultra
your mantra repeats “Grandma’s leg is a key. Grandma’s leg is a
key. Grandma’s leg is a key. Grandma’s leg is a key”…
to your house which is a car
that drives the world’s lug nuts along
the bottoms tops and throughs
of your huge illustrations of coffee-stained streets
while your pen & ink cables unravel
lyrical electricity which generates
stroke-smoking music only you know the words to
euphony you fit into precious locket portraits
(Sometimes I can hear it)
)Paint for me something I never imagined
and I’ll write you a novel full of my confessions(
Your glass-bottom boat eyes
float to the surface
swimming in the
shadows of penciled faces
ascending for air-wired heavens
to the havens of bedrooms
not cluttered by sleeping
not interrupted by
the minute movements you use to
breathe organic phenomenon
into this still life
suspended in the outer clay of space.
(It’s silver screen stillness)
)Cast for me an image I can carry with me always
and I’ll compose you a new philosophy within the hour(
To keep up with you
the edges of razors have no choice
but to fake sharpness
To keep up with you
paints must forge their own colors
To keep up with you
poems must pretend to know their own meaning
To keep up with you
the world must make-believe it understands silence
To keep up with you
razors must paint a world of poetics quietly
(But this is doubtful)
)So I’ll write you a poem without your asking
Yes, I’ll write you a poem without your asking(
Just so you can risk
a response in
your tiny canvas
intricacies
Just so I can
sound out my madness
Just so we may last
all the hours
treading water in breathless seas
Just so we
may remember how useless clocks
truly are in the codas of our art
Just so I sing for you
a song of Serenity
a poem from this heart
you’ve so carefully
colorized in me
91.
if I find smiling
will you wire music
and sing painted sounds?
tonight—
shadows merged
with cackling desire
*clowns*
if I find smiling
will you wire music
and sing painted sounds?
tonight—
shadows merged
with cackling desire
*clowns*
101.
I found soul courage
through uncaring dreams
as your shoes became
visible trees
Love, my hot flesh
hides soft praises.
I found soul courage
through uncaring dreams
as your shoes became
visible trees
Love, my hot flesh
hides soft praises.
Luggage
another soul tear for you…
another lost breath moment…
another slowly walking away…
another don’t turn around…
another wave from the street…
another open car window wave…
another don’t turn ‘round…
another $5 phone call five minutes later to say yet another I
love you…
another page turned…
another page turned…
another pen lost in the shuffle…
another muffled tear in my pocket…
another wish without a penny…
another passer by wonderin’ why anyone could be so sad…
another ‘things have changed’ poem…
another $5 phone call…
another sleeping dream awake…
another trippin’ up the stairs…
another set of hopes penned…
another lost breath moment …
another day old paper…
another book read…
another breakfast menu…
another beer with eggs…
another Another Day…
another add up the months and multiply by 30…
another cup of black coffee…
another tear…
another $5 lost breath walk away slow… waving tear in my
pocket phone call page turned.
another soul tear for you…
another lost breath moment…
another slowly walking away…
another don’t turn around…
another wave from the street…
another open car window wave…
another don’t turn ‘round…
another $5 phone call five minutes later to say yet another I
love you…
another page turned…
another page turned…
another pen lost in the shuffle…
another muffled tear in my pocket…
another wish without a penny…
another passer by wonderin’ why anyone could be so sad…
another ‘things have changed’ poem…
another $5 phone call…
another sleeping dream awake…
another trippin’ up the stairs…
another set of hopes penned…
another lost breath moment …
another day old paper…
another book read…
another breakfast menu…
another beer with eggs…
another Another Day…
another add up the months and multiply by 30…
another cup of black coffee…
another tear…
another $5 lost breath walk away slow… waving tear in my
pocket phone call page turned.
The Eat Write Café Internet site updated December
2008
© Copyright 2003-2008, David Allen ; all rights reserved.
The Eat Write Café (And Traveling Poets Society).
.
2008
© Copyright 2003-2008, David Allen ; all rights reserved.
The Eat Write Café (And Traveling Poets Society).
.
Electric Gorillas
Lost in the window pane,
lost in the veil of something
just north of crazy but below/due south of insane.
it amazes me.
looking around or UP at DOWN.
looking at something less than what used to be my
dreams (which frown like electric gorillas),
touching wildly here as your fingertips clutch my face
tracing its window panes;
its dirty atom armies.
I lap the vintage vinyl colors springing from your lips
swallow them in the currency of my throat;
your touch
is at the tip of my wit;
your touch is like 'push'
)what touching cannot express(
trudging the road we March Down at Dawn.
into the space I contest
is the home of throat currency.
the Zoo of vintage vinyl colors
)what touching cannot express(
window panes lost,
crazy north due south,
insane veils,
electric gorilla cages
turned UP-side DOWN.
it's a witching hour of beats
we're taking to the pavement.
Lost in the window pane,
lost in the veil of something
just north of crazy but below/due south of insane.
it amazes me.
looking around or UP at DOWN.
looking at something less than what used to be my
dreams (which frown like electric gorillas),
touching wildly here as your fingertips clutch my face
tracing its window panes;
its dirty atom armies.
I lap the vintage vinyl colors springing from your lips
swallow them in the currency of my throat;
your touch
is at the tip of my wit;
your touch is like 'push'
)what touching cannot express(
trudging the road we March Down at Dawn.
into the space I contest
is the home of throat currency.
the Zoo of vintage vinyl colors
)what touching cannot express(
window panes lost,
crazy north due south,
insane veils,
electric gorilla cages
turned UP-side DOWN.
it's a witching hour of beats
we're taking to the pavement.
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EWC No. 7, December 2008