Notebook Poems by Mikel K

You cant pour beer on stale cereal

How many times

did I have to hear

that there’s no food

at momma’s, just

plenty of cigarettes

and beer for her

and her new boyfriend.

Sept. 9, 2002

What will I have to do?

I don’t want

to pick up

a whore

from the street.

I want love

next to me, happy,

on the seat.

I am old and ugly.

You are young

and beautiful.

Will money buy you?

What will I have to do?

7-9-97

I slept with Yoko Ono, last night.
It wasn’t a wild sexual dream,
it was loving and artistic.
Though I don’t hero worship him
anymore, I, sometimes, miss
John Lennon.

The Spanish teacher is late, again.
I was late, myself. I wanted to get
breakfast, but didn’t want to be
even later. I could have eaten. I am
starving. Just kidding. There are
homeless who are truly hungry.

My dad hated marijuana, but I bet
that he is rolling a big fat one with
Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and
Janis Joplin, right now.

10-30-96

I cant let the crimes of my youth bind me

Those times are behind me.

I love the urban sounds at my feet.

I love the urban sounds of the street.

If you don’t love the glove,

will you soon be in the grave?

You’re the best love I’ve found

and I’m not on the rebound.

I’ve had time to think;

I approach you without a drink.

Many moods have passed

since I’ve seen you.

Many moons have disappeared

and still I need you.

Momentary visitation

He looked like Muhammad Ali

only bohemian and younger.

He stood outside a bar

holding a drink and smoking

a cigarette, talking

to another young man.

My bus drove off and I’ll never

see either one of them again.

7.31.03

Buses come and go

people enter and leave.

He just sits there.

7.28.03

I woke up thinking about her, again,

the one who I have never met,

the one who I will never meet,

the one I will never kiss,

the one whose hand I will never hold.

July 25, 2003

Waking up on a bus

Lotsa lotion on her legs

and a bible in her hands.

She gets off the bus

and so does the big-mouthed lady

but she is immediately replaced

by two kids fighting

over a McDonald’s toy.

I like to wake up quietly

but this bus, this morning,

is not the place to do it.

July 23, 2003

From trash can to trash can

Twenty years later

he’s still walking

up and down the sidewalks

with a trash bag in his hand

walking from

trash can to trash can.

7.22.03

Depression revisited

Anything to get out of my head.

Sometimes, I’d rather be dead.

Sometimes, I can’t get out of bed.

7.22.03

Old men who can’t get it up any more

telling us where to put our cocks

what do with our uteruses

stealing our votes

stealing our 401ks

polluting our earth

sending our kids to die in their wars

underpaying us

if they pay us anything at all.

7.22.03

Desire

I want to go into a place

where girls will do anything

for money(not really); only

I’m broke(not really).

I want to catch the next plane

for San Francisco, have coffee

and a taco in The Mission District

only I can’t afford a ticket.

I want to write a song,

but I’ve smashed every guitar

that I’ve ever owned.

I want to look in the mirror

without running away.

July 22, 2003

Come dance

with me.

I can’t dance alone

any longer.

7.30.03

I feel a guilt; a deep Roman Catholic guilt.

These hands weren’t built

for fighting but they did

but now I’ve retired them

having learned to put passive

where aggressive used to be

4.1.98

Talk about the beginning

now that we’re at the end;

you became my love

but first you were my friend.

4.1.98

I would never want to go on the nod.

I’m scared if I relapse that I’ll use a needle.

I guess that I’ll turn it over to God.

Will I be reincarnated as a Beatle?

Drugs for me turned out to be no good.

Do you drink too much and hit young girls?

If you do, knock on wood,

you might wind up in front of a judge.

Look at me in the mirror brushing my teeth.

Am I happy with what I see?

4-1-98

I'm an illegitimate son.

I’ve come to stand up

for myself.

I walked into England

past heads bleeding.

My parents did it

with twelve kids in the crib.

He didn’t go to prom

because he read

Dickens’ “Great Expectations.”

3.31.98

No time to be a writer

These credit cards are burying me

keeping me from my dream.

3-31-98

I’m a slave

to my possessions

ones that I already own.

I can’t even remember

what I bought

that ran up the bill;

miss a payment

it’s twenty bucks more

and a nasty letter

followed by a dunning letter.

Please, God of credit

help me pay my bills.

3-31-98

I want to write a short story

can you tell me how?

I want to tell a tale.

I want to tell it now.

3.31.98

While the other kids watch color tv

He is twelve years old and he says

that he wants to play pro baseball.

He is a skinny kid, so I tell him

that he will need to do push ups.

He looks at me funny when I say this.

You are skinny, like I was as a kid,

maybe even skinnier, I tell him, and if

you want to have a shot at your dreams

you are going to have to be doing push ups

while the other kids are watching color tv.

August 16, 2001

Under the hot sun we wander

from old beat up pickup truck

to cars repossessed,

to a twenty year old Mercedes

that was left on the side of the road.

They all wound up here, locked behind

a fence that is open to us

on this hot, hot Atlanta Saturday.

People have come here to bid

on these vehicles, to find them a deal.

I have come here to find something

to drive the kid to school in.

August 11, 2001

The dog walked me.

We passed three cops

busting two people.

The dog pissed and shit.

Dec. 1, 1999

Flashback

He said that he would be spending the night at home, tonight; which is good. Today is Friday and the ninth grade for my son started on Monday. On Tuesday, I wrote down all his classes, in order, with each class’s teacher’s name beside the class that they teach. I told my son that I would like a few minutes of his time. I went down the list of classes and teachers and asked my son how he liked each one.

August 13, 2003

I saw this girl, at the drugstore, who I thought was this girl who I used to know, who I didn’t really want to talk to, so I escaped to the cash register in the back of the store, and kind of peeked out at her from the corner of my eye.

She didn’t have any tattoos, which was kind of weird, because she used to be covered in tattoos. In fact, tattoos kind of defined her existence. Really, she would have been nothing, in her own mind, without all those cool tattoos.

I paid for my purchase and slipped out of the store.

Aug. 15, 2003

There’s really no use getting pissed off

about anything, now, is there? I missed a train,

today, by seconds, and said oh well, I guess

that I’m meant to pull out a notebook and

write; wound up sleeping instead.

The next train got me to a station where

the bus that I needed was pulling in

right as I got there. Things have a way of

working out, if you let them.

Aug. 16, 2003

Constant longing

for years for things

that never happened

love

radio air play

publication without

putting a manuscript

in the mail.

Oct. 20, 2001

Some guys can make a million dollars

going door to door with a vacuum cleaner,

a sample of beef, a bag of air.

Oct. 19, 2001

Class A Kids

I’m at a fast food place sipping on coffee
seeking the energy for a workout
that my brain wants to blow off.
I figure that two cups of large coffee
will give me the motivation that I need
to bench press, curl, squat and push up.
Before this, I was at the discount bakery;
I bought four loaves of the four for a dollar bread:
good for you, all natural, goes bad fast if you
don’t freeze it. The thought hit me how I am
raising my kids on second hand bread and thrift store clothing
but that it doesn't matter because they are Class A Kids.

Oct. 20, 2001

I have a free moment. I don’t think that I have had a free moment in years, and when I had those free moments, years ago, before the kids, it could be said that I wasted them, except that they helped put me right here where I am today, on solid footing.

If I am a good father, it might be because I was a lousy son. If I can be a good friend, it is because I was a lousy brother, if I can stay sober, it’s because I got drunk for so many years.

Oct. 20, 2001

While I was out there

trying to be a poet rock star

other people were becoming

doctors, and lawyers, and nurses.

Feb. 16, 2002

I don’t like people.

I think that they’re fucked,

whether they’ve got a million dollars

whether they are down on their luck.

Oct. 12, 2001

A slow southern drawl

Some days, I want to

record every thought

that I have and some days

I do exactly that.

The doctor gave me

some new pills, today;

that will make me talk

not so fast.

Does that mean that I’ll go

from being a fast talking Yankee

to a slow Southern drawl?

Oct. 18, 2001

Sibling

My mother gave me a brother

and the minute that he was born

I hit him on the lip.

Oct. 12, 2001

Sunlight pure from God

I need really bright light to read, these days,

sunlight pure from God is the best.

The artificial kind that you have to buy

light bulbs for and pay by the month to have

simply don’t work as well.

2.15.02

Ying yang ugly pretty skinny fat

My brain is rattling

like that of a homeless dog;

every woman is like a doctor

waiting to give her opinion

some say they’ll pray for you

some start to scream.

Feb. 15, 2002

Killing us softly with their song

They can’t lock us all up.

They can’t kill us all.

Feb. 15, 2002

I’m a major league player

on a losing team.

2.15.02

There are days when

it seems useless and pathetic

to be a writer.

Mikel K

July 16, 2003

I don’t want to be like everyone else

I’ve never been much like everyone else

or is it that I just thought that I wasn’t like

everyone else, or was it that I tried to not

be like everyone else?

Aug. 16 2003

Conformity

What if Emily Dickinson had gotten a Masters

in Poetry and then had gone on to get a Ph. d in Poetry?

What if Sylvia Plath had not stuck her head in the oven?

Sept. 22, 2003

Dear God,

It is raining, today.

Thanks for this dry bus

that I am riding on

and for the umbrella

that sits inside my backpack

waiting for me should it be

necessary to use it.

Sept. 22, 2003

A hard time

Somebody please give me a house.

Somebody please give me a car.

Yeah right.

For the most part,

somebody gives me a hard time.

Sept. 22, 2003

I hate fake hippies

scum bags with long hair

trying to fuck as much pussy

and grab as much cash

as The Bush Family

but acting like peace and love

is their game.

September 22, 2003

Hurry up and wait

She is nineteen
wants to work for The FBI
because she was too short
to be a pilot.
I am forty and need two classes
to get my English degree.
We are both stuck in
the same financial aid line.
A female janitor
pushes a grey trash can about
as she cleans things.
The financial aid lady screams
“Next!” and helps another student
with their monetary woes.
A young African-American female
who has big brown eyes
and is wearing a hot pink mini-dress
has made it to the top of the line.
I sit in a comfortable chair
uncomfortably waiting for an answer
to my financial aid dilemma.

Mikel K
9.19.97

I haven’t written a poem in weeks

Shakespeare has taken over;

the pursuit for a degree:

Shakespeare is my final class.

I am at the pizza place, now;

no one is calling for deliveries.

May 22, 1998

Sweet Child of Mine

He was five when I met him

content with a can of sprite

and cartoons. Today, he washes

dishes, and sweeps the floor,

at the place where I deliver pizza.

May 2, 1998

The phone is not ringing much, tonight.

It is a gorgeous spring day

and everyone is out enjoying it

not calling in for me to deliver them a pizza.

May 22, 1998

Nothing

comes to my head.

Nothing

comes to my pen.

Maybe I’m not

a poet, anymore.

Maybe I’ll have to

go back to school

and learn how to

fix washing machines

or learn how to bowl

or sell vacuum cleaners

door to door

or join The Army

or get a job with a pension

like my father wanted me to.

May 6, 1998

I borrowed fifty six grand to get an education

that would allow me to apply for a

twenty two thousand dollar a year job.

They sent credit card applications to me, in the mail,

knowing I wouldn’t bail on the debt, because I wanted a house

in the suburbs.

Aug. 25, 2000

I’m trying to forget

all that I regret.

11.7.97

I look you in the eyes

but your eyes are closed.

11.7.97

Blow

I’m waiting until

the last moment, again

to find a friend.

It’s time to make my move

get in a groove.

I’ve moved too slow

felt the blow.

Nov. 7, 1997

No love from Natalie

I’m in the wrong lane

going one way.

I’m never going to

make it back home.

I’m alone.

My room used to be

full of her laughter.

I’ll take a hug

in the hereafter

over a blowjob in the now.

This morning, I’ve got to

get to school, she had to

go to work.

Natalie Merchant won’t

love me because I had

a hamburger, last night.

I know what’s right

but, sometimes, it’s

just so hard to do.

November 7, 1997

I've had too much to think

I want to drive fast

to the picture show.

I hate missing the opening credits.

November 6, 1997

If I had to

I’m lonely in this crowd

because I’m not with you

but I could leave you tomorrow

if I had to.

If I had to I would climb

the rock of Gibraltar

to reach you.

I need you

but I’m happy alone

if I have to be.

Nov. 5, 1997

Pre C Pap

I’m laying in bed hoping

that my baby will return.

I’m laying in bed hoping

that my lover will learn

how to live with my snoring.

I drove her out of bed.

I wish that she would

walk in and surprise me

but, surprise, the surprise

is on me.

I’m willing to

but I’m not going to.

It would just cause me

too much pain.

Feb. 3 2004

Can I ask you a mini favor?

Don’t try to be my savior.

Feb. 14, 2004

It’s really nice to know

that I mean nothing to you.

Have you found somebody else

thought you are still standing

right in front of me?

Feb. 14, 2004

The only thing that I do wrong

around here

is to let my dog poop

on the grass and not pick it up.

I see the maintenance guy

giving me dirty looks

as he walks around the grass

blowing leaves

but I just give him a big ole smile.

I hate the sound of that blower thing

that he uses as much as he hates

stepping in my dog’s shit.

Dec. 22, 2003

Summer won’t change me

and neither will Mary Anne

but Melissa, well, maybe.

Feb. 14, 2004

I’m a noboby.

Won’t somebody

love me.

Feb. 12, 2004

He graduated the year

I was born

I heard him tell

a man much older

than himself.

Three generations

of males sitting

in the lobby

of the eye doctor

waiting for.

Dec. 18, 2003

Is it sad or normal?

They all have

similar cars

parked all day

in lots that

look the same.

They come and go

from houses that

are nearly identical.

Dec. 18, 2003

No one is taking my picture.

No one is asking for my autograph.

Dec. 16, 2003

Be careful of your opinion

We inherit

ourselves

later

after

we have

retired.

Attitudes, thoughts

opinions rise

from the dead

and walk on water

via our children.

Be careful of your opinion.

Make sure that it’s what you mean.

Young ears are listening.

December 15, 2003

Unobtainable

to be like the other guys

they punch the clock regularly

buy houses and cars.

I wander through my existence

with not much more than

a notebook and a pen.

December 15, 2003

I wanna be like the other guys

who chase butterflies

and catch them without a net.

That would be really something

that would make me very happy,

I bet.

December 14, 20003

Taking the dog out to shit

Dead brain waves induced by prime time tv

we could have solved the world’s problems

but we watched Survivor, instead.

The kid is no longer a child. I’m getting older,

and I need to take the dog out to shit.

December 14, 2003

A bite of steak smiles at me

Dogs bark.

Brownies get eaten

until there are

only three left.

A bite of steak

smiles at me

from the table

but I decide to

leave it alone.

December 14, 2003

I am jealous of those

killing themselves,

I think, as she lights

another cigarette.

December 14, 2003

At age 43, I am too old to be a punk rocker.

I’m supposed to be teaching the next generation

how to conform, but I can’t.

July 7, 2000

The woman had a fish

on the back of her car

and I wondered if I smashed

into her would she be Christ-like.

July 7, 2000

Down Here

I’m down here

at the bottom

and I can’t stop.

I’m down here

at the bottom

asking the homeless man

if he gots another rock.

July 5, 2000

Get off my air

She is out in front of him.

He walks past many empty seats

to the one immediately in front of her,

sits down and starts singing and banging

his umbrella on his seat to accompany himself.

She doesn’t look up, which is probably

the best thing that she can do.

The train stops, making us get off

to wait for another train. A high school kid

dressed like a big time rapper sings,

“Put that thing in your mouth.”

Demented crack heads on the train system

thinking that they are on MTV.

Stage Hand

This stage hand told me how those stage hands over there are short haired fascists who like to beat long haired hippies up and I said that’s not true I know eight out of ten of them and they don’t beat anybody up, they just look like they could if they had to.

I had been warned that the gig would be hard; bring a hammer and a wrench and a hard hat and be ready to lift steel all day in the hot sun.

It’s one thirty, now; we’re half way through our hour lunch break and all we did from 8am until 1pm was lift plywood off of forklifts and make paths with it on the field so that the grass wouldn’t be ruined when forklifts started driving across it with steel for the stage and towers on the side of the stage that hold the speakers

and lights.

During lunch, one stage hand told me stories about eating burgers with Kid Rock and how Pamela Anderson, at the time, had a bus to herself for her and her kids on Kid Rock’s tour, and how John Mellencamp likes things to be done right, but that he is not an asshole. The guy said that in 1989 he and his girlfriend sold alfalfa sprouts sandwiches in the parking lot outside Grateful Dead shows and how he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do the day that Jerry Garcia died.

April 25 2002

A shit stained pair of underwear

Some asshole left a shit stained pair of underwear

in the porta john. Fortunately, there were two porta johns

available, so I took my lunch time dump in the one that

was shit-stained underwear free.

Gosh, those things are convenient, but nasty as hell.

It is really gross to look down inside the artificial toilet

to deep in the hole that you shit into; all you see is feces

for miles of every color and smell imaginable.

April 25, 2002

Am I a pervert or what?

She looked psychotic

like so many red heads do.

When she walked away from our table

I saw a tattoo above her ass.

When she sat down,

below her tattoo peeked out

the neatest white underwear

strap like on the sides.

She looked over at me

and, suddenly, pulled her

pants up and I resumed

sipping on my cola beverage.

April 24, 2002

No problem

She bought 26 more lottery tickets

with the eighty dollars that she

had won the day before in the lottery.

I kidded her that she needed to go

to Gamblers’ Anonymous, but “ I don’t

have a problem,” she said and both I

and the cashier laughed.

April 24, 2002

Same

I like

bravado in poetry;

macho bad-assed ness.

Bullshit.

I like to believe

the written line

though I know

very

often

a crock of shit.

Fallible:

full of the same

lies

and

truths

that I speak.

1989

Stepping Out

He says, “Hey, who told you that you could go there?”

Who told you that you could walk on my grass?” and

I realized that no one had told him that he could walk

on the grass. He had probably just wandered over to the

grass like he did at home where it was ok to walk on the

grass; only, now, he wasn’t at home and it wasn’t ok to

walk on the grass.

The rules change; sometimes suddenly, like from one

crack in the pavement of a city sidewalk to the next

and the walker is not always aware of the change.

1989

This makes me as sad

We should teach the kid karate she said

and I wasn’t sure if I agreed

for when you learn to grow fruit

you grow fruit

and when you learn to grow vegetables

you grow vegetables

and it sucks that, in this world,

you might have to defend yourself

and I know that if we got rid of all the guns

got rid of all the knives

erased all mind of offensive

hand and foot striking techniques

that nothing would change.

1989

Possession

Her eyes burn

with a dark intensity.

Her smile is intense;

total pleasure

in the face of adversity.

She is not broken.

I can’t describe her beauty

with this pen and paper;

they seem inadequate

of doing the job.

I wish I could share with you

the pleasure of happiness

that we possess.

1989

Pregnancy

An ordinary adventure

we are on

like one pursued

by so many billions of people.

1989

Dry Run

Last night, we entered ob gyn through the emergency room.

There was an emergency: my nerves as I sat in the labor room

and waited. I’ve never given birth before.

1989

Unemployed and pregnant

We eat ice cream in the rain
and walk through the square
and I think how my public image
would be blown to be seen
holding hands with a pregnant woman
my other hand on the head of a seven year old kid.
I'm not drunk; I'm not promoting poetry;
I'm not promoting madness
a public image that I assiduously sought out
for years, that is not me, anymore.
We look normal as we cross the street
three of us in love
mother chastising son for crossing the line
scared he will be struck by a car.
I shaved, today.
At thirty two, I still can’t grow a beard.
My scruffy image is gone.
I need to find a job.
I’m unemployed and we’re pregnant.

January 1989

Love

Love says I snore.

Love says when it’s time

to go to bed,

who to look at,

where to get a job,

and on what to spend money.

Love says don’t look

at that magazine.

June 20, 1997

Don’t mess with me or my dog

My dog is so mellow

that if you broke

into my house

he would probably

help you carry the tv out,

but when I walk down

bad streets

the meanest men

vacate the sidewalk.

November 21, 2002

And what was I wearing?

The seats on
the Northbound train
were covered with
white folks.
The seats on the
southbound train
were covered with
black people and
Mexican people.
The outbound folk
wore suits.
The inbound folks
wore fast food outfits
and filthy clothes.

Mikel K
February 13, 2003

Five dollar coffee

I say to him why don’t you

check into a hospital, man,

are you schizophrenic I think

he says yes but he was just

trying to get close enough

to my table to bend over

and pick up a cigarette butt

off of the floor.

I say lock him up

not cuz he’s evil

but because he doesn’t

stand a chance

is this freedom that

you’re giving him

letting him wander the sidewalks

of The USA from trashcan

to trashcan?

Lock him up.

Give him a bath

and some clean clothes.

Feed him.

Find out what his mental illness is.

Give him his meds.

Teach him something

that could make him useful

to not only himself, but to all of us.

How much longer can you sit back

and watch a man eat from a trashcan

while you sip on your five dollar coffee?

February 13, 2003

A lunchtime realization

My son, Graem, and I are having lunch.

Well, I am having lunch, Graem is having

hot chocolate and ice cream. The waitress

talked my son into having a scoop of cinnamon

ice cream with his scoop of chocolate ice cream.

Graem, age 6 now, is reading to me from his

sister’s book. I just realized that he can soon

read my writing and poetry. Oh my God!

September 14, 1995

Who’s going to know?

A little bit to the right.

A little bit to the left.

Who’s going to know

the difference

as long as we get along.

One man says that

Christ is the way.

That girl says that

unless you’re gay

that you are a breeder

and that’s not ok.

Right wing.

Left wing.

Democrat.

Republican.

Gold digger.

Altruist.

Master.

Slave.

A little bit right.

A little bit wrong.

Who’s going to know

the difference?

May 7, 2002

Please

I said to my reflection

your character needs inspection.

Your motives are not

above detection.

Perhaps it’s time for introspection.

On my knees, I shouted

to the one above…please!

August 4, 2000

There is a phone

in front of me

but I have

no one to call.

May 2, 2002

There are no poems left

inside of me; they have been

replaced by time on a jiu jitsu mat

hours in a gym

lifting weights

losing weight

walking for hours

on the treadmill.

August 2, 2000

Not full either

We all know how to

hold hands.

We all know how

it feels when nobody

gives a damn.

She doesn’t even give me

a cold stare. She acts like

I’m not even there.

It used to bother me

but, today, I am not so empty.

August 2, 2000

The one I’m lookin’ for

I’ve met girls with big houses.

I’ve met girls with jaguars.

I’ve met girls other guys would die for,

but I haven’t met you yet

the one I’m lookin’ for.

August 1, 2000

Nothing

What do you say

when you’ve got

nothing to say?

Which debt

should you satisfy

when you ain’t got

a nothing to pay?

July 23, 2000

I used to be an intense worrier.

I worried about just about everything.

As I took out the trash, tonight, at work

I remember that I used worry about the

garbage and where it was going. Isn’t

that some trash?

December 13, 1998

Christmas 1998

Cars covered in Christmas trees

blanket the road. Many trees

are set up and are not, yet, decorated.

I will mail my car payment in late

to have money for Christmas.

Santa must be at the mall by now;

the stores have been pushing Christmas

since before Halloween. I don’t know

what my kids want for Christmas

and I don’t care: I will take the easy way out

and give them the cash that should go to the car.

December 7, 1998

Perpetually Cloudy

I wish that I had a woman

to go see,

but all I see are the homeless

sitting around waiting

for someone to throw them

a sandwich from a truck.

I also see a busboy cleaning

up the bar. Alcoholics

who have yet to become homeless

drank in here, last night,

and peed on the floor.

It is a cloudy day, again;

I think it’s going to rain forever.

September 26, 1997

Repeat Offender

I stole a pen

and I feel bad.

I stole a pen

and I’ll do it again.

The Right Pill

I resent this chemical invasion

of my brain that starts my day

in anger making me want to

yell at the ones I love because

they happen to be around

making me want to smash windows

though I do not follow through

on either emotion.

Dear Lord, in whom I have trouble

believing in, when I am ill

please heal me.

Dear Doctor, please prescribe

the right pill.

September 26, 1997

Pollution

It seems that

the only students who gather

outside the school library

for a breath of fresh air

before and after class

are the smokers.

The other students

scurry on not engaged

in conversation

not engaged in polluting

the polluted air.

September 26, 1997

Looking at a young girl’s tits

How can she have such large breasts

at such a young age I wonder;

an old man sitting on the school wall

looking at a young girl’s tits.

9.26.97

It has stopped raining,

Thank God. Behind me

a beautiful Asian girl

smokes a cigarette

and I think how

she would be so much

more beautiful

if she didn’t smoke.

But, what business

is it of mine?

I am just a lonely poet

looking for things to observe

things to trap and kidnap

imprison in this notebook.

September 26, 1997

Despite all the pills

I am depressed and I want to shoot myself

is how the day started. I am bored and I want

to got to sleep is how I feel, right now.

After class, I will sink into my pillow

then I will awake and see the shrink

and tell her that I am a violent jealous man

prone still to depression despite all the pills.

September 26, 1997

Stupidity Fluidity

I am awake

too early

45 minutes

to kill

in the library.

I sit;

people talk

in here

making it hard

to read

Milton,

as if

it wasn’t already

hard enough

to read Milton.

9.26.97

Can I write about every thought?

Is happiness store bought?

Will I ever find a love?

Should I make it without a glove?

Do you want to know what’s on my mind?

I assure you it’s not very kind.

It’s early morning, what am I doing up?

I’m a mean old dog, not a pup.

Paranoia

The alarm

on watch

sounds

at 7am.

I didn’t see it.

Is someone trying

to tell me something?

I am paranoid.

I cannot avoid

these strange feelings.

There is something wrong,

I feel moving on

from others’ idle conversation.

9.26.97

She is now my ex

without ever having been my love.

We talked on the phone a bit

emailed

and I tried to beat the shit

out of the last guy who fucked her.

September 25, 1997

Low self-esteem

Low self-esteem
didn’t raise his hand
and tell the strangers
that he’d been jealous
and violent.

Low self-esteem
didn’t tell them
that he was no good
at dating.

Low self-esteem
didn’t tell them
that he’d have to
go on beating off
some more.

September 25, 1997

September 25, 1997

There is no room

There is no solution

only mind pollution;

more fog from

the mouths of strangers

rumbling on a foreign planet.

I’ll never land.

This didn’t turn out

like I’d planned.

It’s out of hand.

Time to go back to the womb.

Oh no, there is no room

September 25, 1997

Removal

I cry.

I throw things.

I take a shower

and get out of the house.

September 25, 1997

Now I am without

I feel uncertain about my moves

like I might break out into an extreme

act of random violence, throw my best

right fist into the face of some guy

for cutting me off in the coffee house line.

I thought that I knew how to fit in

but still I am without.

September 25, 1997

9.25.97

I woke up this morning

wanting to smash windows.

I feel a little better, now;

I only want to smash doors.

Apologies

I apologize to myself

for what I did to you.

I apologize to you

for what I did to me.

I apologize to no one

for nothing.

I apologize to everyone

for everything.

I am alone.

Does anyone want to

apologize to me?

September 25, 1997

Pot Pie

I’m not a virgin

hiding in my closet.

I’m a lonely man

who loves his small children.

I walk the dog.

I drink coffee.

I look at pictures of you

that don’t exist.

Tonight, I ate a pot pie.

September 25, 1997

What do I do when I’m not having a good day?

Do I scream at the shrink give me another pill?

Do I scream at God I’m not happy with your will?

Do I go to the top of the tallest building and jump?

Do I relapse; ask the crack monkey for another bump?

September 25, 1997

And just watch you turn away

If I could shut my mouth and listen
I might learn, but I have to talk, talk, talk.

Mikel K
Feb 26, 2002

Turn away

If I could shut my mouth and listen

I might learn, but I have to talk, talk, talk

and just watch you turn away.

Feb 26, 2002

I want to see you

Friday and Wednesday

Tuesday and Thursday

Saturday, Sunday, Monday:

those are the only days

that I want to see you.

March 11, 2002

There is nothing wrong with money,

but it won’t keep you out of Hell.

You can turn over all of your assets

to The Pope and start showing up in church

not just on Sunday, but those seven days

a week won’t save you from what you have

already done to the earth

to humanity

to your children

to your next door neighbor

to the man on the street corner

sleeping on top of a cardboard box.

Feb. 22, 2002

I have been at least several different people

Fat boy.

Frat boy.

Punk rock.

Disco dancer.

Made one team.

Got thrown off another team.

Nearly straight A.

Nearly flunked out.

In love.

Broken heart.

Happy.

Angry.

Smiling.

Depressed.

Naked.

Clothed.

2.22.02

I missed the bus

Ate an apple.

Ate an orange;

read a brochure

about me.

“How long have you

been standing here?”

a girl asked me.

“All my life,” I said.

2.2.02

Dream is over

Shuck and jive on

Whitney Drive.

How did successful men

get that way?

No war fought

but hell to pay.

What’s the difference

between Ted Bundy

and a Pink Floyd fan on acid?

Dream is over.

Catholic heaven is closed,

unless you are a Kennedy.

6.23.02

For you

We crawled out of the same hole

at different times. What interested you

didn’t interest me. The umbilical chord

couldn’t keep us together and I’m not

really sure why it should; cuz they told us so?

Just because they called me your brother

doesn’t mean that I was any good for you.

6.20.02

I’m really tense until I get

that first cup of coffee in me.

Today, that first cup is consumed at 10 pm.

I’m pissed off, pissed off in general,

the usual foul angry mood that will

cause me to prematurely have a heart attack

or make cancer cells grow and spread.

6.23.02

I’m 45, today, and am sitting outside a hometown coffee house.

A black guy and a Puerto Rican guy and I are shooting the shit.

My dad hated black guys and Puerto Rican guys. He used to see

them in the park and cuss like a fucking madman.

6.20.02

For all to see

King of the hill

no spotlight on me

no microphone

no one in the imaginary seats

in front of me.

6.20.02

No gasoline on a dead end street

I’m searching for something.

I’m certain;

for something.

I’m searching

for something

but I’m lost.

7.10.97

But she doesn’t care

She doesn’t look like a hooker.

She looks like something took her

far away and now she wanders the streets

in isolation. Men pass her by and stare

but she doesn’t care. She’s alone in a crowd.

She’s in great pain, but she’s not screaming out loud.

7.9.97

The deejay sucks

He’s got no control

over what he plays.

He’s under the

program director’s gaze.

Budweiser and the record labels

call the shots.

7.9.97

Usted es el sol

and I am the wind.

You warm my heart.

Usted es my amiga

para la vida.

I’m there for you

when you’re down.

You stand with me

when I’m angry.

You calm the storm.

Together we are strong

divided

can we go on

yes

but silently, sorrowfully

full of pain.

2.7.98

In at least seven years

I think he asked me if I wanted to publish him, sometime shortly after pointing to the busgirl and saying that she was going to be his editor. He was drinking heavily and, somehow, scared me. I might look “punk” in my new short hair with my old leather jacket on, but I hadn’t broken anyone’s nose in that bar in at least seven years. Sobriety had had ended my violent proclivities.

“I can’t publish you…” I said, “but I could give you a couple of addresses,” and I dropped some names on him, which seemed to piss him off.

“Look pal, I am just trying to show you the type of stuff that each publication was interested in. I mean, if you are a tough punk rock poet, you don’t want to send your harsh words to Women’s Wear Daily, now do you? They just wouldn’t understand your angst or give it any room in their pages, now would they?

2.15.98

Wide awake when it’s time to sleep

My thoughts are not manic.

I’m starting to panic.

The TV is not turned on.

What is wrong.
I must be thinking.

Time to sleep.

I’m in too deep to the caffeine.

2.15.98

She has hooker’s eyes

and she will always

look out from behind them.

2.7.98

A departure in behavior

He decided to walk the dog drunk

a time he, usually, reserved for

pursuing women to have sex with.

2.8.98

Some Pussy

Last night I ate octopus then came

home and got some pussy.

2.8.98

Side street to Hell

Her eyes are trained to look into mine;
for five dollars she would get in my car
and do something that the pope says
consenting adults can’t get into heaven doing.

Mikel K
2.7.98

Cheap Talk

I hate some men
who I have never met
because of the way
that their women talk
about them.

2.7.98

Notebook Poems by Mikel K

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Notebook Poems