i quit my job today

i've never quit a job before

dreaded it for years

but it's here

it's time

many have done it

bukowski did it

many quit their jobs

more have no jobs

and i'm bucking one rotten system in a million

but it's enough to be alive

what can they take

from these mad dogs of glory

from we who write by the glow beyond our open blinds

who sleep with nothing to hide these lights of the dawn

sacred the silence

and sudden the sweetness of petrichor

gurgling up from greedy sidewalks grown fat

on piss and soapy water, the strange liquids of cities,

the rarity of temperance - not one and then the other,

not wind tunnels or hot garbage not life or disease

but something in between - a moment’s moment,

the vital confluence of chance space and desire

to sit and be still and say to oneself this is the time of the changing,

these are the days that will never come again,

the nights to lay out the garden on the fire escape,

to wish growth upon one’s pretty verdant friends,

to make the rain dance and become a cleansing.

returning are the kindnesses of strangers,

the revelations of the city’s artists and scoundrels,

the beauty of doors reopened and closed.

now the days meander and the nights come on like me to you in mint green morning -

soft, familiar, unafraid.

see if you can discern for yourself

the reason you just walked home

fourteen blocks and two avenues

without even a thought of caving to a pack

yet here you sit -

still thinking about what it would be

to slit yourself from wrist to elbow.

it’s not like the food was bad. but then again

bourdain hung himself with a belt in the south of france.

the friend you want to get with

of a friend you did get with

and that latter is to your left in a quiet mood

while the former and those lips of hers

are grabbing your arm across the table

as she’s midway through kissing nothings into the ear of her gigantic

and devastatingly handsome palestinian boyfriend

to whom you thought it was a good idea

to bring up the popular israeli special forces tv show fauda

and he’s got much more sophisticated taste in movies than you

and it’s the first time

in the last three times

you’ve all been together

has not involved clouds of coke consuming

whatever you thought would happen with your night

so it all just seems a little forced.

you write now to occupy your hands

with something other than a blade

because you don’t do that anymore

and later when it passes

recurring feelings of inferiority

this time to a bigger man

there were tent morgues in central park

and it was only ever punctuated

by the self aggrandizing seven pm din

of pots and pans and so many pats on the back.

now the streets can start to bubble and froth up like a spring

but it’s curtains at midnight

so long as our lords and ladies in albany and elswhere

deem and declare it necessary for the health of our vital city.

a curfew in new york is an affront to its existence.

the virus has no idea what time it is and neither do i.

she was much braver about the mouse.

poking around with the swiffer, murmuring to the little guy that had terror shooting down to my toes.

sensing this she murmured to me:

it means you no harm.

i’ve been less scared, less scanning the corners and cracks since.

we first dated a few years ago

it must have been 19 but now we’re all finding that 20 and everything after or before has a strange murky elasticity that isn’t really just about time is it?

i’ve been trying to say people’s names more

but it’s also the absolute least you can do for someone

who would rather you hit raw to curled toe

ropes on abs in sleepy golden light.

she’s a mouse i’m not afraid of and she means me no harm.

cohabitants

part of it all

content to be warm

and tucked away from sight.

it was my fault she got so drunk

i forgot about her size

and i wanted to take care of her

when i came up the stairs

from across the street

to find my poor only child

sick and alone in bed

doing her darndest

to at least miss the sheets.

i held her hair back

rubbed her shoulders

cooed the nothings i know so well

and now sometimes when we fuck

i wonder if it would help me to come if i was rougher

if there’s something in me

deeper in the maze

of the one who wants to tend

to care, to place his head on your belly

and confess himself a boy, a bedwetter, a bravado.

hold me protect me

know my vulnerability is enough. it’s yours

like the pimple on your eyebrow

you wished i had mentioned before we started,

blamed as the cause of my incompletion

it’s the thought that i’m naked

falling like [illegible]

down the bank

into a place

where you are to be cherished

nourished by my love

and i mercifully able to mention

your name at the door,

follow through dark outlets

to grand stages

where my thoughts are not

of myself alone

but of this morning:

you, gathering me in still

wanting something for me

and me wanting it with you

growth is thrilling

cut dead weight

strong roots take time

drink more water

it’s about sunlight

talking makes a difference

name em

shake em

mind the droop

don’t be so precious

get your hands in the dirt

underrated, double-hooped

ballplayer

doberman

crazy horse

keeper of friends

and nicknames

if inconsistently himself

self-scarred

summoning powers

chasing ghosts

lapsed, striving

life experience cannot be faked

a weathered storm is a hard-earned thing

helicopter, dragonfly

would that he could receive what he extends

would that it weren’t so simple

i’m a closet hippy with an old soul and nic is not that.

squirrels to me rats with bushy tails

squirrels to her family

part of the whole

synechdoche, bed stuy

even when they’re leaping

from the backyard maple

to her fire escape

to fuck up her seedlings

i’d declare war

pray to the gods of the garden

hang a pelt on the mast as a warning for the rest.

nic just read the overstory so she’s very enamoured with the thought of this oneness

i tell her

that attitude is nice in theory but not in gardens

it’s about growing things

although the beauty of it all these days is that i don’t have to care

her views are her own

from the garden to the globe

to the growth that could happen

if that rod in her arm goes wonky

or i'm not outta there fast enough

the wind up fifty feet

keeps most of my pests at bay

and there ain’t a tree in sight

for the sore eyes

of barkhopping rodents.

for now it appears the pigeons are too dumb to see what i’ve got cooking up from the earth

and the herbs are starting to ripen in delight.

i brought chef a bunch of purple basil and fresh dill

his “diller,” i am -

and it was in the soup and atop the pollo all through sunday service.

i like coming home exhausted and knowing exactly what i did

it’s a results-oriented business

this gig this garden

this growth

took a klonopin and drank all the leftover prosecco

blacked, autopilot

slashed my arm three times with the blade on my opener

something to do with chef as father

or father as chef

but that won’t be enough for dr carol

and i can’t stand the dissapointment i’ll have to soak in on monday.

are you willing to do what you have to do to stick around?

are you capable of the moment?

can you remember it’s not about the internet telling you the world is collapsing

but rather the lovely couple from cincinnati who seemed to see in you your own future

clear as day, only from age and detachment

don’t experience the distress double

it will always come of its own accord

and you will do what you always do

what you can

what you must

once you eliminate sleep from the equation

i’ve about run out of lasts

in this my own actualization

of the primordial new york bullshit

talking about leaving new york.

this bullet has been bound my way for a year now

and i’m about ready to bite it

like a charleston chew out the freezer.

all this shit will get done

simply because it must

that’s comfort enough

i’ll take stock when i can

for now

i’m fiddling with the drain in the bathroom

it’s clogged like essentially always

before i stop

and remember

it’s not remotely my problem anymore