Attendance

there's no real reason for you to keep showing up here
we all know
that you don't want to be here
you just like pretending that you do
lying to yourself
lying to us

nothing good is going to come of this
so why don't we just lock the door
and leave you out in the cold?
let you freeze out there
instead of tracking in mud
and ruining this nice clean carpet

it's not that we don't see that you appreciate the offer
but our love is not a cocoon for the caterpillar of your self-loathing
and you will not suddenly become a butterfly
simply because that's what we want

Heather Hendrickson

i got used to being afraid early on
looking at you
wanting you
and not saying a damn word

it became a habit
to keep my mouth shut
and doubt myself
let things slip away that were right there within my grasp

i don't know what would have happened if i'd told you
how
much
i was
in love with you

i don't know if you felt it too
and i don't know if i was just young and foolish
but
it's the not knowing that still bothers me

I'll Still Fly

heaven throw me out
but i'm keeping the halo
you should have no doubt
i am ready for limbo

so hold me
over the fire
of burning desire
i'll still fly

so hold me
down to the pyre
contempt of the choir
i'll still fly

cast me down with the devil
and he shall
cast me in stone
crown me the crown of exile
and i shall
be one to roam

heaven shun my soul
but i will keep on dreamin'
place me in the hole
alongside with the demon

so hold me
trial for judgement
in your begrudgement
i'll still fly

so hold me
in purgatory
take back your glory
i'll still fly

The Vegan Goes Home for Thanksgiving

not knowing what else to do
his family chained him in the basement
with a tofurky and a kombucha tea

he pined for a Whole Foods
and a book of poems
nowhere to be found

with bits of dead bird stuck between their teeth
they asked him
"what are you thankful for?"

Star Trek

where every man has gone before
and i don't think i'll  be too far behind you
but still
it's too bad that we couldn't make peace

it's too bad that we ever fell from
each others graces to begin with
though that is how it happened
and regret is as useless as a feeling to a Vulcan

but i can't watch a rerun of The Next Generation without
wishing
and wondering what if
things had gone another way
for us

XXXmas

she was a naughty girl
and Santa liked that about her

he came down the chimney
and all over her tits
she begged him for more
so under the mistletoe he kissed
her pulsating lips

on the couch
the kitchen floor
and all through the house 
Santa gave it to her good
'til he was hung like a mouse

Anything In The World

if i could be a song
i would be the one most played on your iPod
singing to you through your ear buds on the city bus

if i could be a pillow
i would be the softest one on your bed
the one that you pull close to you chest
and hold onto until morning

if i could be a piece of loose skin
i would be the one on your lips
the one that you nibble at
but are not quite able bite off

if i could be anything
anything in the world
i would be close to you

'Tis of Thee

you will not hear me belligerently bashing
my home
because this is
my home
and i have no plan of leaving

but
you will not hear me jingoistically defending
my home
when i see that it has done wrong
and i will not ignore that wrong

the history of
my home
is not without its due for celebration
nor is it without its due for shame

it is important to see both

Anxiety's Ball

panic
is
my
dance partner
and
we
sashay
to an opus
of
fright

There Is Peace In My Piano

on the other side of yesterday
and this side of tomorrow
mourning and foreboding can be difficult notions to escape
entertaining the unwelcome guest that is silence

terror is the absence of sound
a mind running around in circles
beating a  path into rotten ground until
the quiet seems like an insurmountable hell

but it is not

as i place my fingers upon a few keys
stillness is broken with euphonious magic
the wonder of melody

and somewhere in those notes is god
is the answer to question
is everything

somewhere in those notes
is
peace

The Orange

i was born in a basket of apples
out of place from the start

always berated by questions like
"where is your stem?"
"why are you so round?"

truth is
i had no answer
and to this day i still do not

i wanted to fit in with them
i wanted someday to be in the same pie with them
but it was never to be

so i had to come to accept the citrus in my blood
and though a misfit from the earliest moment i can recall
and though unsure as to why my skin was so rough
i had to begin to love myself

now that i have
and nothing against the apples
i wouldn't want to be anything but an orange

So Alone

he waits for johnny thunders to be on his ears again

while tequila

his sadist lover bites the tongue
between exhaling puffs of smoke through the
window into the gritty night

he has no home where there is sun

no appetite for pancakes with maple syrup

he hungers only
for solitude

lonely songs on the radio

complimenting his isolation

The Uptowner

it was a wednesday night
and as it was
we'd had plenty to drink
and were on the way back to my place from the first bar

i had to work in the morning
so i couldn't afford a late one
but she stopped caring after her fifth Canadian Club and Coke

in the moment she stormed toward the corner tavern
i saw her turn vicious
a monster as she opened the door

i left my self-respect on the sidewalk as
i followed her in to the second bar

the uptowner was notorious in our neighborhood
known ironically as
home of the beautiful people

i'd been beautiful many nights there myself
but on this night all i could see was how ugly we all looked
especially
her

she couldn't see me at all
through the whiskey on her breath
and though i felt like a fool
i stayed

i wanted to protect her

or maybe
i wanted to possess her

or maybe
a little bit of both

but i should have left

that night was the beginning of me losing something
that for the last three years i have been searching witlessly
to retrieve

i don't care that i eventually lost the girl
i care that i ever found her to begin with
and that i followed her into the uptowner
when i should have just gone home alone
that wednesday night

[afraid, i will wait]

afraid, i will wait
until the last minute's here,
then i'll turn to you.

A Lumberjack Turned Piano Man

still he saws
at the legs of his Steinway

old habits only die hard

so he tickles the ivory
cigarette hanging  from his lips
the sounds of falling trees echo in his bedroom

forests he chopped down to find his
way here

upon their bones he paints his notes

thinks of branches that fell
as he tore through their guts
calloused his fingers and
left him with just splinters and
dreams

now
in solitude
he writes his song

maybe someday he'll play it for others
but
unlikely

never convinced that it's finished
never certain that it’s genuine
never confident that he can bare the audience

if they say nothing
it will exasperate him

if they applaud it will remind him
that
they still don't understand

so the sweat drips rhythmically from his brow
melodies of mourning
that will remain hidden
as the trees remain
fallen

he might never share his work
but that he holds it back
is its own music

every note picks a moment but
every bridge becomes a stand-still

"should i cross here?"
he asks himself
"or would i be wisest to go around?"

he knows the wood the beams are made of
and questions their
strength

"if they were so easy to chop down
why should i trust them to hold up?"

but he wonders
“if it was this hard to get here
why should i turn back?"

he finds no answer

perhaps silence is to be
his opus

every pause
a bow of the cello
every worry
a beat of the drum

he’s buried himself with a wall of sound and the
tempo in which he attempts to
claw out
is off time with the other instruments

he sighs
over the remnants of harmonies
cutting himself with a shank carved from crescendos

only a dirge can be his fate

a lumberjack turned piano man
and wrote a song that falls in the forest

     -This is the latest revision of this piece. I feel confident that I have trimmed all the "fat", and what is here is the poem that I always wanted. when this was first written, over ten years ago, it was more than three hundred lines long, and incoherent in parts. I believe this more concise version is the superior version.

Dance Party

i remember her on a cold night
wearing a blue dress that was almost purple
and posing for the camera with a cocktail in her hand

my cheeks were flush with the december air
a drink in my hand and the giddiness that comes from
such a perfect date

the lights of the city were on us all evening
celebration was pumping in our hearts
and we breathed the warmth of conviviality

the night eventually came to an end
and years later
so did we

but i still carry a piece of her with me
and every now and then i let out and watch it
dance around the room

Forgiveness

i am bending a knee
peering into the mirror
at a face i can barely stand to glance at

i am offering him
repentance once again
but doubtfully once and for all

i don't know how
much more remorse i can handle
before i give up on myself

The Old Ghosts Ask Me

the old ghosts ask me
"what have you done?"

to which i say
"i have played guitars, and even bled on them
i have walked endless miles through the coldest nights
and the warmest of afternoons
i have sang my heart out
and prayed to gods both believed in
and not"

they tell me that is not enough

so the old ghosts ask me
"where have you been?"

to which i desperately claim
"in the libraries reading your poems
in the bars drinking your cocktails
in the streets falling in love with your women
and in the depths of madness speaking with you"

snidely they smirk
and tell me that is not enough

the old ghosts ask me
"where are you going?"

i confess
"i do not know"

finally interested
the old ghosts ask me
"well,
how do you plan to get there?"

i tell them
"anyway i can
in a way that's all my own"

they smile with concession and tell me
"you're doing alright"

Vipers in Iowa

three and a half years since i've seen the snow
pristine even in a dirty place like this shit-hole of a town

it reminds me of christmas presents lost in january
then found in april
the frontyard of gramma's house

and i don't miss the cold
but when you juxtapose the bite of the midwest winter
to the sluggish blanket of heat of a texas summer
i feel at home here

whether i like it or not

Bruce Springsteen 2

the way mom and aunt kim would get so excited

when the video would come on mtv

i thought

"that's the life for me"

singing for the working class

with a heart of gold that pays the bills

a backbone and a guitar

but

as it is

i'm working my class off
hoping that maybe i can keep up with rent

and have a little left over for some new strings

Amish Country

whenever i roll in to town i see her
forbidden wires
circuits exposed and on display
electric sin against god

with satan clouding my thoughts
i pray for a shock

He Could Not Stop Playing The Violin

when the neighbors would bang on the walls
screaming through them
telling him to stop
for the love of god
it is three in the morning

when the eviction notice was taped up
citing one too many complaints from the other tenants
and countless unheeded warnings to cease

when the police showed and broke down the door
they had to pull his fingers from the strings
and rip the bow from his hands

their reports called it an obsession
his friends thought it an addiction
his fans said it was love

but
if you asked him he would tell you
it's just who he was

Facebook

what we are sharing is our detachment
like pieces of a puzzle shouting at one another
as if the echo of their voices bring them together

it does not

what we are commenting on are the things that need action
not comments
real fists instead of angry emoticons
real hugs instead of smiley faces

the link to the soul does not lead us to youtube

what we are liking is the illusion of humanity
the most splendid magic trick
making something disappear
we don't even see disappear

America

what I love about this country
is the jazz
the blues and hip hop
and
The Ramones

it all started here

not without struggle
but it makes me believe
to truly struggle is to truly be alive

though
I am quite comfortable tonight
in America

drinking a bottle of wine
as the radio plays classical music
composed in Europe and Russia

and it's good
enough
and it's passionate
enough

but
I'm gonna put on a Nina Simone record when I finish writing this

tHE sUN iS jUST bIGGER

all lights echo
through space and time

living forever is easy

living for today is the difficult part

The Slice of Strife

i won't say that i
enjoy
a challenge

but i certainly prefer it to
a casket

it is better to have to build from the ground
up
than
in the opposite direction

The End of the Party

your conviviality
like a corpse
will decay

every
word
you
say
brings you closer to the last

an outspoken outlaw
on the run from silence

but
eventually
they will shut you up

Contortion

your version of the truth could win medals

acrobat

gymnast

aerobics instructor

honesty

has a lot of flexibility on your tongue

Total Eclipse of the Mart

our savings accounts cry out for more
but we only have so much to give
coins jingling away in the pocket
a few dirty fives in the wallet

the shelves are in need of grocery
but the old mom and pop charges an extra fifty-three cents
for a can of spaghettios
and another dollar thirty-three for a box of cheerios

we don't want to be part of the crowd in the big box store
faceless numbers that try to save what little they have
for a future they don't

choices are fewer than digits in our incomes
and we dance the dance of bargains
and everyday low prices
having forgot what value really means

Missing

Tricia Wozniak went missing on November 23rd
1987
walking home from Arey Elementary

first
there were signs all over town
and then reports of police investigations
every day on the front page of the paper

soon after
the Des Moines news channels started running alerts

 large groups of volunteers would set out each night
helping with the search

Gramma would consistently mention it
during dinner with me and Grampa

"i sure hope they find that girl
and she's okay"
Gramma would say to me

"me too"
i always responded

but i didn't mean it

weeks earlier
when the weather was still warm
i was playing a game of kiss-tag with Tricia and some other girls
at recess

it was a splendid moment that broke up my normal malaise of
spending recess alone
or hanging out with the other weird kids

it was so much fun as i would chase the girls around the black-top and
when i caught them
planted one on their cheeks

afterward
on the way back to the classroom
i told Angie
one of the other girls
that we should totally play that game again tomorrow

to which Tricia exclaimed
"the only reason we played that game with you
is because you're fat and gross
and nobody wants to be kissed by you"

my stomach sank

i knew then that there was
and probably always would be
something wrong with me

in the second week of December
while the town was illuminated with festive Christmas decor
they found Tricia's body under Mr. Carlson's porch
and a darkness that no one expects to fall over their small town
had fallen over ours

Gramma bawled for almost ten minutes when the news broke
and before bed she said to me
"i want you to pray for that little girl tonight"

i assured her that i would

but i didn't

What The Hell Am I Doing With My Life?

when you
don't know
for as long as i haven't known
you start to get used to it

you don't worry so much about solving puzzles
you're just happy to find a few pieces
here and there

you relax
and become less afraid
because nothing has done you in
yet
so you figure that's close enough to wining

whatever anyone else thinks
let them

if they feel they must search for answers
let them

however anyone else has decided to live in this world
so be it

i don't know what I'm doing with my life
and when you don't know
for as long as i haven't known
you get used to it

and that's okay