for nick

a poem, from the book i got you for christmas but still haven't sent. i'm sorry, i'm just really bad about sending things on time. miss you.

"syracuse nights"
stephen dobyns

so your belly feels hungry
and your prick feels hungry
and you hit the streets because your eyes
feel empty and your hands feel empty
your days feel empty, a body
like tepid water and you want it hotter,
want each moment to beat faster.
is this how it happens, my friend?
forget the ardent embraces of your chair,
that your rug adores you and your bed
hankers for the heft of your body.
your nose wants to sniff something,
your tongue wants to taste something,
your throat to drink something,
your fingers to argue, hands argue,
your feet want to whoop-de-doo,
while if your prick had a set of wheels
it would check out the town without you,
it would cruise the side streets without you.
is that how you feel, my friend?
that the air dislikes you and your lungs
feel half empty, your belly half empty?
where do you go when the town shuts down?
you are sick of books and the tv sucks
and you'd like to see one guy haul off
and smack another in the chops or watch
a girl strip off her clothes or have
somebody tell you what makes him fear
in that gray time before dawn or what
he loves or hates or makes him sad
or makes him stand up straight.
is that what you want, my friend?
aren't you afraid that people won't like you,
that the mailman won't respect you,
that the cops will come after you?
eskimos, indians, they've all got your number.
and women? wipe that slobber
from your chin, my friend. try to calm
your trembling hand. even a sheep
would look at you askance. you're
a suspicious character, an eager eater,
a subdivider of many pleasures
and you want it all to move faster,
the blood to move faster, the heart faster,
something on the brain besides this waiting,
this half-alert napping, the body hurtling forward
so fast that the wind sucks tears from the eyes,
a motorcycle on a straight road late at night,
tears streaking your cheeks, engine howling,
dark boredoms shrieking past on either side.
heartfelt, brainfelt, bodyfelt, prickfelt,
rushing full tilt toward your personal zero:
leave a hole, fill in the blank,
i guess your guess is as good as mine.
is that how the nights take you, my friend?

roy - reno, i'm coming home

this song is like an arrow through my head right now. sticking out on either side, piercing through this mess of thoughts, for which it seems i'll never find words...

father asks, is it worth it?
you're broke and in debt too.
mother asks, are you homesick
lonesome and blue?
your twenties will soon be over
and you haven't paid your dues
your classmates already got
some years on you....

see you in april, buddy. love yous.