Lasagna Vaffanculo (anno Domini 2008)

Sometimes friends gather
in fellowship, in amnesty
in exile or in revolutionary
support full of activism
and sometimes they just gather to be
Saturday night they gathered again
some for the first time
welcomed, all
under the poster plastered semi vaulted ceilings
bringing back twisted nostalgia
of the urine smelly Sixteenth Chapel

Sophia and Lollobrigida in murals
a headless Pope Jean Paul II turned
and turned in a lazy Susan
as my friends came together
and after warm Chianti
convinced me to confess my true age

I thank them all for coming
and I remembered all of those
who couldn't be there
I raise my glass
and bow before gnocchi al telefono
for what little I know about life
I remember people like to hold people accountable
therefore you left me no choice
other than to proclaim myself
as truly, totally
and irremediably irresponsible
we are just here to remember.

39

As much as I have lived
which is far more than 39 years
as much as I've loved
which is far more than I can count

As many friends I have
they are very few
so I can love them all
yet it really all comes down to just one thing
Brazil

Everything I've written
is mostly bad
all the places I've been to
I can never wait to go back

All the rum and tequila
the spicy peppers
the rush of shrooms
the lounge high of Acapulco Golden
or a night at "El Baby"
are still no match

As much as I love that Eagle and that serpent
and the stars and stripes on my two birth flags
the one I've held with tears and sweat
is black and red
like my blood
like my heart
Por Sempre Mengao

For nothing, absolutely nothing
makes my blood boil
like "Samba de Enredo"
in the Boa Viagem Carnaval
at 2am

Dancing, groping, kissing
chasing, hiding, laughing
screaming and silently
and slowly melting
my hands on the cinnamon skin
drunk in the hazel eyes
of the ocean salt covered affairs
in the middle of the crowd

The percussion ensemble
is the Amazonic jungle roar
it's alive
it's an engine
in mathematical fuck rhythms

The classic Fla-Flu soccer match
at the Maracana
Vinicius and the girl from Ipanema
is more than heaven or hell could ever be
Therefore, when I die
all I want is Samba
and a wet, Maracuja laced kiss
Wherever I go, I will make a triumphant entry
dancing, one step at a time
39 so far
and Jesus, what a ride...

My Saison en Enfer

If I was a piece of paper
orphan napkin at the cafe
with a telephone number smeared on me
in your voyeuristic lipstick color

or lonely notebook page
enumerated, like an incomplete sentence
one of my silly poems from my stupid heart
in roller ball ink, to you

If not, then a newspaper airplane
but all curled up in a ball
wrinkled, thrown and kicked around on the cold linoleum
or flying on the dirty sidewalk
amongst cars and shoes and dog shit

But my destiny, I guess
is in the butcher's bloody garbage can
perhaps an Evangelist Republican
bible thumper and morose

But it could be worse
much worse
I could be picked up by some tree hugging
granola eating, Subaru driving, Birkenstock wearing
Seattleite lesbian hippie named Sally
only to be recycled into a Starbucks coffee cup

If I was a piece of paper
I'd much rather be a tissue
and die, drunk and drowning
in your Nile of tears

Next

Usually I would write a summary of the year that ended
and then the things I expected to happen on the new one
how naive, how selfish
and commonplace

I haven't lost weight
not that you care
and while I'm smoking much less
I still am
and I'm still the same

Some days I think about her and write about it
and then the things I expect from life
how true, how painful
and senseless

But then there are the days when it rains
when I'm alone
a rain that never ends
my decadently depressive deluge

There's someone knocking at the door
I know it's time to close the blinds
funny how I expect all this water
pouring from the heavens
to wash my sins away

I haven't changed my ways
not that you care
and while I'm smoking much less
I still am
and I'm still the same