yesyes

I confess
I listen to klick and klack
I leave the toilet seat up sometimes
I fart when no one is around
I try to buy the cheapest beer
I leave work as early as possible
I worry about money love taxes
sex food and sex
I worry about image
just to be left alone
I remain silent on purpose
until the ache
of curiosity gets to others
and they call
I surf the ‘net and check
my email every
hour even when I know
nothing is there
I cry when watching city of angels
not for the fallen but for those
caught between here and there

I confess I’m just like
all the rest
I LISTEN TO FOOTBALL
I am obsessed
by a certain woman
I love dogs and cats
I love the raptors
for what they are
I love all women
I love almost all men
I play air guitar
blues mostly
I smoke too much
I drink too much
I drive at unsafe speeds
on unsafe tires
on unsafe roads

I confess I do all this
to please myself
and sometimes
I need to be left
alone with that guy
who haunts me
who continuously hides from
reality when he feels
it is too near the surface
like an image in a mirror
I confess I’m just
a guy doing guy things
so sue me if I get out of line
only don’t let me slip
under the wheels of old age
don’t let them take
my drivers license
don’t let them put a tie on me
and lay me in a casket
I want to be
torched like a roach

I confess the libido
is slowing down
I confess my feet stink
and don’t brush my teeth
all the time
and I buy cheap cigarettes
I confess I’m abnormal
I’m not perfect
but well used
I usually get the obvious
but I don’t see both sides
of arguments consistently
I confess I’m a womanizer
and hate it
wishing it would cure itself
and I could be at peace
for just one fucking minute 

Dave Pishnery

country life

helicopters overhead
the wop-wop of blades
cop cars wail down the street

I can open the window for air
or close it tight
when the sound gets too close

but I can’t save that
old geezers life
or apprehend the petty
thief holed up in
the dry-cleaning store

living above the crowd
I’m insulated from
everyday tragedy
but the sounds keep
fucking with my mind
keeps reminding me
of the game
played out on the street
as if I need reminding
of the petty history
of people caught up
with the day to day joke

I don’t care about this shit
I’m numb from
the frequency of it

I wish I could move
out into the country
away from the chrome death
of gurney’s and midnight specials
but it’s out there too
in the form of mutilated cows
and cherry-bombed mail-boxes

I sit here sweating
in just a pair of shorts
swallowing beer
as swallows dart
around in between
the blocks of apartments
eating insects rising
up
from dumpsters
in the humid July air

I guess I’m still safe

not one hooker
has been seen
on the street
not one gold plated
shit-mobile
has pulled up next to me
offering rocks of coke

it’s only
a question of time
until I get propositioned
and give up my
adolescence

but being away
from the road
under trees
appeals to me
the image of frosted
grass and log fire
better than the
turquoise brick wall
across from me
and
humanity

from November, 2001

Dave Pishnery