last stop, terrapin station

8/8/2019 Last Stop, Terrapin Station

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Last Stop, Terrapin Station


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Contents

I

Boys and Girls in America 3

Why doesnt drinking ever learn its lesson? 5On the Highline 6

School Dance 7

tie dye delight 8

The Dining Room 9

Salvation II 11

Memo to My M.O. [what the hell is a modus operandi?] 12

II

novella 17

What Happened in Apartment 4A? 25

III

Everywhere But Here 33in my dreams 35

listen for in-spir-ation 36

an unnecessary incident 37

Salvation 39

Me & You 40

Gone 41

lost laugther in the white mountains 42

Color Photos in The New York Times 44

Statement of Poetics from the Author 48


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I


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Boys and Girls in America

for Jack Kerouac

Isnt it true that you start your life a sweet child, believing ineverything under your fathers roof? Took off his oversized

smoking jacket & penny loafers and went to burn trees in

Prospect Park with friends. Spoke about god and dust and space

and how plants work, especially the one we burn. Gained some

new thoughts. We fumed and screamed in our metropolitan nook,

mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. Let us go far away

from the metropolis cesspool. The verdure of the park is closest wecome to nature without leaving home. Seek New Englands terrain.

Listen to The Hold SteadysBoys and Girls in America. Had such

a sad time together the night we got locked up.

Singing 90s alternative rock tunes. Raised voices echo from the

woods every youthful summer. We were in the concrete jungles of

America and all we could do was yell fuck across the night. Then

a complete silence fell over everybody. Staring at starless skies

when the batteries killed the sound & the cricket symphony started

to play Festival Overture in E at major. Kiss me. And for just a

moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to

reach. Blew smoke in her face to show I care. Recite songs from

our preschool days to ll the air with somethin besides dope and

smog. There is still a nontoxic hope.

Search for the mythos hiding inside my chest cavity using surgi-

cal exploratory tools: the road, scalpel, a few dollars and the never

ending dream of her. Whats your road, man? Do you have the

balls to pick up and go? Remember her warm body. Here I am a

child of the American rock night.

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10/57

When the sun goes down on Lookout Point and I sit on the old

broken-down bench outside the woods watching the long, long

skies over Brooklyn and sense all that industrial land that rolls in

one unbelievable huge bulge over the East Coast, and all that road

going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it... andtonight the stars wont be out again, and dont you know that God

is Bugs Bunny?

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11/57

Why doesnt drinking ever learn its lesson?

She loved the autumn elds while the sun set, he loved her titian

curls in the wind, dancing to sounds of the earth singing.

PRIVATE PROPERTY NOT OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

Disregarding the sign protecting the cemetery felt so right and that

evening they poured some out for Montgomery Clift.

As a kid he was always curious about why Benny breathed in

and out, in and out, in and out through one paper bag then drank

from another on the Parkside bench. As a teen he learned why theneighborhood called him Benny glue head.

Being able to drink in bars at sixteen sped up life for them. To

keep a rep in a town where people thrive on being professional

alcoholics, it is easy to end up with scarred knuckles and a broken

nose.

The Sunday morning delivery of the Daily News & the brown

paper bag of bagels and rolls against the bodega storefront fell

victim to drunkards stumbling across 5th avenue.

People age slowly when you see the same faces every day.

Drink like a human hun, your killin ya liver!

Every time she sees the scar on her cheek, the mental video replays

over until tears temporarily wash it away.

Flames lit up the woods with rage from the beast after seeing her

with another guy. The arsonist was yet to be found.

The glare from the rising sun woke him in a parked car along the

expressway when he realized it wasnt his blood on the windshield.

She drowns herself in bourbon after his funeral.

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On the Highline

A bell rings and it remind me of church

When was the last time I was in a church for church?

not a readingnot a funeral

not a forced holiday

will I ever go back?

On a wooden bench with a imsy back

I am sitting next to four Asian girls, noYoung women

Chinese, Japanese, Korean, I cant tell

They all look like sisters

Yelling at each other

A ock of birds exotically chirping

The cute one leans against the rail

Pink sunglasses matching her dress

I pretend I understand the conversation:

Take a picture

Take a picture

Smile Beverley

CHEESE!

Whered you get those shades girl

That dress makes your butt look big

Hey guys, lets get outta here

Look at this creep staring at us

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School Dance

Speak to me

and it sounds like white noise.

Yea, I saw her stop dancing with youWhen she realized

That was cum on your pants

Stare at me

and all I see is white light.

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tie dye delight

like the old hippie smokin a bone

frolic to the Dead,

feel free

ask the shaman for a quarter

open your mind, dance

with me

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The Dining Room

The dining room was many colors over the years

Green, red, white, beige and it is now magenta with a white ceiling

The china closet glass looks me in the face

The china plates have never held my food

The crystal glasses have never touched my lips

I store concert tickets on the right side of the closet

I also keep money in a mini ceramic urn

Those spots are for safe keepings

My birthday candle is stored in the china closet

A little Indian boy sitting in Indian style with an orange candle

coming from his head

A birthday card is put in the little slip where the wood and the glass

window meet

It holds the card on one side, thus on display for anyone to read

No one does though. After a couple days they go in the trash

On Sundays the sauce would be lling the dinning room with the

aroma of tomatoes & meats

Whenever mother would fry the eggplant and chicken cutlets were

my favorite times

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I would be allowed to grate the mozzarella at the dinning room

table for her to make them parmesan

The good old days of my innocence

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Salvation II

The Salvation is hidden in the woods

Seek ItFeel It

Find It

Take It

Oneself

Out into the great wide open

Grasp a hold

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Memo to My M.O. [what the hell is a modus operandi?]

Spray paint from seven years ago remind tears to squeeze out as I

pass by the granite monument where teenage angst skateboards on

memories.

Ash trays and Tupperware ll my oak dresser drawer I call it the

Shrine and after so many years the smell becomes unbearably

pungent, like a resin mold funk living in unison with my shirts and

underwear, so my mother makes me clean it. But I dont.

Evolution Neighborhood bums are an endangered species.Survival of the ttest and procreation are killing of the locals.

I picked some owers for our rst date and you broke out in hives.

Urticaria brought us together.

Revolving doors spin round and round get me dizzy and I relapse

on adrenaline again.

I met her through my friends cousin technically at the time

he was not my friend, rather an acquaintance, since I only spoke

to him at the neighborhood bars, which were the only times we

crossed paths and I did not even have his number. He eventually

became a friend. I guess alcohol, cigarettes and the Mets were what

bonded us.

The days of cutting class and playing lets get fucked up in the

park bushes called the bum spot are gone. Now we play indoors.

Sharing surprise party for returning soldier and jealous little

brother are crashed by drunken stepfather.

Walking past the boarded up movie theater smells like pot and I

start to crave popcorn. When we turn the corner holding hands,

her mother asks us if we want a rip. You decline, I accept with a

gracious smile and cough up some greenish brown phlegm.

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19/57

Nothing is a good idea, but rather an opinion on how your

conscience eyes deem t.

Kicking every garbage can over on the walk home from Farrells

helps suppress the reality that you really are gone.

Seeing childrens sticky faces from cherry ices while their parents

eat lemon with a wooden spoon in front of the pizzeria reminds me

of summer days in the park with everyone that I now shut out of

my life.

Recuperating from hangovers is a weekly hobby, better than a dailyhobby. Sometimes.

Losing my right shoe on the side of the turnpike and losing my

best friend taught me a life lesson. Dont drive drunk.

The most expensive, exclusive sneakers were once something I

cherished. Breaths and heartbeats are so much more valuable intodays economy.

The winter encourages red hands and cold ngers and it is not from

making and igloo or a snow man.

Instead of learning about Shakespeare or science, children learn

about drinking kegs, selling drugs and pissing in bushes.

I take big sips from fathers ask to feel like a real man, maybe

it will put hair on my chest, and I rell it with water to avoid a

beating.

Steal a twenty from mom with her knowing Im getting high.

We laugh in the wet grass holding hands until the sun comes up

and I can nally go home, but not without the thoughts of hate and

if I will ever make peace with myself.

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20/57

I remember sitting on the boulders right off the hill and asking

you with all sincerity why are all the things that we do so bad for

you, but feel so fucking good, and you kissed me softly where my

sideburn would be if I was a man and told me we were over.

Getting arrested for all the wrong reasons and spitting in the cops

face for all the right ones did not help in court.

Playing hockey and basketball encouraged us to make positive

decisions, but why did we all decide to drink our childhood away?

Sex in the rain never felt right, but we did it anyway.

Bob Dylan played across the eld as the coolers slowly dwindled

and my vision became less coherent but my ears still worked

properly and I remember being on the pavement thinking about the

government and if it is more fucked up than I am.

Staring at the puppies in the pet shop window on 5th avenue and Inotice my glare showing me a small stream of blood seeping from

my nose and I wipe and nothing is there.

Eating potatoes and eggs at midnight with grandpa makes me

smile, which I havent done since the summer of 97, and he told

me what I should do to make things right.

Confess all my sins to my mother. Her pastor is a pedophile and we

cry.

Those loose pants told me the more things change, the more they

stay the same.

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II


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novella

fall down face plant the steps of the house

blood trickles from fat lip

pissing the bed

yellow & red stains seep into bedbug territory

the easy way to escape is drink or drug

but the high doesnt last for too long

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demons with burned faces haunt the psyche/families of

wounded folks once buried after war/a wreath of thorns hang from

a wooden door on national drive/pierce and spill blood on the

cement sidewalk paved over the esh of the original city.

spend nights at a coke bar/theyre all coke bars/drowning in

canadian club whiskey/numb entrails slowly weaken thought

process/think with the head not guts/provoke the lost smile to come

out and play again.

the gut takes over thought process/leave smile home/order drinks

till cross-eyed and painless.

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eyes met at the jukebox

hips hypnotize with each step

walking sex

the goggles are made to see objects not peoplehidden beyond eyes

bewildering blue

she commands to dig into her

epidermal pores exchange uids

stench of a dark ladies room is clear of urinals

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26/57

deliberate inebriation/run from the demons lurking and creeping

around in dark corners/ barrooms hidden in basements/phantoms/

watch over the walk-in fridge where she sniffs lines off cases of

budweiser/chase with a vicodin/level out/undressed hard nipples.

she cums again.

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27/57

hes gone. gone. nothings gonna bring him back. hes gone.

he is in hearthe is in mind

he is in arms

legs

hands

guts

hair

stomachfeet

eyes

nose

kept alive inside

kept alive through ones embodiment of him

kept alive

the smell of his old baseball jersey and cap

the vitamins you advised one a day

the scar from a ght slamming head on little red park slide

the glass angel sitting on a mantle above the bed

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28/57

bar air is toxic/do not breathe re lungs/dead only till the hit wears

thin/shoe laces are the thickness preferred like your thighs tight

in those jeans/kept alive till 99 bottles of beer on the wall/ pink

oyd records spin all night/speak of a woman yelled & my sis

slapped the bitch & kicked out the old school jams/beatings/alwayssurround violence or sex no one keeps the peace.

drinking hours bodega storefront/no lights after dark/crawlspace

conned piss stain queen mattress/the sun and esh comes up

again.

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29/57

spiral staircase inside the cranium

spin out of control, need to regain consciousness

take off the goggles gain back the senses

realization of your departuredid not sink in when at your corpse

rather drowning in a cascade of booze

hitting the oor on several occasions

getting the shit literally beat out

impregnating her

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new day/44 hours later and a few days off the deep end/left

behind black eyed piece of brain bitten off at the cerebral stem/

in the corner of the room a rat picks at the chunk/doesnt like the

bitter taste/connect it back to the spinal cord/loose connections/

bedroom walls wont paint themselves/ask the rat to leave theroom/get dressed wash face brush teeth break glass with st/ tears

tear down past a lone pimple under cheek/the rat laughs so step on

the fucker and ush down the toilet/bad day little buddy.

Id like to apologize for being a fuck up

The angel falls off the mantle.

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What Happened in Apartment 4A?

The mind is full of boiled blood rushing against concentration from

having to start from scratch.

Observe the late night vehicles riding the Prospect Expressway can

not tell what models or makes only in each car truck or bus is a life

or lives residing in New York for a moment or a lifetime, a human

being driving the vehicle could be with companions, him her or

they pays bills, were birthed into the physical world Earth and may

have a pet, a cat or bird but probably a brown pudelpointer named

Mitch.

Dead Christmas lights border round algae incrusted pool in late

September.

Photoshop cartoon images of his twin infant daughters in neon

green electric blue avant-garde.

After Mr. Mahoneys class, sequences of dj vu in the schoolyard:

I be twistin in the mornin

twistin in the evenin twistin

afta suppa time Frankie

always sang with

a melody before lightingup the dipped cigarette. Shut up

ya burnout, hu huh Ricky always responded, as

they leaned perched against the brick wall

under the black staircase to the caf.

Dustheads.

A kindergarten classroom loaded with noisy children and nontoxic

paint of all colors leaves Carlos a mess of ngerprints after 3 p.m.

Quickly drive past a mangled black PT Cruiser, reminder of dead

water bugs on back in the basement.

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The subway on the corner a ride to the city with a tuna sandwich

covered in red onion and sweet peppers.

The dark clouds reign over frigid New York City on Halloween but

there is a drought in the Northeast.

A tribesman clad in regalia of eagle feathers and beaded buckskins

walks along Route 17.

Sermons on Parkside consisted of 40s, stuffed vanilla dutchies and

bullshit.

Sifting through ashes of a lost home in search for the portrait of a

dead brother.

Computers take on roles of functioning human beings. Pay a one

time fee rather than weekly.

I stare across Flatbush Avenue elevated in a classroom ofyoungsters when a man in overalls & orange hardhat makes eye

contact with me as he rides the workman elevator up a cobalt

protective wall of developing condos.

The guy and girl in apartment 4A both wear black nail polish

Do you think they

do each others nails?

I think she was a Scottish woman (disgruntled wrinkly forehead,

ball ended nose and ery red hair and matching cheeks) who rode a

bike in a knee length skirt and I wonder how comfortable that is.

The upheaval on 10th Avenue from a brawl last night spilled

alcohol fueled blood on the old gum and sparkle lled cracked

cement sidewalks.

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On the R train the girl with a red backpack had grass stains on

the knees of her dark blue jeans and the brown haired boy with a

3-inch scar on his lip shared a brown-bagged drink with her.

Crates of jazz and classic rock albums collect dust in the closet.

The letter for jury duty goes directly into the shredder.

The thump sound from a phantom black car zooming by shook

the ground and probably deafened the woman walking her golden

retriever.

This was not the same boardwalk as today. After World War II

the boardwalk slowly, but inevitably, started to decay. Between

the post war effects an intense rise in drugs, gangs and violence

it was bound to happen. Coney Island was once a resort where

families went to vacation, bond and love, during a time when

decent moral values were supplementary.

A starsh in the aquarium plays possum.

The decorative spike of the black fence pierced little Nickys hand

amid a game of manhunt.

The door knob is such a sophisticated vention.

The radiator was as cold as her feet when he woke on Valentines

Day morning.

The Knicks lose an upset if only one of the twenty four missed

threes went in.

In the darkness the glow from the silent speaker power light

illuminates where the pens and stapler lay at rest.

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The red and white tower resembling a mini Eifel with grey

satellites controlling god knows what was around in the 1960s and

still stands strong.

Standing outside of McDonalds begging for change or working thesubway probably pays way better than minimum wage.

The cabin had methodical wooden interior corresponded with the

chestnut colored tiles that scattered the oor like a perfectly knit

quilt.

The August heat was rising ferociously as we walked through theforest, trying to dodge the patches of poison ivy. The ve of us

were surrounded by wilderness; a wide array of trees and bushes,

with a man-made worn in dirt path guiding us to our destination.

The land became more and more eroded; a hill that gets steeper

and steeper, and the more you walk, the more you feel it in your

calves. We kept journeying the hill, passing all the assorted plant

life till we reached our goal.

He leaned against his yellow Gremlin outside Katz Deli while

waiting for his mother with the order.

A young man hopped on the subway track and grabbed a ve

dollar bill. Is the risk really worth a ve?

A man does an autumn photo shoot of himself in the woods on the

Catskill side of the Rip Van Wrinkle Bridge, dressed in all white

and jumping around, bouncing off tress and capturing the images

mid air, as if he was Neo in the Matrix,

Piss in a phone booth on 42nd street and get a ticket from an

undercover ofcer.

The light of the re slowly burns out as the sun creeps up the next

morning.

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The Tupperware has grease stains from Spanish steak and rice with

red sauce.

The handshake is clammy.

The door bell rings. Out the foyer window, Jehovah Witnesses

gather around the neighboring homes. A glass of water and back to

the cozy bed.

The bag of disheveled crayons from childhood sits on a shelf

collecting dust.

In the parlor lled with plastic coated furiture, a grandfather tells

childhood stories to the children as the adults drink coffee and

smoke cigarettes in the dinning room.

The hawks y above the tree tops and one darts towards Earth,

only to rise back joining the ock holding a rat or possum in its

talons.

A Stapler with Brooklyn Union Gas printed on it is two decades

old.

Antelopes run from hunters after the rst shot is red.

Addidas tennis shoes with holes in them are used for shing.

Some asshole threw a ham sandwich out his car window and hit

my bike while riding on the side of the expressway.

The empty afternoon bar was dead air. No music played through

the sounds system.

Raul nger picked smooth jazz scales on a red Les Paul.

Lying on the cold oor printed on computer paper is 3 Pages by

Ted Berrigan.

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Leaning against the cold fence staring out into the familiar scene,

I was admiring the orange and purple war going on in the sky. Ill

never forget that image. It was the last innocent image I remember

seeing. To this day, every time I see that war I cry.

The voice in the f.m. radio at 2 a.m. enables me to create a face for

him: sixty two, white wrinkly forehead, silver hair, wear and tear

gut from years of drinking and blow. He loves Cream, Allmans and

Skynard because he plays them the most and the late shift cause he

can get away with boozing on the job.

Cheers Ladies and Germs, here is one of my faves

in a white room

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Everywhere But Here

The scene: the new guy punching the biggest guy in the cafeteria

only happens in the movies.

The convicts uproar when stale meatloaf is served for the fth

time in eight days.

Running mascara through plexiglas windows anger him when he

cannot help her wipe it away.

A cellmates thoughts are incandescently hidden in dark cornerslike a childs in time out.

The boy, the girl and fairy tales at 3:00 a.m.

Beatings occur in the west cell block mace and vomit dry into

this weeks clothes.

The warden wears a suit assuming a man of high stature.

The color of coffee lightens behind these concrete walls.

Smiles at the facility only occur in ofces. Only other place you

might nd a smile: in dreams.

Weep until the well is dry. Become numb.

Making brown bag lunches a thing of the past, yearning of the

future.

The citric smells of a womans vagina is a fading memory.

Violence is a normal part of ones newly acquired culture.

Nurse Victor and the rest of the U.S. bring Ol Jinky his daily x in

a little white paper cup.


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Picture of son in youth jersey #8 is taped to the stone wall. Rules

of football are long forgotten.

The last car seen July, a red Ferrari hanging on Toms cell wall.

Her sixteen candles are blown out while trying to remember what

birthday cake taste like.

Time is no longer a factor for some.

Reveries of the past become a focal point in keeping a stance onsanity.

The stench of piss wafts into the corridor and not one sour face is

made.

Spend two weeks in the hole for hoarding a cell phone and Red

Man.

Right of a prisoner is rite of passage.

Every night before attempts at slumber lights out.


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in my dreams

When grandma dies I know my time is coming closer and I

am aging, getting older and getting nowhere. The mantles with

pictures of your grandchildren and mirrored portrait of grandpasfavorite the horse number 8 were reality but in my dreams the

horse and the kids are dead.

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42/57

listen for in-spir-ation

not

spir-itual

lost

ruins

the aztecs & appalachian trail

remains

hidden

a ghost

quiet voice echoes

misplaced headless body

in mountain nooks & jungle jade

searching

valleys

deserts

NYC

LA

north

west to eastsouth

hidden among the living

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43/57

an unnecessary incident

for Monte Freire

a boston red sox fanfrom new hampshire

stabbed in the chest

at the chowder pot restaurant

in branford connecticut

by a new york yankees fan

from new haven

a dispute over

professional baseball

teams

a boston red sox fan

underwent surgery

to repair trachea& upper esophagus

in yale-new haven

medical

a son waits for his father

in the empty waiting room

praying

a new york yankees fan

charged with:

rst degree assault

interfering with an ofcer

tampering with evidence

breach of peace &

possession of a controlled substance

leaves the hospital

with minor injuries

in handcuffs

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44/57

a boston red sox fan

comes out from surgery

alive

a son smiles at the doctors newsthen frowns

for the prognosis

is still unknown

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45/57

Salvation

Sole tranquility extrovert, the original body

Abstruse enters, enhances within

Let thy conquer the malevolence, destroyVermin director of immorality

Advocator of benevolence control

Take the sin residing

Internal necrosis within

Overcome the detestation

Now maintain the serenity soul

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46/57

Me & You

Layers of chemicals

Make up the land, me & you

Carbon and cuticles

Unequal yet equal too, me & you

Brown bag blues

Alligator shoes, me & you

That old tennis racket &Ol Pops chiseled tomb, me & you

Her red dress & Goldie Locks,

The hair on the bear, me & you

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47/57

Gone

Two blue foot prints stare at me

while she drives away in Pompeii

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48/57

lost laugther in the white mountains

slow day on mount washington

seek the white owl

tranquil snowy trailsask & ache in gloveless hands

day

hike

try to wait patiently

her shines slumber

him to arisenight

the man shows face

quickly fades

hidden behind a cloud

come out

reveal where owls y

hours go by

lay under dim lit stars

the man goes home

owls never seen

she does not shine anymore

clouds & lost laughter

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49/57

nights when you kissed my bottom lip and told me you loved me

and when you would make me pancakes and coffee breath made

us laugh and when you drank whiskey at dinner parties and make

snide comments about our parents we both laughed

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50/57

Color Photos in TheNew York Times

A lone man

No shirt, straw hat

Sits Indian styleCrying amongst the remains

Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption

Grey stones once formed buildings

Crumbles

He screamed as he rose

Miot Miot

The rubbleThe wreckage

Blue and white mattresses

Scatter under a matching tarp

Louis Richard, 17

Shares with 34 others, all ages

Hunger & famine midst the homespun tentA battle

Stay alive

Makeshift ambulances

Deliver a young mother & newborn

To the 82nd Airborne Division

Guards for the National Palace

Carry a bloody corpse to a US Navy helicopter

Fly away

Steam rises

A stadium in Jacmel

Women tend to pots of beans

Attempt to feed thousands & thousands

Disheveled faces

Port-au-Prince produce market

Cabbage

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51/57

Water from a truck

Dented canned fruit

Only in stock this week

Filthy handsHold daughters withered body

Sob & feed her the breast

Wipe away brown tears

Field hospitals setup on site

Alongside re & rubble

Wheelbarrows full of injuries

Being carried on backsWomen give birth

Women are raped

People cram in a red and yellow van

Upper & lower extremities

Dangle from every window

Destination: Les Cayes

A group of men, woman & children

Stare at US troops

Where the walls are down

The garden of the Presidential Palace

Corporal Sajous explains in Creole

Orphans board a plane to Pittsburg

A Haitian police ofcer

Threw a looter to the ground

Pointed his pistol

But did not shoot

A family gathers from a fallen home

White plastic patio chairs

Pillows & blankets

Mattress

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52/57

Crayons

Clothes stuffed in a beige leather suitcase

A French board game

A boy rides his bikeOn a small dirt pathway

Downed power lines

Sodden wood

The descent of buildings

A once functioning

Downtown Leogane

The mourners march through the streets

Gather around his black hearse

The women sing for Guy Perpignant

Their pastor

During the funeral

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Statement of Poetics from the Author

Exploring the language on the page, whether reading or writing the

words, is a unique world a habitat to be dissected, deciphered

and translated, then celebrated amongst other readers and writ-ers involved in the poetic community. Sharing poems, performing

readings and collaborating with other poets become irresistible.

My venture intoLast Stop, Terrapin Station has brought my ambi-

tions to another level and my growing improvement on the poetics

has evolved. Experimenting with the newly introduced poeia has

elevated and opened up the page for me. Creating poems daily

becomes an obsession. The pen hits the paper and I am reading infront of a mirror in my basement, performing and working with my

vocals. I have acquired a vast amount of knowledge this semester

and am going to keep at it. From the mysterious one liner to pages

of constructions searching for the mythos,Last Stop, Terrapin

Station has evolved by digging into the past and producing in the

future.

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last stop, terrapin station

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