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Stories from history

stories from history

everyone was ready 

for a new situation

a spontaneous feeling 

lit up the room

carrying the weight

for several generations 

nobody noticed it drop

until it went boom 

there were no commentators, 

spectators, speculators,

conspiracists;

everyone was a participant

we all got the lift 

took that risk

and the whole of the 

us was better for it 

stepping into that arena 

with hopes on our tongues

some things can only be 

swallowed temporarily 

we took that circle and pulled it

into four dimensions

until it covered our future

As far as we could see

we could laugh about it later

how scared we were to move

As if we had a choice

who was kidding who

we had found our voices

how sweet was the song

hidden in histories

stolen in books

  

Hey NSA

Hey NSA

You're my 

biggest

fan

If I say

"Bin Laden"

"Ted Cruz"

"Jeb Bush"

"Drones"

"Jihad"

or perhaps

"Bob Evans 

Pork Sausage Links"

does the 

alert go off

does my social profile 

get passed around

do you send a 

scarlett jo lookalike

in a leather catsuit 

to neutralize me

could I meet her 

Saturday at 3?

my social security 

number is 572-77-2623

thanks,

bob gaulke 

Bottled

Bottled 

What happened to him

He lost it so completely

As if his early work

Was written by an ex-girlfriend 

As if wearing the same look

Thirty years later 

Could bring anything back

For him, much the less, us

We still read his interviews

For some acknowledgement 

Of the betrayal; his arrogance

Never serves him here

Always promising a return to form

In his case it was never

Youthful energy

That interested

It was wisdom 

Beyond his years

That never returned

Now that he's arrived there

Reading into you

Reading into you

the fonts 

you use

the silences 

in your rhythm 

what you choose 

to forward

the speed 

of your server

brassiere 

color palate

choice of 

yogurt 

hours without signs

working without labels

I can see 

from your selfie

you're completely 

with it

reading into 

your tone

writing on 

silences

touch me 

once

I won't get 

nervous

kiss me 

again

all is 

forgiven 

The Lull

The lull

After the lull

We get back to the hill

The hill we die on

Pulls us on a whim

We travel light

Our friends are there

We're ready to fight

Tooth and nail 

Attacked from all sides

The ground opens up

Taking many of our best minds

And a few of their own

We fight all night 

Then after the lull

We count our blessings

And fight on

Capitalism

Capitalism

Cant find your best friend

Wonder where they've gone

Ask your parents then

Start to look around

Hearing strange noises

Behind a door

You just manage to peek

Inside a key hole

There's little Mary

There's little John

Being devoured naked

With their jewelry on

You try pulling at

Your father's 

Arms

He's too strong

Try begging 

Your mother

Gone deaf

And dumb

Run out of the room

Screaming from your house

Then you feel this hunger

Tearing at your gut

Undead by Paul Buonaguro

Now on sale from Ratstar Press. Amazing- in print after 40 years.

Drug of Choice

Drug of choice

What do you cling to

What's clinging to you

You'll try to take it with you 

Unless it takes you first

Those cookies

That tv

That feeling the world's 

Spinning at your feet

This moment's got me hooked

You're a chemical thing

I feel withdrawal symptoms

When you don't text me

Our conversations

This lighting

The old couple

Down the street 

It all becomes 

Addicting

I'll take the first step

And admit to it

Your Charger

Your Charger

hey mister
can I borrow your charger
my phone’s out 
I live with my mother

and I’ve got
to get to my new job
but I don’t know
the bus stop

and I’ve just met
a lady she could be
my baby (her number's
in the memory)

but mister
do you have a charger
I’m not crazy
I don’t anyone in the city

and I’ve just
got myself together
after months
in a shelter

and this city turns
mean with
any change
in the weather

so mister
I’m gonna buy these donuts
If I could just
plug my phone in

I’ve always come
to your shop
never stole
your stock

and I’ll
come back
for a butter roll
once I get myself
found

The Bronx

The Bronx 

says she’s not racist 

you want to believe her 

you want to sleep with her 

she needs to relax 

can’t do that 

if "everyone grabs her ass"

try to explain to her 

gives you that look

what a naive loser

your erection starts to fade

looking forward 

to that return train

live in the bronx

where people work hard 

all day long without

getting off

people are beautiful

they leave me alone

walking expressways

plates thrown into the park

in pizzarias men confess 

crimes of when they were young 

america battles it out

with everything that’s coming up  

Madge, what's your secret?

Madge, what's your secret?

What's that in the sauce

What makes you water your mouth

How about the sound of a dog

Who's alone in the house

What makes you want to love

In a world full of automatons 

What's holding God above 

Who tells you you got it wrong

Fear, the secret ingredient 

Fear behind every decision

Fear you're paying its rent

Fear's got your money spent 

Haunted by your dreams

You don't know what they mean

Sands of time in the vaseline

Feel lucky you're so fucked

Fear behind every face

Fear of things unsaid 

Fear of what you really meant

Fear will hold your breath

Games

Games

I find it strange

you spend hours

playing games

without learning anything 

you invest hours 

pressing buttons like a slave 

it makes you hungry 

for something 

you'll never attain

maneuvering 

in this world 

is not the same 

the extra dimensions 

aren't levels 

out of reach 

life will kill you

the music's good

but doesn't always rhyme

What's News?

what's news?

in the country of angry commenters 

they've closed all the borders

running out of toilet paper

their flag is an eye for an eye

losing a flight of daughters 

to the nation over the border

they're confident robotics 

will see them through the night

the gross product is vitriol 

shipped in tankers to China 

where it's mixed with cereal

stamped "organic" and sent home 

the country of angry commenters

spends its winters in Florida 

cursing out communists

for digging up ghosts

signing an agreement with India 

comments will now be outsourced 

they're planning their retirement

as statues on the ocean floor

Like Snowden

Like Snowden

blow me away like snowden

tell me everything you know about me

then I’ll take you to an undisclosed location

and we can dick around like cheney 

you present as mild mannered and innocent

but I know what’s lurking 

under that vanilla email address

in a pair of wolford stockings 

you want security you want privacy

yet you post everything you feel 

you’re heading for an identity apocalypse baby 
without Coppola in the chair 

blow me away like Snowden

give me the certainty of the real 

I need to know this madness flirts 

with externals all too willing to deal

keep on writing

keep on writing
follow the line

as it wraps around
everything rubbing

leaving it
shining

take your time
basting it in mind

it comes out thick
smoking honey

keep on writing
stick it in blood

carve your thoughts
into the walls

keep on writing
till you break your arm

then change hands
and do it backwards

be prepared

be prepared

hungry dog eats 
'til it explodes

man destroys a house 
to make his home

students insist 
there’s nothing to learn

bottoms don't fit 
seats twenty years old

be prepared 
don't be scared
it gets close
it gets weird  

will's on a hinge 
swinging on a binge
straight through 
an open door

another question 
strips the system

another section 
gone missing

I was a girl scout 
didn’t merit badges

did the research 
never published

pitched a tent 
settled damages

mangling oaths
under my breast

Insiders and Outsiders

Insiders and Outsiders 

He always kept to himself

What did he do with the money

He had something to express

Why was he always hiding 

He wore many hats 

Got the sense he was playing

Was he ever really himself

Afraid he'd come up empty

After he confessed

We started to see him differently

Yet our warmth came back

When we found how he was suffering

It's all too late I guess

"I'm sorry"'s just too easy

We'll be picking up his mess 

For as long as we're still crawling

Rare

I like it rare 

not too done

precious 

uncommonly put on

would you dare 

leave others out

make something 

by rough hands, untouched

contradictions

are the only things

that interest 

people like us

in situations that'd drive 

most others mad

i'd play the eccentric 

if that's what you'd want

I'd play the skeptic

forever caught holding

his own heart 

too close to your chest

Music is Memory

Music is memory

as unsentimental
as you want to be


you need to touch
an instrument,

two chords,
a melody on a string


is sufficient
to make you delirious

through dreams
and disappointments 


feelings haven't aged
beaten clichés you're holding 


for the return of a
golden age

the radio isn't helping
internet's there to ambush

those things you've been holding 

won't be carried with you

everyone addicted to something

she falls asleep to symphonies

her son haunted by a blank wall 

where he hears traces of feelings

The Sahara Starts Now

there are those moments that seem to be
leading us on the way to civilization collapse

like when the bus drops us off across the street from the mall
and we have to walk across miles of asphalt to get home

dodging SUVs the size of things
that ate our ancestors

and this new sun isn’t the one I knew as a kid
and the faces of people have the same hardness of bedouins

to us it’s a desperate sort of survival/happiness going on

Instagrammar

She lives in photographs

Quite happily

On beaches

At parties

With her family

With attractive young men

If she has a job,

It's just smiling

Out at us from

The comfort

Of our own 

Phones

Sometimes 

I put my phone sideways

When I'm lying down

On my futon

I can zoom in on her

I can see the drink in her hand

And then I can 

Almost hear

The sound of

Distant parties in the night

Against the ocean of my 

Wall to wall carpeting