J.P. Pecqueuer first each day, David A. Kirschenbaum follows

December 1, 2017

From the Voice of Genius
                                           (after Sugarman, Furhman, & Mesmer)

Like a conceptual epistle

sent from a solipsist

to himself

my moonlit member

posts a letter

to the stars

to reclaim the ancient magic 

that is the language

of ‘an elderly Rimbaud’

*****

usually in our favorite hippie cafe,

my friend ian will break out his cell phone and show us that software that when it listens to a song within a few seconds it's able to tell you what it is.

the first time it was like magic still it's like magic,

my brother-in-law gave me an old smartphone of his so while my dad was in the hospital my mom and i could use uber and save some money on our daily transport.

ater four months i noticed that it said on the screen when music was playing nearby name song or some such,

it was again like magic.

the other day, driving on the cross island with my folks,

i heard one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands,

The police's every little thing she does is magic,

and i so wanted to use my phone to have the display read the police every little thing she does is magic, just to see it there,

unfortunately my smartphone isn't really a smartphone it's a smartphone that only works around wifi so no ability to see every little thing she does is make postponed.

December 2

Songbirds

There is a sentiment called temperate master's

well fed dog and one called terra blue

but the everyone has a favorite songbird sentiment

rode right thru bay ridge this afternoon 

in a gold second generation firebird.

Right thru south Brooklyn on a song

rode the third, fourth and fifth generation

sons and daughters of europe and asia. 

On songs of money and songs of self-love they rode

is a sentiment well known by everyone.

*****

dinner in my sister's house a few weeks ago

we are eating in the dining room so we can spread out a bit

i get one head of the table now because i've grown big,

upsetting my mother because I took it away from my father and its head of the table prestige that goes along with it

i'm eating one of my sister's latest concoctions,

i put my hands under the table to rest on my knees for a moment,

and i quickly bring them up so gracie, my sister's bichon frise,

doesn't lick my hands,

they most aggravating thing of eating at my sister's home,

remember gracie passed away a few months ago.

December 3

On The Poverty of Art 

The object rejected by society

is a target for epiphany

Like an igloo of twigs 

in a landscape of wigs 

The object slightly off at home

 is a target for this poem 

Like an igloo of mud

in a soundscape of thud 

*****

i had red hair as a boy,

strawberry-blonde,

i had until i was in my early twenties,

my mother always blaming the turn from red to darker on me dying my hair jet black for halloween as buddy holly,

my girlfriend at the time and her best friend using permanent hair dye.

i wonder if i would have worn a wig if i could still have my red hair.

December 4

On Permanence

When paired and balanced with totality,

as in the phrase employed  

by the United States government

in relation to its citizens' insurance

against failing health and competence, 

the social safety net 

otherwise known as social security, 

'permanent and total,'

an outline of the universe appears,

as gaseous ambling wolfvine

or final piece to death's puzzle. 

*****

i liked to carry my social security card I got when I was a kid, with my age 10 signature on it,

i'd take it out and show people proud of little me and proud of me still carrying something so old in my wallet,

my then teenage niece michelle was staying in my apartment one time,

probably to go to a theatre workshop on a saturday morning,

and she was going through my wallet.

"uncle david what do you have your social security card in your wallet?

"if you ever lose your wallet someone's going to have your social security number and that's no good."

and i don't know why i never thought of that,

and then went my social security card from my wallet.

December 5

The Things I Carry

A bottle of water 

in honor of the heat stroke

I suffered in the summer in 2015

A few ideals and a plan or two

to provide for continuity

and help with waking up

A handful of change

to pass out to panhandlers

on the R train 

A notebook and pen 

to listen with and record

the sounds of the day

A wallet with two forms of ID

and a hidden 50 

folded deep in a corner

Friends' names and faces

and the sound of their voices

to introduce me to my better self

*****

my folks have been urging me to drink more water,

to stop drinking all the soda that i do at their house.

at my apartment at the steady stream of diet iced tea, lemon flavored,

because it's cheaper than the sodas sold in my supermarket,

i've been alternating with water, new york city tap water, the best there is, on ice,

my parents are convinced that all these non-water beverages are not good by me,

are making my stomach grow and grow and grow.

me, i'm not sold on it.

December 6

Of Family

the dining room table

randomly assembled 

from a packing container

and three mismatched chairs

set out on the corner 

next to the train stop 

at 86th and 4th

knows more than it says. 

There is a burger wrapper

and a few soda cans

sitting on the table’s surface

to show that life goes on.

It wasn't there yesterday,

and may not be there tomorrow,

but tonight, out there in the cold,

it lurks like a monument or an elegy. 

*****

(sing to a country tune)

i've got a three-chair situation 

in my eat-in kitchen,

they matched once

but they don't anymore. 

one back has no cushions,

just powerade bottles on the bars 

so it doesn't scratch the oven,

one's bent down so far the front 

it almost touches the floor, 

and it still has the macramed back,

the last one's all together,

all together in one piece forever,

as long as forever it does last.

i've got a three-chair situation 

in my eat-in kitchen,

they matched once

but they don't anymore. 

December 7

On Punishment

I once watched a boy

forced to eat
a half gallon of ice-cream

as a punishment for wanting
an ice-cream cone.

And I have a small handful of friends 

who cannot feel happy
unless they are thinking up ways
to punish themselves for feeling happy. 

Like how I sought to punish the universe

after being slighted by a friend

during what I thought was a happy moment

by going out and buying
the Violent Femmes first two records
then listening to "country death song"
on repeat for what felt like hours

all the while thinking 

of the wrongs I'd done. 

*****

when i have a load of boog work to do,

and I really need to get myself motivated,

i put on the replacements unsatisfied on permanent repeat,

listening to it for hours.

December 8

Play by Play

The radio is not your friend
is a line I heard along the way
and wonder about often
as I listen to sports radio
feeling upbeat and friendly

because the Japanese phenom

who can pitch and hit

the Babe Ruth of Japan

is signing with the angels 

who play in a burning city. 

*****

i fall asleep each night listening to sports radio 66 wfan,

listening to some guests,

but mainly callers who get more time to express themselves here in the hours between midnight and 6.

i called him once a few years ago,

when mike piazza was put into the mets hall of fame or the national baseball hall of fame one of those hall of fames.

i read a poem that i wrote after going to see piazza play his last game as a met.

a few minutes later a caller snickered,

"that was some poem there, huh?"

December 9

Boys in the Hall 

How many poets can you name
in the poetry hall of fame?

Can you spot the oblivious error

in the poetry hall of mirrors?

Who is that pushing to get by us

into the poetry hall of science?

*****

a

b

c

c

poetry

last time i rhymed was in greeting cards

we wrote in sixth grade english class

while studying roman mythology,

messenger of the gods mercury

December 10

My First New Coat

Of all the nicknames

I've tried to give myself over the years

slim chance or cool breeze

the broken model or poet

I remember quicksilver

as having for a moment stuck 

because of this cool winter coat

my mom bought on layaway

at the kmart. I was nine or ten

and the coat was puffy silver,

iridescent as a bucket of smelt.

For at least a year, I wore it everywhere. 

*****

on road trip from penn station to Bo, colorado for another naropa poetry summer,

we stopped for gas in iowa,

there i saw a baseball cap that was all black with a red brim and large white letters,

i mean fill the whole front of the hat large white letters.

this would be my new hat.

in boulder i would play basketball with laird hunt,

mainly horse because we were a bit out of shape to be playing one-on-one,

i would wear my iowa hat,

and ask laird to call me iowa dave.

December 11

With Patty

before they finished the I-90 overpass

effectively moving the passing traffic

over the western border of the city

i used to like to stop for gas

and the worst luke-warm coffee on the planet

at a conoco station in wallace, idaho

and occasionally i'd park to wander downtown 

taking in the usual thrift store western emporium

boarded up row of struggling commerce 

with fudge american experience 

and one time i found a pinball museum

where you could play all the pinball you wanted for free

and the owner would explain to you all the history and rules. 

*****

i flew to my friend kent's wedding party in louisville, kentucky on twa,

whose hub was st. louis,

i had a three or four hour transfer layover,

so I threw my stuff into a locker,

and i headed to busch stadium,

i got to the stadium and there was a radio show being broadcast in the courtyard,

hosted by al "the mad hungarian" hrabosky,

the hub-bub around the the first meeting of sammy sosa and mark mcgwire since their epic home run contest a year earlier.

then i found out the international bowling museum was located nearby,

two free frames with admission.

after going through the museum,

no time to bowl

so i take the train back to the airport,

grab my stuff from the locker,

and continue on my way to kent and este's wedding party,

December 12

One Angry Punk

Back in the early 1980s

when mohawk haircuts were a relatively novel

radical expression of angry dissatisfaction

my brother shane came home from school one day

shaved both sides of his head

then emptied a small bottle of elmers glue 

on the hair that remained. My mom grumbled, 

but his father had stormed out earlier in the month, 

so a little self-expression was finally safe. 

Later that same night, as a group of us 

were on our way to scoring some weed in lakewood, 

he had us to drop him off at the Tacoma Bowl. 

He said he needed to fight. 

Two days later he came home.  

*****

for years,

when i had my shoulder-length hair,

my brother would offer me $500 to shave a reverse mohawk into my hair,

a highway he would call it,

passed every time.

December 13

Wednesday Grading Blues

I want to write a blues

for all the highways I've loved

from santa cruz

to buffalo 

t-town and around again

because i gotta go on grading

homesick and almost sung out

except for a little blues for highways I've loved

*****

my final semester in college,

only two independent studies and two night courses,

so i àpplied for a full-time job,

i ended up working for a trade show magazine publisher,

graduated in may,

went to the consumer electronics show in chicago in june,

we arrived and dropped our stuff off at the hotel,

then me, roman, and david, the final cut from they might be giants,

headed to a blues club,

and heard, yes, sweet home chicago.

December 14

Counting Sheep

Two night classes

and a bottle of gin

everyone smells

the troubles i'm in

Three day classes

and another magnum of wine

everybody hears

i'm doing just fine

Four online classes

and a case of beer

my better smarter self

hides in fear

*****

when I go for an intake at a doctor's office

and they ask if i do drugs at all,

i say i'll smoke pot if it's around,

but I haven't left my apartment too much to go and see what's around,

so right now the max is zero times a year, maybe once if i'm lucky.

Do you drink? do you smoke?

if I drink twice a year that's a lot for me, and i don't smoke at all.

i conjure up two vodka gimlets in my head,

i used to drink them with a clove cigarette,

the combination i was taught by rod who i started boog with,

but it hasn't been the same since they changed the smoking laws,

and you have to go outside,

but i'll still have the gimlet without the clove,

a cheap night,

because at 325 pounds i'm just a two-drink drunk.

December 15

On Bukowski

On the few occasions 

where I have been called upon

to imagine what Bukowski would have done

I have seen in my mind's eye

boxes filled with napkins of words

sorted lovingly by John Martin 

the publisher of Black Sparrow press

stacked behind the ubiquitous wooden bar

with its anonymous drinkers

interrupted by some kid from the suburbs

who has some shit to say

about el vino with veritas to y'all  

like Bukowski wouda done 

had he read too much Bukowski

which he kinda did after all

*****

I've only read a little bukowski,

my reading jags have been kerouac, philip roth, d.a. levy,

read for a decent chunk of time,

weeks or months,

reading one title,

completing it,

returning it to one of my bookcases,

pulling another from the same author,

until I reached that point where i was like "alright kerouac, i love you but that's all for now."

December 16

On 'On Padgett'

Once I wrote a poem titled ‘Three Introductions’

the third of which was Introduction to Ron Padgett

a retelling of this conversation my friend Maggie Golston 

and I had about Ron Padgett's little book

Poems I Guess I Wrote 

put out in the early 2000s by Richard Hell's Cuz Editions

Padgett had become, at that time,

the most interesting writer I could imagine.

Yeah, I know Patchen's work she said.

No, I said, Padgett, not Patchen. 

Padgett? She replied. Then a second later

oh, I know him. I read one of his books once 

and didn't get it at all.

*****

my favorite writer of the past probably six or so years,

is j. hope stein,

who one of the small presses at my festival a little ways back booked to read for them,

i knew nothing of her and i fell in love with her work when I heard her reading a poem about thomas edison.

she still writes historical poems be they about figures in history we know of, or family and neighborhoods we don't.

i'm never quite sure she knows how great she is,

squirming a little bit each time before she reads,

but I'm sure to tell the audience when introducing her

that she's my favorite writer,

because she is.

December 17

Art History

My favorite thing about history

is how much of it there is,

for example the art of Brazil is full of it

especially during the dictatorship 

with all of those stories of persecution 

and arrest and the artists 

the poets and professors 

the journalists and priests

tossing their bloody bundles 

testimony body and poem

into the vicious gears of power.

*****

i've got a master's degree

In american history

25 years ago

i only taught one class

that's all

then went back into publishing

and stayed there

my folks want me to teach high school social studies,

i think it'd be fun

to help kids with the school paper,

but it's been a while,

since i've had a job

and.i'm almost 51,

not dying any time yet,

so i'll have to get over this hump,

get up on out of my apartment see people again,

and earn some money.

December 18

Flawed Historical Analogy

The French government declared De Sade's Sodom 

a national treasure equal in stature 

to Liberty and Versailles

as the American president broke with precedent 

tweeting that a female senator

just might be a whore. 

*****

i read the sports illustrated story,

about before she went to college,

elena delle donne was one of the top-rated college prospects,

headed to the university of connecticut, the top-rated women's basketball program.

she went for a summer program there,

but went home after a few days,

she missed her older sister lizzie who was home,

unable to speak or hear, with autism and cerebral palsy.

the only way they could communicate was if elena was there and she signed into her sister's hand.

so she ended up passing on uconn of course, it was too far from her sister,

so she enrolled at delaware  near her parents' home.

the first year she played volleyball for the first time,

and she made all-conference,

after a year at school she approached the basketball coach,

wanting to play basketball there.

she was elena delle donne, of course she could play basketball here.

she went on to become an all-america,

leading the nation in scoring.

her senior year she was playing my alma mater hofstra

so my dad and i went to the game,

and watched delle donne dominate,

rebounding down low,

taking rainbow shots from behind the 3-point line,

it was a show.

now my best friend philip and I make every effort to see when delle donne's team comes to play the liberty in msg,

where we've seen her do to the liberty what she did to hofstra a few years back.

December 19

In the 20th Century, 

during the 1990s, when Seattle had a professional team

in the National Basketball Association

my partner Patty, her brother Jeff, and I 

would get together every other month or so 

when the Sonics would sell these special ticket packages,

a nosebleed seat and a hot dog for ten bucks.

The thing was, you could only buy four tickets,

so the three of us would make a plan 

and each buy three tickets for one game,

then we'd get back on line and buy another game

until there were no games left we wanted to see

or we ran out of money, which was more likely.

The team was young and fast, and the city

was on the move. Occasionally, those hot dogs

were our first and only meal of the day. 

*****

on thursday's, in oceanside, new york, the town I grew up in and my parents still call home,

the second-ever nathan's

offers hot dogs for a nickel each, with each pricier menu item bought,

we bring mom's food from outside as she's not the biggest fan of nathan's,

she gets a split pea soup and a turkey sandwich,

I order a two-piece fish and chips and just get the chips no coleslaw or hush puppies,

and a large fry for my folks to share,

that means my dad can get two nickel hot dogs,

like when he and mom went to the first nathan's in coney island back in the fifties.

December 20

My Hometown

Talking to my mom the other day

she reminded me of the time 

the wind picked up our garage

and scattered it all over the neighborhood

leaving dad's honda 250 still standing

but neither of us could remember 

whether this was the first or and second time

we lived in great falls what we could remember

was moving from house to house in tacoma,

my hometown, even though i only lived there 

on and off for five or maybe six years

and i've now lived in brooklyn for twelve

i'd feel pretentious calling brooklyn my hometown

even though it feels like it's mostly true.

*****

1966 to 1976 Flatbush, Brooklyn

1976 to 1991 Oceanside, Long Island, New York

1991 Albany, New York

1991 Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco

1991 Oceanside, Long Island, New York

1992 Albany, New York

1992 Oceanside, Long Island, New York

1992 Albany, New York

1993 Oceanside, Long Island, New York

1995 the East Village, New York City

1995 Gramercy Park, New York City

1995 Oceanside, Long Island, New York

1996 Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York

1997 Chelsea, New York City

2002 Chelsea, New York City

Today, happy 51st birthday to me.

December 21

Clinton Hill Solstice

on the shortest birthday of the year

while walking down dekalb avenue

i notice a sign in a basement shop

that reads vintage consignment flowers

and for the next three hours i wonder

who is more peculiar, the consignor 

with his assortment of vintage blossoms

the victorian shop owner dreaming of customers

or the poet discovering worlds in words

while wandering the streets of brooklyn

on the shortest birthday of the year

*****

my sister celebrates the shortest birthday of the year every year,

the first 19 while we lived in flatbush.

the day before her 10th birthday i was born,

making me her 10th birthday present, i've been told.

her and her friends would play with me like I was a real life doll dressing and undressing me over and over again changing my outfits repeatedly,

she would walk me around church avenue going shopping and people would ask her about her child.

i called her today to wish her a happy 61st,

told her "you know, i wouldn't want to trade you for any other sister."

"even though I'm a cunt?"

December 22

Family Tree

my sister jenn

whom i've never met

asked carol

my first mother

if she thought i'd talk to her
carol told me this in a letter

i received on the first day of winter

one year after i first met her

and i don't know whether i will

not because i don't like her

but because i can be pretty lazy

and i'm also weird about family 

*****

i saw pitch perfect 3 tonight,

opening night,

throughout the film the a cappella singing group the Bella's referred to themselves as family,

me i went with my mom and dad,

all the family i need.

December 23

poem

a flock of geese

veers toward the west

during a december rain storm

like an comic sans arrow 

made from bumpercar horns

it is aimed at ancient greece

this is what i saw today

while sitting in my chairs

thinking about family

about history and politics and art

*****

O friend of mine JP,

Don't speak of Comic Sans any more,

There are so many better fonts,

Like everyone you see,

So spare us all of Comic Sans,

Thank you.

December 24

Union Square Christmas Eve 

a child at the holiday fair

paused for a quick moment

to pose with the dancing monkey king 

while mom snapped a few pictures

brother fidgeted and whined and dad 

ceremoniously removed a twenty 

like everyone you see in the movies

who act and feel like their life is a movie

and wouldn't it be nice to be like them.

*****

in 1966,

a copywriter for an ad agency of some renown,

was recording a jingle for mattel,

"you can tell it's mattel, it's swell."

there he bumped into brian wilson of the beach boys.

talk turned to brian saying let's grab a bite.

soon after brian said hey,

the band's touring right now,

You want to help me write the new album?

and that's how tony asher came to write eight songs on what would become the beach boys legendary pet sounds album,

including god only knows, wouldn't it be nice, and caroline, no.

December 25

on christmas day

on king's highway

when the chihuahua announces

a pit-bull's arrival 

the parakeet responds

by singing in sparrow

from its apartment window

to the starlings in the sycamore

the song of the cage door 

opened with mirrors everywhere

*****

in 1975,

us and the resnicoffs

were in kings plaza

my folks had gifted me an acoustic guitar,

but marci's gift was delayed,

a few minutes later and there it was, 

a young german shepherd they named candy.

playing my guitar hurt my fingers, 

so my guitar ended up in my attic.

candy gave the resnicoffs a full life.

December 26

My Three Guitars

my first guitar was a three 

quarter sized ibanez

that i painted black with polka-dots 

like i saw in a japanese metal video

and paid for by babysitting grandma

who had a stroke and alzheimers 

and would once a day every day

for an entire summer make a break 

for the hills where the hospital sat 

like a temple screaming bloody murder.

then there was the fancy 

custom electric flying vee

i took as collateral

from some guy in aa

for some drugs i'd stumbled into

used in a noisy 

internationally punk touring band

then left with wendy
my crazy sleepwalking girlfriend

when i went to alaska

to work the slime line.

but most of all i loved the nylon 

stringed fender acoustic 

that was supposedly expensive

but i ended up with by accident

and finally sold to fix the car.

*****

i  was bar mitzvahed

at oceanside jewish center

in 1979

it's a conservative synagogue,

which is why there's no word temple in the name,

because until the temple that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another temple.

December 27

Temple Sonnet

because until the tallow that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another candle

because until the tamale that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another new mexico
because until the tariff that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another toll booth
because until the tarpon that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another fishing
because until the tassel that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another loop
because until the tatami that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another mat
because until the tattoo that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another bruise
because until the tavern that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another beer
because until the taxman that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another crook
because until the teacup that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another brew
because until the teepee that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another wind
because until the tempeh that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another snacks
because until the tendon that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another oww
because until the tether that was destroyed was rebuilt there would not be another ball

*****

in july of 1992,

i drove with my friend risa

from denver,

to first stop loss alamos, new mexico,

eventually we ended up at four corners,

where arizona, colorado, new mexico, and utah met,

i was limberer at 25 than i am more than double that now,

put my hands backward over my shoulders,

one hand and one foot in each of the four states.

December 28

Not Wildfire

on michael martin murphey's classic album

geronimo's cadilliac there is a song 

about highway 10 

the east west interstate  

running from LA to New Orleans

called crack up in las cruces

which was the first place patty and i lived together

moving there from mexico

via the bishee wildnerness' highway 666

otherwise known as the vietnam veterans

memorial highway to study interdisciplinarity

which is something i suspect would be utterly useless 

to soldiers who were merely farm or city boys 

lost and afraid in the asian jungle

****

when my dad turned 18 in 1948 the government gave him the option of being drafted for two years was for a listing for one year.

dad chose to enlist for one year with a bunch of his friends from the lower east side,

chunie, spanky, bernie, arnie, pucky, and seymour.

they began in fort dix, n.j.,

then went to fort lewis,

about 10 miles away from tacoma, washington.

my dad would always talk about mount rainier, the  mountain he would say they awoke to each morning.

53 years later, in 2001,

i saw there was a concert in sattle with sleater-kinney opening for patti smith,

and that was my impetus to  finally see the mountain,

and the museum at my dad's base.

December 29

things to do on fort lewis 

collect unspent ammo and used brass

shoot deer 

shoot pheasant and grouse

shoot cans

run from the sound of tanks

smoke weed

take acid

drink beer

drive real fast

*****

all I've done from yr list

is smoke weed, 

drink beer, and

drive real fast,

and only two on a handful of occasions.

December 30

little study in stircrazy

all i've done

on the penultimate 

day of snowy cold apartment life twenty

seventeen in snowy cold south brooklyn

is drink coffee read watch

the doves scratch in the snowy frozen garden
for seed listen to college football, memphis 

versus ohio state, drink coffee
eat eggs and potatoes read watch 

the juncos scratch in the snowy frozen garden
for seed listen to college football, washington

versus penn state, drink coffee
eat russian sweet bread and cheese 

doodles read watch type listen type

*****

my dad doesn't let me shovel snow anymore

after 325-pound me complained about not wanting to go out behind a snow shovel.

December 31

On New Year Plans

after i checked my older brother shane

out of jail suicide watch

the first thing i did was give him a loaded 22

and pledge to take full responsibility for his actions

then i gave him a copy of camus' myth

of sysiphus because its take on the only proper philosophical act

was at the time constantly on my mind

thoughts of death visiting me daily   if not hourly

until one day they didn't

i don't miss them

those reveries on how best to go out

*****

when i first go for an intake at a psychiatrist's office,

one of the questions early on was are you having suicidal thoughts,

an I would always say I don't want to die,

i just don't feel much like living.