There is an angel on my block

She is concrete and unwavering

Her head is held high

By the heart on her sleeve

She walks hand in hand with a ghost

They make small talk

and laugh like mad children

I watch them from my bedroom window

Her lips part

Like the red sea

I fill in her words with my mind

She speaks to the beauty of life and time

And whispers to the ghost 

“How I wish we could be who we were then, now”

The future is a mirage // The past is a memory.

As they the corner at the end of the block,

I turn my gaze inside.

The walls of my house still tremble with the fading footsteps of an angel

The resonance has finally found a host

One day

I too will be a ghost.

An angel will take my hand and guide me down this street

Like ribbons in the wind

We move in place and peace

She will whisper to me sacred grace

And we will laugh like children

In the face of darkness

For only the dead know what it means to truly be alive

We will walk slow and cherish each step.

And wish we could be who we were then, now.

When we turn the corner at the end of the block,

She will give my hand a final squeeze.

When she lets it go,

I will breathe deep in manners of a beast unchained,

Turn skyward,

and kiss the heavens with open arms

For when I was young,

My sister told me

"Life happens, we move on”

But until that day

Hearts will roar

like burning embers.

The earth will shiver tremors

And tremble in its splendor.

There was an election in town!

They rarely held elections in Coopersville, but this one was for a special occasion: the people of Coopersville were in desperate need of a new town crier.

The current town crier was Ned Blanch. He was loved dearly by the people of Coopersville for being such an honorable and outgoing man. But after 63 years of dutiful public service, Ned was ready to retire and spend the rest of his days drinking ice tea on his front porch with his beautiful wife, Helen.

//

When word got around that the Town Crier was set to retire, only one person applied for the job. That person was Bobby Kaufmann, and he was the village idiot.

Every village has that one guy, and in Coopersville, Bobby Kaufmann was that guy. He shot spitballs at pedestrians and put whoopie cushions in the city councils boardroom.

Yes, Bobby Kaufmann was an ass hat and the only reason he was running for Town Crier was to have an excuse to scream. If Bobby could win the election, he would finally be able to do what he loved, and Bobby loved to scream.

//

Come election day, not a soul was to be seen at the polling office. Turns out, old Ned, had taken retirement two weeks early and had neglected his duty as Town Crier. Instead of manning his post in the Town Square and alert people of the big election, Ned Blanch was currently with his wife Helen en route to the Bahamas for two weeks of Mai Tai's, sunshine and sweet hubba hubba.

The only person who turned out to vote was Bobby Kaufman. And Bobby only remembered to vote because he passed the polling office on his way to the arcade and thought he smelled bacon.

//

Bobby won the election with one hundred percent of the voting populations approval. The people were a bit disgruntled.

Bobby began his first shift at 5:07 on a Saturday morning. The sun was a faint glimmer on the horizon, the air was still and silent and even the rooster's were still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Bobby screamed as loud as he could for as long as he could.

It sounded like this:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGRREEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA................”

He screamed for six minutes and 47 seconds. It was actually kind of impressive. And if it had been another day/time/circumstance or dimension, every one would have been very impressed indeed. But it was 5 am on a Saturday morning in Coopersville and the townspeople were not impressed. In fact, they were irked to say the least.

It has been said that the way you start your day determines your mood for the rest of the day, and that day, everyone was cranky. People bumped into people without saying sorry, they refused to hold doors open for one another, they said rude things under their breath, cut in line at the supermarket, and refused to help the old women across the street.

Everyone was cranky // No one had any fun

Meanwhile, Bobby was fucking canary in a coal mine, singing his god damn head of in non stop, non sequitur, non-sense. So by the time his shift ended at 9, it was dark and Bobby's throat was hoarse. He was happy and satisfied from a such a hard days work. He had earned his sleep.

//

The next morning, Bobby Kaufman woke before the roosters and prepared himself for morning wake up call.

“aaaaaaaaaaa........”

He coughed pathetically.

His voice was so weak from screaming, he could hardly out speak a hamster with strep throat, let alone cry out to an entire village. He was outraged! After all this time and effort, he could hardly peep a squeak. So he sat down on the steps of the town square and thought.

//

27 years passed.

//

Bobby Kaufmann has been silent this entire time. He sat on the steps of the towns square and thought for 27 years. 27 years of thinking can do a lot to a person. As he sat and thought all those years, he was not alone. The people of Coopersville were there to keep him company. They came to show their support for Bobby and tell him it was okay, but mostly they came to talk.

People came to talk about all kinds of interesting things. They would sit and talk for hours, not necessarily because they had something to say, but because sometimes, you just need to talk.

When his voice returned and he was finally able to speak, Bobb kept his words few and far in between, and spoke with intention. He realized that he didn't have to scream to be heard and after 27 years of being silenced, he finally understood the importance of listening. He got up, brushed the dirt off of his ego and left the town square.

He spent the rest of his years in a small wooden cabin on the outskirts of town. He lived alone and off the land. The villagers would visit him regularly to tell him of their lives and problems. He would listen carefully, absorbing every word sponge like. When they finished speaking, he would sit and ponder. Sometimes he sat for minutes, other times years, but when he responded, he spoke eloquent and precise. With surgical perfection moving liquid fluidity. The villagers loved him dearly. He gave wonderful advice

and was a friendly and honorable man.

Bobby Kaufmann retired from his post at the age of 99 to walk the surrounding forests and make conversation with local chipmunks. The people of Coopersville miss him dearly. They even funded a sculpture of Bobby to place on the steps of the town square,

Where he sat and thought for all those years. Next week, they are holding an election for the vacant post he left behind,

Yes, the people of Coopersfield are in need of a new Wiseman.

...

I am sleeping

From a distant and far off place in my dreams

I hear you call.

You are clawing at the door

And begging softly

To be let in.

I awake from my slumbers

And shake the sheets from my still weary body,

Like Autumn trees shake leaves

When Winter falls

When the door creaks open

I give you shelter, food and life

You are everything to me.

I hold you in my arms

and run my fingers through your hair

When I talk you listen.

Close your eyes and

Tremble in affection.

When have had enough

You beg at the window to be set free.

And though it breaks my heart

I respect your wishes

And open the glass but a crack.

You are gone as quickly as you came.

I am still not certain why

Despite all that I provide,

I need my cats love

More than cat needs mine.

She took my heart and took the dog

And took my favorite hat

She took the car and half my socks

And even took the cat

She took the lint from out my pockets 

Took the tiled floor

She even took my toothbrush

And the handle off the door

She took her time to take each light bulb

Out my favorite lamp

She took my old Nintendo

And my brand new Cadillac

She took my two-ply toilet tissue

Took my new shampoo

She took my T-Ball trophies 

And my plastic pink Kazoo

She took the carpet off the floor 

And paint from off the walls

She took my softest pillow

And my oldest overalls

She took my can of Dapper Dan

And took my PBR

She took my fancy plasma screen

And took my DVR

She took my bread and butter

And she took the master key

She took the toaster oven

And my Kenny G CD

So now I sit and wonder

In this empty house, I think

Of how she must still love me

Because she left the kitchen sink

Stop and raise the drawbridge, block the godless homage. Call the last shots, tie the knot and sob heartless. The providence was prominent, the promise is dishonest, we polish up an alibi, abolish common knowledge. Stand in solemn solace, granting all is solid, the candle lit the Amish cottage, vamping ample wattage. Toss and turn on burning comets, yearning for the dawning cometh, learning to demolish the barrage of taunting comments. Haunted with a cosmic thought, drawing lines in pollen, strolling though a mind lost, drama is begotten. With a "Hallelujah" ringing strong, singing "All is rotten" we misconstrued the blinking beacon reaching from the bottom. The search and rescue found the sound, in soft, silken cotton. The falling rain decayed the ground, the signal was forgotten, saying, "lock me up and toss the key, its happened far too often" I cross my heart in blasphemy, laughing at my coffin.

       We were 20 minutes from the Mexican border when we hit the checkpoint. It seemed to appear out of no where, emerging from a blur of heat waves, bringing with it a small army of federal agents and US Border Patrol. I wasn’t prepared to go through Customs and Immigration. I had my shirt off. Neither of us were wearing shoes. We were smoking joint. Biggie Smalls was playing from the tin cup speakers of the 1982 Winnebago. As we slowly approached, I ate the joint. We creaked to a stop.

       “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

       My good friend Algernon asked through a cloud of smoke.

       The officer laughed and fanned the air. Several more cops circled us. They had dogs. Big, scary dogs. I was nervous.

       “What’s your boys business this far south?”

       The cop asked through tinted aviators.

       He thought we were from Mexico. He thought we were drug smugglers. He thought we were bad guys. I knew I had to think fast to change his mind about the tenacity of our character, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

       “Were not, like, from Mexico or anything...”

       The words fell out stoned and stupid, just like me.

       “...officer.”

       I hit the ground hard and felt the stiff pressure of a steel toe boot on the back of my neck. Next thing I know, Algernon was right there with me, face down in the desert, spitting dirt from his mustache and grinning like an idiot.

       “Good one, Kosmo”

      I had fucked up good and knew it. Border Patrol put us in cuffs and sat us up against the wall of the checkpoint as 7 agents and 2 German Shepards ransacked the Winnebago. They cut open the tires and crow barred the walls to splinters, they dismantled the engine and plumbing system and pried open each and every door, cupboard, corner, nook and cranny possible until, eventually they found the two joints in the freezer.

        “Listen up fuck-o’s”

       The head officer began,

       “This is whats gonna happen: you’re both under arrest, your vehicle will be confiscated by the Government of The United States of America, you will be fined $10,000 and face a minimum of five years in prison.”

       He read us our rights and split us up into two 4’x4’ holding cells. It was dark. I was still high. I had burned my tongue eating the joint. I missed my Mom. I wanted to die. I could hear the officers talking in the other room. They wouldn’t be able to transfer us upstate until the next morning, so we would be forced to stay the night in cramped quarters of the US Customs checkpoint.

       It must have been Midnight when the feeling hit me. I’m not sure what started it or where it came from, but I felt my mouth begin to water and a dull aching in my stomach. At first I didn’t believe it was happening. After everything I had been through, the trauma and tribulation, the pain and suffering, the cold steel cage and relentless agony, I couldn’t wrap my head around this feeling that was taking over my body. Maybe it was the futility of the situation, the dire circumstances and impending doom, maybe it was the pure hopelessness that brought it on. But regardless of what caused it, I knew this feeling and I knew it well; I was horny.

        “Fuck it”

        I thought to myself

       “If I’m already $10,000 in the hole and spending the next 5 years in lock up, I might as well have one last hurrah before I go”

        So I closed my eyes, whipped it out, and came all over the walls.

Roger and Chloe were dating

They were in love

It was their 2 year anniversary

Roger had forgotten to buy Chloe a gift

So he decided he would use rose petals to cover his tracks,

And sentiment would mask negligence.

So on his way to her apartment,

He stopped at a street side flower cart,

Picked a pretty pink dozen and waited in line to pay.

//

Roger and Chloe had been dating for a while now.

Things were going mostly okay for them.

They hung out all the time and stuff

Which was fun.

More often than not they stayed in on the evenings.

Which was nice.

Sometimes they went to a movie.

Which was entertaining.

The would probably get married

Which would be suitable

Things were going to be great.

//

At a bus stop opposite the flower booth, a stranger sat.

She was beautiful

And elegant in every sense of the word

Her hair fell in luscious locks of lava and met her shoulders like comets meet the earth.

She floated glowing like Himalayan clouds perched on the gentle slopes of the mountains mere mortals can only imagine. Parting her lips like a breaking dawn, with that same feint ambiance you get watching the sunrise after a long night of not sleeping with good friends and better whiskey.

She was burning up.

She looked like an angel

And smiled like the devil

Her lipsticked lips parted as if she was whispering secrets known only to the damned

And with each breath she let slip through our fingers, the answer.

There was something she knew that eluded most folks.

But you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

The shadows from the streetlight

Tangoed along her cheekbones

Like leaves in the wind

They moved in perfect time.

Her eyes reflected stormy oceans

And she muttered softly to herself

About the wonders of life.

As she turned her head back,

She caught Rogers eye

The wind carried the feint scent of her perfume across the street

And paraded it through Rogers wafting nostrils,

Making jelly of his trembling knees.

He didn't believe in love at first sight,

So he looked again.

She was glorious.

She was every dream he ever had,

But couldn't quite remember.

She was hot tea on a cold night.

In the heart of December

Steaming and breathing life

She was redwood grounded

And Spring fickle

With the voice of a thousand birds

Singing songs of bittersweet sound.

His eyes brimmed with desire

And his heart caught fire.

His heart beat stuttered as he approached her, flowers in hand.

Each step he took a thundering boom

Stopping traffic in both directions.

By the time he reached the stranger,

She was getting on the bus

“Wait!”

He cried.

Extending the pink bouquet like an Olympic torch.

He approached her as she was boarding

and proclaimed,

monologue

“Lovechild you are the starlight of my dream world destiny!

Move me in blooming light

My fair blossom of a love.

Take me now for who I am

Apple of my eye!

I beg and beseech you, please!

Gaze upon me with haste

and take pity on a poor fool such as myself.

I am but an honest man with good intentions

And will forever be your faithful companion,

That is,

If you'll have me?”

He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

She stared back blankly

Her gaze graced his presence.

Their eyes locked like a treasure chest

and in that moment

the world came to screeching halt.

But before the bus door closed and

eclipsed her figure with a swift and sudden click

She parted her lipsticked lips

and whispered

“I'm into chicks”

...

There was an election in town.

They rarely held elections in Coopersville, but this one was for a special occasion.

They were in desperate need of a new town crier.

Now since the invention of telegrams, television, telephone and telepathy,

The town crier was no longer necessitated.

But the people of Coopersville voted to hold the post as an honor to tradition.

The current town crier was Ned Blanch, and Ned was almost 97 years old.

He had served his long and fruitful life calling warnings to the Coopersville natives.

Ned would alert them of public gatherings, town news, fires,

and sometimes funny jokes or other things along those lines.

He was loved dearly by the people of Coopersville for being such an honorable and outgoing man.

But after 63 years of dutiful public service, Ned was ready to retire and spend the rest of his days drinking ice tea on his front porch and laughing with his beautiful wife, Helen.

//

When word got around that the town crier was set to retire.

Only one person applied for the job.

His name was Bobby Kaufmann, and he was the village idiot.

Every village has that one guy and in Coopersville, Bobby Kaufmann was that guy.

He shot spitballs at pedestrians and put whoopie cushions in the city councils boardroom.

One time he dressed in an astronaut costume and threw water balloons full of green paint from the second story window of the library

Yelling,

“Take me to your leader!”

As the passer byes ran for cover,

Mistaking the water balloons for alien space missiles.

And The Casserole Shenanigan, now, that's one wound that's still too fresh to salt.

The point is, Bobby Kaufmann was an ass.

And the only reason he was running for town crier

Was so that he would have an excuse to scream and no one could tell him to stop.

Because that was technically his job.

A Coopersfield local ordinance forbid any citizen from interfering with the Town Criers duties.

They kept the rule to honor the positions tradition

So now Bobby could do what he loved,

And, above all else, Bobby loved to scream.

//

Come election day, not a soul was to be seen at the polling office.

Turns out, old Ned, had taken retirement two weeks early and had neglected his duty as Town Crier.

Therefore, the people of Coopersfield had no idea that it was Election Day.

Ned was currently with his wife Helen en route to the Bahamas for two weeks of Mai Tai's, sunshine and sweet hubba hubba.

So come election day, the only person who to vote, was Bobby Kaufmann, the village idiot himself. And Bobby only remembered to vote because he passed the polling office on his was to the arcade. And he only walked into the polling office because he thought he smelled bacon.

//

When the results came back,

Bobby won with one hundred percent of the voting populations approval.

Needless to say the people were a little upset.

Bobby began his first shift as Town Crier at 5:07 on a Saturday morning.

The sun was a faint glimmer on the horizon

The air was still and silent

and even the rooster's were still rubbing sleep from their eyes.

Bobby screamed as loud as he could for as long as he could.

It sounded like this:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGRREEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA................”

He screamed for six minutes.

It was actually kind of impressive.

And if it had been another day/time/circumstance or dimension,

Every one would have been very impressed.

But it was 5 am on a Saturday morning in Coopersville

And the townspeople were not impressed.

They say that how you start your day determines your mood for the rest of the day,

And that day, everyone was cranky.

People bumped into people without saying sorry

And refused to hold the doors open for one another.

They said rude things and cut in line

And no one helped the old lady across the street.

Everyone was cranky.

It was very much not chill.

Meanwhile, Bobby was fucking canary in a coal mine,

Singing his god damn head of in non stop, non sequitur, non-sense.

He told dirty jokes and blurted out whatever he wanted, 

However he wanted, 

Whenever he wanted.

He was very very loud

His history in musical theater had taught him how to project.

So when he spoke,

The stained glass windows of the butcher quivered like a wet cat

And the sidewalk shook with such force, you'd have thunk it was a jumping bean.

By the time his shift ended at 9, it was dark and Bobby's throat was hoarse.

But he was happy and satisfied from a such a hard days work.

He had earned his sleep.

//

The next morning, Bobby Kaufman woke before the roosters

And prepared himself for morning wake up call.

“aaaaaaaaaaa........”

He coughed pathetically.

The 16 hours of screaming had done a number on his voice.

His voice was so weak, he could hardly out speak a hamster with strepthroat,

Let alone cry out to an entire village.

He was outraged!

After all this time and effort, he was no longer able to so much as peep a squeek, let alone scream.

So he sat down on the steps of the town square and thought.

//

27 years passed.

//

Bobby Kaufmann has been silent this entire time.

He sat in the same place on the steps of the towns square and thought for 27 years.

27 years of thinking can do a lot to a person.

But as he sat there all those years he was not alone.

The people of Coopersville would pay him visits.

They brought him food and water and said hello.

They wanted to support him and tell him it was okay.

But mostly they just wanted to talk.

People came to Bobby to talk about emotions or strange predicaments or recipes and interesting fruits.

People told him about their days and their new sneakers and let him pet their dogs.

Sometimes people would sit and talk for hours.

Not necessarily because they had something to say,

But because everyone needs to talk sometimes.

So when his voice returned and he was finally able to speak,

He kept his words few and far in between, And spoke with intention.

He realized that he didn't have to scream to be heard.

And after 27 years of being silenced, he finally understood the importance of listening.

He got up, brushed the dirt off of his ego and left the town square.

He spent the rest of his years in a small wooden cabin on the outskirts of town.

He lived alone and off the land.

The villagers would visit him regularly to tell him of their lives and problems.

He would listen carefully, absorbing every word sponge like.

When they finished speaking, he would sit and ponder.

Sometimes he sat for minutes, other times years,

But when he responded, he spoke eloquent and precise.

With surgical perfection moving liquid fluidity.

The villagers loved him dearly.

He gave wonderful advice

and was a friendly and honorable man.

Bobby Kaufmann retired from his post at the age of 99 to walk the surrounding forests and make conversation with local chipmunks.

The people of Coopersville miss him dearly.

They even funded a sculpture of Bobby to place on the steps of the town square,

Where he sat and thought for all those years.

Next week, they are holding an election for the vacant post he left behind,

Yes, the people of Coopersfield are in need of a new Wiseman.

...