This is not my poem:

This is a writing game

I am writing in your space

aware I might now be welcomed here...

but so be it I am here

thinking of adventure

thinking of fun

and thinking how we might just be 

putting a big red bow on a pile of shit

funny

sad

ironic

insert adjective here

I know the answer is d.

All of the above.

I know we will have A good time

but it's hard to really enjoy yourself

when you're invited to just dinner and

not the over night

knowing you must go "home."

So Long New York

One more time

trapped in rushing 

subway crowds

being piled in with

others, rushing to get

there, and creeping

through underground

tunnels at a crawl--

knowing you could

almost walk that

fast if you were on

the surface, but not

being able to do

anything about 

it.

One last time

watching central

park crazies

in their variety 

of activities: hula

hooping, roller 

skating, sunning,

running, contemplating,

painting, chilling

and they are 

so peaceful-given

the shitstorm

that is their

life, and just for

a moment

the reality of money

is called into question.

The pain their life 

seems mitigated (for

now), and things are

going to be all right...

finally.

One last time

at Union Square

catching the

Four/Five and

having to cover

your ears as

it makes the

turn into the station

because the

whine of steel

stopping thousands of 

pounds of

steel can cause

you to wince and 

hurt in ways

you didn't know were

possible, in ways you

hadn't in your wildest 

fantasies imagined as

even resembling a thing

that was remotely even

possible.

One last time.

One last time.

To Travel Is To

She sleeps better in her tour van

than she does in her own bed:

it's the hum of the tires,

you betcha.

Anti-climactic,

but not like us:

goin' out in style

motherfucker.

And giant white crosses

posted up in vacant fields

scare the Jesus out of me.

I've just discovered that

my sunshade can extend

and Paul Giamatti looks like 

the guy who played Latka on 

Taxi.

Passing muzos - 

traveling musicians.

It's just incredible.

It's like the history 

of your life.

Joan Baez - Spring

Carly Simon - Summer

Carole King - Autumn

Joni Mitchell - Winter

That time we listened to

Joni in the middle of July,

recklessly unworried and

unthinking of the future,

and the sun shone full

through Pennsylvania fog

metaphorizing something.

Come in from the cold.

I guess I was at that point

I realized I need a stand-

up bass player with harmony

capabilities

and a snare player with a 

variety of indigenous people's 

drums.

And I love the idea 

of one barren tree,

old and leafless on

the side of a road,

standing strong on

verdant background.

You can't pigeon-hole me 

motherfucker.

My style will be to play

in whatever fucking

style I feel at the moment.

Covers, delicate acoustic work,

reflective Buckleyan electric,

and angry power chords

racing up and down the neck.

All it's about is

all important 

music after

all.

The illusion of New York City is:

You're driving really fast

when you're not.

You're covering distance

when you aren't.

And realities are really

you are driving kinda slow

and not getting very far

to boot.

If my dick had a hand

it would slap you.

Cigarettes and Jack Daniels

at eleven in the morning,

and a jibber, just

to wash it down.

I guess that'll teach us

to take the cigs inside.

Finger yoga:

a collection of poems 

by

Eli Taylor.

You wanna help us score

some silver foxes?

Rape, etc.

That's a helluva 

title for something.

Then,

we shared a perfect 

orange, purple, red and

fire-colored sunset,

followed neatly by a

perfect blue and green

ocean-deep sunset.

And it feels pretty

special seeing the sun's 

final burn and the

subsequent cool down.

Tearfully beautiful.

I forgot we saw the most perfect shade of indigo yesterday.

Now drink

you bastards.

I love you

very much.

Tennessee skies and

mountain air

inspiring radicality

of mind

stand as beacons of

what is possible.

My life is now my own.

No security blanket... well, soon,

and no secret language to master,

and no hidden competitions,

and the honesty is just so

important.

No half-truths.

You have to be done lying.

Being of two minds is entirely

too much work.

Humans do unnatural things,

and mostly to each other...

I made myself sad.

I made myself happy.