March 1st

March 1
to you

Late afternoon
Saturday
& I’ve
yet to get
out of bed
I checked a few
websites & read &
now I’ll write
(I think) my wife
has left
to shop & rain
is falling starting
to calm down
now I can hear
each drop on
the apartment’s roof
it sounds
aluminum but
isn’t or to be
honest I don’t
know I should
pay more attention.
When water was-10,
15 minutes
ago-pouring
from the sky
grey but blue
too & chunks
of the sun
poking through here,
there- O
in the storm
I couldn’t hear
a raindrop only
the thunder of
it all & now
in the after-
math one metallic
raindrop is happy-
I guess- in
the world (the world
is too)-but I am
anxious nervous
that I may
begin counting
each 1- death is
always in
my stomach, that’s
been recorded, yeah?
but if
insanity or getting
there isn’t worse-
Did you
try to poison me?
I get up,
pace my wife
before she left
cleaned & she
put my books
into shelves (I prefer
them on the ground
near my bed-
I read & write
a lot &
sleep & fuck
& watch TV in
bed. Truman
Capote wrote in
his bed I read)
I take books off
of shelves & here
this very second
the bed is
littered with books
it’s a mess
again
& she was
already not happy
with me
because I got drunk
alone last night
@ my corner bar
wrote at
least two ok
poems, Napkin Songs,
while there
got high with
some guy I
don’t remember he
was fat with
small glasses
& I bought him
rum & cokes
for a few hits
off his wax
pen we smoked
right in front
of the bar
near security, O
yeah his name
was Mike nice
enough I like
bars that are
brown & older
bartenders who will
give you a pencil
when you ask
for 1. I got
home before 2:
1:38 AM
written on a
napkin & passed
out on the couch
listening to Elvis
Costello’s first album
which will always
be a thing that
brings me ecstatic
joy! When I was
4 my dad was
24 & he got
a CD player along
with My Aim is
True, Little Creatures &
Who’s Gonna Fill
Their Shoes. All
great albums but
I don’t
think I’ve ever
heard any album
so much as
Elvis’s debut people
tell me This Year’s
Model’s better but
I was 4 & 7 &
21 I’m sure EC
became a more
mature thoughtful
songwriter & I like
even love much
of his later
work yet the
snarl on the
record & the
sadness that rings
my joy when
it plays Welcome
to the Working
Week-what an
opener!-it plugs
me into the
many selves I’ve
ever been &
my skin shivers
& I feel
ecstasy in
regards
being earthbound
I don’t know
what it is
another thing
that album has
going for it is
the mess unpolished
because while I
love OK Computer or
Sgt. Pepper or even
Back in Black give
me a mess
Tusk, Tonight’s the
Night, White
Album, Blonde
on Blonde
I could go on-
Those fucked-up
stuttering
ones, they are
beautiful too &
in them you can
hear the dust on
the microphone or
the percussion of
a Kleenex box the
stumbling
I might even
every other day-
prefer Beach Boys
Love You to Pet
Sounds. Really, though,
both ways are great
I’m glad of
them, the polished
& the dinged, my
life is good made
better by music
everyday. We should
praise God, gods,
goddesses, chance or
nothing never. She was
mad & did the
dishes showered
I was a bit
jangly with drink
in the late morning
watching angels
spring training
& she was not
happy with the
staying out &
the mess I make
with books my
papers everywhere
I understand
but in my
defense I love them
near me
on the floor-though
I am willing to
compromise I think
of myself as decent
& improving I
worry this
becoming
a better man may
be killing my
most inner
ferocity for excess
we get older
& I survived
surprise but
still I want
everything again &
again I hear
this changes
when you have
kids- I want kids,
then, I don’t
know. Who knows?
The option
is nice though I
rarely use coke
anymore it
would cause
a problem in
my marriage &
I used to
be able to lie
but now? Now I can’t.
Always been a
guilty person
and that fills
me with dread
does daily
although the not
lying that’s one
of those good
qualities to have
I wouldn’t feel
as If I’d
lied if I
got high or
took pills
on a workday
& didn’t tell
her, she
doesn’t care I
don’t think. She
know I’ve had
problems with drink-
I watch myself
it’s not
easy
for me because I
have 1 beer I’d
rather have
a blackout. I’ve taken
to writing notes
to myself while
drinking so I
can piece
oblivion together
& I did this
morning. My jangle
from drink
fleeing my
skin has subsided
I think of all
the books I have
& will never read
it makes me
uneasy yet that’s
a better problem
to have
than not enough
Is it
not? When I
face a blank
page & write
or attempt to
I try to quiet
my brain so
as to be
honest
& here I am, still
naked in the
bed. Before my
wife left
we made up
& she gave me
a blowjob
we didn’t make
love she’s on
her period (I don’t
care, we have
towels-)
I’m always thankful
when I don’t
do it myself &
I love her
& even if it’s
no big deal like
you just want
to cum real
fast there’s
still love &
beauty & bliss!
My mind is
beginning to
turn on me
guilty
& I’ve done nothing
wrong that
I can think
of. Outlines of
blankets, lamps, book
shelves go blurry
my heart
beat doubles then
triples I can’t
do this. I take 3
xanax and 3
klonopin. Give me
45 minutes &
a drink. When my
nervous breakdown
comes my
wife will drive
me to the
hospital. I don’t
want that to
ever happen (Who
would?) but
I’ve thought
of it often
If it was quiet
& full of
peace, being
in an institution
wouldn’t be the
worst thing
to ever
happen to me
I could be alone
& think, just
think.

 

I put this one because I’m new to sharing work with strangers and while not my best poem or anything it’s honest and may shed some light on the way I think…although it is a speaker and you shouldn’t confuse this asshole with me or the author or whoever…plus, I write some elegant poems too…

 

 

 

Poems published in former People

Three Poems

 

there is the link to the ‘magazine’ and poems and then here are the poems themselves and the bio I sent to them:

Three Poems

by Steven Rineer

“I think if we had to pinpoint a specific day…this is the day when he started losing his mind”

i started getting hyper-minded
when this lady was reading a
horrible poem at my parent’s bbq
& i forget what it was about
something like a dead brother
or cat but it just rhymed and was
shitty (not cause it rhymed) but
everybody clapped & then they were
saying, “hey that was a good poem,
steven, yeah?” & then i was just
in a daze, looking at the flowers &
the colors were exploding in my ears
& then i was thinking how i O
wanted to cum on my wife’s face,
this speaker isn’t me & that
never happened it’s a poem

This suit’s not even supposed to get a little wet

There are catholic
clouds in
the ground-
water — they//
are — as cars go by —
splashing my
knee, that high: that’s
lowest sky —

the white of them hangs
on holiest wires you see
see it all just stops now O!//
picture me, my
wet silver
sidewalk making
this happen for you, for you/
I don’t speak of the
grey ash

Singular Absences

Plant placebos in the bathmat. Ergot in your pocket. Ease up shelf and O Dan! Flee please. You’re an anagram – in one way or another. Watch the sky for drones, dinosaurs. Wear a tiny hat; you’ve a large head. Go — at least once — on the lamb. That’s not the word you meant. How would you know? I’m speaking. You are indecipherable among the weeds. Pull trees. The ground spits out animals; all is a-fucking tumbling. I love you and your gurgling. This ejaculate of letters. Let us make a mess of the walls. Not all tickled things are pink. There are many things I will never know. We will never see the tops of stars; we turn too slow and they are too far. I don’t wish to argue with you. Give me a light.


STEVEN RINEER WORKS FOR AN ASPHALT CONSTRUCTION COMPANY IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.  HE WENT TO SCHOOL IN SAN FRANCISCO AND THEN LATER AT LMU BECAUSE HE LIKES TO READ AND WRITE AND THINK.  HE IS CURRENTLY WRITING POEMS AND WORKING ON STORIES OF VARIOUS LENGTHS.  STEVEN TWICE ATTENDED THE ASHBERY HOME SCHOOL IN HUDSON, NEW YORK AND GOT TO WRITE POEMS AND WORK WITH GOOD POETS.  HE WONDERS IF IT’S SUPPOSED TO FEEL THIS FUCKING WEIRD WRITING ABOUT HIMSELF USING “HE” AND “STEVEN.”  YEAH, YEAH HE KNOWS….HE JUST DIDN’T FEEL LIKE USING THE PHRASE “IN THE THIRD PERSON.”   STEVEN HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN LA MISCELLANY, TRANSFER AND THE NEWER YORK.  HE HAS A WIFE AND ZERO KIDS, BECAUSE HE LIKES TO DO WHAT HE WANTS TO DO WITHOUT KIDS RUINING HIS LIFE.  HE APOLOGIZES TO ANY FUTURE KIDS IF HE ENDS UP HAVING ANY.  I DON’T THINK HE SHOULD.  IT’S HIS LIFE THOUGH.