Sunday, July 22, 2018

dear lblogg, what's happened to my interface? none of the tools are visible, none of the buttons are available. do you just want me to leave ? i am composing in html box and i think what will this look like when i post? no sense to preview, i want the real thing.

Saturday, July 21, 2018

Thursday, July 19, 2018

el favela

you'd think i'd be immune to the shanty towns
lack of hygiene, dirty water carried on 
head or hip or maybe if lucky with a stick,
 two on a pole.  but the age of cholera begins
on a different continent and the bugs,
while similar in symptom, are as different
as koala and polar bears, so we die, nestfuls
of us, the living can't bury us fast enough
all the rains, all the rainy graves
 of water., let us drink, let us baptise
in this holiest of holes and complete
the becoming of the circle.


it's been quieter now we're old.
you tried to tell me how it is,
the fading, the forgetting. i'm glad
so many years are gone but why
is my uncle still pulling up my dress
why do i still pretend to sleep why
do i see the skeleton head of shock
theatre and mom ever since
she saw that hitchcock movie psycho
 scared to take a shower
even though she had a nice tile one
with a sliding glass door in the master
i am still walking in on her as she bathes
water  on skin, curled
upon herself not exactly hiding
breasts but not forthcooming saying
oops excuse me, i left my brush
then grabbing it and leaving like most
of the good times that i had with you
or anyone else because only pain
sticks by us, even when all else has passed.


la favella is in my heart
she sings to me with a thousand
coughs in the wee morning
hours her perfume like the water
treatment plant, her hair tangled
power lines i grasp as we journey
the long ride in the back of the van
fueled by rumours and dreams.
we're coming to america haunted
by what it used to be. cardboard
signs become roofs and beds
which cannot keep us dry.

on the tv a man resembling my uncle says this land is not for us, says they are the elite, says go home, go home. but this is my home. this tiny scrap of wood and plaster pinned with electricity is where i live. we use memories to fuel the fire, but even the hard ones burn too fast in the long long night.

Monday, July 09, 2018

and that's the thing she said

 i want to look out this window and pretend
i have insight into what's out there.
but it's the same unfiltered courtyard
the same eyes staring from blackout
curtains so a glimpse of the sky
feels like some sort of freedom, crickets
sound an anthem for hot
  summer breezeways that lead to
  alt worlds.  i just want you to understand
it was too much to bear. the judgement
and questions ,implied or existant,
seemed unwelcome either way 
we couldn't talk anymore, standing
in a time poisoned river surrounded
by dead promises and rotting dreams
mourning the hot iron's unstruckness.

or maybe that's all in retrospect.
the sun does its usual thing out there
i've been stuck inside all day but i know
looks are deceiving. it's a sauna
outside, barely worth getting dressed for.


i gave a party and only a third of the people
who responded showed up. there was way
too much food but i blame myself
for not checking in with the kid before
ordering. all i get is vague answers so maybe
that's the thing. i need to communicate
better, stop making assumptions.
i shoulda just made reservations
let them deal with it all. same price
easier on the body. or forget parties
completely because for reals
how is that better than just
buying the shit she needs outright.
the way i figure it, those blankets
and onesies and single box of diapers
cost about 30 bux a piece. and no crib
in sight.
somehow your desire to throw a shower
which is different from a dinner or party
became my plan and burden to bear.
it really sucks that's what i did. why?
i thought it would be cheaper. but not
in to day's age and time. nopes
it's better to have it a place
and just show up with the presents
and that's how you have a get
to know you gathering. live n learn
but i don't think i would need
to do that again.

shit. i just want to talk about it
and feel not so much justified
as damn woman, as shown a bit
of gratitude. yeah it's like the pops says
she's not very grateful. but
maybe she can learn.

Friday, June 29, 2018

just can't ing

so every night we watch the talk shows
and that man is on , every night for what
three four years now it feels like decades
most other countries have judges so
they may let us know by the level of narc
displayed here every night. every damn night
if a news cycle don't have him it's dead
not him, ndever him. the he who can't be spoken.

it can't be a ban if the thing's happening.

it can't be that we have a system working
for the super elite, the super truckers
and drivers of america that have bought
this guy's hook. paid a pretty penny for it.

the thing is the thing is
roe v wade. the rifht to abortion.
maybe it wouldn't e so bad if they were not
also agisnt birth control.
what dipshits. it's like they can't
get pregnant so they
they make sure all others must carry
to term. 

'm so eary, this is every night.
evry fuckin.
so weary.g night
even when he's on cacation

Monday, June 18, 2018

violence on the fade

they say portland is the place to retire
and from the looks of things, old folk are flocking.
i was out on a monday, vacationing so lunch was idle
and filled with early bird parties of 2, 4 & 6, splitting
cheescakes and other deserts   eyes on taste
not diet. the other half were hipsters on business
or like us, the too poor to retire. weed vacationing
in the pacific northwest. i'd like to move to portland
plenty of help wanted signs
before this country balkanizes or ussrizes or what
word are we using for civil war and the breakup
of empire these days?
someone wrote about portland in my youth.
i've heard of reed college, the ross island bridge
from jack or brautigan or maybe the electric kool aide
 but i feel like
portland should have been my home.

easy to say, sitting in eric and lori's garden
on the side of a hill that leads down to eastmoreland
golf course. the houses here are us open class,
like the masters, these estates. but like most real estate here
it's vertical, which puts awhole new spin on appropriate yardage.

a lot of these homes are growing lawns but many have
herb gardens flower beds, fruits, bushes
 a wetlands border separates the wilamette river
from humanity, at least here in the bucolic burb
of southeast. it's true, people here walk. a lot.
they ride bikes up hills, they wear helmets,
i saw 2 jeune filles, one in a virgin white
summer frock, carrying skateboards
across a busy intersection.

when my florida ass wanted to turn left
got my break with a stopped bus but damn
a woman crossing and i halt, she waves me on
with a look of pure surprise like hey man,
not gonna walk on that! no one in their right mind
kinda wave so i took it, and waved at her
to thank you. cuz that's what you do in portland
you ask how people are, cuz they asked you
and they mean it and you mean it
and before you know it you find
area 41 the place that never opens
is actually open and you're talking to
the poster child for punk, the guy
that gave courtney love her last name
about his hip replacement surgery
and how it fucked up his life, he lost
his wife, he can't get royalties on downloaded
songs and he will not patronize st joseph's
ever again, when he gets his cancer
diagnosis, he'll go to oregon general
and you nod and deftly make your
escape before he asks you to play drums
set up there, behind the false front see?


all day on the way to the pacific i see  ravens
  crows, i tell him, they keep showing up
(. one dogs me now in the garden
as the last of the sun fades from this side
of the mountains) in the clearings the take off
and landings in old growth trees and the steering
wheels of farm machines, fading in the unexpected
sun, they say it's a rainy area, and i've been drizzled
onbut we have mostly sun all the way  to the pacific.
 we pull over right before the national
park. have a smoke. spot wild razzberries hanging a good 3 meters into the brush. . 2 you pickems and so you do. you are chivalrous when you remember to be. i watch the cars spill by on east 26  spot a raven     im calling it now, just landing  across the road.

causually on a small green spot  beside the portland bound cars' airstream. it strobes in and out of view, pecking at nothing, biding time. we move on. ravens are a common bird. they abound at the woods flocks of them, two or three at a time, gather at popular trash bins and alleyways. it's a bird of opportunity. a scavenger. we hike up the cliffside to the light


house view. you want to go to the top but friendly strangers  warn  my red  flatlander pigface that we're only about half way to the top they fit portlandiers in polo and nikejust ascended  are currenly descending . i opt out another third of the way, wait in a cove with a view of the water and the big rocks playing together. . that last climb would have been a mudslide in normal conditions, so thanks rain gods for going ion vacation same time as me. there are no crows. no ravens either. you opt out another third of the way up cuz chivalry, and i like that about you.x i  think the forest doesn't like  ravens i think  ravens don't lke the se

down at the beach proper seagulls. at the beach proper birds for the clime so i go on walking along the beach face out to sea, watching the pacific roll and roll into the rocks.
i don't think about birds. i watch the wild water and i put my toes into the shallows that are all that's left of

waves i watched a moment ago, agitated as argonauts speeding to my feet. not so bad so i move todeeper water, maybe the ankles, yes surely it's not so could. a toddler waves comes up to hug  them with ice bucket challenge kisses. then kisses them again with the lips of ice satan so i hop out in actual pain, hopping and limping , hop limping over to a piece of driftwood so i can stop depending on these apendages to hold me up. so much cold. my feet begin to come back to life.  out of the corner of my ear, i hear a far away caw but the pacific is loud and soothing and rushing against rocks and there is only time out and in, movement and light and touch of sand on our feet.


Saturday, May 26, 2018


it could be an even/evan thing
but only if you remember how to spell it.
i'd be remiss if it wasn't a bother

several reasons later i'm still
defending my opinion's
right to exist. that's not kosher
just  salty eye knowledge.

my yes. she told me to stop that.
i'm not about to get into the specifics
but i didn't. stop. socks everywhere.
agitation for the rest of the laundry.
the kids moving back and back again.

oh, and that pesky domestic
violence charge. colors in black and clue
me in on it change daily and not without
some basic rant. get her to the doctor
next week or we'll have some real
no contact time/ maybe over the top

conversations in an emergency room
of my choosing. and  emergent: laughter
from higher vibrations., tinitus.
 my ears are stuffed with an unbalanced
basket trying to break through steel just
loud noises with no where to go.