pots n shards
depression on hold
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"depression is a common, serious and treatable condition..."
nice to know, i think
my son's going there
or maybe it's just teen angst
in the making. new school, new
hormones, news.
"alcohol abuse is common, serious and treatable condition..."
i mean so what if he does well in skool
like a singer i've been listening to sez
preachers, teachers, police are the posse
of the philosphy for what it means to be free &
he don't want no stinkin badges.
depression, isolation, alienation all
good for art.
"adhd is common, serious and treatable condition..."
he plays his bass, the video
games, reads a book, he needs nothing
more than to be left alone
is your son suicidal she asks has he
been hospitalized for drug or alcohol abuse
in the last 30 days is this a clinical
emergency? no but
it canyon
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
it canyon me deep
blue as black bottom
iris in an eye it canyon me
red: blood, ire, war washed
shore at the jumping off place.
l
Unregistered User
(12/2/06 2:58 pm)
Reply
shivaree interlude
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*(
i think i love you
i think i love you
i think i love you
o o o o ouuuo o
owoah
()
so if you've cured me
does that mean it's time for you
to leave? man we are so centric.
egoes in a bag.
he goes with a drag
smoke up the flue, dragons in bleu.
yeah you
i mean that chest tied to the door
with half a belt, the hair on it
so anti pop. where's the lazer
coverage? gimme my prozax now.
no wait
that makes you impotent.
tell you what, you harden it
i'll soften it
we'll let it go pop again.
bipolar. yeh,
now the feather, being unfound
becomes an artist's brush
more snap to the inch, a small winch
and you've gotten tightened, frightened
i'll stop you call me mistress, i'll marquess
your mess and invert the rest.
i think frued's pappa had it right
but he didn't follow thru with it
this is why we have complex of oedipus
and three tiered envy making whoopee
with a bender, homonculus sender gender
miraculous to the bottom of the stackulous
a frashion to the baculus, spending time-
rity to the masculous lishous
the end rhyme's salibricious
my pussy, all delicious
see
this is the thing da yout
don';t unnerstand
nuance and chemistry
the smallest molecule can bust
a cap in your mimicry
a swallow's breath typhoons perimetry
and me with no idea of symmetry.
sustain
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
these lemon streets-
let's cast the bones and see what sticks.
the weather falls
i write nylon xmas deco's release
thru a tchaicovski supper on npr the only
station i can receive with this broken antenna and the keystrokes
are dystlexic tonite. nearby a piano boy
breaks his bass. comets swirl into reindeer who rise
in my head, caught by a jet's wing
cawing onto the runway.
does she or not? you'll have to take her word for it.
and what's that, with a kerchief in her mouth?
next year we'll be wondering about the matching chairs:
red and under the proper painting. buying jewelry
for a song and dance. the unlit portrait of the woman
with a plant for hair. this is when she begins to tire
of the papparzzian life, the vast amounts of steel and rubber
on the roads, the way glass is too slick to dive into.
the lights are placed around the perimeters. huge fan
driven models of snowmen and winnie the pooh
falling down a chimney, rocking & nodding, motioning
as if there were magic and this, xmas eve.
how bright their hope shines. maybe this time we'll get it right.
i talk with bob in the florida room. we stand beside the nautilus
collection, everything from five
pounds to 40. pecs, laterals, those upper arms, underneath
where the sag begins first. treadmill. rowing machine, stair master.
all matching sets. branded. i tell bob, this is hell.
i have a lot of hells i begin to think but bob
admires jack lalane. dead or alive? alive
he seems to think. so , hell is for other people... i shake
my coat, spraying bob with the water from the bath.
i dislike the way it runs down my fur to my skin, it itches
fleaish even. bob moves, i hear him talking to his wife
about the doubling populaton in fifty years.
how glad they are they'll be dead. i was going to mention the sea
level rising. how property won't be worth much if in't
solid ground.
trashpo
ezOP
(12/9/06 12:45 pm)
Reply
mornings
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
when i can come back to bed
and watch your tangled eyelashes
the fast stroke of rem
your lips
your lips
your lips
becoming
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i could see how hendrix could feed off the heroin
bradly newell, how nothing matters but the cotton
my death in and of itself doesn't matter
which is a fine thing
even if your famous it gives you a certain amount
of freedom. the individual doesn't matter
the collective does. pot helps me focus
on the spiral outward
sediment snatch enlightenment
populous told golden age when torture
hadda go underground renaissance
short of a full nuclear catastrophe we'd co ordinate
the falling out of the world, the rising of the seas
momma will put your nukes to shame, shear half
a continent in a couple hours. puny men
in your feudal age breakdown. collapsable empire
the barbarians wear suits. rape an pillage n daisy
bombs for lunch. there's no nuance in catastrophe.
rollerball madness
no tru tyranee excesiliious antagony
can survive the people caught on
....let's assume the nazi's had won ww2
the gvnt wasn't sustainable
within a decade i profecy collapse.
o meester bsh you rule decline
stoned again.
they always get greedy.
how did we get to that?
i like how you diverted the whole conversation
down this sidestream of civilization's decline
the thing is i wish to help the gen conscience
i'd like to do it as
300 ppl to shoot 30 ppl a day
nine thousand a day for 2 weeks
unrelenting. how many would that be
enough to win a war?
i would describe the half hearted decor
of the flimsyshak but it's recycles and knickies
war crimes is a sham. you have to let the soldiers
do what they want. rape and pillage babee
that's war. none of this pussy shit
terrorism is the only war left.
barbarians at the homefront can only be
conquered by barbarism. we don't have warriors
this is not a war, it's a sack. don't you read your history?
at the bottom of the ocean a grain of sand
into the mouth of a mollusk and whence the snail
no one knows o my eight string bass
but resonate in the cleft of a cold, two octaves
below the last stripe of how much do you love me
once you asked me can i jam with you
i had to say no. frankly i don't have time to deal
with your restraining order ass. done with.
you can't slap the bass alla time
les claypool you aint
even les claypool aint
music is about collaboration
tonight i witnessed a jr hi orchestral performance
sixty hormonally erratic children's fingers, arms
elbows, hands controlled within a staff's contours
guided by a slim white baton, tempo tempo
temps tiempo contrapuntal weaving
tooling rooting a hand's dimension into leaves
&
i watch you talk about lead
with seductive eyes. your baritone
voice . the five day beard.
you want it, fame. you aint no cobain.
cobain was.
imperfect knife
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you left that morning
when i kicked you out.
why not, she's my mom and i
slept on the couch. my bed.
our bed. i'm in it alone
and missing you but on the phone
i'm dissing you, i heard he was kissin you
way before i got so blue
so now i'm glad i'm rid of you
and you date him and she dates me
the dance apart, the dance of threes
i'm trying to control the breeze
but silicate contaminates me.
i wore the jeans with patches today
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
big hole in the left knee
"bonus pants" i tell the boss
who tries to shake my hand and hand
me a paystub the contents of which i already know
direct deposit isn't technology wonderful
yeh i shake and take the fuckin
thing & toss it in the trash
and he sez if you got a problem come
talk to me about it but don't go round
actin like this and i sez what
you need that translated?
so, air, I guess, breezes,
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
then you come flying towards me
like windows in a broken room.
there are things i would have remembered
if
instead, washes of colors on a shore--
maybe river, maybe lake, maybe ocean.
in this vastness it's hard to tell.
a list on the bed
geo\\new. hematoma tightens
around the pay by credit.
bombastic silicone peering over your shoulder.
if fame were a typhoon, you'd take shelter.
meanwhile you release five thousand butterflies into the amazon.
and sublime, like top papers, full:
the tension held under water
just moments before neon turns a trope.
i'd like to be there when you find it
chastened and scratched with a penknife
into the base of the ice.
the ultraviolet catastrophe
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
why wouldn't the universe be self aware?
in a small space when energy becomes concentrated
enough it becomes self aware. we are only one point
in a fractal, ya know. a very complicated and beautiful
fractal but that's what the turtle looks like.
who typically sees angels an atheist or a man of the faith?
if you're one you see ghosts instead. point of view is all.
how do the holodeck figures feel when materialized
and disintegrated. consenual reality exists for some purpose
maybe to find the number 42. from my pov i'm the strongest
energy body that i feel. but what about empaths?
fuck them they need to get out of my bubble. but what about
when you write it out there babie o. how do i follow the teaching of
buddha and the ones of mohammed at once.
balance says lao tsu. only balance. o when i write it out
i want them to worship my bubble, but don't crowd me.
()
the military knows you gotta keep your soldiers happy
till you get them in the middle of the battlefield
where they got no choice
()
mornings in this part of tampa
are not normal. we wake with pot and empty
stomachs. momma aint' in the kitchen fixin biscuits.
instead these discussions of faith and universal
mystery. he speaks louder. she is distracted by keys.
after a while she wonders why she loves him
tells him so. must be the complete polar opposite attractor.
the power vortex, becoming...
***
i need some water
the rain last nite brought no snow
flannery sez without hell we are animals
the poles swing toward each other
spinning new hives and strange attractors.
there's a flood on the delta
again. baloney sandwiches
catch the catfish. stupid things
we try to control with e equals m
i need i need.
a drought or winter
dictatorial mandate
cafe con leche.
&
here's my plan.
it's a good plan
ppl in the gnt r try to kill me.
my army of bodygards
will capture the agent
and torture the person with
shifts of little kids asking
the same question
are we there yet
are we there yet
the forms of torture are infinite.
sleep deprivation is prolly the kindest.
*(
rilly tho the best truth serum is alchohol.
&
&
ah man i gotta go to the grocery store.
purely for processed junk food.
also i should go pay a debt to a friend.
the frenzied season is upon us.
a heat on my head, lassitude
my only true friend. there should be some
respite from the rising floodwaters
but we just watch the dust thicken
watch as the tractors come full of seawater
to wash us past redemption. there's a name
for how my head rationalizes. it can be symbolized
but not by me. a pig headed ness that oil mixes with water-
it must, we're in the same universe.
Comment Share This Thread ---------------------------- Digg del.icio.us Google Bookmarks Yahoo Bookmarks Share on Facebook Blog This! [?]
opiate
Unregistered User
(12/25/06 12:57 am)
Reply
12-25-06 est
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
chorus
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
doin a youee to the k is out
let's drive to the hess,
but everything is closed you lout
it's christmas eve i guess
look up ahead, a neon sign
strobes it's siren song
the smoke shop's on pothead time
i couild buy a last minute bong!
ummmm did i say bong?
i meant water pipe, yeah, water pipe.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
just past the hess there it is
i think my heads a mess
it's the smoke shop open sign
and my big bong just broke
i think it's/ christ, a miracle
i gotta meet this bloke
a pack of big bambu my man
a case of that 420.
i hear it makes you feel all clean
when your inside's gummy.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
edit
Unregistered User
(12/25/06 1:16 am)
Reply
or
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
doin a uee to the k is out
let's drive to the hess,
everything's close here about
it's christmas eve i guess
look up ahead, a neon sign
strobes it's siren song
the smoke shop's on pothead time
i couild buy a last minute bong!
ummmm did i say bong?
i meant water pipe, yeah, water pipe.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer w/ santa claus
i;m gonna have to pee in a cup
just past the hess there it is
i think my heads a mess
it's the smoke shop open sign
and my big bong just broke
i think it's/ christ!/ a miracle
i gotta meet this bloke
a pack of big bambu my man
a case of that 420.
i hear it makes you feel all clean
when your inside's gummy.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer w/ santa claus
we all gottA pee in a cup
after break break poem
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
alone in the chill morning,pallid sun
beside the carcas of a bee
i clean my ears with a q tip.
there are two clean cotton
swabs left. i pick up
the frozen bee like sushi
but the anthers begin to move
she clings, then tumbles back
to cold a concrete bench.
her legs grapple with the pavement
pull her stiff body, pollen
gatherers, empty. i want her to die
in the arms of a rose so i gather her up
walk toward the red bush
but she struggles hangs
first upside down, then vibrates toward
flight i feel her in the swabs, but doesn't just falls
and falls into the cold wet grass
walmart pomes
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
mommy buy me a velvet painting for xmas, a rug with a tiger
or a couple, fucking. torn screens, broken handles, the steady leak
of the cold water pipe, and this inorganic bubbling
under the berber. the window leak.
the widows peak
the way god wrote thru gladys who walks over
christmas eve with a smile on her face o honey i'm sorry
we're all sold out. the red eye of the laser on the dvd player.
the clear lens after the cleaning. unnamed, and unremarkable
tony pushes the heavily laden cart to his ford pinto.
it's rad, neon green with short struts, skinny tyres, phat
sound system and gleaming chartreuse wheels.
she'd asked him "what's your art" and he showed her this.
after the way she loved the peach flowers he thought
he could keep her tanned and on the float for a couple years
till the money ran out but she was looking for more.
plasma tv dinners. checkered pasts hung on the clothesline.
ten carat memories that did not include the thought
that he grew up with her, some cousin she might have been able to date,
some husband she found ten years too late.
*
muriel's mother wants the kind of cherries
she remembers from cuba. muriel buys the dollar box
ai mami we don't live there no more. her faded print
shoes slosh thru the rain, back to the escort.
silver high lights at her roots, limned by rain.
tonight they will watch the telemundo special
and muriel will imagine her mother as the chica with cleavage
pushing them into his face as the audience laughs and laughs.
she thinks there are no pits in the cherries.
doesn't even check.
later that night when they've both fallen asleep
in their matching leather recliners delivered last tuesday
by a couple of men muriels mother first flirted with
then tried to set her up with leaving muriel to tip
with a red face the chicos young enough to be
and even then she's not sure they don't suspect she wishes
one of them would say yes to her mother
so she could learn how to nuture stone
muriel dreams of collosus; giant shoes on either side of her
a face of a mountain, the escalator at dillards
the credit card he left.
***
larry is in the toy aisle wants
wants this mommy this. his pupils
are the size of quarters. mom says no
with the air of slave commanded.
she mumbles to herself i think the meds
are working. her necklace is not a rosary
but her skin is beaded with worry.
she counts novena.
0-0-
dawn's on the phone
making last minute adjustments.
her coifed hair and nails spell party
and her girth shows obvious enjoyment.
the walmart party shrimp platter occupies
a large portion of her attention, eyes
brush across it several times while
she cells don once again to get the table
from the garage and set it under the gazebo.
they say it'll rain she says to orlando.
put a couple of those game boards in the cart.
anything but scrabble.
()()
()
carol can't control what the girl eats
but she can make snide remarks about gain and loss
comparisons between aniversaries or holidays
and she does
she does
*((
jaqi pulls her blue vest over her growing breasts.
she's thought about this a lot and it isn't getting any easier.
plus there's the men out in front of the clinic. a skinny
boy of fourteen motions her to the end of the case where he points
to the heart shaped pendant, ten carat gold. quanto? triente she lies
doesn't want to be party to some girl's misfortune. there's a couple
at the other end of the counter. she walks over
smiling, slips a piece of security tape from the back of the cardboard
box where the ring is nestled. cinqo. que? rico is kinda shocked.
cinqo. maia looks the other way
as jaqi shoves the bill into the register.
her stomach begins to flutter, she decides on adoption again.
&
that purple one on the top the fat girl
in club pants and chains, blonde, commands
steve. i get it down of course
but it's got a broken brake. then she wants
me to look in the back for another i'm not buying
a broken bike dude she is firm, emphatic but her brown
eyes are the apologies steve takes home
and throttles behind the thin brown door in his oakstain
panelled room, fifty dollars a week in three lakes
and also a place for his scooter and also his own half
bath so that he doesn't have to share his acne scars
with anyone else in the morning and there's always a place for his bible.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"depression is a common, serious and treatable condition..."
nice to know, i think
my son's going there
or maybe it's just teen angst
in the making. new school, new
hormones, news.
"alcohol abuse is common, serious and treatable condition..."
i mean so what if he does well in skool
like a singer i've been listening to sez
preachers, teachers, police are the posse
of the philosphy for what it means to be free &
he don't want no stinkin badges.
depression, isolation, alienation all
good for art.
"adhd is common, serious and treatable condition..."
he plays his bass, the video
games, reads a book, he needs nothing
more than to be left alone
is your son suicidal she asks has he
been hospitalized for drug or alcohol abuse
in the last 30 days is this a clinical
emergency? no but
it canyon
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
it canyon me deep
blue as black bottom
iris in an eye it canyon me
red: blood, ire, war washed
shore at the jumping off place.
l
Unregistered User
(12/2/06 2:58 pm)
Reply
shivaree interlude
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*(
i think i love you
i think i love you
i think i love you
o o o o ouuuo o
owoah
()
so if you've cured me
does that mean it's time for you
to leave? man we are so centric.
egoes in a bag.
he goes with a drag
smoke up the flue, dragons in bleu.
yeah you
i mean that chest tied to the door
with half a belt, the hair on it
so anti pop. where's the lazer
coverage? gimme my prozax now.
no wait
that makes you impotent.
tell you what, you harden it
i'll soften it
we'll let it go pop again.
bipolar. yeh,
now the feather, being unfound
becomes an artist's brush
more snap to the inch, a small winch
and you've gotten tightened, frightened
i'll stop you call me mistress, i'll marquess
your mess and invert the rest.
i think frued's pappa had it right
but he didn't follow thru with it
this is why we have complex of oedipus
and three tiered envy making whoopee
with a bender, homonculus sender gender
miraculous to the bottom of the stackulous
a frashion to the baculus, spending time-
rity to the masculous lishous
the end rhyme's salibricious
my pussy, all delicious
see
this is the thing da yout
don';t unnerstand
nuance and chemistry
the smallest molecule can bust
a cap in your mimicry
a swallow's breath typhoons perimetry
and me with no idea of symmetry.
sustain
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
these lemon streets-
let's cast the bones and see what sticks.
the weather falls
i write nylon xmas deco's release
thru a tchaicovski supper on npr the only
station i can receive with this broken antenna and the keystrokes
are dystlexic tonite. nearby a piano boy
breaks his bass. comets swirl into reindeer who rise
in my head, caught by a jet's wing
cawing onto the runway.
does she or not? you'll have to take her word for it.
and what's that, with a kerchief in her mouth?
next year we'll be wondering about the matching chairs:
red and under the proper painting. buying jewelry
for a song and dance. the unlit portrait of the woman
with a plant for hair. this is when she begins to tire
of the papparzzian life, the vast amounts of steel and rubber
on the roads, the way glass is too slick to dive into.
the lights are placed around the perimeters. huge fan
driven models of snowmen and winnie the pooh
falling down a chimney, rocking & nodding, motioning
as if there were magic and this, xmas eve.
how bright their hope shines. maybe this time we'll get it right.
i talk with bob in the florida room. we stand beside the nautilus
collection, everything from five
pounds to 40. pecs, laterals, those upper arms, underneath
where the sag begins first. treadmill. rowing machine, stair master.
all matching sets. branded. i tell bob, this is hell.
i have a lot of hells i begin to think but bob
admires jack lalane. dead or alive? alive
he seems to think. so , hell is for other people... i shake
my coat, spraying bob with the water from the bath.
i dislike the way it runs down my fur to my skin, it itches
fleaish even. bob moves, i hear him talking to his wife
about the doubling populaton in fifty years.
how glad they are they'll be dead. i was going to mention the sea
level rising. how property won't be worth much if in't
solid ground.
trashpo
ezOP
(12/9/06 12:45 pm)
Reply
mornings
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
when i can come back to bed
and watch your tangled eyelashes
the fast stroke of rem
your lips
your lips
your lips
becoming
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i could see how hendrix could feed off the heroin
bradly newell, how nothing matters but the cotton
my death in and of itself doesn't matter
which is a fine thing
even if your famous it gives you a certain amount
of freedom. the individual doesn't matter
the collective does. pot helps me focus
on the spiral outward
sediment snatch enlightenment
populous told golden age when torture
hadda go underground renaissance
short of a full nuclear catastrophe we'd co ordinate
the falling out of the world, the rising of the seas
momma will put your nukes to shame, shear half
a continent in a couple hours. puny men
in your feudal age breakdown. collapsable empire
the barbarians wear suits. rape an pillage n daisy
bombs for lunch. there's no nuance in catastrophe.
rollerball madness
no tru tyranee excesiliious antagony
can survive the people caught on
....let's assume the nazi's had won ww2
the gvnt wasn't sustainable
within a decade i profecy collapse.
o meester bsh you rule decline
stoned again.
they always get greedy.
how did we get to that?
i like how you diverted the whole conversation
down this sidestream of civilization's decline
the thing is i wish to help the gen conscience
i'd like to do it as
300 ppl to shoot 30 ppl a day
nine thousand a day for 2 weeks
unrelenting. how many would that be
enough to win a war?
i would describe the half hearted decor
of the flimsyshak but it's recycles and knickies
war crimes is a sham. you have to let the soldiers
do what they want. rape and pillage babee
that's war. none of this pussy shit
terrorism is the only war left.
barbarians at the homefront can only be
conquered by barbarism. we don't have warriors
this is not a war, it's a sack. don't you read your history?
at the bottom of the ocean a grain of sand
into the mouth of a mollusk and whence the snail
no one knows o my eight string bass
but resonate in the cleft of a cold, two octaves
below the last stripe of how much do you love me
once you asked me can i jam with you
i had to say no. frankly i don't have time to deal
with your restraining order ass. done with.
you can't slap the bass alla time
les claypool you aint
even les claypool aint
music is about collaboration
tonight i witnessed a jr hi orchestral performance
sixty hormonally erratic children's fingers, arms
elbows, hands controlled within a staff's contours
guided by a slim white baton, tempo tempo
temps tiempo contrapuntal weaving
tooling rooting a hand's dimension into leaves
&
i watch you talk about lead
with seductive eyes. your baritone
voice . the five day beard.
you want it, fame. you aint no cobain.
cobain was.
imperfect knife
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you left that morning
when i kicked you out.
why not, she's my mom and i
slept on the couch. my bed.
our bed. i'm in it alone
and missing you but on the phone
i'm dissing you, i heard he was kissin you
way before i got so blue
so now i'm glad i'm rid of you
and you date him and she dates me
the dance apart, the dance of threes
i'm trying to control the breeze
but silicate contaminates me.
i wore the jeans with patches today
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
big hole in the left knee
"bonus pants" i tell the boss
who tries to shake my hand and hand
me a paystub the contents of which i already know
direct deposit isn't technology wonderful
yeh i shake and take the fuckin
thing & toss it in the trash
and he sez if you got a problem come
talk to me about it but don't go round
actin like this and i sez what
you need that translated?
so, air, I guess, breezes,
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
then you come flying towards me
like windows in a broken room.
there are things i would have remembered
if
instead, washes of colors on a shore--
maybe river, maybe lake, maybe ocean.
in this vastness it's hard to tell.
a list on the bed
geo\\new. hematoma tightens
around the pay by credit.
bombastic silicone peering over your shoulder.
if fame were a typhoon, you'd take shelter.
meanwhile you release five thousand butterflies into the amazon.
and sublime, like top papers, full:
the tension held under water
just moments before neon turns a trope.
i'd like to be there when you find it
chastened and scratched with a penknife
into the base of the ice.
the ultraviolet catastrophe
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
why wouldn't the universe be self aware?
in a small space when energy becomes concentrated
enough it becomes self aware. we are only one point
in a fractal, ya know. a very complicated and beautiful
fractal but that's what the turtle looks like.
who typically sees angels an atheist or a man of the faith?
if you're one you see ghosts instead. point of view is all.
how do the holodeck figures feel when materialized
and disintegrated. consenual reality exists for some purpose
maybe to find the number 42. from my pov i'm the strongest
energy body that i feel. but what about empaths?
fuck them they need to get out of my bubble. but what about
when you write it out there babie o. how do i follow the teaching of
buddha and the ones of mohammed at once.
balance says lao tsu. only balance. o when i write it out
i want them to worship my bubble, but don't crowd me.
()
the military knows you gotta keep your soldiers happy
till you get them in the middle of the battlefield
where they got no choice
()
mornings in this part of tampa
are not normal. we wake with pot and empty
stomachs. momma aint' in the kitchen fixin biscuits.
instead these discussions of faith and universal
mystery. he speaks louder. she is distracted by keys.
after a while she wonders why she loves him
tells him so. must be the complete polar opposite attractor.
the power vortex, becoming...
***
i need some water
the rain last nite brought no snow
flannery sez without hell we are animals
the poles swing toward each other
spinning new hives and strange attractors.
there's a flood on the delta
again. baloney sandwiches
catch the catfish. stupid things
we try to control with e equals m
i need i need.
a drought or winter
dictatorial mandate
cafe con leche.
&
here's my plan.
it's a good plan
ppl in the gnt r try to kill me.
my army of bodygards
will capture the agent
and torture the person with
shifts of little kids asking
the same question
are we there yet
are we there yet
the forms of torture are infinite.
sleep deprivation is prolly the kindest.
*(
rilly tho the best truth serum is alchohol.
&
&
ah man i gotta go to the grocery store.
purely for processed junk food.
also i should go pay a debt to a friend.
the frenzied season is upon us.
a heat on my head, lassitude
my only true friend. there should be some
respite from the rising floodwaters
but we just watch the dust thicken
watch as the tractors come full of seawater
to wash us past redemption. there's a name
for how my head rationalizes. it can be symbolized
but not by me. a pig headed ness that oil mixes with water-
it must, we're in the same universe.
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opiate
Unregistered User
(12/25/06 12:57 am)
Reply
12-25-06 est
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
chorus
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
doin a youee to the k is out
let's drive to the hess,
but everything is closed you lout
it's christmas eve i guess
look up ahead, a neon sign
strobes it's siren song
the smoke shop's on pothead time
i couild buy a last minute bong!
ummmm did i say bong?
i meant water pipe, yeah, water pipe.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
just past the hess there it is
i think my heads a mess
it's the smoke shop open sign
and my big bong just broke
i think it's/ christ, a miracle
i gotta meet this bloke
a pack of big bambu my man
a case of that 420.
i hear it makes you feel all clean
when your inside's gummy.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
i have to pee in a cup
edit
Unregistered User
(12/25/06 1:16 am)
Reply
or
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
doin a uee to the k is out
let's drive to the hess,
everything's close here about
it's christmas eve i guess
look up ahead, a neon sign
strobes it's siren song
the smoke shop's on pothead time
i couild buy a last minute bong!
ummmm did i say bong?
i meant water pipe, yeah, water pipe.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer w/ santa claus
i;m gonna have to pee in a cup
just past the hess there it is
i think my heads a mess
it's the smoke shop open sign
and my big bong just broke
i think it's/ christ!/ a miracle
i gotta meet this bloke
a pack of big bambu my man
a case of that 420.
i hear it makes you feel all clean
when your inside's gummy.
smoke one last reefer for santa claus
it's time for me to dry up
smoke one last reefer w/ santa claus
we all gottA pee in a cup
after break break poem
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
alone in the chill morning,pallid sun
beside the carcas of a bee
i clean my ears with a q tip.
there are two clean cotton
swabs left. i pick up
the frozen bee like sushi
but the anthers begin to move
she clings, then tumbles back
to cold a concrete bench.
her legs grapple with the pavement
pull her stiff body, pollen
gatherers, empty. i want her to die
in the arms of a rose so i gather her up
walk toward the red bush
but she struggles hangs
first upside down, then vibrates toward
flight i feel her in the swabs, but doesn't just falls
and falls into the cold wet grass
walmart pomes
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
mommy buy me a velvet painting for xmas, a rug with a tiger
or a couple, fucking. torn screens, broken handles, the steady leak
of the cold water pipe, and this inorganic bubbling
under the berber. the window leak.
the widows peak
the way god wrote thru gladys who walks over
christmas eve with a smile on her face o honey i'm sorry
we're all sold out. the red eye of the laser on the dvd player.
the clear lens after the cleaning. unnamed, and unremarkable
tony pushes the heavily laden cart to his ford pinto.
it's rad, neon green with short struts, skinny tyres, phat
sound system and gleaming chartreuse wheels.
she'd asked him "what's your art" and he showed her this.
after the way she loved the peach flowers he thought
he could keep her tanned and on the float for a couple years
till the money ran out but she was looking for more.
plasma tv dinners. checkered pasts hung on the clothesline.
ten carat memories that did not include the thought
that he grew up with her, some cousin she might have been able to date,
some husband she found ten years too late.
*
muriel's mother wants the kind of cherries
she remembers from cuba. muriel buys the dollar box
ai mami we don't live there no more. her faded print
shoes slosh thru the rain, back to the escort.
silver high lights at her roots, limned by rain.
tonight they will watch the telemundo special
and muriel will imagine her mother as the chica with cleavage
pushing them into his face as the audience laughs and laughs.
she thinks there are no pits in the cherries.
doesn't even check.
later that night when they've both fallen asleep
in their matching leather recliners delivered last tuesday
by a couple of men muriels mother first flirted with
then tried to set her up with leaving muriel to tip
with a red face the chicos young enough to be
and even then she's not sure they don't suspect she wishes
one of them would say yes to her mother
so she could learn how to nuture stone
muriel dreams of collosus; giant shoes on either side of her
a face of a mountain, the escalator at dillards
the credit card he left.
***
larry is in the toy aisle wants
wants this mommy this. his pupils
are the size of quarters. mom says no
with the air of slave commanded.
she mumbles to herself i think the meds
are working. her necklace is not a rosary
but her skin is beaded with worry.
she counts novena.
0-0-
dawn's on the phone
making last minute adjustments.
her coifed hair and nails spell party
and her girth shows obvious enjoyment.
the walmart party shrimp platter occupies
a large portion of her attention, eyes
brush across it several times while
she cells don once again to get the table
from the garage and set it under the gazebo.
they say it'll rain she says to orlando.
put a couple of those game boards in the cart.
anything but scrabble.
()()
()
carol can't control what the girl eats
but she can make snide remarks about gain and loss
comparisons between aniversaries or holidays
and she does
she does
*((
jaqi pulls her blue vest over her growing breasts.
she's thought about this a lot and it isn't getting any easier.
plus there's the men out in front of the clinic. a skinny
boy of fourteen motions her to the end of the case where he points
to the heart shaped pendant, ten carat gold. quanto? triente she lies
doesn't want to be party to some girl's misfortune. there's a couple
at the other end of the counter. she walks over
smiling, slips a piece of security tape from the back of the cardboard
box where the ring is nestled. cinqo. que? rico is kinda shocked.
cinqo. maia looks the other way
as jaqi shoves the bill into the register.
her stomach begins to flutter, she decides on adoption again.
&
that purple one on the top the fat girl
in club pants and chains, blonde, commands
steve. i get it down of course
but it's got a broken brake. then she wants
me to look in the back for another i'm not buying
a broken bike dude she is firm, emphatic but her brown
eyes are the apologies steve takes home
and throttles behind the thin brown door in his oakstain
panelled room, fifty dollars a week in three lakes
and also a place for his scooter and also his own half
bath so that he doesn't have to share his acne scars
with anyone else in the morning and there's always a place for his bible.
posted by hiccup at 9:21 PM
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