no interest in whisky

i'm glad you got to sit by jack
cuz he always steals my smokes.
the wind begins to rustle
spray wash of tire
blacktip crow whishin in the wind.

i'm an old fart, erascable but i got
a good heart. even tho i love no one
but myself ultimately. ultimately tho
self is just micocosm of a big bag
of potato chips. breaking imprints, pavlov dog-
ian snarl. giddy becoming god, missing the question
something influences, missed it
lilting off of the butterfly bones, cig smoke flying.
rococo music, purely ornamental riffs
omg, the zebra flying thru the air
my second breakdown i shaved my head
threw all my poetry in the closet
became rimbaud for a while, oh failure
exacerbated with the masturbated art i produced.
i had a chance to become pretentiously cured
with happy music, studying law, coasting
thru the ominous afterschool success. the sea
phoned me, reminded me of sex and love and romance
stanford genius of the waves derailing a life of work.

we just amuse ourselves to death
take the privilege of being
and ride the bycycle built for 2
down the mexican market, pick up a sixpack
show off my sixpack to the grrls on the porch
of the showhouse where every one's a criminal
in treehouses, politricking into gray hair, good hair.
maturity , excused in the old fogey advice. reptilian
brain, why do cats purr, why do birds sing.
why did you call me last night i'm sure
there's no words allowed between us because doors
are closed. validity in the narrow passages
of like me, like you.

the sap flows strong overnite, greens covering
wooden fingers, good and evil erupting into the sky
with lime. the sky is pewter scarf on auburn hair
sun delimned, limited by blankets of psychosis
the fade, an injection of whisky into art.


















*([

some are worker b's
gather the pollen, jelly starved.
cold husk, still, on the grass.
a small pincer evaporated into icon
of pin striped burials. time to eat.