snippets on receipts

xmas

orange on the dash
orange paper receipt
waiting for my girl
outside the bank

blue sky hidden behind soft summer
clouds, a respite from florida glare

wonder why i sling to concepts
not biceps. yours, specifically.

a picture from the mountains
or the bay, mist holding lights
in cap above our heads

steady tromp down betrayal blvd
past/future tense. cannibal appetite,
sense of massacre, humility's hierarchitect
i don't walk those streets anymore-
too far to drive




*(7












moon rise on the hiway
two lanes flowin by
each one going my way
hello and goodbye

heal all

sweet  metallic on mouth's roof
purple bells in constant drupe
sink inside angst's belly  growl
earth transforms that aerie howl

pulls fireworks to the heart of earth,
lips ready for the start of birth
scented  wind winks come hither
where gravity is all a dith er



()&
 






i say i lose interest but i think it's more
the mundane way that rhyme enters my head.
i'm too programmed , tv jingles and pringle's pop top
jamborees. softball and apple pie, ma.i leave
the rhyme to the pros, the ones in the know
spittin ex temporay, down with the hizzay.
oh wizzay that's so old, you think you beast
you think u sick but you just ain't
bein here on my level, man. just aint.


ok so. yeah. i just really suck at rhyme.



























*(&&&




heal all

this christmas eve
there is a present for her
after all, a tiny red macy's
box with a white bow that snaps
open on one bud from you
one bud from me and one we found
under the cedar chest that the pot gods
wanted her to have.

thief

when you stole my weed, cigs, grinder
canoe did you have to take my laptop too?
i thought i'd have at least those pix
to look thru when i get immobile. also
the manuscript, gone. shit. well it wasn't
much, but it was mine. i remember i
uploaded it onto some flash drive but
i think that's gone too. thank you
for helping me let go of everything.
but fuck you for taking my life.










*&(


it's my own fault tho. leaving the door
unlocked is an irresistable invitation.
by the way, the flash drive i can locate
only has some pix of my granddaughter.
that's all. i might grieve but not now. now
i'm angry. oh that's a stage isn't it?




*(&&







the trip to the west, the redwoods, ms finch, the rain forest, the mountains, weed ca,
vancouver(none of nat tho), the gorgeous body of my love oregon, all gone. stored only
in my head. only in my head. i suppose i should be thankful that he didn't take my netbook.
ok, thanks terrance.

















*&&





but you know, i found out from you
how easy it is to fuck over the feeding hand.
held out or simply ungloved, it holds
a smack as well as nourishment. sometimes
you can't tell the difference. but really, did you have to
take the laptop? it doesn't even work . everything else
is replaceable ya know? but that ms and those pics
one copy each. digitalis. corriallis. fuck .













*(&&&





what were you doing with them anyway?
you haven't lived up to the gift, so
what do you care about the ms now?


true dat. besides i can always write it again.
no, i can't. it's gone. somewhere on the web, but i made it
private and lost the address. snort.

as if another world passes through

the threat of noteriety
is my guy fawkes facade

also the way too many articles
become articells.

i plug  keyboard in
remembering click's passageway.


cruelty in the passing.
we meet and part never
to meet again. the letting go of it.


your pandora is on my window.
share and share alike. a look. a meeting
of lips, gonads, swisher sweet synth.




*&





trembling in the prebirth afternoon
sun hidden by the soft smell of snow
holding itself in till it waters

cookies rise in the oven, then fall.
someone knocks at the door, in  a hoodie
with a skateboard, a trip to manhattan
in his pocket.









*(&




we were thom kah gai
panang and spring rolls
losing our way in target's
vast super center. we were
asking directions and finding sales
and smiles on the christmas blog.
the cash back, the friendly bagger.

all the way out to the tent
we smoke the sacred weed
in amongst the pines
we finger  the scotches. green
soft needles slide over
whorled pads. receptors. smell.


they're too tall,i imagine one filling
my living room like a woodsman, trapped
with a hatchet beside my couch.strung
with lights to make him more user friendly.













()*



i used to write with you in mind
now i write afraid of what you'll read.







































(*)&

















over by the douglas firs, he picks
up a tree and says look at this mom.

it's perfect. just enough flaws
to make it real. i love it. guy walks by
says these are half price tonight.

i'm down with that. nother guy walks up
with a chain saw says i'll get that for ya.

half netted looks again says you want me take
that off? yah, could use it. nods. buzz. bagged.

at the register he's like i smell pine
other guy says man ALL i smell is pine
buzzguy's all no this is real pine.
i smile. he's like that's a special price
for ya. i think i got that. nod. smile.
the cashier plays along. less than ten dollars
for my sacrifice to consumerism. a tree, already dying
into which i screw metal bars, then pour
water into a dish and force it to drink
to approximate the semblance of life.
and it weeps .

its tears and its screams
make my house smell
like the inside of a vast forest
in the middle of winter clean and white
as virgin snow.

half price is worth a tip anyway you look at it
but i wonder if the roaches folded inside
were a bit too much .

as i write this i wonder
honestly for the first time
if he was playing
off my stoned stupidity in a bid for a larger tip
or if he really cut me
a deal cuz we gotta take care
of our own.

i know better than to wear white

i'm going to get a terry cloth bath
robe for myself, you know the kind
they have at the beverly hills hotel
the ones every one steals because it's part
of the bill?

so we're in goodwill and you find one.
not as thick as i'm thinking but it's the right
material after all and one fifth mall price.

i mean, it's good enough, right?
and it's white, just like in the hills.


why do i feel like i'm settling?
ashes roll down the front
and begin the greying process.
this is just for stepping out
of the shower, pristine, healthy.
not for the sloppy poet's smoke
and coffee stain, this is for someone
who has grapes peeled for them
teeth manicured daily, blinding as snow
offsetting a lying around the pool for days tan.

my hair is stringy today.
i stink too. a shower is in order
but i write, emulating bukowski
on a female scale. i don't drink
but it's all weedy round here.
i don't gamble
at anything but love

my track record's not too bright.
not white and black like a perfect
poem in the middle of a linen sheet.
or her skin, wrapped up, pristine.

i trace the zodiac on your body
cough up a lung
it's morning in the pre pubescent century

mass krap lighters will be the treasures
of the adolescent economy. buried deep
in landfills, we'll mine them for the butane
power our ipods. maybe one day enearth a factory
where millions of fuel repositories are
abandonned to us, the future.


what i like best are the completely full ones
the way they won't give up the flame
store it like diamonds waiting for gold's prison.










*(&&










diamonds are a girl's best friend.
a lesson i rejected because everyone was doing it.
but no one's traded poetry for pussy
without regreting the way it distances








































*&




i close my eyes
  push electric and critical
 bow over  string in 3/4 time
not the dancehall rhythm of youth

but a waltz
a dip,
a glass figurine
making porcelian

kisses shatter
the back
of my neck
in a soft breath

fingers on keys
teeth on
 the
left
lobe


 a kernel of reality 
1/0 validity















&^*^



what do you see
when you wake up from the dream?








(***



the answer i would expect
is i am you and we are that.





&*




the day dawns again
rained away, stop getting high
i'm cleaning my room
shopping for a reciept
the clean smell of washed cotton




who are you to say
my strategy won't work?
thought is responsible for suffering
true dat but no think
is a willful ignorance
to the consequences of your li'l ripple.




what- did she say responsibility?
the ir implied.


what am i doing here with you
when i could be propheting to so many more?
tolle wrote a book. i could write a book.
maybe . lol.


the book of ninot.

i'm such a

you got A  three hundred and sixty degree
bank of monitors, double spaced
chasin the wake from ahead
and a swivel chair
accounting for the stream
partial sequential



  thus ego
reasserts herself





lol good thing i'm lazy. newboy sez
most artists are lazy and that's a good thing.















(&

porch swarm

indian dub groove
bees collect in the corner
micrometers from the source
of scent. one chime sounds
 a beam of light hits the soft
skin , dead can dance chants
on pandora. i miss you.


tho you sit here with  without
me, gone and there , now and here

ey ay yah oh wah yey. this is interesting weed. it has a menthol
halucination, see wtih touch, a microscopic vision
purple arsenic life forms, the human factor
non imaged images, passages of time, cat paw swipe
at the bodies buzzing on the verge.


" i know we're gonna meet someday
and crumble the financial institutions of our time...
there will be snacks" 
so andrew bird flew up in to the idealism
we were so tired of being love
so tired.














*(&





waking beside you
was the best mornings of my life
did not die before you wake
























&*^^


jump little children
straight into acoustic funk
cellow shadows, arches, silent
beckon for your bow
 the piece of sky in your eyes
the flight, frantic against the screen
blocking desire from stamen.
and this song makes me want to dance













&*^^