Tuesday, July 26, 2011

ahhh yes

Is god willing to prevent evil, but not able Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able, and willing Then whence cometh evil
Is he neither able nor willing Then why call  him god -Epicurus

Monday, July 25, 2011


that's a typo caused
by a propensity for 18 month olds
to want to play with keys.

three great subjects for poems
baby, cat, sunset.


but srsly, everytime i begin
to write, i mean even these paltry
smegous journal entries, i get
pulled away. he says go with it
heard enough of my bitchin
today. which is why i like to write
gets all the bitchin out.

like for instance getting five calls
in a day for non serious shit like
should the daughter let the crackhead
come over during dinner and if so
should she feed him the porkchops
i buy or the ray he caught and froze and pushed
into my hands as we unpacked the freezer exactly
where he wasn't needed,inside with me & the daughter
not doing his job leaving
his toddler out in the car
where she almost choked on a pen
she found how she found one is a mystery
to me cuz
when i'm sittin at the pond gettin
stoned at lunch and some great poetic line
flutters by just above the water line
between the reeds and teatree bushes
 all i need is a pen or a pencil or nub
a dried out marker for chrissake there is not
single writing instrument to be found-i have to say look
i don't feel good about even using my electricity
to feed your baby daddy could you please
just tell him to come over after we eat
if he can't come over before i don't
want to see his face because mainly
i just want him to do right
before he sits at my table again


he's twenty years older than she is
but he acts like my x2ybf fifteen years his junior.
he already had 2 kids he didn't take care of what
makes me think he'll do right by hers

not that the x2ybf is that bad. at least he
didn't bring children into the world

nothing makes me think he'll do right by her.
it seems to be a broken sonnet
 between men and women

so down on the luckness
comes crashing down into this is my life
he wants to hone in on again
and frankly i am tired of babysitting men
who are not my charge. the daughter
is outside sharing a cigarette and this
is what holds her back somehow thinking
he is the only man who will want her
and why does she think that unless it's from
echoes of all the times you said that to me
or all the times he said that to her twenty years her elder
and i think about the x2ybf and how i can get
all egotistic about how i didn't
at the minimum how i did not tell him
no one else would ever be his.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

incident at lake weir, take 2

he'd been  mining the rock for eleven years
driving over from beverly
hills into sumpter county, set the charges
for some real pretty, real fine blows, he'd
come to them green, knew the tools
but not much else. dug some trenches in his time
but he worked
his way up
to super
he had an uncanny way of staging the explosives
so the lime tumbled close to the pit, maybe a few yards
would hit the water, but most of the payload
was extractable. what happened....i never seen it happen
like that before, it was like
the earth just....turned to pudding, slid him
nice and easy into the water he didn't
even have time to see where he was going
i don't think, we musta blown a cave
we didn't spot with the sonar,
cuz that rock turned slick & just slid into
the limestone  pit like it was bein slurped
into some huge mouth n nothin
we could do--no
lifesaver, pole, nuthin was faster'n the lime.

drown in lake weir during memorial service

his daddy seemed resigned, a little stunned
that the boy, he shook his head, man
he hadn't seen in eleven years
since he was twenty  & the distance between father
and son at apex
was suddenly gone. his son, boiled
away in a hellish pit, no body
to mourn, no
grave to place flowers or the game
ball he'd always wanted to give
a grandson. he shook his head, his hair
blows in the boat's breeze on this otherwise
quiet, windless day. to the east, large white capped
clouds build in the stillness but they are miles
away, gathering the heavy rains that will wash the afternoon
air clear, after all this business is done, this ceremony
which must signify everything his son was
and could have been.

paradise, he snorts under his breath
i suppose i could see it. if it wasn't so damn hot
all the time. he didn't even have snow at christmas
this thought catches him like an upper
cut, christmas eve.
that day. of all days. who the fuck works on christmas 
to mine lime fucking stone he mutters
another  time, the phrase by now
a mantra. paradise, sure. where the natives
are uneducated and the workers are shit. strong union
man, kenny senior. leans his head back determined
to enjoy, at least, the boat ride, the company
of familyand the friends of the man he would now
never know.

five adults and four kids were cramped
and the kids where whining about the heat,
they came upon the point, a thousand yards
out from the shore, water 12 maybe 20
feet deep, judgin by the sonar. no big items
on the scan. he throttled the boat down
threw anchor .hang on one minute then you can go
swimming he told the kids. he was gonna
say something about ken then, that was his  plan.
 he  stared at the cloudy water
watching sunlight catch the  ripples made
from the boat's wake, golden, squint maker, 
reflecting under his hat and the boat's
awning like flags and morse code until
they died down and the water
was as still as the air. the lake had a liquid
gooey look to it under the tropical noon
sun/ the clouds, hours away still, rose like mountains
marching toward the lake.
he took the baseball from his pocket, turned
to the center of the lake
drew back and heaved it  as far and as high
as he could. there must have been some
kind of high wind because that ball 
travelled damn near two thousand yards
f he lost sight of it in the sun's glare
as he turned his head up for a minute
he thought it was never going to land
thought briefly of souls
and the hereafter and homeruns. it was
so quiet on the lake you could
hear the plop as it landed , the water so still
they all could follow  the ripples
from the impact making their inexorable way
across the water to the boat. when the timy wavelets
hit the hull, it was as if some spell
which had kept the whole boat
load of kids and relatives  silent
and heavy as midsummer florida heat
had been broken. his niece gave
a little yelp like a puppy, jumped
up and down and begged
to go swimming now, pleeeeeeease?
the captain nodded and settled in
as his companion and the girl jumped
into the   water. oooo
they said, it's so warm.

they'd been swimming for a little while maybe
ten minutes or so, not venturing too far
from the boat when the niece
began to squeal again. ooh, that was...
icky. she began to struggle and the woman
swam over to check the life jacket, push
her toward the boat. she felt a tug
on her legs along with a coldness, cold bottom
water stirred up by convection and the motion
of swimming  she told herself. but the tugging
was more insistent  cold wrapping
around her legs like swirling grabbing fingers
trying to pull her under. the captain hearing
the struggle, stands up. sees the thrashing
thinks gator! he jumps into the water right
beside the girl, grabs and pushes her the few
feet to the boat's stern. she grabs the ladder
and is hauled up by the terrified adults. his companion
still struggles a few yards away now so he swims
out to grab her. she's hysterical, has gone
twice and coughs some lake water
out of her throat. but there's no blood. if there was a gator
surely there'd be red in all this thrashing? she grabs
hold of him around the shoulders, screaming, crying coughing
he turns to swim back to the boat when

  he feels it too, that cold slick grip
dragging and sucking them both down as
the spectators on the boat watch in disbelief
then horror as the surface remains unbroken
but a for  few ripples & water bubbling
as if just coming to boil.

later the rains will come & the scorching
lightning, thunder grumbling and roaring its approach.
the search for the victims will be suspended
as the mountains of water spill themselves
into the lake, furiously battenning
its  flat surface, giving it teeth
with whitecaps that will capsize a joyboat.
tomorrow they'll find the bodies a few hundred
yards from where they search today. side by side
practically, as if they were just taking
a nice dip on a hot, quiet day.


i dunno what came over me
i was drinkin a little bit it's true but
i dunno. it was like watchin that boy
so chicken shit of a little water
and he's seven years old dammit he
should already know how to swim so i got tired
of him bein so pussy and i'm gonna teach
him how to swim like my bothers taught me
dunk him under a few times and he'll get it
but sissy boy starts cryin and screamin after the first
time, so i dunk him again, and instead of that shuttin
his mouth he cries harder so i do it again and again
to teach him, i'm yellin at him to close his goddamn
mouth when he goes under that's how you keep
the water out but he just keeps crying harder
n harder trying to get away so i grab him by the ankles
and haul him deeper and hold him there
and i get so mad when he won't close his fuckin
mouth that i hold him there longer to teach
him a lesson and those mutherfuckers
on the beach are shouting they gonna call
911 if i don't stop and i was hungry
anyway, a day in the water'll do that to ya
so i stopped. how is it drowning
if he dies three fuckin days later?

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

physicists are almost certain the universe is not a hologram

i've borrowed your computer
since mine won't get the web
here in paradise.

the sun is rising
on the other side of the roof
the sea pales and begins
its hold on the sky.

to rise early and sleep
midmorn is a good way
to begin.  naps for everyone!


physicists are almost certain
the universe is not a hologram.
it bears repeating.


that's prollly a good thing , not being
a hologram but i mean if five senses
are but a but a two dimensional projection
of a three dee existence to use as metaphor
the very space time fabric
then, as that holographic being,
i can not begin to fathom what kind
of sensors we must be using in the uprev
version of life.


on the narrow pavement
that twists through the island
 the  dumpsters line up for mangling.

waves sigh and slough as metal
 grabs with screech and thump
a pterodactyl prowling.


omg! so much pressure. listen. just write.
you are not dylan or roth and why would you ....


and the pressure comes from where?
this idea of poet. as one who poetics
as if you can take the rainbow
and the garbage truck and interchange them
as if that's proper
go make some coffee, it takes
many many years to imprint a metaphor
into reality


as the espresso maker begins
to steam you understand to the lighthouse
and what virginia meant when to do
when she wrote it. this sudden
comprehension took the gulf damp
twenty two seasons to seep in.

he is stirring, on the leather couch
which matches the lake of his eyes
and you are on his computer.
you could write on yours but his connects
to the internet. he has paid for the room
but you bought the food, and will cook it
and wash the dishes.  he abashedly says
that he will not be able to pay for the room
and take you out to dinner everynight.
the truth is he could not take you out even once
and you know it. you puzzle over
the desire in a man to take care of financial
things, you don't quite understand it since feminism
is your calling card. you short
circuited centuries of provider/dependent
in your tweens and have forgotten how the real
world lives. it's full of flies that buzz
your coffee cup, and boyfriends that wish
you would not write on their computer
now that they are awake.

also, lighters that go missing.
if you were a smart woman, you
would ask him to buy you an upgrade
when he makes more money.
he would like that.


so, the universe is not a hologram.
almost certainly. smoke inhaled
cyclones thru aveoli and out again,
depositing real carbon cloisonne
on brachea.

the teens are out at the pool
over at the condo next door.
half and half and sugar mellows
the coffee. out in the ocean the sharks
have most certainly already breakfasted.
it's time to snorkel, buzz the fish
on the reef and watch them fly away

Tuesday, July 05, 2011

some stuff on my comp.

i likie  this font
it looks like  a bit more
as if i'm writing on paper.
i have paper, just beside me
but i want to type. it's  my best way
of writing  these  days. i have to  turn off
democracy now, the  rich west creating the  poor
third  world, well it makes me  diverted
from the  pain in my world.
which is losing you.

yes you. the man who once loved me.
i have to let you go as thoroughly as i let justin go.
i  don't want to hate on either of you
but you both don't know how to treat me. apparently.
justin said "the problem is you". i have to agree.
but not how he thinks it's me. the thing i do wrong
is to allow poor treatment, to excuse  narcissist behaviour.
that's  kinda always been my problem.  oh he  would do better
if he only  knew his lessons. well, busshit. anymore, i'm
'gonna say that lesson should have already been learned.
some  of you have learned it. some of you haven't.
i  am tired of being someone's memory of  how you should have been.
you know how i see  portents in birds.  how i  want the tarot to 
be  prophetic. how the tarot definitely feels as if it's telling me the truth.
but  i  ignre  the real meanings, too many shadows dappling  cross
the  page  for me to say, ohm y look. that's  the thing

i have to let you go. if you love someone, let them go.
if  they come back, they love you. if they don't the probably never did.
tired of "fighting for it". love  doesn;'t  have to fignt. i wonder  why the space bar
doesn;'t work.   why i can't find an apostrophe.  why  the mouse is so touchy.
why love  in m y life can't be  a more balqnced admixture  of  thrills and calm.
i'm  such  a drama queen.  i wnat  what  i want and i want it now. i suppose
the lesson you learned is it's good to comparison  shop. me, i just take the bargains
as i see them. that's why i end up with  touhy  mice, feely men.

see  i , i  was  in a love sitution with you when i wrote that about being friends
with exes. and look, you really can't use something i told youa  year ago, in
relation to relationship, as my reality now. just like yours, mine has morphed. wk hat,
did you think i'd just sat in a cave since the last time we touched?
i guess the truth is i would have to be  in love  with someone else to ever be able
to simply be  your friend. i  ummm, desire you too much.

last nite chris said to me this story:
her children broke us up. she was depressive , her ex was a beater.  when i  sold my place
and moved in with  her to  help with the bills (on both sides, i was just begginning
my business...) her mother took me  out  to dinner .  "how much will it take, chris?"
exuse me? ' how much will it take to make this go away?"  i love  your daughter,
i'm not for sale. " we're catholic, we don't get divorced.  i can see why my
daughte fell for you. how much?" i don' t think you understand..."you're a very
good looking man, her husband would not stand a chance  in comparison to you"

lateri  found out from her son how she'd told them , the three kids, the same story.
that their m9m was  onl  interested in the sex.  that if i went away, she'd be back
with thier daddy. never mind he beat her, broke her wrist. catholics don't
get divorced/

after i moved out we saw each other once a week, to watch 'cops' together. we never
saw a whole episode.  after about six months of it
she said to me , sharing a cigarette, "i love you chris". i didn't answer. chris i love you.
i just looked at her.  come on chris i love you don't you love me? 
"I LOVE YOU, i said, i'm just not in love  with you"
at that moment i hated you. you were every man, unable to walk thru the fire.
i got dressed and walked out. i never saw you again.

i   guess  that's what you did to me as well. love comes
in flavors we ca n't appreciate when we' taste them
today i thought about the sAVIOUR funny how that capitalizes
itself.  a cricket gives a solitary chip, in a 39 hertz cycle
cars cruise by on orlando avenue, aka a1a in the middle
of cocoa beach. well not quite center. the crowds are too the north a bit
and i have to walk across the road and your ghost haunts not only
the  motel but the  place  i rode you in the dark  j =]
in the form of a leatherback sea turtle, but this is not your memory
it will never be  yours it's mine. my beach, my state, my home.

++ +

in these rooms i have  2 tell
the story of the ocean in her voice
rise and fall  melting both ways
the atlantic is brisk, unlike  the  pool
or the gulf, invigorating while you wait
for the  sea to strike. it's  most noticeable
when i have  lili, my new favorite  girl
in the water. my grand daughter, a  daughter
who will always be grand because i am n ot
in charge of her. but i care for her. at work, maria
asks me if i am in love with the grand be be. i smile
and nod, admitting the feeling of blindness
the way the river flows between us, trust in the water
that runs in our greeting. i'm tired now. wish
to sleep but there's so much not been said, so much
not written down, "i am lili, leona the lioness, and i am
seven mosnths old today."                      

i heard about the floods a few months back
heard about the crop devastation   rural
washouts, livestock drowned,homes & lives swept
away by monsoon, la nina they say. glacier melt
say others. the big picture is so huge.
8 million homeless and in refugee camps.
riots for the food caravans. i am a poet.
i believe the personal is political. the politcal, personal.

ordinance washed downstream
collected in gullys, recovered
in mud as waters receed. beware
pimples on the riverbed,
close to the surface, ready to explode.

cholera in mingora, malaria rife.
we need forty helicopters to ferry
people caught in the mountains, with no passage
stranded, winter coming on. the wheat is gone
cotton is gone, but futures rise and green up
 specualtion's coffers.

so i thought about what i know about pakistan.
which isn't much. they have shariah law there, don't they?
stone raped women to death, don't they?
taliban trying to win the hearts and minds
same as usa. parthenogenic violence.
their leaders are corrupt warlords
the government
is corrupt, isn't it? aren't all governments?

next door in kabul the american copters take to the skies.
they ferry soldiers to the border, inspectors
but there's no more room for saving flood victims
we got a war to conduct. let the pakistanis and
afghan expatriates find their own way out.

i  swam the indus river last week,
followed the water down from peshewar and mingora
left  giant stone budhas  on the mouontain face
and Rahman Baba called to me as i swirled  by

Sow flowers that your surroundings become a garden.
Don’t sow thorns; for they will prick your own feet.

oh pollywood, i dove as bridges collapsed but i couldn't
stop you, stranded by   the cinema
making love to scores of afghani musicians before the clerics
move in from across the border and silence song again.

a few miles north of here, the rain still falls.
in the canvas tent, farzana is telling mijur "this is how
you clean your baby. this is what causes a rash,
if your breasts are sore,wash them then
rub butter, oil , lard, if that's all you have"  as she
bends over the baby to change her diaper
mijur can see tight folded skin along her temple.
she wants to ask if it was oil that the match found
or lard. wants to know if smoke made her pass
out, or if she felt the flames rising like a river
from her burka to her skin. but she doesn't.
she listens as farzana says"  i know\
there's so much of it now
but you must not drink from the streams,
they carry cholera. try to get the clean
water, try to get the germ killer tablets."
mijur just learnt about germs. doesn't
know whether to believe in them or not. 

i scatter a handful of poppy seeds on the rocky ground
dribble off to a little stream, piece of silt on the move.


pakistan's  a country of contradictions. unlike its surly
neighbor, pakistan's women have more freedom.
sufferage is in the constitution. they have female
allotments in government (10%), even had
a female prime minister. she was
unable to complete her first term
but  was re elected several years later . oy, but this isn't
a  history lesson. i don't want to lecture.

a country caught between the excesses of the taliban
and the excesses of india. a country struggling
with its past, trying to move into a future sandwiched
between two entrenched systems,  forced into
being a buffer zone between islam and infidel.  somehow
women have more freedom there
than they do in almost any other islamic  country.
however, there ain't no rape kits.the marriages are mostly
arranged, however, i would like to think

there is, somewhere, love. listen to this pashto poet
and tell me there is not...

"if you give a drop of water to the thirsty
it will become a river between you and hell"

see,  i don't want farzana  to get raped anymore.
i want her to be ok. i want the fire
to leave a lasting mark on her psyche, the way it has on her skin.

i want that message to be "you can do anything you want.
what do you want"



“If anybody asks you, don’t tell them my name; don’t say I had anything to do with it.’ `
farzana's husbands grabs his wife's burnt arms
whispering harshly. she survives
but does  not
go to her husband's home. "i did not want to bring
shame upon my family name" she cries
  in the burn room," i wanted
to be your good daughter, father".  he cannot
meet her eyes. his daughter, disfigured for life
by her own hand. he curses the
medicine for saving her,pays the hospital,
brings her home.

"there is a cousin in pakistan" he tells faranza
"in pakistan,  shiriah law is more lax.
  they educate women. you are not too old."
he sees the fear in her exposed eyes, above the hajib
"allah must want to use you as something other
than mother, since he let you live."

farzana looked dully at her father. "do you mean i will not
see my daughter? "

what do you care for her now?

"i do not want
to bring shame upon my family." she travels
to mingora with her oldest
brother, the husband of her husband's sister. 
she sleeps in her cousin's laundry room
and rises before dawn to prepare
breakfast for the family of six.
her father pays for a private tutor
a woman, an engineer in the soviet days
two hours, one day a week. mostly,
they talk of escape. this is how farzana

thinks of the concepts the soviet woman
has her read.  capitalism, communism,
entitlement, fuedalism, rent.
is  new concept to her. she rolls it around
in her head, folding cousin's laundry, scrubing
floors, grinding sesame and falafel.
 from sun up to sun down,   its taste
on her tongue. a woman may rent her own rooms
in mingora. a woman may go to market
without an escort, a woman may uncover her face
but faranza never does.

faranza remembers the helicopters in kabut
on the journey to pakistan. she asked her bother
what the symbols painted on the sides meant
thinking they were names of the huge black beasts.
their terrible thumping of the air drew
her breath first out of lungs intirely
then forced it back down her throat

when the rains came and came there
was no where for the water to go. farzana
waited on the rooftop with her cousins
huddled under the bedframe's canvas.
together they watched the river
invade the floors of their home.
it marched up the stairs quicker than
something that large should be able to.

she clutches the bundle with her few
possessions.   the books
from the soviet engineer were wrapped
deeply inside her second hijab
she tried to protect them from the water
but the who bundle fell  as she shakily
climbed the ladder up to the helicopter.
later she wept for the books
but during the climb she wanted to follow them.

nothing good comes from calamity.
when will allah let her die.


on the outskirts of the refugee camp
we have our tent, covered by blankets
we bartered for in the summer
in the one warm room
our family moves in out in concentric circles
to the core of warmth. we all get our turn to be
relaively warm. holding my hands out
to the fire, i give thanks to allah
for the season . it is good to be deprived
it makes the soul stronger.



when they ask for volunteers
farzana ignores her cousin's jeers
walks into the camp adminstrator's tent.

i can read. she says. i studied with an engineer.
i want to help."you can aide the nurses
with the women". the hospital tents
burst with babies, women in hijab  and burqua
but in mingora a woman may wear a shalwar kameez.
farzana admires the open veil, the lovely circlets
of metal and twined ribbon worn atop so many
shades of raven tresses. she will not cover
her eyes anymore, but she draws the hijab
across her scars each morning, and there it stays.

in the wold of the helicopters, a woman might.

i am a poet.
i believe the personal is political. the politcal, personal.

i take things to hear t


feb 2011

\i cannot judge these people  cannot put down their lives
as if a story but THEY do.  how to say objectify    so busy
speaking he cannot hear. he does not. or maybe it's just me
the command of a coaster, the dont scratch the grow up
i  just can't get into the level of belief require d

it doesn't make   either one of us a bad person.

i just dont fit here. she's not over glamoured, more like
my sister, but smarter. i like her. he's a bore. full of himself.
fine and dandy, he's talented, he  does move, he can. he makes things
happen. but he monopolisess the convo. when  you speak of  alternatives
he  becomes weary. i'm beat he says. i think i'm the delusional one
these people are successful. i  dont have the stomach to play their game.
you were right. we  do not havethe same goals. the same futures.
i  cannot stomach  listening to the stories of  the  previleged

is it resentment? at this point i am not sure
a rationalization will probably rear its head
if i delve far enough. but it probably can be distilled
to resentment. i am not a lion. i am the meek, inheriting
the earth. dirt. where ye  shall be buried. ah  set me free
in the sands of zanizibar, scatter me bones
over landscapes and vistas, set my soul in  a constellation
why dontcha?

lol. well, it just seems so.................
i really like this font. heh.

it is his incessancy. it's all about him'
and jonny mathis. i only wanted to smoke
a littl
a  little bit.

now they're playing music again
i wanted to do some  but  he was not pleased
and i can't sing. let me tell you boy
she will drag you down


i  don't fit in what  you were
what you're travlling toward
see you in the 


sunbeam   my keys are sticking
i want to go to the beach but  you are
exploring  your self-exile.
iin the grass i see  my third eye
inner is outer. i try to send healing vibes
because of the  rip you insist on making
or just because i need to feel my godness
when the little yappy dog nextdoor is challenged
by my presence on the grass i first try to comfort him
then try to disappear but dogs
are not fooled by the illusions of mind
anymore than humans, and often quite  less
because while i walked in my head away from
his territory, i forgot to take my scent with me.

file://his/ barking continues
so i rise in body fro m the  grass
and move to another spot, out
of his view. my scent is still the same
but perhaps dissapated.


what i wonder about godness
is environment. i don't wonder
about that at all. we arise in concert
you singing this chord, i  sing that.
this chord,dischord it's all relational
does your truth admit this?  i  am  the god
of relativaty, hear my song.

i want to go to the beach
i could leave you here, suitcase and laptop
in hand, make you find your own way home
but it's just a desire and i say i love you
say i need you baby just don't leave me i ;ll be good.

the song keeps playing in  my head.
one day, i'll sing it out and it will stop.

you talk control and freedom
not realizing fully their oneness
you want to  influence the elephant
ego ego ego
let them be what they want to be
if your questions are rebuffed,
you have their answer.

she  wants to know why you would take
such actions if 
i wonder if it's moved along beyond
if if if
you understand what his reaction would be
why take that risk? even now, there is    movement
to  turn you apostate.  but you're just not that dangerous
except to faith. except to belief. except you deny the data
that wants support in this realm. until they leave
you do not have a foothold and every gain
you think you make is just stone crumbling
beneath  your feet.


the butterfly is yellow
sulfur over kelly
green like february has no right to be.
[paradise  is a delusion i  hold dear]

you say this is hell
and i say
as you wish.


in the  distance, the hiway
makes a surf, ubiquitous,
this wave has no undertow
it just breaks and breaks and  breaks
from the pines  and scrubs
is  a knocking
neighbor with a hammer
repetitive but not patterened
like the second flash of yellow in the brush
smaller this time, still fluttering.
the hawk cries, invisible
roosting birds become limestone rocks
in the afternoon. wild boar spoor
lies down the path. rabbits, snakes.

the flattery begins, the battle ship is earth
and the captain has deputised the bosun
to bring the  mutineers back into the fold.

or at least one of them, the one who speaks of it
the one you can let into your life.

always breaking, never receeding
this is how time rolls over my body
traffic on the interstate, blown out
into realities travelling at the speed of desire.
that's pretty fast.

acrossthe pond are  more houses you built
screens divide  the lawn. manicured agreements.
flash of white and yellow in the sky.
what do you want. that is the question
do yo u think we can provide you with that is that
a truth you can sink your teeth into? then join us

my friend. welcome back , in.


i still just want to go to the beach
still just want to  stand in body
beside the surf, annoint my self
with mother.  you would deny
this bliss, . the downward spiral
the actions of the past dictating now
how you need to clear the rubble
so you can climb on, build new.
i once told you i am hitler
but you don't believe me
i am as much he as you
and as much you as me.

my rights, fingertips
how far does that reach?


my upper thigh, at the fold
of skin connected to ass
itches. st augusting will do that for you,
he reminds me  of you , in the expression
of geekdom. he reminds me of someone i once loved
and so i love again.  he is being reminded of who
he is today. this will make the going easier.
the cotillion swings wildly in the breeze
 -- a mild towel , newly dried.

i don't want to  intrude upon the paranoia
introduced by our presence. it is time to do
hours ago, i want to go to the beach.
my desire flickers on the
edge  of the pond in spots of purple and pink.
the maypole of my longing. the ribbons that wrap
around . i will not lend my influence to the discussion
anymore. i am, at heart, a southerner.


is that the  genesis of resentment?
the payment for slavery is to decry success?
perhaps, i feel exploited by corporate ideation
even if i am the exploiter.

and then we left

philosophical cannibalism

people  like to have wars
that's why we need oil
the postulates attack each  other
what's for dinner?
the only response is to join
the opposition party then
murder them all...
then eat them.


bose  einstein  sediments
collect on\\over this waving ness
fuck that. i need a line that uses that as metaphor

we race toward immortality
and simultaneusly our own destruction
you can take that we singularly or plural
whichever viewpoint is more comforting.

i was thinking metaphysical end games
when i finally find myself as god
do i  wake up or blow out
and is there a difference

the now is god sleeping
the new is the dreamer
the thread is god seeking
the body  ,a schemer.

  genetic locks are being picked
it's a race between bombs & eternity

you should never try to relive  the high.  it  doesnt translate.
i need the other key.board. different music if i wanted to be a perfectionista.
life isn't perfect but this ship that doesn't move is.
do you remember when we came here and spent the weekend
cosoling ourselves with the breakup? how could you know
it would lead to three  boys and a bruise forever tender.
th e balcony is perched upon a breakwall of coral and shoal.
austrailian pine whips the  wind into straws that whisper rain rain rain.
it dots the screen , glittery, a deadly short circuit
i'm waiting for dlophins to  appear instead
thunder aserious ly rumbles to the south.  how high
the surf under cloudy skies. "he's an idiot!" you shouted
to console me.  you shouted to the gods of  alternate  realities
baffled by the  confnes of  current and weather
on the way over, pelicans  skimmed  the  lee side of the  big
sail where the fight over the bay ends as it begins. if  i still
see portents in birds, what shadows compose  the  tailfeathers

what ghosts in  their prehistoric wing?  the awning drips
on my keyboard. i taunt the happy disaster that will
fry it.  the in your face of it. we're only here for a night.
a week of this would be too maudlin anyway. let's go
to someplace different, some  echo of  childhood's  wide
sugar sand , tidepools of starfish and stingray, a place rain
has forsaken.  at least the music has changed.
the ship sails languidly against  surf and  porous
cumulo nimbus.  we turned off the air so we could hear
the coming stom. two feet out, the water's clear as a spring.
a child is in the  surf, despite the  harley in the clouds.
it's to the north  anyway, the dangerous  edg e has passed
and the heavy rain approacheth.  with it some new grumbling.
you have  grin on the mp3,  rain comes in earnest now
calming the waves, driving the neighbors indoors.
if it all rains out now, we can have fireworks after dark.

rain and sea equals mist and from it,  the prow's  view
on the balcony, a pelican emerges, lone and flying
toward  the  pale yellow south.... we st is wet and sunneling
red hot chili peppers on the  raydio.


-the internet has spoiled more than a few good times
and this time it's playing games that i just dont' like
i'm connected but i need a password. maybekaren knows it.
 if we  can get connected we can stay.
last nite was fireworks in the water. all my life i've heard
of bioluminescence but i've  never quite seen it the way
it was when we swam nude  in  the gulf at midnite.
i never saw it before.  the milky way was pale but the stars
were  legion.  i cannot describe the joy i felt. we swam for
hours, fucked for a while, standing, floating, the water
an unexpected lube, 
it looks exactly like the ocean has stored
the milky way' and  with movement

 your skin  is the dark matter
against which it shine.

if i were a real poet i'd be able to tell you
the way they limned
me into believing in the three dimensional

the small heron with the blond head
feathers  i  once  assigned to you as totem
keeps strutting on the surf below in his yellow
mexican pointy toed shoes. jack white wore
them when he met colbert. they all the rage .

cofee and weed has made me antsy
we're to leave today and barely got here.
i have not seen 24 hours of this place
but for now i 'm going swimming in
the color of your over and over eyes.

i  roll my hands over and over
in the  water, so i can remember
how this looks. throwing stars
creating galaxys, playing
with  neutrinos.
pearl beach  9414732361\

i can't get the internet
but you you can, and that's all that matters
if i get a flash drive i can upload this to your
comp and connect. if i don't, i can upload when
i get home on sunday.
 the important thing i s to have the netbook for
the writing.
i'm tanning my ass in black french cut
lace underwear. the skt is over cast, a tree
filters the sun as well so the white skin
which only dark air has ever touched
is not over exposed.  the wind blows
the four loco can across the balcony.
its forlorn clank like a robot arm, uselessly
chruning  after the bolt has bolted, p;rogrammed
and interfaced to a reality no longer in vogue.
that's how i feel sometimes in my relation to the world.
on the deck below lizards bob their long necks
at each other,  full frontal flagging
in orange  & yellow while below them, the gulf
sloshes against  rocks in  the rhythm we found
a moment ago on the bed. you are neptune
and i am antigone. i have sparse access the acaciac
library here, but i think it's a viable trade off.
the water is just beneath me, burrowing
trying to build a wider level. the sun and wind
kiss the gulf miliseconds before me, there are  voyeurs
in the  three story anitseptic condo beside me
and i am wearing a sheer scarf and lace panties
my legs not yet gone
to seed, silver highlights my hair, mimicing gold.
we  will walk in the phosphorescence tonight
and make love among the stars
because someone has to  feed the gods.


- 4:13 PM 7/5/2011

i dont RECALL putting the time stam p on here.
now i'm going to load some pics. it's the second sunset here
while i was prepared to leave  early on. this place is magical.
we took a siesta then went to get food. when  we returned the  waves
had begun . you tell me  u don't need to surf these puny things
i say the weather's been workin up all day
just to bring some waves to th is sleepy gulf