perishables at the truck stop

these days move  on I 95 lost in gestures
and pizza boxes  traveling with smoke
signal and carrots, organic sweet.
figments of an imaginative fig or some
beautifully bathed circus sister from the thirsty
thirties, last century siren
Accidentally spilling over into otherwise from time to time.


there were accounts in the offices 
of all the times the baby ate pizza for dinner
without salad or the way the guy in the blue ghost
shoes managed to leave me homeless
penniless, jobless in that order. the way the moving
van broke the towed volvo on the night of the memorial
the way we ran out of gas and money 
so close to our new  home it made me  realise
 i'm the flip side of every coin.

so when ralph the cat escaped into the field
filled with thistles and some powder blue flower
i knew was gonna trigger a sinus attack i went after him
armed with nothing more than the memory 
of the smell of tuna on my hands. it worked because
the cytokine storm had passed and all the hemorraghic 
nodes were safe for the moment. he piled into the gassed
up truck with not a scratch, not a hiss. freedom must have 
seen like too big a loss, the night just too full of all those
points of lights moving along way past the limits of speed.

i ching, please

tell me what i'm going to do
with a spinning dreidle afternoon
a life path of bent spine and heartless
tequila sunrises when darkness rolls
across the bay window of our child's eyes
what then home boy where's your cynical
cut and paste bottom line now?

i ching please throw a bone
to chubs, his victrola tail comic
eye reminiscent of the our gang curse
tell me how the fibroids play out
and the old lady skin shreds with each cut;

i ching , the swelling, antibiotic gelling
i ching the mending
and chronolgic sending, rebending the light
back to two thousand now, another world's end
where we didn't go pow, or did we and this
is the ghost alt fic fan arthur dentian  cow
last meal for our venerable  ancenstral esque tao.

i ching me forward, a varying vector collide ish
colloidish  , two joints beyond this.

saint of the broom

i never tripped wassup widdat? i want you to write the story of my life-- story of my life. how much you willing to pay? so there you were in a dream house with a nightmare spouse and two abused children i know that story intimately only the house was his dream. maybe it's a man thing. lost my career and life in less than a year. kept the house a bit longer. that's not all i tried to lose my ego in my twenties. omg that's so egotistical... * when i was a teen i had a bout of epilepsy. hospitalized for months. it went away but while i was under it i'd pass out when everything coming at me seemed like a spinning possibility, a standing waveform where i could collapse all of the choices into their own inhabitable realities. i think the electric storms were those universes colliding in a spacetimestanding wave, iow, my brain. i think i gave myself epilepsy to deal with the way adhd made the world feel like strokes of paint from van gogh's brush as they were about to be applied to a canvas . that or it was a hint of the acid to come. man, i never tripped. * martin deparres roams the boulevards of lima begging alms for the brothers in the abbey. he presents the day's takings to the abbot along with another poor sick soul he found on the streets. the father sighs, regrets just enough to score his pride, his own venial sin given penance by this foolish decision to let a black man become an acolyte in the roman catholic church . when the miracles begin to happen he's not prepared. alms fill the poor box isolated plague victims nursed and healed by mysterious entry through a locked door, diseases swept from the hospital ward with a broom in the hands of a saint. rrq places at once and he never left the abby today he's the patron saint of Mississippi, black people, hair stylists, innkeepers, lottery, lottery winners, mixed-race people, Peru, poor people, public education, public health, public schools, race relations, social justice, state schools, sweepstakes, sweepstakes winners, television, Mexico a good friend of my dad's gave me an icon of him while i was hospitalized. hey do you think you could give yourself a seizure and find out the winning lotto for this week? x

shoplifting a small pin in target

there's more than one way to say i love you. fifty miles an hour down the wrong side of the road you buckle me in. spring the murder/suicide pact in fifth gear but i'm against it. drop me at the corner i'll leave the gist of me strapped right here. i promised. so you stopped. i lied like belief. you're still driving for a living but i'm more careful who i take a ride from now. in fact, i think i'll buy a car. the pin has a picture of david bowie. you remind me of his eyes. i think i washed it. it wasn't the pin i wanted. it was the market for it, pushed thru a washing machine. more than fifty ways if you're counting. one for every moment you have it. which, for some of me, is all of them. i'm thinking of taking you up on that last offer, in a less conventional way. you can have both roles. i'm gonna open the safety and poke the damn thing into an old shirt. it's got matching holes,feels like silk because it is silk. i can't afford those cheap knockoffs but i like the attempt at cool.

i forgot and talked politrix

i forgot and talked politrix

to a member of the opposition

today, trying to find out why in the world

they think like they do on something

which is none of their business, really

and found out that no

 they want that 

to be

 government's business 

and i just couldn't wrap my head around how

they can say that

 should be gvnt's business

while i think gvntment should keep their hands outta that

and this 

should be gvnment business but he

was appalled that i think that 

 this

should be gvnt business at all 

and want them to keep their hands outta this

and by the end we got into the hitler analogy 

without actually saying anything but evil.