disney princess castle

sans cigarette
in the living room...

the children were nestled
all snug in their beds
while visions of dincredibowls
rang in their potheads.

all i can say is for a homeless girl
she sure gotta lotta demands

no shit say her daddy.
my girl thinks she's gone over
to the schizo side. if we become
a section b front page story
will you promise to give me the rights>

ember the cat comes to read over my shoulder
she's perplexed as to the location of my feather
comforter, can 't grasp the rap tunes
coming from the other side of the door.


the tree twinkles in the corner, piney, dying.
the last time i left a tree up past new years afternoon
my apartment burned to the ground. . that was a different
illness, but the proclivity to attract ground zero seems

to be in full force. lately i see the poems want to be in quatrains,
untrained tho they are, unrhymed, staccato rhythmed. i
listen to the music change from one station to the next
am glad for a serenade to the lonely sound of the keys.

miss the nicotine.




















*


the castle sits pretty , pink, compact
in front of the lawyers bookcase in its disintegration
much like your mind, my dear aquaintance
my lover's progeny, sprung from loins


unsuited to the task.  one princess lies
in a turret with a beast beside her. the clock
reads six fifteen. several other disney icons
rest in the boudior, awaiting pudgy fingers

and a prince.s kiss to set them free, or at least dancing
to the music in their heads.



have a little compassion
i asked my daughter, please just
put yourself in her shoes. but that
is the province of the writer, the artist, and she

gave that up for the baby. meanwhile abbigail's small breakdowns
continue. skizzin up and down the scale, more bite
comin faster and faster but i gave up my room for her because
i could not do otherwise. there must be some help

for the insanity that courses thru the weakest of us
the ones who can't thrill in the way the jet flies over
the interstate just as my car passes under, over
and over again, out here by the airport, fast track to exit from this place.


man,  i need a sig.
brb.





















hey

wwwdotwheredoesabbeysleepdotcom

if i did a tarot reading

i think i know what it'd say

but that's the fun of not knowing

the future, it could be

a murder suicide in the parking lot

at the edge of the warehouse district

when she lost the last job, again,

and you don't know if the music

is from your phone or some DISTANT

galaxy you conjured in a subliminal passtime

you spent one morning surfing the gnarliest couch

that came from no where, no when , a few hours

here and there, please don't disturb

the neighbors, it's way past the time spent

well in the white choirs of christmas

that never will be ever clear again.

please dont make experiments in the kitchen

don't light fires that will kill us all

in our fitful sleeps, use your inside voice

and speak in whispers when you make tongues

she said, it's magic, she shared with you

and you decide to play tiger to her dragon

in and out the door all night, pacing to not let go

we can help you but you have to be willing

to compromise. anarchy needs respect 

but it seldom evinces. i dunno, vigilance

and a minder seem to be in order, but i am 

weary and the journey for you is fraught.

please just, be calm, be clear. know you are

loved, even if the love stifles. and if it stifles

too much, you must leave, become else where

else when. listen abbey, we all go through spaces 

of life when bleak is all that matters. when existential

is essential. discovering your godness in a godless

contrivance of existence. or like the budha ...

but you aren't you are warrior, you are sanity 

in this insane world. you are  scirroco  vengance

vendetta the unplugged ipod at three a.m.

wide awake, tippy tappying at the yarn, creating

a warm place to rest your not so weary head.

rest it please. i need to sleep, dont wake me

i plan on sleeping till the postal service picks up

white trash therapy

you always want someone you can
relate to when you're trying
to get to the bottom of why
you just want to slide out of this
hot mess of a life
and into the unknown.

outside- the mistral guns leaves down,
here in the sunshine state. brown
at last,   elms surrender to the burn
like children marched in lines to learn

how terror creeps into safe places
so duck your heads, compose your faces
fall silently as sleeping babies
when winter looms as more than maybe.

and what about the cares you thought
were packed away, like presents bought
in summer ,hidden o so well, you forgot
their very tales, surfacing now untaught.

no wonder time takes holidays
 seconds sleep, minutes bark ,hours play
across the trailer's lights of broken day
your hour's up, that's all i'll say.

iridesent sleep cycles

spell check says i spell things wrong
but sometimes it just doesn't know
 the word i mean.

three days ago you couldn't ask me
for a place to lay her head but i offered anyway.

i won't show fear. there are knives in the house
but no guns. it makes me feel
somewhat safer and anyway,
 she's more a barker than a biter
though cornered animals are always dangerous. .
i keep that in mind. as well as
how good deeds are punished.

i wasn't trained for this, even after
the girls and boys who came for refuge
camped in my house for a time,
moved on. the nancy incident repeats itself
on my floor, under the twinkling tree
where you are free to sleep, if you can.
have a valerian. make some candy.
a toddy. pretend you too are taking place
in a tradition you've only felt really mattered
on tv.












i'm sorry your life was so shattered.
the way time moves through your body
inked in diastole and sistole, mispronounced
in an erotic interlude with the boy next door.
tattoos are double entendres, needling you
to move faster, feel quicker, think nano.

the mirror tells all tales.

















)(


irrelevancy meanders up to my front porch
reminds me it's time we were intimate.
i take a long pull on my beverage,
type another line.
wish i hadn't read
that poem by louise gluck.


















*(&&















i was called a mental masturbator the other nite at open mic.
i'm like seriously? am i just jerking off?
it's always so nice to hear from the audience.
this guy was the host. huh, at least he lets me go on .
and on.
and
on

























comet on cupid on donner and blitzed again
another christmas rolls around. my house is full
the carpets are toxic the tree stands in the corner
looking small but cheery, like my lilibelle
except ever since you've come she likes to cross her arms
and pout. get the monster in her eyes. she seems angry
and bit out of sorts. there is a menace to engaging
with such a big child as you. she doesn't want to do what you say
but you seem like you're a grownup.
someone should tell it to your dad.
and psychiatrist. oy vey the state of mental health care
in this country could drive ya crazy.





roll eyes.


















&*


i ummm
i think you're an artist
the question is
do you have a good heart
if nirubu's ghost catches you
i'm not sure what yu'll do.

spacenerd repackage

if armegeddon is anything like the hype

we got it goin on

volcanoes andsinkholes and shootings oh my

geminids and satellites crashing oh why

have we spun the end so nigh

so iwonder if

amid sneezing attacks and loose monkeys

the purported  end of a sticking point

on a circle made of galaxies ripping 

each other apart

will even be seen

by the hint of the greeeeen

little people come to rescue me

these tablets so sensitiveher 

three or four active nodes ready to apply

themselves at the drop of  a fingrtip

when she acts like a dog

i want to rub her belly

and disappear her parents.

armarockageddon

we gonna rock this armegeddon
the wheat fields, lost lovers, tracks
disappeared in the walmart parking lot
and you cry woe
oh woe, as the dingie dogs go.

she's got the hat, a skirt over a pair of shorts, and her id.
takes off looking to be where you are not.
you fall apart holding your white tags and your laundry basket


can't stand the tears in your voice
the beaten dog waver to the whine
just like all those times you let me down
but it wasn't your fault, wasn't you watching
bruises fade under deadened eyes that was
 the professor courting
career courting discovery courting dollar
at the dime store while she turned me
despicable, darling. oh daddy


can't you see what's broken
you can't fix? gotta let me fix it
like i been doing, gotta let me
go animal training on my own.
i got times to be in
and i'm tired of taking this whip to you


oh daddy i love you i do
but i don't
love
me



fob was a phone
but it didn't happen and then
what about the insurance or meds
even what about a place to lay my head

you kick me out again
i wasn't ready but you can't fix it
you can't there's nothing between us
to live for. i need to just go
and i go




























maybe you're right
stay there in the walmart parking lot
she'll be back
what do i know

the way i figure it,no one has been really
psycho enough to challenge me in a meaningful
way. or at least that is what
the gods believe.

taking inventory
i can see where i thought perhaps every
ex was the pinnacle
i needed to scale
whilesurely nancy supplied
all thepsychosis i otherwised lacked or
refused to lable as such


i an
m soooooooooo egocentric.
how would it beto occupy
only partial space,struggle
to keep to,the nowhow would that
feeel
inidethismeatsack

(id like to get the space key rightim praxticinwit da pad. im
 stealingsmall moments of time
asking it to reincrnate
the same way

thats not what happens with her
yournancy

time multiplexes in your head
your friends know
they were the first
to tag you scrwaming. screaming.
she needs a calm place
to deal with these maddenin chmicls
maddening chemicals. must sense and gro
the pattern






















u found me empathetic
the cautioning vistas
upending the tire roght


seking in poems
speaking. in poem.


im tired.thi is wha agerequests. kinda sux.
loveugramma

xx

necessary fractures

i'm all pent up
about lost friends
the way liscous goes alley oops
and suddenly you're staring at the back
of a stranger's head.

in five days my pandora runs out.
feels like you left way more
than a year ago. she still remembers
your eyes and your donald duck songs
there are still digital images in buried files.
i miss the ontology but mostly
it's like you weren't really here
just like you wanted.






*










some days you wave to me
and i don't wave back
glad your shoulder warmed
but it made me a winter river
now my eyes are made of ice.













(*)








what's one more casualty
more or less, loess, loss
inherent in love/live/ing
no less than in poetry.

 you leave those  with answers
so  your questions can live
inside reverberating chapel walls
or the caves of altimira
recorded in acacia by blind scribes
stoned on kratom and marijuana


















()***





the way the hieroglyphs trail off in midstr