icky

now that faceplace has everyone doin  a play by play
i realise how far ahead of mass production the box players were.
we wanted to be   changers, game bangers
and i think we were. it only takes a few shamanistic trips
to get everyone confessing evil thoughts and apparently
some aren't satisfied with thoughts. now
 all society's , coming unglued from the fascia
tweeting rapes and sundry crimes for content.

ok so mostly i stay out of camera's view
had my sip of fame, a little too bloody .
cringing at recognition, specially by
  myself am i that fat, that old? gray excess
 tired eyes i wonder  when i lost my wonder
. why am i alwaysso tired. how
 did i let those docs talk me into a biopsy?

 anyhow, all a meat show.  nothing
to cling to. is. nothing. the gong. the going flesh
god inherits melts away within life.  the moment
eating itself. i never wanted to leave
a big track or hang out as legend
 unable to attend the party,sasquatchy maybe
or hemingway.


  went back to read the minutes.
found my editorials on the matter quite beside the point.
why put yourself through the past.
wasn't once enough?


but that's all writing is, reiteration ..no...
a poor carbon copy of the dao. miss
those days though. ever.ything fades.




















)*()))))


cut my finger tonite doing dishes
im weary  of cooking, eating.
want to lose this daily grind. you think
i might need a stitch or two but
spring wants its sacrifice, shadowboxing
with salience and snowstorms
this can be my groundhog wound
several weeks too late.

anyway, i'm glad it's still cool enough
to cook a ham since my a/c is broken.
 one more meal and i'll
be done  for a while
 this belly's gotta go.

the long hot summer's coming on
2013 portends changing labels, meteors
with stamina and willpower,
 rising tides,meltdowns in korea
earthquakes fracked into existence
more murder suicides than nostradamus
shook his stick at. kalpakalpakalpakoming
kantkeeningkardashiankettlekornkomedy
for you tonite, the nite of the special k/






















*






dry dry dry.






























9*)

i have to write as if no one will ever see this.
not you, or you , or you again. you stop reading
or never begin, you insist i voice it to you
you eat my poems, burp, then excuse yourself.
nothing left for my poor li'l bloggista.

 my peony of pleasure.
 melt me back to twenty
let me smell the sweat we couldn't
i see the way you wanted to be
and is it really too late? that's the key
that unlocks craigslist.
 the weight of our choices
lead us to now, half formed
longlings in a new land,
wonder a granted one best not take.