vortice

when you crawl down this canyon, be prepared
anyway in leads vertically out,  twisty as vegas.

daytime, hummingbirds streak and hover, streak away
nights here, space junk burns
across the sky in meteor drag.

my travel companions have left again
to seek indian jewelry or food. i don't believe
they came back just to leave me stuck
listening  to the secrets i tell you.
gotta stop playing nurse, make my commnts
on the sligh, get used to the new keyboard.

there's nothing a little power won't buy herre.
money thought, that's the ozland everyone takes
do i mean the desert or the diamonds?
always comes down to a personal choice,.
this porch isn't screened

the bugs dine.
been reading your long hand, think i might
just begin to misunderstand.


but you know, money really does not
make the spirit hum. that would be power,jupiter
and the moon hug tonite
behind the canyon that won the west.
 desolation road yeah
where desire met resistance
bacame a field of volcanoes


as thenight deepens it becomes
pretty clear they've gone without me

the last of anything

would this dizzy mean
i stroke out it would be okay.
you left, in pieces at a time,
i filled them in with watercolor
and india ink till i ran out
completely. now the gaps
prove too wide to jump
so i take the meds, do the daily slave.

i don't want to take care of anyone
i want to be the one accepting charity.
but that's bullshit. i miss my friends
but not enough to do something about it.
i saw the darkest spots and couldn't make
enough light to quench them.


so move on. stasis in the bed
leads to stasis in the head.
i don't want to be stuck here
in this tunnel with a light on either side of me.
chose and go.

it was for laughter, if you have to ask.
cynical schaden froid.( not accruatly spelled/
but never mind. i can deal with the typos.)
twas for your pleasure my lords and ladies for yours
but not mine . when you had us meet thirty years
too late, full of moth eaten dreams, empty of grace
transposing the typical cliche by switching gender
i bet the movie makes decazillions in your land
just cuz it's a bit twisted and she  has not figured it out/
dancing with jiggly thighs, pocketing sweaty bux
to feed addictions she uses to excuse not
becoming homeless. truth is, i am too cowarded
by hunger or dirt matted between my toes to do it.
 i like my hot showers she tells him when he brings her revolution
i like my packaged meat and gluten free shampoo.
i like vaseline on the lens and pictures viewed
fin the vast future where sounds and motion
are wrongly extrapolated from the smiling faces
to mean good times, no worries, the guns
in the background haven't fired so they never did
even though the schoolyard is silent with corpses.
how to do joy among them? i can't say, but i know
we'll find a way, or die trying.

talbaning atomic wasteland brrrrryow

spoken like a cold war veteran
he blasts isis's use of the ultimate bomb
before they wrest it from the incompetent
guards in the land of the heathen points it
at the nearest city, a bullet a head
  two birds for one bomb

. and we don't need
no revolution we need
an evolution and we don't need
a resolution we need
the right solution and we don't need
an institution we need
good ablution scrub the sacred down
say goodbye to those clowns

do you really think they had it figured out
like a thousand years ago and the rest of history
is just filler for the final act? then what the fuck
was it all for, the way she   watched your back
go out the door, the way he smiled at you
in the pouring rain oh tell me
why do we have to do it all again.



talibanning atomic wasteland
got a hand in the party now

*********************************************


it was gonna be a song. it was gonna be singing
but the crack rolls out, the crack rolls in
upper level disturbance on a tornado bandwidth
and you wonder why no father of the year calls
you wonder why your children stopped celebrating
you fry the thick cut bacon while apology pops
into your mind like a drop of water in grease
if you forgot the screen that sucker burns.

the cherry grows longer the more you inhale
darkness creeps like envy over the sky. it must
be time to close the blinds, take the ambien, turn on
on your favorite shows.







55555




i'm not catholic but i have this lingering guilt-.
affluent among poverty,, a twenty year old
honda civic in world filled with pedicabs.
 over at the sunshine soft spot
 i swim   through summer's gulf stream
collect stunted, saturated shells, tar smears
wash off with baby oil. i miss having control of the music
miss the surf, tabla, beat  of your heart.

i fear catastrophe in most phone calls,
collapse in controlled epilepsy over news stories
from the mid east this year though i imagine
soon enough a new hot spot will erupt
perhaps in the  next town over.

is this wages of age? ennui at atrocity?
should you collapse in the next room
bleeding out your nose, noiselessly
dead in less than five minutes it's no more
than i expect. every moment fraught
with leaving, one with mortality..
should you withdraw, announcing
i'll be back in few minutes that become
ever after, the wonder would be in
what happened after ever,
 not that you did it.
it's so quiet here now, i could be
there, unawares. you don't know
when the last of anything will be.

that's the beauty of it.
that's the tragedy.














*(


so, yeah, guilt. not catholic.
the social side of that, what jesus said
wwjd. it's hard to believe that the early
teaching wrought that socialism
so well in my heart. sunday school
was not a regular in my house.
yet somehow socialism is my ideal.
and taht's where the guilt comes from
where the giving must begin.

i left the pans for you

i think this is ergonomically correct
sitting on a big blue ball, hands in my lap
feet flat on the ground. it makes my shoulders
go back and my breasts stick out
the way you like them,   neck   bent slightly
the curve exposed under piled high
tousled hair. trancelike
fingers on  the keyboard
betweem my legs i'm  one or two keys off
so some   typos remain.
just travelled over to yuku, it was a desert.
tracks of recent visitors in the gravel
no wind blows there, hermeticly opened and closed
a moray with a lolipop.
 scat on a negative time warp. you drop in
casually , furtively, earmestly, nuetrionic
t to see if the zoo's still open. it is
but the keeper only gets by sporadically
and most of the animals come and go \
similar to  you. and me. the writer, urnst
with an urn crossed by german since that makes it
authoritative in an uneasily riddled way
ak ak forty sevens openly displaying affection
for their owners, so far away from turning swords
into   pens, the mightier feared never more
than now. it's the SMing of society. i don't diss fb
cuz if not fb then Gp if not Gp then ummm
what was that place RM owns that absolutely no one goes to anymore
we're all at the latest club, downing memes like water
givin IPRs away like condoms, likin and sharin and wall blitzin
like we're the next beverly hillbillies. oh gimmee. \\





everyonce in a while i pull  both feet off the ground
and just balance on the top of this big blue ball.
it makes me feel both powerful and drunk
but not drunk with power. the only body i wanna own
is your own. :0



rollin like a celebrity











so the other day i had a four year old for about
30 hours. she left me alone for eight hours sleep
but other than that it was gimmee gramma gimmee.
not materialistically, tho we're potty shopping now.
i want this toy and gimme this toy and no only one thing
which turns into 3, cuz they're only a dollar so why not
she's not potty training. it was a failed metaphor.
anyway, i'm still recovering. cuz the day after i had her
for four more hours, after the work day.. you may want to call it
serfdom but i say  matter of semantics
 go read chomsky for clarification i don't have space
in the unlimited reaches of my blog to document
the obvious.
so she's a swimmer. i call her otter sometimes
bossypants too. she says she's a mermaid and her noodle's
name is flower, the orange seahorse.it's a good platform
for a good swimmer. i'm sure she's almost drowned
a few times, but she's persistent.i watch her, the book i brought
untouched. she will go in the deep end where a tumble
could disorient, down becomes up, the surface  too far above
she never closes her eyes. by the end of the day
they match her sunburnt cheeks. her smile is four years old.
i keep wanting to catalog the days and by this, miss them.
i call her by her mother's name, the same sunny smile
yellow hair, deep brown eyes. she looks also like her dad
but i never mix them up.
we walk back through the gloaming
where pinks and purples dance in the cirrus
she spies two groups of ducklings
with mom and aunties.they're so cute!
her battle cry as i tell her go ahead
see if you can catch one. she races along
pond's edge, across backyards , traps
one of them between her legs, bends
down to grab it when an auntie strikes at her
 missing on purpose.  she recognises
fledglings, no matter the species
they scare easy no matter the brave face.




















*(*&


i'm still not huring too much
though when i rose i felt the burn
in my leg muscles. i'm sure i'll need
aleve in the morn. i might even take it.


worldwide suicide

right now the maw needs blood
lots of it, drawn in myriad ways.
a manifesto is better than not, don't
shoot yourself in the boy's room
of your highschool without leaving a clue
jesus man, do you understand what that does
to the mentally  ill? little girls follow shadowman
down a blank path, all knives and castles in the forest
victims victimise with calvinball rituals.
puke it up revolutionaries call   anarchy democracy
call murder patriotism, call the needle and the spoon
we're heading home soon.
tonight a fb meme said be  like a magnet, like attracts like. wtf man
really?







*(**



















i didn't burn the pans,   that's why i left them.
you scrub them so much better, if not as quickly, as me.