Thursday, March 24, 2016

long bridge ahead, check gas

it's time to peddle  bio compatible iron nano particles
that can deliver iron to the scientists that need them
to help melt these cancers we've brought upon ourselves.

meanwhile i aint grown at all. no wait, i grew, but i shrank again.
life's a cycle. my hair's almost too much anymore.

did you know there's a name for the first one thousand powers of ten.

here's part of the chart.

10202676 and 60ten sexsexagintillion
10203676 and 60one hundred sexsexagintillion
10204687 and 60one septensexagintillion
10205687 and 60ten septensexagintillion
10206687 and 60one hundred septensexagintillion

sexsexagintillion would be a good name for a music festival. let's hold it in saxapahaw  on the haw river down new bethlehem baptist church road back in carboro, the townies are hanging out at the coffee shop waiting for the traffic to pick up so they can sell their kkicks. you can second guess all day but you won't know if they never tell you. they all think you have something to hide but all you want to do is get your band on the festival line up.

we got the theme  sexsexagintillion on the river, ten to the 202 power. that's two hundred and two zeros after the one or 68 zero triplets where usa puts a comma and europe, apparently, uses periods.
then i began to think of what he could do for me. we could get wilco and the valence electrons,
get dj qbit and couple of grafitti artists like we saw over to the reddit sub. then there's all of isabelle's friends. the general store could set up a bar b q stand and we could sell ice water, raise some money for charity. oh wait, charity's so blase. let's make it a camping fest. three days. five stages. see ya in the fall.....


i can taste the metals
smell the copper, acidic
on my tongue.

there is a moon to touch
and you almost out of money.
where will witchcraft bring
the next beggar, gunning for a big coin
shining  against a psychic's black
tablecloth. rain rumbles
and i wanted to help you but
you go your own way.
wind picks up, but the white shirt
spins in the dryer. if the rain
doesn't stop, then the house can't
be washed. you need to get a job
you need to get a job rumbles
and flashes. the roof leaks on the butts
you were going to salvage because
the river , the alafia, the challenge
because the candles were not placed
in the proper order because the story
unravels before you, and you had to have
your goddamn way when i go into a fugue
and how will ever be able to writed againd
when you do this me fucker....


it's a mess. that's what we told them.
you can wait two hours or two days
but it won't help to have no stranger
things thought of you than of swimming
in waters hostile and bubbly. and the
tub, it waits for instructions. and the roof
still leaks.

i do not know why i put put with this.
tomorrw someone's gonna fix that roof.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

if you're not publishing you're not a poet

or maybe just shouldn't use it as your last name
on the fb especially because that's where the work is
that's where the sweat and blood , angst and passion,
flight or crash happens. everything else is just masturbation.

not the fb, jeezus. publishing

.  i should, i know.
i get so easily distracted, discouraged when i understand
there's a game out there and frankly i don't feel
i have time for it. certainly the temperament seems to be
lacking. a time frame is not something i work well with
and my only research paper turned into an apologia
and a see you later. so i understand that those who do that work
would view one who doesn't as a poser. i don't understand though
that i still feel the need to explain or apologise. the work speaks
for itself. if you can find it. and that makes me as much of a poet
as any edit published poet. besides, candy bea called me today.
too strange, i was thinking of her a week or so ago. related to glasses
i think or some discussion of a job or oh yes, insurance. vision.
one fo the few independent opticians around in the eighties.
and how did i know her? did we not work side by side
slinging tacos out the pickup window, just down the street
from the college, closer than taco bell. candy, how many nights
spent hanging in the hood after work, how many times
did we go to your grammas, to lithis, to the towns east of tampa.
i dunno. but i otta close my eyes now.
wonder what will come of this...

gee the ms

start agaom. gee the  mislc os pme o
, rea;;u doggomg/tpp bad tje cp,ercoa;s wo;; caise tje, tp cp;;a[seokmtp cpmsi,erostoc jogpos,aamd breal tje ;ott;e s[e;;
o dpm
t tjoml o
, emteromg tje leu rogjt
wjem o wmat tp retir ot/

start again.
gee kthe  music.
gee the m; feels like combusible
condesciion. all that gibkberish above  a taste,
a scant dollop
of what goes on in myu brain.

can we get a translater please.
pretty sure there was one great line in tere.

no, not word salad. light up.
become what you were fated to be. hey told me fifferent. no nnnno, lt's go

Monday, March 14, 2016

while the dishwasher runs

you sleep as deeply as you're able
everything wakes you lately-slip
 pf a trip wire, the rattle of sabers.
in the corner, a cat considers the trap
laid for the immanent pisser. someone
must be the next. is poison or baking soda?
i dunno, you try it!
it's march two thousand sixteen
and spring continues its unseasonable debut`
the cherry blossoms are busting out like nine year olds
with estrogen contamination.  my feet walk
noon time white beach sand at midnight
the ac lost its cool, all menopausal, about two weeks ago
as this warming trend began. the oaks shed their brown
skirts for green,-all the cars are wearing the castoffs
this season.  season of sneeze and shake it off
season of gamboling sinus attacks, season of bears
all over wall street. they aren't liking what they see
after the long winter nap-trumpets strumpeting
while someone got the wise idea of creating a bern this season.
the bears know fire gets out of control so easily
especially when hot winds get blowing
it doesn't appear to be cooling off anytime soon,
the water's just about right to scald this seafood salad red
and feed it to neptune or whatever passes for  an oceanic
god these days, getting fat off the calves of greenland.
yes the fat cats are out to sea on pea green boat
eating pea soup, spilling out soap to clean up that oil spill yo.
i dunno, the heat's \reminscent of earlier days when the only light
in the kitchen was the florescent one over the stove where gramma
cooked the sunday chickens . it cast the shadow of the hood
over the double sink on the left wall where dishes from dinner
were stacked, already dry, waiting to be taken out
for bacon and eggs and grits in the morning. even that
cool light put out too much heat in the middle of summer.
plastered in bed despite the sticky hot sheets because
to move was to lose the blessed air from the fan.
all you could do was toss and turn the sheet
one side to other, like a fever dream.

aonight the door is open for the breeze because
if you aren't awake, the mosquitos don't bite.
my skin's way too tough for them
and i think all that deet w ran through summer
nights playing air raid, playing hide and seek
in the clouds forming from the back of the county
truck , its orange light flashing like a spotlite
in a pow camp just like on hogan's heroes
probably charged my blood with mosquito repellant for life,
or mutated my genetic code for it. can we get a patent on that

i've never lived in freezing cold. haven't spent more than a week in it. i know it kills, but we're aware of the danger. this heat is gonna be a new thing coming on it. siestas will make sense.
a wall, not so much. hah, look at that. the dishwasher outlasted me. call me droopy.

Tuesday, March 08, 2016

plan for today

it's more poem than a plan
enjoy the sunlight enjoy the breath
think of living not of death
no its part of life for everyone

try to enjoy things at work

two young men just walk down to the water.they're looking for Gator.
you and I SAT right here and watch Twain come right where they stud right where they're standing
and I think how politics is a lot like that
you know they're out there you know the Gators and the Sharks are in the water
and they probably killed someone right where you stand.
but what can you do shrug your shoulders
go stand somewhere else carry a gun
I want study then to find peace of mind and he knows then it's all about letting go.zen.and the swipe doesn't understand it.and Google voice doesn't understand it.not even sure I understand it but I think it's about becoming the sound of the trucks and the Jets McKenna the eyes of the sky and the water being the meal and the eating at once.

Monday, March 07, 2016

this drum

 i have silence as partner
the sound of sun through summer sky
the desert's flute, the ocean's diorama.

come hear the dying heart jack
its beat frenetic and longing
for a rest. tension mounts attacks
heated as solder under iron rings.

i want the flow but i have a thing in mind i want to do. luche libra not for me because i haven't written anything in so long, no daily , no mournful stare into the button of the belly. so yeah, that kind of pressure is not conducive to a really good rant. i had a title for the thing i wanted to say about politics today but i lost it in the tequila.

i just spent three days listening to women
who said no. not my experience not my kin
i never ran into that kind of man...

 i've worn the skirts of dale mabry, streaked on suitcase city's eyeshadow, stumbled around in ybor's stillettoes, painted my lips Soho red but i never sold my body. if you buy me dinner i won't fuck you was the creed of the date. every time i broke it, i broke it for my pleasure, which it seldom was. i fucked you because i wanted to. except that one time you came on my tits. i was so drunk and you just hadda get off. i even fucked you again. a different date. no attraction. it was mutual, not rape. the first time was just sad.\. ok, listen men have needs. if you go with them to certain point, then leave them there, they may snap. it depends on the kind of guy you're with . but seriously men, you gonna hit woman upside the head because she won't give you her number when you cat- called her on the street? you gonna throw acid on her because she she turned down your proposal? get a fuckin grip.


unbroken sonnet #1

if a thirteen year old girl's raped
and let's not banter let's mean
 sex,  forced/  taken down by the nape
 animal to master. she screams

to no avail, no sign from god
to save her. say she's knocked up
in texas maybe,and she's got
spirit in her but life's locked up

and she wants to keep the baby
or put it up for adoption
or sell it on ebay maybe
surely she should  have the option?

because when one so young's thus blessed
she'll need  help cleaning up the mess.\\\


so we cruise these warm streets me n jack
in west tampa, past the luna bar where homies
and bangers hang outside waiting for the doors to open.
yea, they could open earlier, but they ain't gonna.
this is strictly a drinkin establishment. beer thirty
begins at six. the key is trying to look
like winter's pinks, all fadey but glittery
like christmas didn't wipe its butt.
there have been so many things, jack, i wanted
to show you in this city after you died.
the cigar factories throw brick frames against
relentless sun. inside its stuffy, but not stifling.
the bar owner's swishing ast nights
ashtrys in the ar back
thi is drinking and smoking establishemnt.

many kinds of blends smoked here.
not a hookah joint. not.

despite the morcheeba.
and my eyes declining the open position.