underground sunset

bi polar

2012-01-27T05:34:00.000-08:00

when i got home i dressed the toddler
put shoes on her feet and took her
to the pond to feed ducks and turtles.
we watched the moon come up,
small grin in the sunset sky.

then we cooked dinner, she and i
frying up steak n boilin rice. momma
was txting someone, breakin up
or makin up i'm n ot sure.

she ate well my golden haired love
and t ho she wanted t o help with the
dishes i had to give her goodnite kisses.
thought momma might do em but no

she had a lotta tv shows to go.
so i cleaned the kitchen good,
scoured counters and sinks, swept
the floor, cleaned the ink

offf the cabinets --baby bored art.
thought about asking mom to help
but i remembered the last time.
would this start a battle? cause a yelp?

better to do it without. sanity is iffy
when the moon's just coming out.

waterflight

2012-01-19T15:48:00.000-08:00

finches drawn to laurel's hard berried limbs
like men to a slut. tiny flights, needle beaked

     what are you looking for?
   whaddaya got?
i got it all, baby. brains, beauty, bitchiness

something on the lee side of the bushes
out of view
draws the birds one by one:
heron
mallard
one ibis &
another
commorant's swift snakey swim
and helicopter hover
gull

     does it feel like we're speaking telepathically?
      yeah, it does. you?

an osprey keens, weary of flight and skim
and empty talons

   so...but have you ever been in love?
     yeah i been hurt

an orange tabby with a mouthfull
steps along the bank looking for a quiet
spot to picnic

      do you believe in anything?
       destiny...and a sword.

finches chatter and scatter seed pods
they ring like gravel on the car's roof.

fatale

2012-01-14T08:46:00.000-08:00

Rhesus monkeys Roku and Hex are two of the world's first lab-generated chimeric primates—each is composed of cells representing as many as six distinct genomes. Fakebook, a Facebook look-alike, is rapidly becoming a popular teaching tool for science, history, and other school subjects

endless string of men
following me while i'm on to the next
booty call on speed dial
mr fix me up at the dinner table
i tell you i wanna saturday nite guy
and you disappear into the woods
until wednesday.
your hands draw me back
the way you turn a cresent wrench
pull on a bad shoulder
push your finger into my back.

was it you who called me seven
then dropped me to a three?
your desire fades so quickly
no time to find my heaven.

this femme finds
she can remind
him where to find
what was behind

in the how that is now
kiss and tell take a bow
rattlesnake rebirth while
past and future slough

*^()

i'm sure i'll take a break soon
she thinks, the poems pile
under the moon, she thinks
i wanted to get to the swoon
she thinks it's coming a mile
away, the gods sweet hijinks
play and ripen in nights of june

&*6

inhale the scent of bread
my sweet i bake it just for you
add a soundrack lightheaded
and sad E minor with a view.

so many times i've smiled at you
embraced you before thinking
and for my pains i'm in a stew
of sluttery and blank blinkings.

what? you ask. or rather, don't
silence makes our after meal smoke
from this i've learned will makes won't
desire you with the morning's toke

done done on to the next one
looking for a heart attack
a final exit from the bones
onto a higher track.

if femme v slut's about who loves
and whom is merely smitten
i will take the lighter road, my hooves
look hot in this sex kitten.

(*)*()))))))))>>>>>>

in lieu of what the girl really wants.

the rote harness of the world or the whirl of angels

2012-01-14T07:59:00.000-08:00

Fynn:

do more of donation and evangelism

10:45 AM me: what kind of evangelsim? as in, tents and revivals?

Fynn: no..

visit poor homes

preach and donate..

me: ahhh preaching for christ?

Fynn: yea........

10:46 AM Loving your neighbour as your self really matters

and that is what I talk about.

me: well yes, that's true. chirst said whatever you do unto the least of these you do unto me.

10:47 AM Fynn: yea..

me: and also what you said. but i'm seriously not a christian

Fynn: thats not a problem..

I am freak in bed my self.. I dont belief in Hell..

God wont create a hell for his children

me: if no hell then no heaven. god is you and me

10:51 AM you didn't ask, but i'm a zennist. a believer in the tao

10:52 AM Fynn: i didnt ask

tell me more.

10:53 AM me: in my travels with zen i came to the epiphany of grace. instead of god being outside of us, god, genderless, eternal, the everythihg, is both in us and outside us so that there is no outside or inside it's all just now, happening , being

10:54 AM Fynn: ok

10:55 AM I will like you..

me: so the idea of sin, heaven and hell only apply to how we make or perceive our lives. where were you born?

10:56 AM Fynn: Venice.

there is hell yea.

me: there is heaven as well. in this world universe opposites are the way of being.

10:57 AM Fynn: ok..

How old are you again?

me: 52

you?

10:58 AM Fynn: nice.

I am 54 ..

whre were you born

me: florida

disintoxication

2012-01-04T21:27:00.000-08:00

sittin on the okc cloud
the question is would you considrer dating
someone whose spirituality is the primary focus
of their lives? i think i did. would i again?
maybe. it depends on the matrix they use.

catholics are difficult. they see god as outside themselves
even many who've left the church and look at the soul
differently. to them "god" can't
be the aconceptual wellspring. i wouldn't be able to relate
to a baptist or a muslim either, if it were their
driving force, i'm pretty sure it would drive
a wedge. any religion that imprinted
on a child can be devastating to mind expansion. i believe
one must feel their own truth. i was raised christian
but it didn't take . lucky to be a free thinker
able to pick and choose from what ws introduced
to me in later life. i'm so glad my parents did that for me.
or rather, didn't go the other way. religions
can limit our accesss to spirituality.

i just know what feels right to me. i wouldn't fight you over it
but i won't give my inch either. spirituality is such a personal thing
which kinda drives my point home

just sayin.

&^$##

reading of bataille, the beheading
society that could find no executioner
and thus dis banded as war began. gorges
and his fascination with the
cults of ecstatic pain.

watts points out that the same nerves
carry pain as pleasure.
it's our interpretations
that make the difference.
surfing the edge of the orgasm
or the caress of the knife
until sensation becomes
overload.release
short circuit eros

gorges was outre for his time.
today you can watch it
on freeporn download dot com
which fetish would you like?
nothing is taboo anymore.

nothing is sacred.that's what happens
when you kill god.

^*^((%

what will the pendulum's
swing bring , sway , sharp, sickle.

*)(&)

no one understands time. i wanted to steal
a line about it from you but i forgot my journal.

*()(*

the most erotic moment was
when you and i disappeared
inside each other
home at last.

*

so the question. i answered postively
hope it doesn't bring on some jesus freak.

now dash away all!

2011-12-28T22:30:00.000-08:00

i'm sorry mr transition
2012's scheduled armeggedon
has been cancelled
due to lack of funds.

and i'd have believed
at least half of what spilled
from your hazel eyes if

it wouldn't have taken at least
three lives to do all that spilled
from your mouth. maybe

the fox and friendly
mulitple personality
syndrome triples time.

fema, fabricate, decorate.
delusion has become your daily
routine. i don't have the energy

to repaint the walls in the colors
you need. placid sunset over
adironacks. you'll have to

get there yourself.
i've already put
my boots back on.

jupiter eating her own heart

2011-12-27T12:41:00.000-08:00

these conditions are so extreme
hydrogen pressed by 40 million atmospheres
hotter than a sun. all my babies
need this heat, i
am the sun.

wish i had
a mirror
for my storms.

*)&(*

outside my window
blank, green, red.
wings swimming.
in the air, lift : a matter
of ratios. entropy is what
i crave, turnaround and fungible.

*(&&7

i asked tarot about
me and the last taboo.
she tells me judgement is at hand.
redemption or rebirth
the helium river decides
cutting with king's sword
to the juicy heart, where i can sip
or sup, my choice.
i'm maybe not there yet or
all this shivering's the snake rising.

a little voice whispers from the deepest
part of the river. it's already gone,
dearest, sunk in the absolute zero of fire
but my trusty want will wand the magic
needed for the taking. my knight in methane .

the past is an empress gone to seed.
never harvested, her dreams are roots
and dirt. a red eye, swirling,watches
future pull oxygen for fuel, another blade
this one made of time.

not quite to the part of the coaster
that thrills, i climb stripes
and suspension bridges
things are about to blend
in perfection's pond.
just add the right amount of delight.

the worlds agree
even janus, that two faced bitch
a word i use with love because lovin
is what i got, so sublime. control
these rivers? how two can you be?
just go with the flows
and don't block the changes.

and here a wild card emerges.
seven river cuts
seven bands and seven sluts.
which is the one you willed and which
is the one you choose?

the fool will lead you by your noose....

desuetude

2011-12-26T22:02:00.000-08:00

i ceased looking out the window
and the world disappeared

time collapsed on itself
stopped moving.
you called and reminded me of fragrances
and small t shirts. how you know
everything. except how to really live.

well if you don't keep practicing
it'll be over
before you know it.

when you hung up
i was ten years older
and the cat wanted out.

2011-12-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

for christmas this year
i'm writing because
you said you wanted
to remain friends.

i hope your children
are doing well.
mine are almost
grown and gone.

anticipation of separation. you have
a long way to go yet. but i'm
in it, garrulous and green
with envy money christmas spirit.

no, i have not been drinking.
i got the pine mind.

say hey, what's up in the land
of your daily rebirth?
loved you /gone
off learning the
disremembrance dance.

fire sifts softly thru ashes
reburning. a pulse
in the brainstem
recurrent and agey.

lateral moves
gain yardage against all logic
and rules of the game
because time pushes us foward
though mathematically
we can never arrive
where we're going .
\\

&*^

&*^

in the soft florida night
inner thigh warm and reconditioned
he tells his sister in law "a good woman
makes a good man
want to be better. i mean
she gives him something to
strive for, somehow gives
him purpose". he's struggling
to articulate, there's so much more
the booze and weed bring up
but they stifle his words. she
feels the sincerity as his embrace
of the placid air stirs up a zephyr
to fill his open arms. his wife
is in the bedroom threatening divorce
over a missing angel.
they've all had a wee bit too much
to drink.a stumbling search of the house
reveals a sleeping baby, a desulatory teen,
a student nodding over books. his wife's
getting upset, tapping
her foot. hand on hip. where is it
hisses thru the vines.
he turns to his sister in law explaining
how the last time he was stoned
he rearranged the china cabinet and put the angel in a more appropriate place in
the doll cabinet. yes, the doll cabinet.
she smiles, he's a good man
and she makes him better so listen sister
i don't want you ever
smokin weed with him again.
you hear me?

following the scent of where you were

2011-12-23T07:22:00.000-08:00

outside my window, palm and patient
sun, the small tweet of caged birds.

inside the room, world beat and heart sore.
agape love on the other side of the door.

presents to wrap .on the floor a silk skirt
crumpled, quilted scraps , poems, dirt
receipts and more.

i pushed your button.

now you have to wait
things you teach me,: mutton
wine and cake.

of course you'd want
control of the situation
but you asked for help
so let it go, detente

and infatuation

*

man this last time really fucked me up.
i wanted what didn't want me.
made him think of elysius and brie.
hope a dream could delude the flesh
but i guess mother knows best
biology, food and rest.

solstock

2011-12-21T22:08:00.000-08:00

in the middle of pinellas county's
long concrete stretch to the beach
lies magic's place. not many houses
have xmas lights up, the recession's
hit hard in this part of town.

if you drive with the windows down
easy in the florida pre xmas
paradisical night you hear drums
maybe a woman's vocals as you pass.
if you're in the know stop by.
bring a covered dish, your drum.

after the circle of elements
and the chant,the yule log
and wishes burnt
the communion begins.

magic's a nightengale
drums for the beat
keyboards fill the lushness
juene fille dances with fire
mesmerises a stone
this is art you can't buy
a poem you can't write
you just have to live it
go out and be in it,
sing on my knees to pray
to the gods of the minute.

strategically mystic

2011-12-20T20:58:00.000-08:00

i don't know if it's one moved out
and one moved in that's the problem or
i just need to get a grip.

every time i have to relearn the lesson
become what i wanted to be when i left
childhood and became a woman. sometime
next week i think.

i do know that someone's playing loud music
somewhere in this park/ and i wish i could find
a buyer for this home cuz i just want to walk
away from it. you can have it cuz the rent
keeps goin up. i want to move to st pete or seminole
where the light has water in it. get a one bedroom
place so the kids can't come back home
home is breaking my back. get rid of the things
that bind me, surely as i rid myself of childhood
the childish marriage and all memories of the place
i've spent most of my adult life attending.

this is the time to fly. i'll get there.
midlife crisis deux in the making.
doubt my job will survive.
my hope will be in my new one.

pack your bags babies cuz moms is movin out.

so that was a prophecy.
the story we tell ourselves
is the one that comes after the wave
when we can change it and make it
into what we wanted when we
onced upon a time.

it doesn't have to be just like the moment
recursive , bandoliered.

it's cool to watch the brain disintegrate.
memories rewritten the way you want them to be.

)((

my daughter is a witch.
she wears a white hat with a black band
around it. a man's hat. cocked on the side.
it cost two dollars
at goodwill. made of paper.

she's angry at me for letting her out
into the world. for not caring
and for blaming her for all the evils
in our family. she grew strong
when i left the marriage. she took
my place and his place and revelled in it.

manipulation of the situation.
but that's ok, to be expected from
a girl whose mother was too broken
to care. she doesn't look broken.
but she is.

if i could write to her again...

dear you,
it's hard for me to plead my case
with you. every step of my life
was fraught with bad decsions
which ended up harming you,
and that, i never wanted.
just as you love your daughter
that's how i loved you as a baby.
i hope your own love remains as great
as mine for you, still, today.
i don't let you live here because i owe you
i let you live you here because you need a place
to recover from the lack , the missing, the gone
of your youth. i have that now, please, recover.
embrace your life, harness your potential
which is greater than you can know
until you do it. lol a thing i didn't do
but am happy to facilitate for you
because that's what moms want to do
for their daughters. it's not
about debt and forgiveness
or guilt and blame

the wind blows, time flows
thru a fault of being
that follows its nose.

:)

you just have to do it till you're demolished

2011-12-16T05:29:00.000-08:00

throw yourself
out there
over and over
hit the vein

pop standard sunspots
twelve steps
to the bottom.
you're half way
there.

desire drives a red miata
you keep trying
to smash.
engage again.
paintball decor
rubble floor.

eros discovers fire

2011-12-16T05:14:00.000-08:00

in the dark, music drifts
from somewhere but how?
what is music, what is why?
if we have to name
let's call it want, let's call it he.
who is let's, what is she, i know
want but who am i ? need perception
a breaking wave, different shall
movement, center and cinnamon.
what is spice what is words how is question?
this to begin: gravity yen
yang breathes a flute mountain,
crystal large, multitude mini
i close the circle, open a black hole
where tabula and sitar swirl into flame.
what is sight, what is heat, what
is question? fuel for the yearning.

reminding carol

2011-12-09T20:33:00.000-08:00

The doorbell rang, which was a bit unusual. Usually when pushed, the thing would either emit a weak buzz or fail to sound at all. This time, it was the full ding dong, the kind you hear on commercials or tv shows, that mimic a sound that hasn't actually been heard in most houses since the late nineties. Carol glanced at the tv, It was off. The bell rang again. She jumped like a small startled hamster. Timidly approaching the door , she saw the lightswitch was off. If she turned it on, whoever was out there would know she was on the other side. She put her eye up to the peephole. Moonlight played over the front porch: christmas lights in a box ,two white wire deers limned with tiny white solar powered lights waited to be set up in the yard, next to the evergreen she planted her first year here. The tree had gained some growth over the last few years, threatening to dwarf the display. Branch shadows tickled the deer's noses, dappled and needled corners. Cobwebs shivered like frozen laundry. Why is the moon so bright? No one there. She pulls the chain into the slot, turns away.

She's only gone a couple of steps when the doorbell sounds again. This time she yelps when she jumps. She tiptoes the few inches back, fearful to put her eye to the peephole. She stands next to it hands clenched, waiting . Nothing. Her heart's a drum circle but still no bell. What's the matter with you? she hisses, tounge against closed teeth. Does she talk to herself or the other side of the door?

She lunges at the peephole. The moonlight is almost bright as the sun, corners and shadows sharp as noon, if noon were held in blue tinted cave. While Carol's scouring with one eye the completely personless porch, the bell rings again. In disbelief, she flings the door open. No one there. She steps out. No one. A peppermint moon hangs in the sky.

Ghosts? She snorts. There's real things to fear, who needs superstition? The treebranch shadows are quiet sentinels, cutting the house's siding, slicing the moon's light. She wishes she had thought to bring a baseball bat. The one right next to the door. And a coat. Some shoes maybe. Freaking cold. She turns to go back inside and the doorbell rings again. Starled, she squints at the bell's dim ornage glow. The plastic actuator has a large piece missing. How could it even be pushed? A large cold gust of wind shakes the evergreen. One of the sentinel shadows touches the doorbell and it chimes. Ding dong! Carol laughs and turns to the moon and the tree. OK! OK! Barefoot, bareheaded she carries the deer one by one into the yard, places them in their customary positions, flips the switch. Once again, the snow began to fall.

well not under 300 words, i didn't see that part but

thanks to jennifer and

flipster

2011-12-09T05:42:00.000-08:00

she comes into my room
demanding "watch". we tune in
youtube. for the looneys.
she can name the cats
and parrot fuck yous that fly
between mommy and the target
of the moment. learning to talk
like learning to walk like learning
to fly. she's the queen of birds.

i give her flips a workout
for my old legs. put a foot
on her sternum and lift
her the full yard. she's flying
and laughing then falling
onto the bed. again she insists.
again and again she's insistence
hope and thrilled.

what sticks

2011-12-05T23:10:00.000-08:00

nude 4 inch
stilletto heels, that 70s
print all dayglow orange
triangles and black lines
blond hair pouffant
smokey eyes for the drama

this looks like a good corner
pink marble under flamingo sky
stone cupid spits water into a fountain
he pulls her hand
twirls saunter into kiss.
i like your third eye.

in the palaza he watches
her glow glazes over glances
bites her neck at the corner
bite to eat, a smoke, performance
art. what's your favorite
taboo? she looks over her shoulder

muses a moment
~smirks... love. sighs a smoke
ring against the wind.

pandora thnx

2011-12-03T19:48:00.001-08:00

i guess i shouldn't try to burn the memories
out. we had good times. you didn't lie you only dreamt
you could be two people or somehow multiplex
into the universe and hold on to the flesh you have.
you would give me different body anyway
to satisfy the thing that craves. and somehow tht's ok
i would take a little tweaking but not a full scale redo
at least this is the skin i'm used to and i like the comfort
of its synapses, even when i'm full scale microscope ache.
i just don't want the bear claw to come back. i knew hell then.
i didn't know sensation could last that long.
a glimpse into eternity
no wonder the catholics were scared.

there is only this moment. a think i believe and trust.
but this moment contains all the moments. that's what it means.
i've been smoking the green. when you said no time
that's what you were paying for all those years in scientology
time is the edge the wake the bitter pill

we are grafitti
the dro in the bowl
burnt and reverb.

find yourself. love yourself.
why do i have to have
this lesson after every lover? huh?

well it's not easy when your daughter still hurts
in the now from the effects of all of them.
nice job. time to change it to a new one.
yes, the past occurs now
but how you change it is to...
how did you put it?
not be reactive. listen to the other
use the methods of the audit
be the auditor.

odd to me that psychiatry was so abhorred
by your leader. he absolutely employed some tactics
he just took them further back , caught the thread of the wave
watched on the oscope past future now
bing!

*(&&

things as meant to be...

i guess there is that. the harmony
of the wave without feedback
going on forever till it winds down
and disappears. wink! photons have a lifespan.
basic essential physics . on the quantum level
it all just stops. i can hear her barking
following the scent of where you were]
===========

fast byes on the bayou

2011-12-03T19:04:00.000-08:00

the elephant god repeats himself
three times in the window, winks once.
she's getting over you in a sweet way
one text at a time.
without drama, all the right words
caught in the mainframe, rearranged
and bottled into a scent you
can tell her to byte.

she likes the sex but not the surroudings
however if this keeps up, she's likely
to make the surroundings into a category
of their own. she's never been good
at casual. you know how to duck that.
duck. if she
warns you, duck. don't be a goose
or a gander. you think you can hand her
roe on a cracker and everything's frenz
she'll make you buy more.
and like the expense.

trouble with you is you work too hard
at a losing game. your choices sound good
coming from the guy at the top of the pyramid
but you're the working stiff they're making
their money off of. you're the sucker
trying to be honest. believe in the product.
you think they do? it's all volume baby
if ten say no, one says yes and that's all you need
but
it's not. not at your level. you need ten
and they need ten and they need
ten then you can sit back and cruise
a high altitude dude. the fall is big
when it comes. cuz the bubble seems
to pop no matter who's on top.

so she ain't into changing your game
you wanna work that hard, no blame
you outside? the weather's fine
paradise , bikini and sunshine
lasts 365 in the state of sublime
grace you can make in your mind.

smoke lust

2011-12-01T05:25:00.001-08:00

flame and inhale
a vaporous trail
seeking ground in body
then exhale. the rise
and fall of her breast
like days when the best
part of waking up
is draw and suck.
through lips painted red
over and over i'm led
into depths only i am allowed.
chimerical lover,a shroud
like no other, resistance
heat and succor.

legacy

2011-11-27T06:53:00.000-08:00

the mortgage broker calls
at all hours of the day and night
hassling for money they know
you do not have. perched
on the banks of the river, slightly
above the brick streets , a modest
sentry's soft blue eye guides
me into the drive, up the stairs through
its waterous patina

into this home, inviting entry through
unlocked screen. bugs are bid
to remain outside but cats are welcome
geetings! proclaim china red
walls covered with feminine mystique
flame in the fireplace, accents of cyan,
la madre de dios and budha smiles
all around. a hug to the woman of the hearth
the woman of a heart too deep for reposession.
she is giving it away. the banks want this?
fine, her imprint is deep. the walls
will bleed her for years.

cello lust

2011-11-20T21:06:00.000-08:00

he strokes me sweetly
across one string. my neck
in his hand, the bow cuts
across my breasts, waist
between his knees, back
on the center of desire, breath
on my thoat. i sing
under his hands.

serengeti

2011-11-17T20:04:00.000-08:00

dont look back
grooves transglobal on the pan
adora. trance fits the decade
occupy this: drum circle
at the next level. derivsh and delilah.
take the poetry , make the words
seldom hit , often heard. sitar on a star.

reading rilke in the social security office
to reflect on a lie i told when we never met.
strum and drang echo on the verdant pavement
of downtown safety harbor. in an email,
lioness mother rescues her cub from a precarious
situation. who else would?

two cops flash lights on a broken down car
traffic lights barely co operate on the migration home.
time to get out the healer. tik tok bongo drop.
dance lola, dance in the streetlight to the djembe beat
the herd urge, the one way stampede. make the lights
move to your retreat.

for the rhyme. it's heating up time. the moon declines.
life is prime, prison or paradigm.

stuck on pg 327

2011-11-17T05:24:00.000-08:00

i've been reading the same 5 paragraphs
from foucault for a week now. eliminate
categories and confront the boundless
stupidity of existence.

you ask me to clarify the statement
we are all one with infinite variation
so i try to phrase it differently

i just confuse you more
until you realise i'm smoking.
then it all makes sense.

at this point in the ongoing con
i am bored. so bored i answer again,
better to confront stupidity
with thought than succumb
to the categories you place me in.

you're satisfied that we're not meant to know
you're not playing the not know game.
wish i had that hammer for my own mind.

*(&&

the lady slippers
which died in the summer drought
have sprung up in mild weather.
i want them to survive so i place
the water hose above them
and let it dribble into the sand.
i hope the association
doesn't name them weeds

talked film with a british trader
yesterday. almost mentioned
the programmer but don't want
to know if there are any
degrees of connection there.
mystery has its attractions.

*(&

stopped having sex a few weeks ago.
the whole fwb thing wasn't workin out for me.
after you, i realise that if i have regular sex
with someone, i'ma fall in love. i want to
be there before
i fuck him this time.
my body may have other plans
but i hope to scuttle them until
it forgets what that's all about.

the flesh is very demanding no wonder
the mystics want to scourge it.
but hunger has a strong resonance.

so i return to the trough.
sometimes i pick at the fare
sometimes i place a morsel
on my tounge and just as often
spit it back out.

*&

i want to be less controlling with my writing
therefore i find myself exercising
extreme control. the irony of contradiction
is not lost here. perversity gods.

*

"hey, you havin any luck on this site?"
no, just talkin to you.

no need to be snarky bitch.

*(&

i'd like to become engaged
in the outside again. this vanity thing
makes me vapid. so what
if you don't think i'm hot?
so what if you do?
what i want to know is
what is going on in your head.

but i can't get past these pages
and i must.

(pssst hey. just skip it.
place your finger under
the leaf and flip it)

cotton sky

2011-11-15T05:41:00.000-08:00

watched some youtube
"scarey clouds"
"clouds appear from nowhere"
"these images will make you believe"

and it's true, zeus shot a bolt
from his nose. it was pretty awesome.
but clouds appear from nowhere?
seriously?

today is a grey november
wet warm morning. chubs whines
collared to the runline
for a few minutes before he gets
to come in for the day. i want to be
a pet in my next life. but not a goldfish.
i hear weasels are easy to keep
and kinda private.

i think of past lives, what choices i must
have made to make this life's loves
behave this way. then i realise i don't
understand karma at all.

rumi said a lot of things about love
but he had wine and poetry to eat.
every day. what a kind master.

mine doesn't care for either but
he'll let me have whine. oh bother
wine, but it makes me sleepy or sick.

it's with distance
that we see anything at all.
outside the universe, looking in.
sky a blanket to curl into.

transitional

2011-11-13T07:46:00.000-08:00

welcome to florida, land of the mid life crisis. it's warm here, much better than that snow filled state you fled. you've had enough of shoveling snow and splitting logs and that ex to last you till you leave god's waiting room forever. so, what to do now? you've blown your retirement fund on a) the move b) your failed entre into the stock market/groundbreaking sales model c)that twenty something arm candy or d)all of the above. you've moved in with the rents because they need care but that's like having kids again. don't you deserve a break? the divorce will be final soon enough, why not find a chickie to spill out all your angst to/ bag for a one nighter? you hear the older women , women your age, can be sympathetic, even when they just tossed someone like you aside for the money. you can tell one your entire life story over a nice dinner. they've been fed, you've got your cheap therapy, everyone's happy and or payback's a bitch. it all works out. never mind those childish dreams you had before you got caught in the swamps and riddled with three layers of mosquito bites. you understand now that the beachfront properties are for tourists and couples that worked through the empty nest/recession money losses together. the ones that made it through the fire intact. that's love, and you've had enough of delusion as well. right now you'll settle for a warm, semi attractive body with a sympathetic ear and tape on her mouth. that's where i come in. my guillibility is primed to be exploited and you remember how to do that so well. so, hey thanks for the dinner but we have a different definition of conversation and checked baggage is still something you have to deal with when the flight is over. do me a favor , just let me know it's a session and i'll pick the appropriately priced restaurant so that neither of us walks away with a bad taste in their mouths. k?

on a napkin between two gylfs

2011-11-09T18:39:00.000-08:00

edgey-
you could tie him up
and he'd struggle a bit
succumb and
love it

sounds great
when do i start?

i dunno, ask him.

oh forget it
he's always got a co ed on his arm

yeah, you know, he's already hadhis cougar.

scrap of cloth with sequins sewn on

2011-11-08T05:37:00.001-08:00

stretch marks
exposed under
yellow gauze

november vespers

2011-11-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

it must have been
your absence i love best
gone into your own obsessions
so much quiet
time , as if words
intruded on the catacombs built
between us.

you never walked through the fire with her
you never had it rough,
forced to recognise
in shared sacrifice.
words made you believers but
coals made you run
deep into yourself where memory raised flames
hot enough to destroy
your home before you were
born your daddy
dead your mommy
gives you up
for good.

fire on the mountain.

foretelling of the ways in which you love?
a wave, formed, resonating, rolling?
no,no, not you, you
control the wave.

"when i die, will you write about me?"

yes.
this writer only deals in corpses.

apple wind

2011-11-06T08:19:00.001-08:00

i chose to not brand
the movement
does this make me a hippie?

murphy's oil soap for hardwood floors
cleans pet hairs. the dog is mellow
cats well fed. rise from bed, outdoors
lake breeze and cafe bustello.

rimbaud in reverse, poet's curse/
poet's pleasure in the measure
eight by eight awaits. which is worse
to not hold or to not treasure?

hidden by reeds a boathouse stares
at the backyard, blinks as shadows
and cypress sigh. the gate swings, shares
exit with entry , i suppose

i could stand on the dock as moors
creep , geese flock wild and yellow
in the sun's gleam between shores,
wait for this or that fine fellow.

the apple wind blows fit to burst
a careful bubble, takes pleasure
dropping fruit on heads, an alert
all seasons aren't for leisure.

gather,harvest, breathe fresh air
shake out the sheets, mend holey ghosts
that creep into your house, aware
of autumn's promise to the host.

casual fire

2011-11-05T13:35:00.000-07:00

the way he burns
every one around him
announcing departure
in a whoosh
one minute you hold
a poem in your hand
the next you're both ash.

observable universe

2011-11-04T16:13:00.001-07:00

what did i observe in the bar. against the wooden countertop of mixers, a bouqet of young women, gladiolas grandly lounging in a loose vase. lined up behind them, watching the game from a feigned indifference, a tall grassy edging of men, bedraggled and bonnie both, dried stalks and sweet juicy stems leaning into the radiance and moisture of the heady flowers shaded by the tv screens, helpfully playing football, a manly sport, while three dart boards reminded me of you trying to show me how to play, struggling to keep the game from being over too soon, so you can watch my long depilitated legs bend at the knee to retrieve the darts in my short skirt, no jacket, forget the 90s they're so last century oops but at this bar...

the light that's lost within us reaches the sky

2011-11-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

--jackson browne

gotta love you tube , the music arm
of the acaciac library. any song you want
you prolly got. unless you wrote it. even then
if you had, like, a video camera and the ambition
you could put that up. ahem, 2ybf.

so yeah, i tubed my teen infatuation.
i didn't have a bf in hs bc i was always in love
with a rock star. jackson browne is my, like so many other
ex virgins of my time, ideal hunk. soooo sensitive!
soooooooo sad, so insightful, a poet! his wife killed herself!
he had a baby girl to raise! oh if i could only meet him!

tonight i watched him from a 2008
concert, brown hair
stark against a white old man
beard he looked
like he should be playin at open mic down the street
but he sounded like
jackson browne.

oh if only i could meet him.

snort. i'd prolly just stutter and stammer and blush.
still the skool grrrl crush. i always thought we would be perfect

for each other. no wonder\
no real man
will ever
satisfy me,

right?

*&^)]

no um. i don't think that's right.
he beat his wife they say, deflowered
half the girls in orange county by all accounts
a player i mean come ON, his wife killed herself.

doesn't that tell you something?

))&&&

right? so we all have some baggage.
as a fantasy i show jb the picture
i found of the inside of a turtle flower
along with a graph representing
a mayfly's life cycle and a hologram of fireworks.

he mulls them over and writes a song.
even in my fantasy, it's
never recorded
it belongs only to us
and the pot gods.
but we do it at open mics.

let the pirates and the journalists
keep the records. we want to keep
the moment, always ending, hold
its brightness in our palms
and feel wonder rise by and bye.

audience of one

2011-11-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

peacock feathers flutter
in a corner
cigarette breath from the fan.
move over make it former
stutter, move like panang paran

i do not know if i have it in me
to do this one more time
she told me , my advice-
watch your words
so i go mute watch your
words, repeated twice.

sometimes it's better to not know
what's coming, you probably can't
change it.

i am disbelief and decadance
a rerouted sphinx perched
atop the palms spray painted
bold and blue.

every thing you said i want i said you everything wanted

the spider spits a line across a great divide
from inside a broken doll stroller
a mass of hatchlings boil and bubble
down the leg , scurry out the door
but not as fast i. pandora rocks in her
box, catalogs thumbs up and down
holding on to the evening as long as she dares.

what are you supposed to think
when you read this? memory
is strange puppy.
keep smokin da weed. it will
all make sense in the end
when you've found the eggman
woo. the cat slips out the window

baby girl calls boo DAH
commanding , understanding
soon she will speak to us
in our language, forgetting
in her excitement all the things
she already knows. the sweet taste
of angel tounge
birds, verbing.

nothing says amerika like a camo kilt

2011-10-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

it's karaoke at the corner bar, friday nite.
i've twisted and turned you far
enough that you lost you your sense
of direction down by the river so yeah
let's sing. you disappear after buying
a pepsi. the mic is manned by captain
and tenille (no relation) and a pool
game's going between the kilted man
with a red stripe on his head and a burnt
out x addict in the add
on lean to . marge at the bar serves
beer and wine and a glass of ice for my soda.
there's a hall to the men's room
you say
that's about 6 foot high, i had
to bend down i'm six three and
when you go down it you see this strange
metal texas chain saw
massacre wall in front of you and you
don't see the other door
till you're right up on it when i did
i said i hope this one's
the men's room , cuz i'm not goin
in there. it is and the dooronly opens about yay wide
just enough for a urinal .
you look
around, take in the blinking disco lights
the flaking black tile ceiling, red brick wall
three thick girls in flashy club gear
one with a tiara on her head say
i dunno how long this place
has been here but they built it
around whatever that thing is
a pool table
and her.
you nod toward the barkeep, i would
love to sit down and interview her
ask her what's the most interesting story
you can tell me about this place
then let her go -ten minutes later
you'd have a book.

2011-10-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

imagine now she grabs the weight, pumps and puffs
on a cigarette, feels the muscle burn. on her bed
an old photo of when she was 38, worker bee'd fat
fatuous fake smile behind glasses tries to hide the distance

from the baby boy on her knee and in her daughter's eyes
she wants to find someone now who'll keep from her that again
the giving mom, the sacrifice, the fatted calf and then the knife.
she wants to find a different life.

is that you, she wonders, as she looks into the man
across from her at dinner, his card and hat in hand
i do make an awesome mate, refernces i cite
are all my exes who would entreat you do her right.

even her ex husband would say after the pain.
she never wronged him , always fair
and she did try a lot of years to stop the marriage failure.
but when she falls from love, she never fucks you again.

a wise man understands her
thoughts, the wise man does
the choosing, for if by her
you're caught
all the world is oozing,
like an acid trip of sex she snares
then demands your heart
but she's completely fair for she gives
hers at the start. the secret
to the way she fucks is all of this, in part
the wise man understands
that mystery keeps the start
restart the wise man understands.
this, the wise man wants her heart.

waltzing with the tissue paper ghost

2011-10-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

--title: anne sexton

thanks for the call and the bong
im smoking from it now i
miss what we had for that short time
but i'm also afraid of roller coasters so
i think i'll just stay on the ground.

and i spose the best present you can give
me is your continued silence and the money
i think you owe me. it does me better
than any declarations or ridiculous dreams

it seems i finally drove you away
you didn't answer what i had to say
and anyway, that's just today.

lies, it's a broken harpsicord
that makes me play rhymes that don't match
what i have in my snatch see
there i go again, lettin it in despite the empty
ness i feel then.

another bd without you here and i wonder
if ever dear you thought of how i gave you
all, whenever you were near, i'd fall
and hope that you could catch us both
but you were falling too, so nope.

i should stop this stupid game
but i won't, and it's a shame
that so many do, and don't
believe that all it takes is won't

give up. love's always just a little pup
shaking hungry cold and scared
longing for a moment's supper
windy blown and almost there.

not america, generica

2011-10-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

the malls line up, discounts
branded, with predictable periodic fires
heating the irons. banana republic cows
and starbux pharmacies, i'll take
the next best thing to a transcontinental

cocktail. by now you know she's
on to the next town, flying attendence
to another crown. rolodexed rolex distribution
on seventh ave, psst hey genuine swine

flu vaccine, it's a good solution
stamped made in usa. oh generica
how are ya, knocked off by knock ups
gimme a clone for my phone
it'll do till i get some glue
for my pockets like
wall street's cool lockets
from taxpayer hide to bennigan's pride
closed last cycle, the numbers slide
fast as mcbride from the barstool all sockit
to me now baby with a twist and a fist
from the occupied.

*&(&

you hadda do what you hadda do
you know by now she's fucked ten other men
she never says "when", all down in the dirt
you like her in flirt, showin all that
now you suddently hurt, but that's just
the short skirt making you pant
on the long side of a rant
in pointy mexican boots
kicking ass with the jute,
wrong and right
on one side of the fence
talking mute .

zombie jazz fest

2011-10-16T11:22:00.000-07:00

if something's free
is it worth less?

at the jazz fest
the polite crowd
in lawn chairs

nod their heads
while da funk plays on
you'd think
zombies would be voracious
biting little children
and slow moving seniors
but no, the whole crowd's already infected
best not be detected, lay low
and if you dance, dance slow
you don't want
to be the next to go.

dear blog

2011-10-12T22:02:00.000-07:00

where is my old page?

i hope that new design is just a hiccup

2011-10-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

so i finally figured out why i am so reclusive
it was when the sharing thing on the boards
became a battle of possesiveness or maybe it was
when i realized that the possessiveness
was really not an aberation but standard operating
procedure, after seeing it pinch our asses, like,
a thousand different times. it was not even that the voices
sounded alike, it was that people got jealous of the resonances
they didn't like the harmonics, the pings, the spreading
into cliche and commonplace bon mots of certain authorship

i always liked the chorale implications of group,
obviously, the way a writer can take lead
for a while, then fade out and other soloists would
emerge, a jazz of poems, riffing off each other
like centaurs or peacock women. there's a mythological
creature that should be more popular.

i do not see that on fb. j's still doin his thing
but everyone wants to know etymology
did you write this, what is the author's name
who did the mpg, who owns the goddam copyright?

maybe i'm wrong. i should read more people.
that peadon woman is funny. good writers on there
some of them my friends. or
it's the format. i don't like it.
i'm so old skool. but it seems less about the word
than blog. more about self promotion
but maybe that's what poetry has always been about?

or not. author author. no, a poem is in the giving.
then it becomes the readers, the listener's. only then
does it take on new life, and grows in each new mind.
the author is not the point. the duende is.

ive forgotten my meds too many days now

2011-10-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

what you have is toska
she said to the wall she hit
you look at her from
the front seat of your borrowed car
face like gogol's lover,fire

gaaahhh. begin again.

toska, a burning, an emptiness, a vague
restlessness, a longing without object, an object
disappearing into a memory
dredged out of ten years and a trip
to places i never belonged.

this is what you gave me
in articulate sadness
for years until the writing dwindled then ceased
rifted by anonymity and motility
the unparisienne accent y mental parochial particles
a longing for an object
that became the subject
that wanted to be everything
this life was not, a sudden
Torschlusspanik
well into the fifth decade of "wait, what?"

and no, i dont think this writing's the thing
it was a while ago, and yes, my neck
is bothering again, and no, the dishwasher's
on the verge of being used against its will
so don't soak the silverware, just load it
close the doors and push start.

you've left me all saudade, in portugal
as it splits from the iberian pennisula
you on that side, me on this of a divide
no one can explain, though some saw it coming-
most notably, you.

i don't know know why, and anyway, that's not
the important question is it, but i don't know
how it is you come to me in these guises
that i can't translate, being all wabi sabi on the subject
of masks. i can't keep up with the mental ten k
not even if i walk and blog's having issues
with save n pac. stuttering a bit behind what i'm able
to transcribe even so it's all stop motion memory.

there's a picture of you gagging on your dinner
here's one of me, twirling on the blue ball
a peripheral cameo of your gray presence
the color of your aura sunday wouldn't reveal.

you should avoid loud noises and the blogs of former lovers
in the throes of saudade. i have made you all into one
an alchemy of distillation, a tincture of love's loss.
how can it smell other than a wilted rose?

saudade
let's move that into the new lexicon because baby, it's rampant.
loss is love's opposite.

you have what is known as ocd. it's not full blown
only evidences itself in periodic addictions or in the case
of societital approval, certain religious practices
or professions such as accountancy and technician.
if you recognise the patterns, can you break them
and remain functional? sane is a matter of opinion.

&&&

there is the listost you found yourself in
the abusive husband, the distant nagging wife,
the bratty princess child, the drug addict son,
the trashed potentials due not to society's shortcomings
but your own. you are your own misericorde.
relax the rules
dispense from fasting
forgive yourself it was
all your fault.

now take the weapon
slice open the veil
this is the season
dead tell tales.

Saudade “refers to the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love and which is lost.

listost a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.

two lizards tales

2011-10-09T20:06:00.000-07:00

shads wastes away
like she has your spirit
in her. if true, then she's
the portrait and you're the one
shooting heroin and fucking
young blond russian girls.
or maybe boys. or maybe both.
(come on, it's a side you
prolly should explore

hey, at least i'm letting you have sex.
you always liked seeing yourself
in writing but weren't sure
which was you, or if any one was.
trust me when i say
they all were, especially the ones
i met before you.
if anyone heard the poems
i brought to read that night
it was a miracle composed of
two assorted lizard tales, quick fr:ozen
on the worst christmas ever
and a pinch of confidence
leaving me holding the leftover
appendage between my fingers
while you make your escape again.

2011-10-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

familiar with these shades

2011-10-06T18:28:00.000-07:00

so then i remembered
what the numerolgy new age nurus
tell us. you are god,right?

the vibe you put out is what comes back to you so
rhimwes. that's my vibe. rhimwes. oh yeah babe
let the past go it's all flow it's magic time for those who know

*(~

i think you were
left over from the magic universe

*blink*

i might be , but i can't know it.

*snicker*

you really think not?

*blink*

it's my postulate ~to not know~

some days i have to work very hard
to sustain the ignorance.

*blink*

*blink*

is that what happened here?

*shrug*

stages and states

2011-10-06T13:59:00.000-07:00

acceptance, that's one of them
so's sad.

today they announced the death
of a former plant supervisor and i thought
he's still alive? well, ummm, no.

then i'm removing a triac from a board
and all the sudden it dawns on me,
again,
that i will never again
feel your touch and
i've been holding on to a tension

that isn't there,a string that was cut a
hug that's only memory. so i guess
the tears are all about understanding
the nature of death, and what it means
to the ones left behind and i dunno bout you

but i'm so tired of the pain
i wish there was a way to cremate
memories , use the ashes to dry my eyes
then scatter what's left to wind's twelve quarters,
let this whole damn state be love's grave.

many other secrets raining down

2011-09-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

we wandered the quay near the sponge docks
intent on getting to know
one another. past any visible sparking
from the fire of tequila, beyond the mocha
moment in tiramisu's first taste or the small
kiss in front of mama's porch.

the tiki bar was open, separated from steamy
nights by long, translucent plastic cooler strips
pushed aside revealing even more its emptiness
no barmaid, no clients. she walks
from the rear where there are pipes for sale
serves up a special for two.

against the wall, hardback books line the ledge
between shiney topped tables and a direct link
to google. you mention hope and i ask if you've
seen the painting. in the alcove beside the entry
an electric tiki torch flutters against windlessness.

i mention a poem i need to write,
to a man who used to be important
in my life, but who left
due to circumstances he couldn't control.
how he'd love the poem of that manufactured flicker.

"no" you say, "i've never seen it". i google
the painting. "is that a butterfly?"
pointing to the spider on her face
and right then i knew
we could be at the same place
if i just made one small adjustment
and tuned the dial away
from all the ghosts signalling
danger in lines of static from the past.

faster than light

2011-09-25T12:36:00.001-07:00

so they finally proved it
subatomic particles-the basics of matter-
travel faster than the footprint
we leave behind.

my txts to you are laced with the idea.
let's take a moment and go to some other now.
could you change it and get back here?
maybe the travel would burn us away
solder choices to planets we could become
in an otherwise song.

*&

the other thing about time travel
is this global warming crisis i mean if i knew
for sure, i'd use a few gallons less, change
spray cans to inert quicker make
the last plastic bag in the pacific vortex disappear
wouldn't i? strike the choking
fumes from the history books?
wouldn't i? anyway.

the other news was less stellar
women in saudi arabia will be
able to vote in 2015. they still can't
drive a car or work without an adult male's
permission but hey, all praise
for neutrino sized steps lit by torches.

she'll meet you in the clothes she wore online

2011-09-19T19:51:00.000-07:00

she'll take you to a place semi devine
if it's romance that you seek
she's available this week
otherwise please don't waste her time.

temperament of hermit and death

2011-09-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

see, i thought it was going well
even though we were talking about
past relationships, well, yours,
and the way we neither one of us
trusted, truly, the long term benefits
of sparks, how they start fires
and when the smoke clears, it's ashes and
penance for years. years.
"i hope you don't take this wrong way
but i don't want to feel that way about you, i want
to get to know someone, have a good time
go out to dinner, a movie, without lust getting
in the way." i sipped on my magarita
ducked my head then looked up with a smile
"well, that all depends on whether you think
i'm hot or not ". that's when i blew it.
"you're an attractive woman but that's
kind of the problem". i see.
not there yet i see. i see. well, then
thank you for dinner and coffee
and i certainly hope this has been
one of your more pleasant
internet dating experiences,i won't
bore you with my
i'm kinda leery of the whole
friends with benefits
story after all.

don't cross me in my enchanted garden

2011-09-18T04:24:00.000-07:00

blogger has a new interface
to manage your blogs, they have stats
on charts, and tracking devices- things
available already but hidden in the bowels
of the operating system. i'm sure that's
the wrong terminology? but you know
what i mean. the buttons and tool icons
the rollover switch outs, it's like, a.d.d. for writers
and NOT the reverse. when i move the cursor
my writing window shirnks , the icons
are helpfully placed at my elbow, no thank you jeeves
i do not want the time location label stamp even tho i understand
that's the new copyright.

i could switch back but soon that won't be available
either, like the crab rangoon from thai sweet basil--
it's not in the new owner's recipes.

might as well learn to live with it.

*

oh ch ch ch changes
who was i in a past life? your landlord, your lover
your sister your mother your brother your wife
mellenial strife. tell me, was it your religious training
that allows today's ethics? we all get what we deserve
our entitlements the self involved multigames
i love the whole you -are- your- own- universe craze
cuz it's so true, but who are you.?

:)

what you do even unto the least of these
you do to me--jesus

why isn't that understood? eat the flesh
it's sacrament, drink the blood, sanctified.
but remember that's your skin in the fire.

concept of infinity. the dark dense particle
a mystery unfolding thru matter einstein's cross
and time for a nap. close the shades,
kiss the shads goodnite

the trouble with t-town

2011-09-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

transience.

transitional visual
the cardigms casual crosswalks
spikes in the cafe con leche leche-
rous. i took the road

the swiss army punched
though the alps
away from you. flyer
seated, pumping
electric thru europe's cleaveage.

on a path no wider than a sidewalk
we spun past curving gardens, chalk
drawings on the pavement echoing
love love love. beauteous the going.

spent the night at farmer slosen's
wrapped in fur, on hay, bottomless
milk cup and breakfast for the chosen
few, intrepid, who partake the best

that flesh does offer. clean air, verdant
autumn, technology driven, rustic charm
cathedrals, castles, and a mendicant
reconnection through river mount, bike, farm

tragic

2011-09-14T18:15:00.001-07:00

it was the way your eyes stayed closed when we kissed
it was the way they never followed me in a room
it was the way your lips never formed the words. i missed
the power of the swoon.

practice

2011-09-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

i have a cold.
my neck is a gnarled hand, tense
grip and tree bark
stuffy nose. no fight left, i build a fence
to keep in the dark
to coddle my old.

2011-09-12T20:45:00.000-07:00

cinderepression

the princess sees her peas
on the floor, slips on a glass shoe
saunters out the sliding doors

how many sheets did you wash today
cinder darling how many dirty diapers
did you change? wicked mommy dearest
dries dinner dishes and counts the days
till school is out. wicked mommy dearest

pulls pillows and blankets from the dryer
loads cinder's scrubs, turns the heat on high
to rid golden locks of lice from cinder's hearth
to shine the girl school bright for the prince

awaiting the dance, only the dance.
wicken mommy dearest picks up peas
and rice, lets the dog out, folds another basket full.
ah yes. she remembers how to fold.

but this time, she's set a curfew. when the clock
strikes twelve, cinder will be freed from her spell
and wicket mommy dearest can breathe in her own
house again, a slovenly keeper of very small messes
all of her own making.

solo

2011-09-10T20:30:00.001-07:00

i remember one time
where you took me in your arms
and let me lie there like a baby
you gave me love
as if i were your own.

one time i remember.

modern

2011-09-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

so i put my profiles back up.
i mean craigslist was gettin weird.
everyone thinks the women on there are easy
and just because i am, i'm not "hey, let's meet
at the hard rock where i got a room
booked on the 15th" easy,

sigh. this is why i like being in a relationship.
dating sux. i messaged the man
who thought i was sexy back in april
before my summer romance set in
when i hadda tell him why there was no strings
so he was kinda shocked when he left that nite
expecting to get laid and getting the brush off
instead and he said when i called him he said
i knew u were a player that's one
reason i liked you and that took me
back a bit i mean i always think of myself
as faithful,like, i only cheated
on my husband before he was my husband i know
i know i shoulda left then
but it was just an office flirtation that developed
into an assignation i cold cocked by bringing up
the aids question cuz
this was the late eighties and the stars were druping
on the vine, cut down in their prime
bruises, carcinoma and time
he was on top of me, sliding
his tongue over all that wet just
out of the shower i said
man do you have condoms?

no.
well what about...aids ?
or something. i can't go home with a disease

i m clean. how bout you?

me?\
i'm clean

it takes so little to turn a scene you might
be feeling like an nine inch nails animal
but then your mind begins to narrate and direct, warn
and multiply your fears and even aspirations. they had a test
but it was new. neither of us had taken it, so yeah, i cheated that time
but a broken mood, became a narrow passage out
missed, and oh and that time
i finally did leave my husband
with the help of another man. some princesses
just need saving alllll they lives stumbling
in glass toed combat boots
from one heartache to the next. which
reminds me i'm gettin old i need
to learn how to wear makeup.

in the land of high times

2011-09-01T05:21:00.000-07:00

thunder rolled through here, and fire
on the point of a thicket. over there a muse
blasted the past on stereo, perused
a chocolate covered ire

see? when i go into rhyme it bombs.

up on loon mountain, rivers in their angry middlescence
just before the freeze tore bridges, rended south
bound lanes, knocked out electricity for weeks,all over
new england. just to slap you into the now.
dayum your gods are powerful. or are they so weak
they cannot get to you without violence?
by the time you get reconnected your perspective
changes dramatically. deprivatoin and trying times
gone through together, as family, cements the bond.
hurricanes as blessing.

meanshile chile my brain deteriroates at breakneck speed.
what is the word for "trying times". adversity. ho w could that
be on the back of my tongue stuggling to emerge?
instead of the finger, the moon .

i am always using that metaphor. weak . but i
suppose i want it to become a cliche in all circles?
like one hand clapping. the forest with no 'one'

still like that one a lot. "if no one is there"...
who would be asking the question? if the tree falls
someone is there. but it's not, like god heard it or anything.
not a his, not a thing. the thing as isness. the thing of itself.

if one is not into the riding of train
then do not board it. leave off the weed.

*(&

i hear a garbage truck.
that means it's thursday.
the ground is flooded
and i am water in stasis. need the moon
rid my stagnant.

motion. the elipse of the planets
the atomic dance. moon sky spinning.
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

makes me dizzy.
even with my eyes closed.

pululili

2011-08-26T21:32:00.000-07:00

as diamond tends to destroy anything it touches
--nanodiamond fabricator's cancer cure

take good care of your teeth
for they are your food delivery system.
if you want to get a pressurised carbon grille
take a load of this. oh hey
poet, why do you want
to write rather than being involved
in the conversations of the young?

because everyone has to listen to the wizened.

and you don't want anyone actually taking your advice?

it's prolly bad. ed tells me the words don't matter
it's all in the delivery, the voice.
so lah de jah.

djuana, he taught me how
to love a leaf. lightly. oh so lightly.

so today i had a tooth pulled
and i should not be smoking
but i had a bit of the ganja
and bit of the 'tine or a bit
of the devil a bit of the green

you know how i know what i know what you mean.

i keeppatting myselfon the back
because i was nice to people today
i made sure my tone was pleasant
and apologetic, servile and unassuming.

people respond well to that.
and so the day passes, dental records
transferred fee free, quasi son in laws not
residing in trailor park but lying about it
to management solved, bumped car victim appeased
daughter's impending school start settled with ease.
going with the flow, sending love vibes for peace.
i even put in 3 hours at work till the novocaine
began to wear off.

but i didn't answer the fortyish guy
didn't go to an open mic
didn't ride my bike or swim in da pool
just lay in my bed, my mouth in a drool.

i only thought about you in the abstract
in the everywhere with specifics
attached to nowhere at all floating
an identifiable drifting object
on the edges of my story , firmly
enwrapped in yours.

hope you too had a nice day ;)

*(&

by now you've heard about
the diamond planet orbiting
a quasar every 2 hours a scarce 4 thousand light years
along this curve of the milky way.

shine on you crazy.

glory box and a hit of the cure

2011-08-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

in a nice gated apartment complex.

the lights blink out one

at a time in the space

of five minutes. the ghost of chinaski

sits at a window dreaming of bmws

the track and the typewriter's clack

screws his misty

face up against the screen

square acne blooms through it

silent-- like those goddam

ipads or pods or whatever they use

now wants

a bottle of shiraz

to quench the earthquake

tearing him apart but there

was never enough

even when he had a gut

and how oh yeah he notices

in the mirror that isn't him at all

peeking like a bashful schoolgirl at

the divided joy that looks back at him thinks Oh

yeah I forgot I'm Black.

so, yeah. like you didn't know

2011-08-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

2011-08-21T13:05:00.000-07:00


	thunder came and the tribe dispersed --tenth rendering of scorpion corp's mission statement her voice holds mortality singing from the mezzanine, longing- drug laced muezzin candy from the decadent popsicle fields of aksmen askwomen dot cosmos godlets, he said. rivulets on the windshield. it would be good to speak of the grains of sand spread over her feet, the salt in her hair , her hair again in your eyes. let's meet in the grass without blame . let it stain your shoes and remove them, run bare across her gaze. the tower's built again and again. mathematics tries to code into architecture, a unity of panes lintels and posts , a conflagration of ideas interstate truck growling up the staircase to clouds. flight's desire. feather spin spin, twist gyre , breath and bone and tendon masters the curve of wind. the romantic sits by her computer thinking of nexxus and copyright. an hour of waiting for the movie to begin. she hopes there are subtitles in three of her languages: mood, grace & scent. when she tells your story, please raise your hand and walk to the top of a pyramid. here are 17 , impacted in the sands of egypt extracted by infrared satellite from the dust of all the deaths you've felt since she left. her voice has gone tremelo reaching into your eyes pulling heaven from them in a thousand new dialects.

if

2011-08-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

if we were lovers
each morning i would come
to you with a cup of coffee
stroke the smooth skin over
your hip bone, run my hand
down your outer thigh, break
over you sighing
wake up, wake up. you could
turn to me we could
run our lips over the taste
of night receding. lick
the lines from our faces
and melt into nineteen again.
but we aren't. so i don't
i keep tenderness
from my tongue, venus
out of my breath, the stars
from bursting into song
over places we've
already never been.

the ironies of me

2011-08-17T11:43:00.000-07:00

from may to july i pushed you away
then you left when i bleeved you'd stay
i think that's all i need to say.

binge purge

2011-08-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

white swirling thoughts fill a dark mind, as achilds mind is occupied solely by the involement in a game. Completely filled by these white thoughts, much like white noise, soothing its own unique way, was the mind(or something close to it, at least a sense of self awareness) of a single entity, dosed and uncontrolled. Dangerous is the mind filled by white, and the mind knows it. Now, the mind must make a name for its self. It thinks of all the names of human history, and decides that not one of them is unordinary enough for the mind.
For the sake of repetiton, the mind now shall be referred to as X.
Although not nessicerrly meaniingful, its better than "the mind", and much better then nothin at all. Yet nothing at all seems to be a blissful release at the current state of X. X has troubles with x's sense of being, as does his mind. Oh and dont be fooled, they are two separte beings working alongside to make one funtioning body work as one.

most of that is just jibberish

boredom takes over the mind of even the most sophisticated beings

The state of being is largely accepted as the best deal any living organism will get, because of the fear of the alternative.
Random thoughts fill x again and again, and x finnaly relizes that the music distracting x is the cause of all the random thoughts, but x learns to like the randomness and simplicity of how the thoughts come and go, like that of water flowing though the ears of time.

found on my drive

ignorance when the need for illusion is deep

2011-08-16T15:20:00.000-07:00

--saul bellow

outside, longhorn steakhouse lit
by early evening sun. professionally
manicured parking lot islands dot
the ground. clay holds water the sprinkler
system delivers at 2 p.m. prompt.

wish it all away and it haunts you
ignore it and a feather lands in the lawn-
a txt, a break in the routine of loss & its
opposite, the queer cardboard-against-spokes
whine of a deccelerating truck. doppler

memories sing, sirens with helium voices.
reflect in the mirror, see how pretty the tears
in the fabric, let's keep it that way till friday.
neurotic and self involved is just my seed,
divided by new york speed equals a fiery steed.

let's ride.

*(&&

my frenz is lilly allen and amy winehouse
lilly shows me how
to do it and amy shows
me the way i keep doing it.
sorta. lol. not talking fame babee
talking at long last love too good to be true
believe it
isn't.

trust me when i say it's ok.

*(&&

so what am i doing here in the prefecture of perry?
mundane bidness in the early teens.
snafus unsnaffed at your service.
talking sensormatic talking packaging
talking circuit boards and soldering irons
capacitors and broken hearts...ummm...parts.
can't do nothing bout that typo.

they gotta pool. barely used.
bluer than anyone's natural eyes.
i'm swimming in that. under
a georgia peach cloud, as
the sun stretches back and floats
to the other side of the sky.

on the king's highway in the prefecture of perry

2011-08-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

j's fingerprints are on the walls
bible in the drawer, tea light supplied
by a thoughtful packer from home.

watch the flame dance in the ashtray.
love georgia because they have not yet
outlawed smoking. a big king size bed
with mirror positioned to the right
side. opposite the handily supplied alarm
clock. if you like the linens, please
go to our.com to order. nothing
bolted to the wall, 47 inch color monitor, flat
screen so you can watch the daily
and the report in real time. but you miss them.
masturbate with the electric screwdriver
masturbate with words
on company time. add it into the set up
they're still paying you by the hour worker b. and music
supplied by one m
s niven q.e.d., lately seen in london
france & fancy underpants

clock out. your time.

i an i and a bongo track.
a large slow gait on the bass.
trucks going by on 75 at 90.

i am robot. don't say a word.
fix it. machinery. feed it.
chicanery. i brought bukowski
bishop and watts. there is no

wet bar. we took a clay road
off the interstate past the factory
then right,

on to the motel. there's things
need to be fixed. call in the geekery.
every road takes us far from home.

tonite the world could end.
you never can know
when the last
of something is
while you're in it

it's alive right up until

the heart attack ends. isn't it?

there's, like, romantic songs
on this station. i'm afraid
to go to sleep you
might be in my dreams.

a view inside some loves

2011-08-15T16:44:00.000-07:00

from nothing to existence there is no logical bridge

2011-08-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

--william james

a philosopher i believe.

that statement is so true esp
when one speaks of love.

but life is just as illogical. the scientologist
argued for a creation. i was as convinced
against it. a sprining up, a banging on, a
loose set of rules rolled out with a blast
but creation? huh. design for chrissake?

does it speak to my lack of imagination
that if there were not peacocks, i don't
think i'd create them?

well, yes, i guess it does. or giraffes,
however logical they appear to me
seemed to him impossible to have merely
evolved
from the same bacterium as we.
they must have been dreamed up
(from whence the dream?), engineered out
and let loose.

i spose. i think not tho. if any entity desinged
it was with one simple rule. the T O E. the big one.
all the rest derived from that. but his argument
seated in the revealed ramblings of a certified
science fiction writer and modern day religion builder
( megalomaniac with a gift for spew)
was that indeed evolution occurs but this world
has a lot of genetic engineering evidence.
"there is no time!" he'd say
and proceed to tell me of past lives.
until he realised they could just as well
have been future ones.
gotta love the pluperfect tense. even if
you dont know what that means.
even if you use it wrong.

i spose we learned all we needed from each other
after all. some new ways of seeing the same old flesh,
a bit of self healing among the beatings self administered daily.

i miss the way he drew the pain from my backi havegi'gi

go now, use it wisely.

so now what, homey? it's 1124 in 2011

there's talk of the end of the world

and riots in london . i think my gen has just about

put the screws in its own screwdriver.

half the kids are in jail, the other half

are in the military and the ones coming up

are strung out on dope. we really fucked up

you know? i talk to so many tweeners

the ones who let the revolution go

who know the big crunch is coming

and are ready to offer their necks to the blade.

we don't wanna stick around for the rebuild

and we're trying like hell to take everything with us.

leave nothing for the aliens.

too bad it's not like the movies

where godnature kills us off

while some benevolent overlords

save the children.

we gotta do this ourselves.

and i think we doin a damn fine mob of it.

ya know i'm pretty sure that's why he

chose to go home to the family he made.

be with them during this crisis time.

maybe he get to ride that wave of blood money

for a while before the calendar ticks out.

maybe we find some more rocks, start it up

again. but something needs to give.

i gotta tell my kids to take a crash course

in survival in the woodlands. if the end

doesn't manifest itself in

nuclear anihilation there are some dreams

you just don't want to repeat.

the tarot on the new guy

was not encouraging.

but you know, we can hang for a minute.

however, be careful that he isn't using you

to reintigrate into society. or wait. that would

be fine. just be careful he doesn't tell you

i love you while he's doing it.

$%%%

ok i think that's nities.

only leaps can define

the way nothing becomes something.

a spark of electricity created between

magnetic poles being broken by the thinnest

of wires would not threaten anything.

except the magnitude of nothing

capitulating to desire.

rehab

2011-08-08T20:42:00.000-07:00

shortly before he left we watched
a lot of amy winehouse's videos.
she died the week before and i
wanted to show him her talent.

plus i'd never really seen the vids.
she has some rack
he said.
it's true, she did.

tonite i watched a 2008 documentary
about her life. at 12 she wanted to be famous.
i thought about you telling me
you wanted to be on the cover of the enquirer.
i thought how you might have met her
and saved her if'
you'd been born in the right place.
you certainly were in the right time.
and she's short enough.

damn. the gods are malicious.

but the paparazzi, the press.
the way they hound the famous.
just because. your life
is never private again.
you live in a strobed mansion.
do you really want that?
she dies in 5 years from it.

&*^

so yeah, the synchronicity of things.
love, the losing game.
the osprey in the clouds with a fish
below the triune breaking things up.
i don't know if i can
forgive the remorse. and the sting.
at least i have time to write now
just like old times.

the addiction is obsession.
the way she demands you love her
and always takes you back
until she's done with you.

amy always had her mask
to turn to. she had her privacy.
we know something happened
in that hotel room, the blood
and the cuts for you buggers
with the cameras.can't you see
the crowd frightens her
the way they all want a piece
of her but she's his, his alone.
she can't sing without him here.

but that other guy
the first one
who broke her heart
that's who he hated.
she will never love him
like the first guy.

love is a losing game baby
she says. it's like heroin
you just can't get enough
to make up for the hole
the first one left. daddy,
daddy, why?

i'm glad he went back to her.
we always knew it would have to come.

&^*&^

i don't think i want to play anymore
so why do i keep goin back to the hood
looking for more?

the theft of her face

2011-08-07T08:33:00.000-07:00

when the things we want
collide with the duties we have
the things we want must be stolen.

some call that sacrifice. choices
that are preclusions are not chosen.

in my ontology life is about learning.
lessons, facts, exceptions
to the rules. i keep trying to make
the exceptions be my rule. but it never
works out that way. the pattern remains
led zepplin. perhaps those that want
to blow out are correct. to lose these lives
this certainty, this beauty of being
to forget the struggle.

the newspaper told a common story
the woman who disappeared inside her home.
no one knew for 2 years. how sad, how lonely
her final breaths. a little sparrow said we all die
alone. this is the last mystery, the lasting one.

i think she chose to do this
because she understood her fraility
was her strength. the manic who hurts
and the depressive who kills. joy, light, hope
too lovely to bear. "i wanted to destroy
something beautiful". become kali for a minute.
the only thing you can kill, in the final analysis
is yourself. it's all you, baybe. be.

*(&

well, yeah. so you're dead.
now what? make a new pattern?
you probably won't. i mean, these
tables we've built these chairs
these passages thru the aether
seem so solid that they are.

come back to this. come home.
if you blow out, certainly
you will recycle into the now again.
water is neither created nor destroyed
just poisoned and dispersed.

you say it all happens at the same time
and it's true, there is only now. ness.

i can tell i'm stoned. when i talk to the you
sometimes it's me,and sometimes it's you.
this is how existence becomes chronomic.

except for the last month?
you are a fond memory.

(*)&&&

today i will drive ashton to mayaka.
on the way i will stop at the beach
and take a swim in the mouth of the bay.
leona will be with me as well.

the joy of children. even exasperating ones.
which leona is not. she's willful but smart.
who was she in a different life?

before i go i will wash the porch
now that the 5 monitors, 3 keyboards,
an extra hard drive and 2 shells have been
properly recycled. i will mow the yard.
then i deserve the beauty of the water.

how fucked up is that? that in this universe
we have to earn our way or we don't really
appreciate it. gifts are not honored, they are expected
and devalued. what a mess we have here.
surely we can make some other type of life?

*(&

it's all in the perception i spose.
i percieve a dream that becomes reality.
you know the roles, you can believe them
because they are you. what you desire
can be a reality only if you do not split your
alliegences. this is not possible in our vessels.
of course you can keep up the search
for a way to transmute yourself.
it's an amusing passtime. and you have
accomplished this so many other times.
you're doing it right now, as we live.

(*&

i laugh at myself with my certainties.
but jeeze i've seen this movie before.
it always ends the same.
i keep hoping for a rewrite.
some way to add eyebrows
or a flash of teeth and have it be
as captivating. but once it was in my possesion
i could not deface her. i couldn't
bring myself to change a thing about her.
she was so perfect in her imperfections
an immortal reality perched on
my easel smiling at the joke
no one ever tells.

why do pregnant women want clay?

2011-08-06T12:25:00.000-07:00

phosphorus, potassium, magnesium, copper, zinc, manganese, and iron.
nutrients. that's what they say. all these things are found in clay.

omg

2011-08-06T09:55:00.000-07:00

http://www.ifate.com/tarot_reading.html?T6C531740121410721111B6

omg. the tarot.

it's so odd funny how i do that.

i think i will never doubt the rot again.
just hope i'll be able to decipher it properly
sorta like my subconscious. sigh.

well i hope he does it.
makes it work i mean.
it's a bloody miracle we worked
for a while so maybe ...

selflessness. that would be a real change, wouldn't it?

denoument

2011-08-04T14:16:00.000-07:00

this one's different in that we aren't
yelling and screaming at each other because
you don't yell. all i can do is cry

even though what i want to do is
delete all of last week's pix and the things
yyou said about future from my head.

it's a good thing i never really believed you
for very long anyway. little snips here and there
but you wouldn't look me in the eye when
you said them, so i knew. not really

see i was taken again by my own hopes
and desires. taken in by thinking everyone
can think outside the box, but no, the box
is so comfortable. so enclosed and safe.

so now it's crying time again, yr gonna leave me.
i can see that faraway look in your eyes.
you have nothing to say to me because there is nothing
to say. it's gotten uncomfortably loud here

with a baby in the house, and your li'l paradisio
sex kitten is gettin the mange so, time to
go back home, jo jo. i don't care about your pain
in that mine is so much closer to where i live.

%$

on the way to the airport, silence
until a bit of gorillaz comes
on the radio. watch me as i navigate
hahahahaha

right into the red zone "we have
arrived at your destination mr smith.
have a pleasant flight.we hope
you enjoyed your stay in florida and please
don't forget to tip your waitress."

animals in human suits

2011-08-02T21:32:00.000-07:00

i think you confuse
my sloppiness
with danger

no

no that's what makes
you dangerous

true but
sloppy and dumb
is usually fatal

you have to brilliant
to be as sloppy as i am
and survive.

*&^

super size the power balance
of the arms race, defeat
the accursed share
with a kabal of twelve
firing bullets made from

your soldier's ashes.

corporate culture smiles
on big city happines, value
weirdness over traffic
install esquisite glass door knobs
and free energy devices in your eclectic
future, ban the warmongers from your domes
install a happy shiny size 2 balanced
budget in your trillion dollar 3d life
don't mind the maggots trippin
outside they be gone soon
oh
soon, oh

(

my m0uth is a painted desert

*(7

chronic pain has the same narcotic
effect on thought processing as
a bottle of nyquil or maybe the 10 mg
oxys. retrieving words that swim under
a thick blanket of ignore-that-synapse
or thoughts that flare , snuffed
by the distance between brain and consciousness.

she walked into the kitchen for the paper
by the time she went to thirty paces
she'd forgotten why
she went.

ahhh yes

2011-07-26T05:47:00.000-07:00

Is god willing to prevent evil, but not able Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able, and willing Then whence cometh evil
Is he neither able nor willing Then why call him god -Epicurus

h6nesty

2011-07-25T18:15:00.000-07:00

that's a typo caused
by a propensity for 18 month olds
to want to play with keys.

three great subjects for poems
baby, cat, sunset.

hahaHAha

but srsly, everytime i begin
to write, i mean even these paltry
smegous journal entries, i get
pulled away. he says go with it
heard enough of my bitchin
today. which is why i like to write
gets all the bitchin out.

like for instance getting five calls
in a day for non serious shit like
should the daughter let the crackhead
come over during dinner and if so
should she feed him the porkchops
i buy or the ray he caught and froze and pushed
into my hands as we unpacked the freezer exactly
where he wasn't needed,inside with me & the daughter
not doing his job leaving
his toddler out in the car
alone
where she almost choked on a pen
she found how she found one is a mystery
to me cuz
when i'm sittin at the pond gettin
stoned at lunch and some great poetic line
flutters by just above the water line
between the reeds and teatree bushes
all i need is a pen or a pencil or nub
a dried out marker for chrissake there is not
one
single writing instrument to be found-i have to say look
i don't feel good about even using my electricity
to feed your baby daddy could you please
just tell him to come over after we eat
if he can't come over before i don't
want to see his face because mainly
i just want him to do right
before he sits at my table again

*(

he's twenty years older than she is
but he acts like my x2ybf fifteen years his junior.
he already had 2 kids he didn't take care of what
makes me think he'll do right by hers

not that the x2ybf is that bad. at least he
didn't bring children into the world
yet

nothing
nothing makes me think he'll do right by her.
it seems to be a broken sonnet
between men and women

so down on the luckness
comes crashing down into this is my life
he wants to hone in on again
and frankly i am tired of babysitting men
who are not my charge. the daughter
is outside sharing a cigarette and this
is what holds her back somehow thinking
he is the only man who will want her
and why does she think that unless it's from
echoes of all the times you said that to me
or all the times he said that to her twenty years her elder
and i think about the x2ybf and how i can get
all egotistic about how i didn't
at the minimum how i did not tell him
no one else would ever be his.

incident at lake weir, take 2

2011-07-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

he'd been mining the rock for eleven years
driving over from beverly
hills into sumpter county, set the charges
for some real pretty, real fine blows, he'd
come to them green, knew the tools
but not much else. dug some trenches in his time
but he worked
his way up
to super
&
he had an uncanny way of staging the explosives
so the lime tumbled close to the pit, maybe a few yards
would hit the water, but most of the payload
was extractable. what happened....i never seen it happen
like that before, it was like
the earth just....turned to pudding, slid him
nice and easy into the water he didn't
even have time to see where he was going
i don't think, we musta blown a cave
we didn't spot with the sonar,
cuz that rock turned slick & just slid into
the limestone pit like it was bein slurped
into some huge mouth n nothin
we could do--no
lifesaver, pole, nuthin was faster'n the lime.

2
drown in lake weir during memorial service

his daddy seemed resigned, a little stunned
that the boy, he shook his head, man
he hadn't seen in eleven years
since he was twenty & the distance between father
and son at apex
was suddenly gone. his son, boiled
away in a hellish pit, no body
to mourn, no
grave to place flowers or the game
ball he'd always wanted to give
a grandson. he shook his head, his hair
blows in the boat's breeze on this otherwise
quiet, windless day. to the east, large white capped
clouds build in the stillness but they are miles
away, gathering the heavy rains that will wash the afternoon
air clear, after all this business is done, this ceremony
which must signify everything his son was
and could have been.

paradise, he snorts under his breath
i suppose i could see it. if it wasn't so damn hot
all the time. he didn't even have snow at christmas
this thought catches him like an upper
cut, christmas eve.
that day. of all days. who the fuck works on christmas
to mine lime fucking stone he mutters
another time, the phrase by now
a mantra. paradise, sure. where the natives
are uneducated and the workers are shit. strong union
man, kenny senior. leans his head back determined
to enjoy, at least, the boat ride, the company
of familyand the friends of the man he would now
never know.

five adults and four kids were cramped
and the kids where whining about the heat,
they came upon the point, a thousand yards
out from the shore, water 12 maybe 20
feet deep, judgin by the sonar. no big items
on the scan. he throttled the boat down
threw anchor .hang on one minute then you can go
swimming he told the kids. he was gonna
say something about ken then, that was his plan.
he stared at the cloudy water
watching sunlight catch the ripples made
from the boat's wake, golden, squint maker,
reflecting under his hat and the boat's
awning like flags and morse code until
they died down and the water
was as still as the air. the lake had a liquid
gooey look to it under the tropical noon
sun/ the clouds, hours away still, rose like mountains
marching toward the lake.
he took the baseball from his pocket, turned
to the center of the lake
drew back and heaved it as far and as high
as he could. there must have been some
kind of high wind because that ball
travelled damn near two thousand yards
f he lost sight of it in the sun's glare
as he turned his head up for a minute
he thought it was never going to land
thought briefly of souls
and the hereafter and homeruns. it was
so quiet on the lake you could
hear the plop as it landed , the water so still
they all could follow the ripples
from the impact making their inexorable way
across the water to the boat. when the timy wavelets
hit the hull, it was as if some spell
which had kept the whole boat
load of kids and relatives silent
and heavy as midsummer florida heat
had been broken. his niece gave
a little yelp like a puppy, jumped
up and down and begged
to go swimming now, pleeeeeeease?
the captain nodded and settled in
as his companion and the girl jumped
into the water. oooo
they said, it's so warm.

they'd been swimming for a little while maybe
ten minutes or so, not venturing too far
from the boat when the niece
began to squeal again. ooh, that was...
icky. she began to struggle and the woman
swam over to check the life jacket, push
her toward the boat. she felt a tug
on her legs along with a coldness, cold bottom
water stirred up by convection and the motion
of swimming she told herself. but the tugging
was more insistent cold wrapping
around her legs like swirling grabbing fingers
trying to pull her under. the captain hearing
the struggle, stands up. sees the thrashing
thinks gator! he jumps into the water right
beside the girl, grabs and pushes her the few
feet to the boat's stern. she grabs the ladder
and is hauled up by the terrified adults. his companion
still struggles a few yards away now so he swims
out to grab her. she's hysterical, has gone
undert
twice and coughs some lake water
out of her throat. but there's no blood. if there was a gator
surely there'd be red in all this thrashing? she grabs
hold of him around the shoulders, screaming, crying coughing
he turns to swim back to the boat when

he feels it too, that cold slick grip
dragging and sucking them both down as
the spectators on the boat watch in disbelief
then horror as the surface remains unbroken
but a for few ripples & water bubbling
as if just coming to boil.

later the rains will come & the scorching
lightning, thunder grumbling and roaring its approach.
the search for the victims will be suspended
as the mountains of water spill themselves
into the lake, furiously battenning
its flat surface, giving it teeth
with whitecaps that will capsize a joyboat.
tomorrow they'll find the bodies a few hundred
yards from where they search today. side by side
practically, as if they were just taking
a nice dip on a hot, quiet day.

3.

i dunno what came over me
i was drinkin a little bit it's true but
i dunno. it was like watchin that boy
so chicken shit of a little water
and he's seven years old dammit he
should already know how to swim so i got tired
of him bein so pussy and i'm gonna teach
him how to swim like my bothers taught me
dunk him under a few times and he'll get it
but sissy boy starts cryin and screamin after the first
time, so i dunk him again, and instead of that shuttin
his mouth he cries harder so i do it again and again
to teach him, i'm yellin at him to close his goddamn
mouth when he goes under that's how you keep
the water out but he just keeps crying harder
n harder trying to get away so i grab him by the ankles
and haul him deeper and hold him there
and i get so mad when he won't close his fuckin
mouth that i hold him there longer to teach
him a lesson and those mutherfuckers
on the beach are shouting they gonna call
911 if i don't stop and i was hungry
anyway, a day in the water'll do that to ya
so i stopped. how is it drowning
if he dies three fuckin days later?

physicists are almost certain the universe is not a hologram

2011-07-06T04:41:00.000-07:00

i've borrowed your computer
since mine won't get the web
here in paradise.

the sun is rising
on the other side of the roof
the sea pales and begins
its hold on the sky.

to rise early and sleep
midmorn is a good way
to begin. naps for everyone!

%$##

physicists are almost certain
the universe is not a hologram.
it bears repeating.

almost.

that's prollly a good thing , not being
a hologram but i mean if five senses
are but a but a two dimensional projection
of a three dee existence to use as metaphor
the very space time fabric
then, as that holographic being,
i can not begin to fathom what kind
of sensors we must be using in the uprev
version of life.

(*

on the narrow pavement
that twists through the island
the dumpsters line up for mangling.

waves sigh and slough as metal
grabs with screech and thump
a pterodactyl prowling.

()8

omg! so much pressure. listen. just write.
you are not dylan or roth and why would you ....

*(&&&

and the pressure comes from where?
this idea of poet. as one who poetics
as if you can take the rainbow
and the garbage truck and interchange them
as if that's proper
go make some coffee, it takes
many many years to imprint a metaphor
into reality

*&*&

as the espresso maker begins
to steam you understand to the lighthouse
and what virginia meant when to do
when she wrote it. this sudden
comprehension took the gulf damp
twenty two seasons to seep in.

he is stirring, on the leather couch
which matches the lake of his eyes
and you are on his computer.
you could write on yours but his connects
to the internet. he has paid for the room
but you bought the food, and will cook it
and wash the dishes. he abashedly says
that he will not be able to pay for the room
and take you out to dinner everynight.
the truth is he could not take you out even once
and you know it. you puzzle over
the desire in a man to take care of financial
things, you don't quite understand it since feminism
is your calling card. you short
circuited centuries of provider/dependent
in your tweens and have forgotten how the real
world lives. it's full of flies that buzz
your coffee cup, and boyfriends that wish
you would not write on their computer
now that they are awake.

also, lighters that go missing.
if you were a smart woman, you
would ask him to buy you an upgrade
when he makes more money.
he would like that.

&*^^^

so, the universe is not a hologram.
almost certainly. smoke inhaled
cyclones thru aveoli and out again,
depositing real carbon cloisonne
on brachea.

the teens are out at the pool
over at the condo next door.
half and half and sugar mellows
the coffee. out in the ocean the sharks
have most certainly already breakfasted.
it's time to snorkel, buzz the fish
on the reef and watch them fly away
l

some stuff on my comp.

2011-07-05T17:33:00.000-07:00

i likie this font
it looks like a bit more
as if i'm writing on paper.
i have paper, just beside me
but i want to type. it's my best way
of writing these days. i have to turn off
democracy now, the rich west creating the poor
third world, well it makes me diverted
from the pain in my world.
which is losing you.

yes you. the man who once loved me.
i have to let you go as thoroughly as i let justin go.
i don't want to hate on either of you
but you both don't know how to treat me. apparently.
justin said "the problem is you". i have to agree.
but not how he thinks it's me. the thing i do wrong
is to allow poor treatment, to excuse narcissist behaviour.
that's kinda always been my problem. oh he would do better
if he only knew his lessons. well, busshit. anymore, i'm
'gonna say that lesson should have already been learned.
some of you have learned it. some of you haven't.
i am tired of being someone's memory of how you should have been.
you know how i see portents in birds. how i want the tarot to
be prophetic. how the tarot definitely feels as if it's telling me the truth.
but i ignre the real meanings, too many shadows dappling cross
the page for me to say, ohm y look. that's the thing

i have to let you go. if you love someone, let them go.
if they come back, they love you. if they don't the probably never did.
tired of "fighting for it". love doesn;'t have to fignt. i wonder why the space bar
doesn;'t work.   why i can't find an apostrophe. why the mouse is so touchy.
why love in m y life can't be a more balqnced admixture of thrills and calm.
i'm such a drama queen. i wnat what i want and i want it now. i suppose
the lesson you learned is it's good to comparison shop. me, i just take the bargains
as i see them. that's why i end up with touhy mice, feely men.

see i , i was in a love sitution with you when i wrote that about being friends
with exes. and look, you really can't use something i told youa year ago, in
relation to relationship, as my reality now. just like yours, mine has morphed. wk hat,
did you think i'd just sat in a cave since the last time we touched?
i guess the truth is i would have to be in love with someone else to ever be able
to simply be your friend. i ummm, desire you too much.

last nite chris said to me this story:
\
her children broke us up. she was depressive , her ex was a beater. when i sold my place
and moved in with her to help with the bills (on both sides, i was just begginning
my business...) her mother took me out to dinner . "how much will it take, chris?"
exuse me? ' how much will it take to make this go away?" i love your daughter,
i'm not for sale. " we're catholic, we don't get divorced. i can see why my
daughte fell for you. how much?" i don' t think you understand..."you're a very
good looking man, her husband would not stand a chance in comparison to you"

lateri found out from her son how she'd told them , the three kids, the same story.
that their m9m was onl interested in the sex. that if i went away, she'd be back
with thier daddy. never mind he beat her, broke her wrist. catholics don't
get divorced/

after i moved out we saw each other once a week, to watch 'cops' together. we never
saw a whole episode. after about six months of it
she said to me , sharing a cigarette, "i love you chris". i didn't answer. chris i love you.
i just looked at her. come on chris i love you don't you love me?
"I LOVE YOU, i said, i'm just not in love with you"
at that moment i hated you. you were every man, unable to walk thru the fire.
i got dressed and walked out. i never saw you again.

i   guess that's what you did to me as well. love comes
in flavors we ca n't appreciate when we' taste them
today i thought about the sAVIOUR funny how that capitalizes
itself. a cricket gives a solitary chip, in a 39 hertz cycle
cars cruise by on orlando avenue, aka a1a in the middle
of cocoa beach. well not quite center. the crowds are too the north a bit
and i have to walk across the road and your ghost haunts not only
the motel but the place i rode you in the dark j =]
in the form of a leatherback sea turtle, but this is not your memory
it will never be yours it's mine. my beach, my state, my home.

++ +

in these rooms i have 2 tell
the story of the ocean in her voice
rise and fall melting both ways
the atlantic is brisk, unlike the pool
or the gulf, invigorating while you wait
for the sea to strike. it's most noticeable
when i have lili, my new favorite girl
in the water. my grand daughter, a daughter
who will always be grand because i am n ot
in charge of her. but i care for her. at work, maria
asks me if i am in love with the grand be be. i smile
and nod, admitting the feeling of blindness
the way the river flows between us, trust in the water
that runs in our greeting. i'm tired now. wish
to sleep but there's so much not been said, so much
not written down, "i am lili, leona the lioness, and i am
seven mosnths old today."

i heard about the floods a few months back
heard about the crop devastation   rural
washouts, livestock drowned,homes & lives swept
away by monsoon, la nina they say. glacier melt
say others. the big picture is so huge.
8 million homeless and in refugee camps.
riots for the food caravans. i am a poet.
i believe the personal is political. the politcal, personal.

ordinance washed downstream
collected in gullys, recovered
in mud as waters receed. beware
pimples on the riverbed,
close to the surface, ready to explode.

cholera in mingora, malaria rife.
we need forty helicopters to ferry
people caught in the mountains, with no passage
stranded, winter coming on. the wheat is gone
cotton is gone, but futures rise and green up
specualtion's coffers.

so i thought about what i know about pakistan.
which isn't much. they have shariah law there, don't they?
stone raped women to death, don't they?
taliban trying to win the hearts and minds
same as usa. parthenogenic violence.
their leaders are corrupt warlords
the government
is corrupt, isn't it? aren't all governments?

next door in kabul the american copters take to the skies.
they ferry soldiers to the border, inspectors
but there's no more room for saving flood victims
we got a war to conduct. let the pakistanis and
afghan expatriates find their own way out.

i swam the indus river last week,
followed the water down from peshewar and mingora
left giant stone budhas on the mouontain face
and Rahman Baba called to me as i swirled by

Sow flowers that your surroundings become a garden.
Don’t sow thorns; for they will prick your own feet.

oh pollywood, i dove as bridges collapsed but i couldn't
stop you, stranded by   the cinema
making love to scores of afghani musicians before the clerics
move in from across the border and silence song again.

a few miles north of here, the rain still falls.
in the canvas tent, farzana is telling mijur "this is how
you clean your baby. this is what causes a rash,
if your breasts are sore,wash them then
rub butter, oil , lard, if that's all you have" as she
bends over the baby to change her diaper
mijur can see tight folded skin along her temple.
she wants to ask if it was oil that the match found
or lard. wants to know if smoke made her pass
out, or if she felt the flames rising like a river
from her burka to her skin. but she doesn't.
she listens as farzana says" i know\
there's so much of it now
but you must not drink from the streams,
they carry cholera. try to get the clean
water, try to get the germ killer tablets."
mijur just learnt about germs. doesn't
know whether to believe in them or not.

i scatter a handful of poppy seeds on the rocky ground
dribble off to a little stream, piece of silt on the move.

R

pakistan's a country of contradictions. unlike its surly
neighbor, pakistan's women have more freedom.
sufferage is in the constitution. they have female
allotments in government (10%), even had
a female prime minister. she was
unable to complete her first term
but was re elected several years later . oy, but this isn't
a history lesson. i don't want to lecture.

a country caught between the excesses of the taliban
and the excesses of india. a country struggling
with its past, trying to move into a future sandwiched
between two entrenched systems, forced into
being a buffer zone between islam and infidel. somehow
women have more freedom there
than they do in almost any other islamic country.
however, there ain't no rape kits.the marriages are mostly
arranged, however, i would like to think

there is, somewhere, love. listen to this pashto poet
and tell me there is not...

"if you give a drop of water to the thirsty
it will become a river between you and hell"

see, i don't want farzana to get raped anymore.
i want her to be ok. i want the fire
to leave a lasting mark on her psyche, the way it has on her skin.

i want that message to be "you can do anything you want.
what do you want"

?

(*&&&

“If anybody asks you, don’t tell them my name; don’t say I had anything to do with it.’ `
farzana's husbands grabs his wife's burnt arms
whispering harshly. she survives
but does not
go to her husband's home. "i did not want to bring
shame upon my family name" she cries
in the burn room," i wanted
to be your good daughter, father". he cannot
meet her eyes. his daughter, disfigured for life
by her own hand. he curses the
medicine for saving her,pays the hospital,
brings her home.

"there is a cousin in pakistan" he tells faranza
"in pakistan, shiriah law is more lax.
they educate women. you are not too old."
he sees the fear in her exposed eyes, above the hajib
"allah must want to use you as something other
than mother, since he let you live."

farzana looked dully at her father. "do you mean i will not
see my daughter? "

what do you care for her now?

"i do not want
to bring shame upon my family." she travels
to mingora with her oldest
brother, the husband of her husband's sister.
she sleeps in her cousin's laundry room
and rises before dawn to prepare
breakfast for the family of six.
her father pays for a private tutor
a woman, an engineer in the soviet days
two hours, one day a week. mostly,
they talk of escape. this is how farzana

thinks of the concepts the soviet woman
has her read. capitalism, communism,
entitlement, fuedalism, rent.
rent
is new concept to her. she rolls it around
in her head, folding cousin's laundry, scrubing
floors, grinding sesame and falafel.
from sun up to sun down,   its taste
on her tongue. a woman may rent her own rooms
in mingora. a woman may go to market
without an escort, a woman may uncover her face
but faranza never does.

faranza remembers the helicopters in kabut
on the journey to pakistan. she asked her bother
what the symbols painted on the sides meant
thinking they were names of the huge black beasts.
their terrible thumping of the air drew
her breath first out of lungs intirely
then forced it back down her throat

when the rains came and came there
was no where for the water to go. farzana
waited on the rooftop with her cousins
huddled under the bedframe's canvas.
together they watched the river
invade the floors of their home.
it marched up the stairs quicker than
something that large should be able to.

she clutches the bundle with her few
possessions.   the books
from the soviet engineer were wrapped
deeply inside her second hijab
she tried to protect them from the water
but the who bundle fell as she shakily
climbed the ladder up to the helicopter.
later she wept for the books
but during the climb she wanted to follow them.

nothing good comes from calamity.
when will allah let her die.

*)(*

on the outskirts of the refugee camp
we have our tent, covered by blankets
we bartered for in the summer
in the one warm room
our family moves in out in concentric circles
to the core of warmth. we all get our turn to be
relaively warm. holding my hands out
to the fire, i give thanks to allah
for the season . it is good to be deprived
it makes the soul stronger.

*&(&&

)&&

when they ask for volunteers
farzana ignores her cousin's jeers
walks into the camp adminstrator's tent.

i can read. she says. i studied with an engineer.
i want to help."you can aide the nurses
with the women". the hospital tents
burst with babies, women in hijab and burqua
but in mingora a woman may wear a shalwar kameez.
farzana admires the open veil, the lovely circlets
of metal and twined ribbon worn atop so many
shades of raven tresses. she will not cover
her eyes anymore, but she draws the hijab
across her scars each morning, and there it stays.

in the wold of the helicopters, a woman might.

i am a poet.
i believe the personal is political. the politcal, personal.

i take things to hear t

7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777

feb 2011

\i cannot judge these people cannot put down their lives
as if a story but THEY do. how to say objectify    so busy
speaking he cannot hear. he does not. or maybe it's just me
the command of a coaster, the dont scratch the grow up
i just can't get into the level of belief require d

it doesn't make   either one of us a bad person.

i just dont fit here. she's not over glamoured, more like
my sister, but smarter. i like her. he's a bore. full of himself.
fine and dandy, he's talented, he does move, he can. he makes things
happen. but he monopolisess the convo. when you speak of alternatives
he becomes weary. i'm beat he says. i think i'm the delusional one
these people are successful. i dont have the stomach to play their game.
you were right. we do not havethe same goals. the same futures.
i cannot stomach listening to the stories of the previleged

is it resentment? at this point i am not sure
a rationalization will probably rear its head
if i delve far enough. but it probably can be distilled
to resentment. i am not a lion. i am the meek, inheriting
the earth. dirt. where ye shall be buried. ah set me free
in the sands of zanizibar, scatter me bones
over landscapes and vistas, set my soul in a constellation
why dontcha?

lol. well, it just seems so.................
i really like this font. heh.

it is his incessancy. it's all about him'
and jonny mathis. i only wanted to smoke
a littl
a little bit.

now they're playing music again
i wanted to do some but he was not pleased
and i can't sing. let me tell you boy
she will drag you down

&((&^^

i don't fit in what you were
what you're travlling toward
see you in the

OIU

sunbeam   my keys are sticking
i want to go to the beach but you are
exploring your self-exile.
iin the grass i see my third eye
inner is outer. i try to send healing vibes
because of the rip you insist on making
or just because i need to feel my godness
when the little yappy dog nextdoor is challenged
by my presence on the grass i first try to comfort him
then try to disappear but dogs
are not fooled by the illusions of mind
anymore than humans, and often quite less
because while i walked in my head away from
his territory, i forgot to take my scent with me.

file://his/ barking continues
so i rise in body fro m the grass
and move to another spot, out
of his view. my scent is still the same
but perhaps dissapated.
perhaps.

_____

what i wonder about godness
is environment. i don't wonder
about that at all. we arise in concert
you singing this chord, i sing that.
this chord,dischord it's all relational
does your truth admit this? i am the god
of relativaty, hear my song.

i want to go to the beach
i could leave you here, suitcase and laptop
in hand, make you find your own way home
but it's just a desire and i say i love you
say i need you baby just don't leave me i ;ll be good.

the song keeps playing in my head.
one day, i'll sing it out and it will stop.

you talk control and freedom
not realizing fully their oneness
you want to influence the elephant
ego ego ego
let them be what they want to be
if your questions are rebuffed,
you have their answer.

she wants to know why you would take
such actions if
i wonder if it's moved along beyond
if if if
you understand what his reaction would be
why take that risk? even now, there is    movement
to turn you apostate. but you're just not that dangerous
except to faith. except to belief. except you deny the data
that wants support in this realm. until they leave
you do not have a foothold and every gain
you think you make is just stone crumbling
beneath your feet.

()8

the butterfly is yellow
sulfur over kelly
green like february has no right to be.
[paradise is a delusion i hold dear]

you say this is hell
and i say
as you wish.

()***

in the distance, the hiway
makes a surf, ubiquitous,
this wave has no undertow
it just breaks and breaks and breaks
from the pines and scrubs
is a knocking
woodpecker
neighbor with a hammer
repetitive but not patterened
like the second flash of yellow in the brush
smaller this time, still fluttering.
the hawk cries, invisible
roosting birds become limestone rocks
in the afternoon. wild boar spoor
lies down the path. rabbits, snakes.

the flattery begins, the battle ship is earth
and the captain has deputised the bosun
to bring the mutineers back into the fold.

or at least one of them, the one who speaks of it
the one you can let into your life.

always breaking, never receeding
this is how time rolls over my body
traffic on the interstate, blown out
into realities travelling at the speed of desire.
that's pretty fast.

acrossthe pond are more houses you built
screens divide the lawn. manicured agreements.
flash of white and yellow in the sky.
what do you want. that is the question
do yo u think we can provide you with that is that
a truth you can sink your teeth into? then join us

my friend. welcome back , in.

*()(*)*)(*)*()(*)*)(*)(*)*

i still just want to go to the beach
still just want to stand in body
beside the surf, annoint my self
with mother. you would deny
this bliss, . the downward spiral
the actions of the past dictating now
how you need to clear the rubble
so you can climb on, build new.
i once told you i am hitler
but you don't believe me
i am as much he as you
and as much you as me.

my rights, fingertips
how far does that reach?

()***

my upper thigh, at the fold
of skin connected to ass
itches. st augusting will do that for you,
he reminds me of you , in the expression
of geekdom. he reminds me of someone i once loved
and so i love again. he is being reminded of who
he is today. this will make the going easier.
the cotillion swings wildly in the breeze
-- a mild towel , newly dried.

i don't want to intrude upon the paranoia
introduced by our presence. it is time to do
hours ago, i want to go to the beach.
my desire flickers on the
edge of the pond in spots of purple and pink.
the maypole of my longing. the ribbons that wrap
around . i will not lend my influence to the discussion
anymore. i am, at heart, a southerner.

*(&&()

is that the genesis of resentment?
the payment for slavery is to decry success?
perhaps, i feel exploited by corporate ideation
even if i am the exploiter.

OOIU)()*&&&
and then we left

philosophical cannibalism

people like to have wars
that's why we need oil
the postulates attack each other
what's for dinner?
the only response is to join
the opposition party then
murder them all...
then eat them.

*(&7

bose einstein sediments
collect on\\over this waving ness
fuck that. i need a line that uses that as metaphor

we race toward immortality
and simultaneusly our own destruction
you can take that we singularly or plural
whichever viewpoint is more comforting.

i was thinking metaphysical end games
when i finally find myself as god
do i wake up or blow out
and is there a difference

the now is god sleeping
the new is the dreamer
the thread is god seeking
the body ,a schemer.

genetic locks are being picked
it's a race between bombs & eternity

7-4-11
you should never try to relive the high. it doesnt translate.
i need the other key.board. different music if i wanted to be a perfectionista.
life isn't perfect but this ship that doesn't move is.
do you remember when we came here and spent the weekend
cosoling ourselves with the breakup? how could you know
it would lead to three boys and a bruise forever tender.
th e balcony is perched upon a breakwall of coral and shoal.
austrailian pine whips the wind into straws that whisper rain rain rain.
it dots the screen , glittery, a deadly short circuit
i'm waiting for dlophins to appear instead
thunder aserious ly rumbles to the south. how high
the surf under cloudy skies. "he's an idiot!" you shouted
to console me. you shouted to the gods of alternate realities
baffled by the confnes of current and weather
on the way over, pelicans skimmed the lee side of the big
sail where the fight over the bay ends as it begins. if i still
see portents in birds, what shadows compose the tailfeathers

what ghosts in their prehistoric wing? the awning drips
on my keyboard. i taunt the happy disaster that will
fry it. the in your face of it. we're only here for a night.
a week of this would be too maudlin anyway. let's go
to someplace different, some echo of childhood's wide
sugar sand , tidepools of starfish and stingray, a place rain
has forsaken. at least the music has changed.
the ship sails languidly against surf and porous
cumulo nimbus. we turned off the air so we could hear
the coming stom. two feet out, the water's clear as a spring.
a child is in the surf, despite the harley in the clouds.
it's to the north anyway, the dangerous edg e has passed
and the heavy rain approacheth. with it some new grumbling.
you have grin on the mp3, rain comes in earnest now
calming the waves, driving the neighbors indoors.
if it all rains out now, we can have fireworks after dark.

rain and sea equals mist and from it, the prow's view
on the balcony, a pelican emerges, lone and flying
toward the pale yellow south.... we st is wet and sunneling
red hot chili peppers on the raydio.

^&^

-the internet has spoiled more than a few good times
and this time it's playing games that i just dont' like
i'm connected but i need a password. maybekaren knows it.
if we can get connected we can stay.
last nite was fireworks in the water. all my life i've heard
of bioluminescence but i've never quite seen it the way
it was when we swam nude in the gulf at midnite.
i never saw it before. the milky way was pale but the stars
were legion. i cannot describe the joy i felt. we swam for
hours, fucked for a while, standing, floating, the water
an unexpected lube,
it looks exactly like the ocean has stored
the milky way' and with movement

your skin is the dark matter
against which it shine.

if i were a real poet i'd be able to tell you
the way they limned
me into believing in the three dimensional

the small heron with the blond head
feathers i once assigned to you as totem
keeps strutting on the surf below in his yellow
mexican pointy toed shoes. jack white wore
them when he met colbert. they all the rage .

cofee and weed has made me antsy
we're to leave today and barely got here.
i have not seen 24 hours of this place
but for now i 'm going swimming in
the color of your over and over eyes.

i roll my hands over and over
in the water, so i can remember
how this looks. throwing stars
creating galaxys, playing
with neutrinos.
pearl beach 9414732361\

*(&
i can't get the internet
but you you can, and that's all that matters
if i get a flash drive i can upload this to your
comp and connect. if i don't, i can upload when
i get home on sunday.
the important thing i s to have the netbook for
the writing.
i'm tanning my ass in black french cut
lace underwear. the skt is over cast, a tree
filters the sun as well so the white skin
which only dark air has ever touched
is not over exposed. the wind blows
the four loco can across the balcony.
its forlorn clank like a robot arm, uselessly
chruning after the bolt has bolted, p;rogrammed
and interfaced to a reality no longer in vogue.
that's how i feel sometimes in my relation to the world.
on the deck below lizards bob their long necks
at each other, full frontal flagging
in orange & yellow while below them, the gulf
sloshes against rocks in the rhythm we found
a moment ago on the bed. you are neptune
and i am antigone. i have sparse access the acaciac
library here, but i think it's a viable trade off.
the water is just beneath me, burrowing
trying to build a wider level. the sun and wind
kiss the gulf miliseconds before me, there are voyeurs
in the three story anitseptic condo beside me
and i am wearing a sheer scarf and lace panties
my legs not yet gone
to seed, silver highlights my hair, mimicing gold.
we will walk in the phosphorescence tonight
and make love among the stars
because someone has to feed the gods.

*(77

- 4:13 PM 7/5/2011

9*0
i dont RECALL putting the time stam p on here.
now i'm going to load some pics. it's the second sunset here
while i was prepared to leave early on. this place is magical.
we took a siesta then went to get food. when we returned the waves
had begun . you tell me u don't need to surf these puny things
i say the weather's been workin up all day
just to bring some waves to th is sleepy gulf

taking apart the h and the 2 and the o

2011-06-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

a palimpsest of chemistry
wifts across the blackboard
i like the sharp vivid divide of h2
o2 split even, energy released

marley's cool brew goin down
the occupied streets, a four string
guitar, midi keys, a bass, upoctave
cottonmouth on the bayou.

the boys mix with pandora
jacknifing into summer un
employed and stoned, sometimes
that's just how it has to get done.

we found a way to convince exxon/mobile's
senior chief executive in charge of new developement
to invest in the future of mankind.

dear mr lars

or may i call you reggie? we are facing a crisis in the world today
and you have a chance to be pivotal in the outcome. as new
development chief, you can't afford to pass up the opportunity
to invest in the exploding free energy venture capital projects
that psuedo mad scientists are developing all over the world.
think of being the man to capitalize the harnesiing of the power
of the universe. your name will go down in history! your legacy
will spread throughout the cosmos because you will make possible
travel between the stars! yes you, reginald f. lars could be the man
responsible for free energy, clean energy, all the energy devices
that our power humgry world needs and will gladly pay for.
but only if you have the vision, reggie.
you have to see beyond
the short term profit, invest in power
oil is too limiting. nuclear is
really? nuclear? ummmm
no. that's the other side of your choice, do
nothing. continue the way of the drill
and poison and there will be
no one
left to curse your name.

industrial caveman

2011-06-15T20:09:00.000-07:00

post apocalypticly thunderclouding
technology back to

why would you begin to read outloud
as soon as i hit the keys?
why would you
you are not good for my writing
intwining nueromancer's memes into
the perspecitve of foot looking
at a space station. why do you

i was going to a world that has nothing
to do with bright shiny space stations, matrixes
of artificial inteligence. how would we survive
in a world devoid of electricity what would the new
cave man look like? clubs and arrows from dick's
sporting goods used in wars over dwindling stocks
of cans and seeds , batteries and generators
long gone. the heads of professors who could have
reinvented the tech wheel hung on pikes along a viaduct
that flowed with their blood and the blood of millions
of other unneccesary lives. commerce was king
for a while but now we live by the sword, tomorrow
by the hatchet, a hundred years from now--glass flint
and plastic arrowheads, shopping bag kindling.

pocket communities remain in the mostly
deserted cities. they get together sporadically
bend the rules
dance a bit. sometime's there's fights
and often there's poetry. a troupe
of musicians wander between the streets,, beating on strings
and drums, hauling water in two liter bottles wrapped
in macrame hemp rope made by lila the water wheel miller.
but that's not exactly what i mean. i mean those things
come later, on the rebuild to technology. but before that
disease, devastation, and the plague of warfare
the fight for the daily bread. because we've forgotten how
to grow it and besides the ben e
the ;;;;;;gineeredcrops won't affect
shieze. falling asleep. thirsty and such.
it was a good concept but began to sound too much like
dalhgren. i guess that would be the book to read
about , after the fall, however that will be.
and who knows, maybe it won't
and those nueromancer futures are weaving themselves
even now, one world order at a time.

hallelujah brigand

2011-05-24T04:00:00.000-07:00

i'm not going to be upbeat
so just move along. pissometer
is the one thing i remember from
the state of my blogsurf tonite.

sometimes i was caught in languages
i can't read/persian, french,
christian, crafter , happy
family. a blogtex spun
out of what evil blogod i cannot
imagine. perhaps it was
not satisfied with missouri's
84 dead, and wanted to add my soul
to its blogture. i could go on
all night changing prefixes into
blogfixxes but piss o meter
is already on its way to cliche ville
and wants me to pick up the check, dear.

on the plus side it looks like some blogziners
are makin some money on ego. nice.
like you always said.

what is the matter with you?
i like the way it draws me to you
the obvious way i want to catch
an eye, like sure, it's annoying
how could i possibly know
you. in any way shape or form
but for me, as reader, it helps me
get into the role of other. what do you
think of this?
nothing much, a little tv now
a bit of watch this guy
take all of your thoughts and turn
them into entertainment or at any rate into a
teeth clicking stereotype, acublossageless

i smoke a lot of weed

2011-05-16T21:18:00.000-07:00

it's true. got salvia
growin in the flower
bed-unraised, defined by loose
bricks installed by a laid
back teen, according to my stoner
"plan", mainly involving a tight, indefinite
budget, rudimentary knowlege of periennials
annuals and their differences, and a love
for the little white weedy daisies that spring
up unbidden, unplanted each march
blooming all the way through summer,
when cut. the salvia was an impulse
purchase, home depot special,two
varieties, purple and red. the colors
may be auspicious or they may have
no effect at all on any shamanic rites and or rituals
that may or may not be
performed using said plant. i wouldn't
know about that my limited
experience with the drug gave different readings
each time, only one of which, in retrospect
clues me into some mystical connection
with the left hand flow of current. on a plastic
shelf at the back of my porche (imagine
if you will, the e with a french accent because here in the park
we like to put on the put on, like target is tarjay and they
have new spring designs for the windcatchers and holiday
flags that everyone needs this season) a single sunflower
seed has opened, also a lone lonely maryjane,
but the cosmos are doing well. i think basil
is coming up and also morning glory. also. morning.
glory, her blue is royal. flush me with an ether feather.

but enough of gardening, growing, the cycle of another life.
let me get out to one that's not mine. how hubristic he says
but i could name that tune in five paragraphs or less.
then what's the point? she says all are not created equal.
ein apologia for the noble, the ones who rise
scum to the sun at the top of the puddle
seventh ave and palm, striving for the top
in those few hours between downfall
and liftoff. the slumdog scoops it up
takes it home to daddy. dandy.
i understand oh brother mine i have
been to the one sided mountain.

(*)*

other people's lives

i can't decide if he's genuine
or a scammer. carnie food on the buy, he treats me
to hotdog and soda, says i gotta machine
i want to show you.
why me?
you look like a smart man you don't need
to be out here in the parkin lot selling
glass to people who don't need it.
i've heard this before. but it's a service and i tell him so.
you like serving , you like helpin people out?
i nod. cuz i do. that's why i was such a good flight
attendant, and why i'm selling the service now.
how'd you like to sell a product that's a service to all humanity?
does it have anything to do with porn?
no
cuz that's the money maker you know, porn.
no.
this isn't about money. or sex. it's about saving technology
for future generations after the oil runs out.
not that story again.
listen, facts are facts. you want your kids livin
in a mad max world, that's on you. you dont wanna even look?
then he shows me this black box that's not plugged into
anything. turns it on and it runs. no batteries.
connects a lamp to it, then a blender. makes some daquiris
got the strawberries from the booth on the midway, all the while
this thing's runnin the radio, and i'm thinkin so what i
don't even have kids.

movie idea10

2011-05-15T21:43:00.000-07:00

open with black screen.
shuffling & settling sounds
then quietness. a cough.

Frank:
Hey! Ralph!
turn on the projector!

The scene literally unfolds around frank like an origami in reverse. Coffee shop, new york city, 10 am by the digital clock on the wall in front of him. He sits at a booth near the door. Shot of a cup of black coffee, steam rising, pan to newspaper, bottom of page. Terri's hands on the edges, face hidden behind the finacial section. Pan over to waitress walking by.

Frank: Hey miss, can i get some cream?

Waitress stops, turns to him holding a pot.

Waitress, quizzically:
Some what?

Frank quizzically:
cream?

waitress, rolling eyes:
always a joker in the crowd.

walks away.

arrrrrgggg

2011-05-07T22:05:00.000-07:00

writing in the trashbox this am
i lost another piece. damn damn damn
but it was my editor's fault. arguing with
the muse like that. finally did let go, she had
her fun. then left, without even a genetic marker
to trace. power down and no auto save. when
you gonna learn what causes that?!!!

8787

lately nostalgia and rebirth circle
each other like reunited pups. i remember
things i don't remember remembering.
the first time i stepped into the gulf of mexico
echoes in a lioness' march. she stomps from
the water up the small incline of the beach
then back down, to the ocean which
lets her in, the waves are small, like her feet
like baby steps. when she decides she wants to
she lifts her feet and bouyed by floaties the water
makes her weightlesss and womb borne.
birds in the sky, a superrlight aircraft
with a man in the middle motors by.
she doesn;'t know it's unnatural. this is how
we fly. eyes flow with wings

rolodex strokes

2011-05-03T05:44:00.000-07:00

what i can remember
bears forgettting.

flip into existence
then out again.

jealous mockingbird attacks
whoever gets near the nest.

hanging just this side:
bed, embrace, sleep.

everynight i make promises
that morning breaks.

every morning, the hairshirt
the whipping board, the alien invasion.

how like a ghazal
this is isn't.

voices outside
voices within
the electromagnetic songs
of the earth.

time, life,
collusional bargains.

another broken sonnet

2011-04-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

how i wish you were here
and she wishes you were there
which is her here. and whose will prevail
if it's choices you must make?

if it's choices, one was already made.
i think it's to that you should stick
if we can't be one in this shade
we 'll make another pretty quick.

or at least it seems that way. i once
believed in soul mates, forever through
eternity. now i know the ssecret punch
is you are me and i am you.

outside, nostalgia of spring
ripens quick. she sprouts, a thick
scent, fleeting. bees aflowering--
all that you miss, faced with two sticks.

i withdraw the wish i had, you
and i together. since you made

commitment there, return and woo
me later. don't sow seeds of hate-

between two strands of love you weave
more love, so that it never leaves.

road trip in no particular order

2011-04-10T05:25:00.000-07:00

the black mountain skool of writing.lol

the last cherry blossom

georgia guideposts. welcome to your nwo

switzerland?

the trees just POP. goodbye north carolina

trail of tears begins here.

gotcha covered

ahhh the mountains...

and switzerland.

justinius on the riverbank

2011-04-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

i do not know if the stories
are true. plausibility
writes itself in his sad sorries
their flowering futility

sheltered, perhaps, by a borrowed tarp
at the river's edge. a hatchet
and a cell phone complete the art
of living homeless, unattached.

but just as true could be the scene
where bored and servant to my meme
he sits at home, like every day
dealing blame cards with donkey bray

precision, piercing mom's ears while
skirting my derision, weavng
adventures of escape in style
criminalized, pushed to leaving.

does he play on my sympathy
parade his scars, pain's memories?
expect my guillibility?
live agoraphobic glories?

embers, he says, are the warmest
part of the fire. phone has one bar
left. my blanket's in the pampas.
she didn't give me back the car.

a pea in a pod

2011-04-05T05:35:00.000-07:00

little wrinkled, little mis
shapen. still, green like spring.

today's weather calls for more
take an umbrella and a storm shelter
batten all hatchlings, secure all professions.

this silliness expands and contracts
forms nano connections, like time
through a player piano. the cat looks
up in terror at what she's done

then walks away, meaning as if.
five more styles wave from the catwalk
but the pod stays classic, hiding
any differences behind a thin strip
no one unzips.

chiron in the house of self healing

2011-04-04T11:42:00.000-07:00

all the doors are open
on either side of the toroid
which stretches the length of the night
sky. he mutters to himself, chewing
on his long lustrous tail. which
one shall i chose? i don't know
what i have, but i think i have
them all.

ahh dear chiron, you do, you do.

&*

she beckons from outside
a door just round the curve
up ahead, can you see her?
your twin, your sister, your love.
go on, embrace her. as real as anything
else: an ass, a star, a hand.

*(&

thirteen openings between you
the same passage, the same result, becoming
mirror and self.

(*7000

there was some plan, you think
some overarching equation which placed you
and them in the same time period. if you only hadn't
hidden it from yourself, beeblebrox, you would know
what it is you wanted. what did you want, again?

i want to know
if i'll be reading the same mythologies
in different skins a trillion years from now

and still not getting it.

*(&

i jump into your skin
recognise the darts, the aim,
the arrow thru space. why
suspension and movement are your art.

you want to hide your heart.

did it hurt boo boo?
do you understand the power of fire
can you, finally, respect it
enough to let it use you?

*(&&7

she lights the pipe
allows a certain dissolve.
wants to join the outer perspective
feels the teeming bubbles, hither thither
connected by strings/ broken in twos.

if she could jump into your eyes
for a moment. the double exposure
the quest for power, instead of just being.

that is god's disease. heal thyself. jeeze.

*(7

keystrokes take on mysticism
the comet's forerunner, the mane as tail
half beast half man, defecating in the dark
a beautiful light anticipating arrival
the annihilation as she gobbles me up
in her glorious transformation
an integration to the whole thru
dispersation.

whiff

sniff

aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

*(7

i sense a pattern
you have tried many doors
wondering why they do not close
behind you. there is one or two you've shut
yourself, but they reopen with attention
intent participation.

(*

ah chiron, my beauty, my love, my teacher, my own.
rest a spell. look into your eyes and tell me
what makes you run? become
a student again, a student of fun.

hah. fun. wtf?

fun has its price, pain in other
paid by brother, bother, sister, lover

these are self as much as thee
chiron, you must learn to plea.

what? why?
just for the rhyme?

(*)

she slams the door on the new moon.
notices her lack of penis. wonders which door
way took that. the doors creep
open again
trying to pinpoint her with telescopes
and openings. fun? fun?

fun.
see her run.

(*&&&

more to come.

haven't done an app in while

2011-04-02T09:58:00.000-07:00

but i went to this one, pasted an essay on american psycho and found out

I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

&

then i pasted an essay on the middle east rebellion and found

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

now i post a poem and

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

and with missing enfolding electrodynamics i once again write like the dead mr wallace.

who lived the life i wanted
except for the depressive part.

i got a restaurant quality espresso maker

2011-03-16T05:25:00.000-07:00

i keep making enough for 2
but i have to drink it all myself.

sometimes there's left over
so i drink it
in the evening when i come home
over ice
cold

"what a depressing life i lead"

2011-03-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

oh fuck you, you can't beat mine

hey, at least you're on the phone with a serial killer.

who i just hung up on

*(((

electric ether sheep multiply
on my screen saver, apoptosis
keeps em under control

*(&

you told me your plans after you
get certified, how eventually they will
culminate into a phosphorescent
superman even nietzsche would
bow to, that or
the universe would collapse back into itself
with you as nexxus because it just
doesn't want that much self knowlege

and it made me sad we were born
on the opposite sides of a generation
because we understand each other
implicitly.

(*(

i gotta go

i'm sorry, i'm boring you

no....

*

what's wrong?

...

what is it?

come on, tell me,.

~                ~                  ~~        ~

....nostalgia....&....

....how well we understand each other...

~~~~                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hey? next time?

yeh?

~             ~~~~

lets try to be on the same page, k?

yeh.

the idealist's hat

2011-03-09T20:46:00.000-08:00

forgot to take it off today
reading the news, working the factory
be glad you have a job!

be glad you have a job
even tho you don't have
the government pensions
even tho you SHOULD have
the government style pension i guess
this is the major split i have with
your philosophy, you don't want
to share the wealth, you think
greed is ok, who's
to judge what's enough
for the other
man and tho i agree in theory it's like
when you grow fat while
children yes i said children the ones
you demanded be born because everylifeissacred
the ones you brought into this world thru MY womb starve
i say to you starve then fuck you
i
have the right to judge
what is greed and who
are greedy

i want to be protesting at the front door
of the RNC in tampa in 2 years ,
carrying a sign that says
PRO CHOICE
I PAY TAXES TOO
shouting like that cuz the supreme
court said it's ok for gay bashing snake handling pentacostals
to picket in front of a soldier's funeral, a soldier for chrissake
a we support our troops boy , so if
it's ok to do that
then me and my friends can go stand
peacefully in front the RNC playground in li'l sin city
gasparillishously hoisting them on their own petards
the retards. or is that us, the voting public
the ones with the numbers unwilling to die
for something we believe in
cuz after all what has that ever got us?

if i get arrested
i want the aclu to take my case
all the way
to the supreme court and have them
tell me what the difference is
cuz there ain't none and i won't be corralled
anymore whoo hoo
i won't be shut up
shut in shit on spit on
collective bargaining ripped off
union busting pissed off

shit, i ran out of steam.
sigh

the missing infolding electrodynamics

2011-03-07T20:19:00.001-08:00

your eyes reflected
in waterless skies brought
a vanishing epiphany
which changed me
profoundly
in ways i do not recognise.

the wave generates on both
sides of the string you pluck
staring at matchbooks and tea lights.
the sitar an echo from last week.

all that energy written on the folds
of your brain. where's the missing
touch why can't i put your finger
on my pulse, what imprint
leaves no trace?

(*)

your arms are a horned moon
overfull of darkness.
my hair-- clouds scratching
at a chin. now you smile
now you want those stubbly
myopic star filled nights .

how long we take to leave
what we most desire
the long glance behind
watches our wake slice sunset.

we should sail together
the wind is whipping up some change.

*&99

i feel a curdling perturbation
things are heating up in here
the rumbling escape route
tunnels under gaza and bedouins
emerge in wisconson, all tribey, all
me and my bro against the man.

my altered spacetime curvature
is a wing becoming a dove
a release, again and again
from dark matter's pull
unity over one, invert the wave
let the instrument ring .

looking for wisconson in the news

2011-03-03T05:36:00.000-08:00

i guess it would help to know
how to spell it. is that an o or an I?

i'm psyched they're still in the government halls.
those union workers have some balls
but while i watched democracy now
i stumbled on the story of how

utah is a pro life state
but it's women that they hate
no right to choose, that's a given
but now miscarriage is shriven

from the halls of sadness
spun into political madness
if your baby dies before birth
it's prison time your life is worth.

()(

hard to be poetical about
the way wombs are the right wing
football fields. someone hand
the quarterback a condom
and permission to sack his gf

let's say that as long as you carry
the sacred human life inside you
we care, but once it's out
you're on your own.

yay for...madness.
full blown.

()*

go wisconson, indiana, illinois.

if i lived there, i'd be sleeping in the capitol too.
rucking right ring rastards tryn to take away power
they can't own. collective bargaining? that's socialism!
don't mind the subsidies for agribiz
don't mind the bailouts for thieves and liars
dont mind the lifetime supply of health care for congressmen
it's the unions that must die, socialsit bastids.

i made a mistake and read the comments
over to yahoo, the liberal media mouthpiece
about how faux news is gonna suspend the boys and girls
flirting with presidential candidacy. omg!
how are they gonna advance their agenda?
isn't that, that, like all their commentators
except the verifialby insane beck?

()**

obviously
i miss my bf.

the royal timekiller

2011-02-28T20:36:00.000-08:00

there are several cuts on my arms
and just now i noticed a vein popping up
in my right middle finger. a bruise appears
on the skin from an unfelt injury,
this hands become more translucent
each day., soon, infrared light will pass
through me as if i were ghost bones
and less. i spray painted some metal
for work, still wearning the overspray
through an hour in the pool, ten minutes
in the jacuzzi. the smell of bleach
couldn't dampen the pheromones
that ran in workout rivulets
and fog on the glass, breaths
mingling on the lined up elipses
sweat from the last body on the machine
available to soak up, sans
towels, the rhythm of the leg press
the hamstring, the tower, where well toned
limbs slide back and forth
over machines in techno time
all eyes watching form
in the mirrors.

after reading ghalib

2011-02-23T05:14:00.001-08:00

the now is god sleeping
the new is the dreamer
the thread is god seeking
the body ,a schemer.