Hot August Eclipse

For me poetry has nothing to do with biography or beliefs. It's just a way of conversing with the universe.


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Hot August Eclipse

Now the sweat is best
Hearts caress the street.
Leave to learn the lips
Moon is gowned in heat
Moans and gawks the hour

Dreams of each recline
Flesh the questions cup
Touch turns time to song
Heart to ear is bridge
Tongue to tears is love.

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Looney Eclipse

moon eclipse tonight
starts at one in the morning
west-coasters only

UPDATE: nevermind, I guess it was last night.



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Mountains Sliding into Fortunes

I have no synaposis


Landscapes changing into portraits of memories
Words forcing the notion of change into landscapes
Collapsing into microcosms of sarcasm, beautiful sarcasm
Trepidations of saying too much, too little or nothing at all
These are the days of madmen rushing into decisions that effect us all
At least my favorite shirt is clean and ready for comment

For what consumes this palace when the birds fly south?

Where have all of the ideas landed, why have I not seen them?

And how come each tiny little comment can end the conversation?

It seems that times are calling for remembering how to forget
As I have forgotten... others tend to constantly remind me of it all
Like hour long discussions of what might have been with people who never existed
Finally, My jacket is clean and has seen too much and now I must dispose of it's hood
For fear that it will cover my eyes when I am flying
Flying south like the birds...
Or West like my dreams
Or even North like my visions.

These mountains ahead contain the truth I have remembered to forget (long ago)
And I see no value in its landscape, portrait or theories
For I am the man in the middle, the monkey who receives no food Read more!

The heart lusts for more
Psyche emails from London
Could be worse, my friend


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Doing Our Best

That's why they call me Mr. Bitterness


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Making silk purses out of sows’ ears is exhausting,
But that’s the deal as the stink of the farce worsens.
Still we pretend to smell flowers as we wake, shower,
Eat, work, drink, love, doing our best to repeat sanely.

Astronomers found an outhouse at the end of heaven.
If God’s taking a shit I’d like to ask It what It ate.
Did It sprinkle our prayers on Its pizza like parmesan?
Does It consider Its creation a failed draft to wipe with? Read more!

Sandwich Land, Part 2

Send in the clowns!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
The adolescent voices trailed off, merging into the traffic noise. “Sam! Are you ok?! They're gone now, man.” Gilbert embraced Sam, rubbing his wide ham-hock shoulders. Sam pried his hand from his eyes and winced. He was blinking rapidly and rubbing away tears.
“I wanna kill those fuckers. They said their futures were set. Somethin' about working for their daddy’s companies and being all hooked up for college and shit.” Sam panted heavily. Huge sweat rings were visible from his armpits, extending halfway down his torso. Gilbert just nodded, embracing him. “And you know what those motherfuckers said next? You know what they said!?” Sam's girth trembled, body odor billowing from anger.
“What dude? What?” Gilbert asked, crushed in Sam's grip. Gilbert thought to himself, this is all I fucking need after the day I've had. Pull yourself together, Sam. Christ! Rise above it! I gotta clock in and--. Gilbert, instantly horrified by his slave mentality, stopped the thought.
“One of those dicks asked me how old I was. I said twenty-two. He laughed and said, I wouldn't be caught dead workin' here at twenty two. By then I'll be a Vice-President of a Fortune 500 Company with a hot trophy wife. Must be tough, huh? And the look he gave me, Gilbert, was so fuckin' smug. I wanted to rip his fuckin' vocal chords out and shove them down his stupid spoiled mouth.”
“He's unimportant, man. He's a fuckin' kid. He doesn't know what he's saying. I'm thirty-six. I work here. Trust me. Wisdom really does come with age. Wisdom and acceptance. Fuck them!” Gilbert sensed a slackness in Sam's grip and wriggled himself free. He placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“If that's not bad enough,” Sam continued, “the other dick licker had the fuckin' audacity to ask me if I've ever had a girlfriend. I told him, dude, I've been married for the last three years. He just turned to his dick hole buddy and laughed, muttering, really? Gilbert, I wish I had to take a shit just then. I would've shit on their sandwiches, man. That would've put an ignominious end to their shit-eating grins.”
“It's ok, man. I better get in there, though. Is Andy in? I gotta tell him I’m--”
“Gilbert, listen”--Sam's voice dropped to a raspy confidential whisper--“Todd's actually here. He's been bitchin’ Eric out for God knows what, and I think he wants to talk to you about something. I don't know, man, but you better be careful. I think--”
“Sam, Todd can suck my dick. I witnessed murders today! I’m quitting this job tonight. You won't believe this shit! Fuckin' pigs in suits and sunglasses took the Mayor away!”
The landscape of Sam's impossibly wide face melted with instant compassion. “Fuck, dude. I'm sorry. Maybe I’ll quit too. Let's just go in and finish our shifts and then we'll talk about it.” Gilbert and Sam entered Sandwich Land. Seven customers were fidgeting in line while Andy and Sarah attended to them. Todd sat at a nearby two-person booth, shouting animatedly at Eric, whose head housed bloodshot eyes and was supported lazily by his hand.
“Where the hell have you been, Sam!” Todd exclaimed in his asshole football coach voice. “And Gilbert? You wanna tell me why you're five minutes late?!” A blue crooked vein swelled and pulsed on Todd's forehead. His muscular biceps twitched from beneath his t-shirt as he clenched his fists.
Sam silently waddled behind the counter to wash his hands, muttering, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” Andy shot him a look of contempt as Sarah slopped green tomatoes on an old lady’s sandwich.
“I was on time, Todd,” Gilbert said. I was right outside the door consoling Sam. Are you aware that three customers were blinding him with laser pens?” Gilbert spoke confidently, thinking, fucking fear in the ass starts right here, now.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm runnin' a business here. You better believe it! Punch in already and help these poor customers. They're starving. And believe me, Gilbert, as soon as I'm done with Eric, we gonna have a little chat about some complaints I’ve been gettin' about you. Todd's Adam's apple bobbed ludicrously up and down the length of his artificially-tanned neck.
Gilbert gave Todd a lingering, haughty look. “Sure, Todd. Whatever ya wanna talk about.” He walked to the computer and clocked in, then took his time washing his hands, then waltzed over to the next customer in line, a sweaty red-faced woman of about three hundred pounds. “Hello. What can I get for ya today?” Gilbert slowly slid his thin fingers into the plastic gloves.
“Well, it's about time I've gotten some service around here! I'm starving to death!” She yelled through the orange-tinged slits of her eyes. Her black hair was sparse, glued by sweat to her pinkish scalp. She crouched against the counter. Her stomach's rumbling, clearly audible.
“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Gilbert spoke softly while standing tall and pushing back his shoulders, thinking: you goddamn sow; you must eat more in a day than I do in an entire month. She ordered, and Gilbert reached into the bread bin and flipped a piece of wheat end over end into the air, snagging it easily, then proceeded to slice it and construct her sandwich. During this time, he eavesdropped on Todd's speech to Eric.
“Ya know, Eric, your job performance just hasn't been up to par lately. So what's wrong?! I wanna know! I pay you a damn good competitive wage of eight bucks an hour, and this is the thanks I get? A slothful, ungrateful employee? So what gives, man? Ya wanna work here or not? Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”




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Autumn caught me napping,
Taking her for granted,
Woke me rudely tonight
To sip the stars and matter,

To feel the flaw of no,
To taste the sweet of yes
Sleep came slow and happy
Autumn taught me thanking


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

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sun plays peek-a-boo
the air is hot like your tongue
splayed shadow on grass


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
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But can you dance to it?

consciousness streams like urine



we can be so unkind
when we don't know how to find
the spaces in the places
traces
of eachother
on the wall in the hall
round the corner
what's left is all
what's the name
on which to place the blame
for the sins of the skins
or the shirts
with their short, short skirts
what happened here we cannot hear
for fear the beer won't dry the tear
for victory over history
is a mystery to you and me
so surf the turf if you're turgh enurgh
and squeeze a sneeze from jeezus' knees
if you please
cause now's the time to mime the crime
in grime and slime
is it lemon?
no, I think it's lime.

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Sandwich Land, Part 1

The farce continues


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Chapter 16: Sandwich Land


Determined to quit, Gilbert walked to work enthused yet contemplative. His thoughts cut to the marrow of a silly career of desires wasted. As pigeons purred in the sunlight he summed it up so as to shore his decision against fear. Hours exchanged for food. Murdered hours. Hours not spent being free. Hours of being less, being worse, being stressed, being wasted, for what? Food and water, and a locked door to sleep behind. He passed Eleventh Avenue. Seven blocks to the cell block. And what is my job there? My duty? Making sandwiches for other prisoners who spend time in other cell blocks, decorated and furnished differently perhaps, but cell blocks nonetheless. Gilbert sucked from the smoke hard. And I, like everyone else, walk willingly to my cell, conscious of the time. Can't be late! Gotta keep my appointment with slavery! Gotta make my slave- master happy. I have services to do. Services he doesn't want to do. So he gives me a fuckin' rice bowl, and I? I do his bidding. I don't complain. I sweat for another. I'm not a bum. I'm worse. I'm a drone. A worker.
Gilbert's cigarette was spent. He pinched the remaining tobacco onto the sidewalk and mashed it with his toe. I wonder what liberation will feel like. Cutting the ropes. Cutting the strings from the puppeteer. He won't control my dancing anymore. I've never known what that would feel like. I've only known shackles. I've only known control. Mind control. Gilbert passed Twelfth Avenue. The freeway overpass loomed. He lit another smoke. I need to make some hard decisions. I need to trust my gut and my heart. Right choices should come easily when we know, really know who we are. I will work out of the center of my being tonight. I will make my final sandwiches with compassion. I will not yield to frustration or anger. I will be myself and not compromise my values, and I will not be afraid. Gilbert bit his lower lip, felt the little surge of pain, straightened his gait and looked to the dusk-low sun. I will not be afraid. I promised Peggy. Fuck fear. I do have support. The universe gives us support and I will keep my promise, so help me God I will.
Gilbert passed Thirteenth Avenue contemplating dusk. The sun is setting on my old life. I have to trust that my experiences since birth have prepared me for the changes to come. The Mayor’s gone, but not gone. I feel you in my head and heart still, old friend. He chuckled as he passed Fourteenth. Old kooky friend. Debate those lizards into the dust, into their serpent holes beneath the dusk. You're fuckin' with the wrong genius, cowards! His diatribes will come sluggin' out of left field. You don't stand a chance. He sighed as the sun seemed to redden before his eyes. Not a goddamn chance. Passing Fifteenth Avenue, Gilbert saw the Newschannel Eight building. He thought of the reporters he'd made sandwiches for. That sports guy seems pretty cool. He writes songs. I hope he's not privy to the deployment of tear gas by his station. He thought of the others. The reporter, Kris, with whom he'd always flirted. Will I detect a difference in your smiling eyes now? Will you detect my ambivalence and suspect? Can I suspend my paranoia and see you as an innocent? No. You work for monsters. He thought of all those Sunday mornings. What did I ever tell you about myself? The writing, yes. Primitivism, fuck! I did go off on a tangent once. You said you also longed for simpler times. Please, Kris. Please keep quiet about that. I should have never bared my soul to a member of the corporate media.
He thought of Samantha and KBOO. You're a reporter I could trust. No one pulls your strings. Of course, that's why you were taken. You had the audacity to report the truth about carnage and injustice while it was happening right in front of your face. Fuck it! I can't let you be forgotten. I'll tell Kris. I'll take that chance. Maybe she'll be sympathetic. Yes Peggy! If I'm to say 'yes' to life I must say 'no' to fear. Fuck fear! Gilbert passed Sixteenth Avenue, reflexively turning his head left to look into the window of The Leaky Roof restaurant. You in there, Schneeb? Ah, there you are, jiggling the grease from the french fry basket. Turn your head, man. Look at me. Gilbert waved his cigarette in front of the window. Schneeb wheeled around, the Detroit Red Wings hockey logo prominently visible on his cap. He looked up at Gilbert, and with a slight frown lifted two fingers into the air and made a slow slashing motion across his neck, left to right; then raised the two fingers to his lips and blew: sh! Gilbert smiled. There you go again with your Illuminati death threats. Not so funny today though, buddy. I'll tell you all about it later. Gilbert returned the gesture, waved and walked on. Schneeb's a hard guy to read, he thought. Nice guy to play pool with and he's turned me on to some far out authors, but he's secretive. Aloof. He writes but he's nonverbal. And he watches a hell of a lot of television. Maybe I shouldn't tell him about the rally.
Ah, hell! It'll be all over the news I'm sure. Gilbert came to Seventeenth Avenue and paused to grind his cigarette out. Well, here I am, literally standing on the corner of the prison block. Fourth door down. State Farm Insurance, Starbucks, Go-Foods, and Sandwich Land. By my reckoning I've got five minutes. Gilbert walked into Go-Foods and greeted a waifish Vietnamese woman. “How ah you?” she intoned with a thick accent. Ok, Gilbert replied. She's a fuckin' angel, he thought. A beautiful little porcelain doll. There may be hope in this world yet. Gilbert purchased a pack of Pall Mall Reds, his flesh tingling as she touched his cupped hand while giving him change. “Thankyou,” she said. Gilbert waved and smiled. Upon exiting the store, Gilbert turned to walk into Sandwich Land. Three teenage boys rocked back and forth on their designer tennis shoes, giggling. They were shining laser light pens through the window.
“Hey! What are you guys doing?!” Gilbert shouted. A morbidly obese, short, long-haired androgynous-looking man pushed open the door, tottering in his grubby work shoes through which enormous white-socked toes protruded. His green Sandwich Land shirt was soiled with tomato seeds, broccoli soup, mustard and grease. He clutched his eyes with a furrowed hand. “Sam! What's up!?”
“These fuckers! These fuckers blinded me!” Sam shouted while waving his free hand. He swung a fist blindly at the air. “Get the fuck outta here, assholes!” Sam continued to cover his eyes and flail wildly at his assailants.
“Fuck you! Fat fuck!” the teenage boys shouted amidst giggles and juvenile pointing. They ran off still bantering: “Fat fuck! Fat fuck! Nobody’s gonna wanna fuck, fat fuck!? Nobody!” Read more!

Late August

1:22 Am--my 4th beer and 10th consecutive cigarette


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Late August
Late August and I for one am ready for the cold rain.
Ready for philosophical cockroaches reclining in my sink
Do my unwashed dishes inspire fresh cosmologies for them?
If so I want to be credited as just one Muse among many.
My sweetheart starts school as the first leaf turns red.
I hold her till she snores then creep away for beer.
There’s a novel to never be finished which she never liked.
My friends will revolve about Autumn like cupcake moons.
I eat their love whole yet like gods they return to me again.
My jobs pin my soul to the landscape of now and hold me.
Memories weigh down the wings so I hop amidst the names.
Late August and I squint before the heart’s hieroglyphics.
Though I can’t interpret there’s consolation there.
The stars like girls silent before an eruption of giggles. Read more!

Robyn Goes to Law School Haiku

Know that we love you
Are with you as you blossom
Call out and we’re there


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Bonded

When will poets stop writing about love?! It's too damn complicated. Laughter is a more appropriate response than writing. Yet I continue the tried and true neurosis. Oh well--


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Bonded
Because we identify ourselves as outsiders
And are bonded by pains deeper than now
Our arguments over this and that pet theory
Seem trivial compared to love-gravity’s leash.
I’m sorry, you’re sorry, agnostic egos rage,
Then we slide into the heat happily blind.
Television babbles as we did a moment ago,
And whether we’re virtual or real is rootless.
We kiss, I rise then leave to write these lines
Before I forget, mistake agreement for union,
Variance for dissolution, as I’ve done before,
Will again, and die and old and lonely man. Read more!

Sleep comes hard with books
These dreams will leave me wounded
Limping to my job


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crickets chirping haiku

*

have we all died?
our words dried up in the sun?
fumble to utter.
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On the Intelligence of Pigeons

I need to write much, much more to be happy


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On the Intelligence of Pigeons
At least the pigeons aren’t so stupid as to suit up and work for others
And they know more than scientists that evolution is about cooperation
Opposable thumbs allow us to make stuff, and that’s the first mistake
We equate making stuff with intelligence, and the pigeons ironically purr
Concurring amongst themselves as they eat our food and live in our cities
Neither burdened with jobs nor rent nor school nor families who enslave
With expectation and fear that they will be embarrassed or forgotten.
What a joke our limited paradigm is to them whose senses soar above ours
They are like gods touring not Eden but our shit-holes for amusement.
We are the retarded mutant species, addicted to petty creations and TV
We are the least spiritual of species, erecting gods who despise nature
The pigeons want us to stay so they can laugh their feathery asses off
Forever, just kickin’ back and bathin’ in the sweet stink of our chocolates. Read more!

Ambition

If there's one word that sums up what I'm all about it's "ambitious!"


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Ambition
With a lit match I write “sleep” across the dark.
The smoke disappears but I’m still conscious.
The stars still whisper their ridiculous questions.
People around me chatter about trivial matters.
If the night was a blanket I could wrap my eyes,
Replace the moon with a “Do not disturb” sign,
Send the sun to a distant future I’ll never see.
My greatest ambition is to sleep forever someday.
People say just be patient, that day will come.
Guess I’m a little more ambitious than that. Read more!

First Kiss

What's primary is permanently embedded.


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First Kiss
Seduced by flame and star I surrendered to my first kiss.
What I thought I knew from hearsay and books became manifest.
Idyllic snowflakes licked and slid down the window’s thigh.
Dinosaur battle scenes were painted on the walls of the hot room.
She sat astride my curiosity in her short pink summer pajamas.
The door was locked, murmurs of sleep in other rooms ignored.
She tickled me and my curiosity grew as the moon peeked in.
No adult darkness or neurotic lens lingered to spoil the taste.
Our lips were God when I was nine and she was eight. Read more!

flattened haiku

*
kid had a bad day
decided to jump off bridge
parents weep, leave spray.


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Small Grocery Clerk Much Better than Sandwich Artist Haiku

With exceptions on both ends of this spectrum noted, it's my experience that the lower classes are more pleasant and real than the middle to upper classes. Why is this? Does our money-God dominated way of life make any sense? Is it a disease? Are the worshippers of this God spiritually retarded? Certainly this God is.


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Real conversation
No assembly line bullshit
Bums over yuppies Read more!

Changes

This new job is giving me fucked up dreams.


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Changes
Dreamt last night I was afflicted with Giganticism.
It came as such a surprise, I shouldn’t be getting taller at 40.
The biggest worry was how to afford the new clothes,
And how often would I have to buy them, shit!
The dark subtext was that I would surely die soon
But that didn’t bother me as much as the needed shopping
So in the dream I calculated a new budget
And to my terror it became clear that I’d have to give up
Smokes, beer, coffee and food except for Ramen noodles
Else walk around in clownish underwear and tube socks
Everything got bigger, cock and brain included.
With latter engorged I divined how to reverse the malady
So I changed to normal size, but I kept the cock as it was. Read more!

Never Forget

Something my brother wrote...


The world
is at or near its end,
so my job here is
to befriend
the ones who want
and need it most--
the ones in pain
yet still refrain:
look to the sky,
the garden of hope.
Darkness falls
and the walls of
your world com
crashing down;
as you look around
and realize not
that you're not the
only one.
Countless others
that feel the same--
they're just like
me and you, yet
so different,
spread so far apart, yet still
banded together
as one.
My brothers,
rise above the rest,
let your light shine
as bright
as the morning star,
and never forget
who you are.
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Breaking Down

True story: middle class professionals are losing their minds!


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Breaking Down
I was breaking down boxes in the back when the door beeped,
Signifying the entrance of a customer
He was a man in a nice suit, crouching down behind the candy aisle,
Playing peek-a-boo. This became evident when he bobbed
His head first up then down then laughed
Just last night I’d sold him a Mountain Dew and a pack of Camels
I’m pretty sure he’d told me he was an accountant.
He’d seemed a little nervous, a little stressed, but ok
Tonight, I had to coax him to the counter with his Hershey’s bar
He asked if we were hiring, then asked if he could stay. Read more!

ethics

-
the cricket is laying there now. in my back stoop.
for days dying, one leg disconnected
twitching its mangled body
i refuse to kill it
on the idea that it's supposed to be good luck.
can i euthanize it or will my karma be harmed?
hopefully it will pass and i wont have to find out.
why couldn't you be any other bug?
i would have killed you days ago!



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Most Faithful Lover

The book whose kiss is deep and helps me sleep


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That's That

Truth is a freakshow or a ghost in the mirror


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That’s That
Sometimes I’ll rub my thumb against a beer can
And it’s like rubbing against a woman’s breast
True, the can makes popping sounds if I press too hard
A woman’s breast elicits moans or a slap to the face
So much for forced analogies and the nervousness
Of a forced life playing it safe through avoidance.
If I were otherwise sanity would be sought through security
But being a square peg I’m forced to seek a proper aperture
Like creatures seek the same and that’s the bitch of it.
A dog can’t mate with a cat, and that’s that. Read more!

Stocking Marlboros
Playing Vivaldi for drunks
Absurdity smiles


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interesting reading!

i don't know how i find half the things i do...



its really good tho-

http://www.esquire.com/fiction/napkinproject

sometimes they don't put the whole story on the bottom, so I've just been highlighting it to read it
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Not Giving a Fuck

It comes to no one's surprise that I've finally lost my mind. If you find it somewhere please mail it back, third class.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Not Giving a Fuck
If no one gave a fuck it would be a lot easier
We’d stop building condos and bridges to emptiness
The cranes would rust but the bars would be fuller than ever
Money would cease being the ticket to paradise
And lack would cease being a ticket to pariah-hood
Cops would cease being children and jaywalking would be fine
Why would you work if you didn’t give a fuck?
No more stupid questions like what do you do?
Or aren’t you worried about retirement or health insurance?
Or when are you finally gonna get a cell phone?
Or where do you see yourself in five years?
Oh, how I’d love to say in your chair and you in tears
People seem to be addicted to what other people think of them
This is far worse than fairy tales about bird flu and terrorism
If no one gave a fuck about what others thought
We could finally talk to each other and listen without fear
We could finally speak of freedom with a straight face Read more!

Commodore Grocery Blues

Leisure time is best time but work is grist for the mill


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Commodore Grocery Blues
With a new job comes a new set of tormentors.
Fuck off yuppies, hello stinky underclass.
I welcome the change from perfume to body odor.
I’m getting paid $8.50 an hour to learn new things at age forty
I didn’t know that a rotting liver could cling to my clothes.
This is important information the University of Michigan didn’t teach
On my first day of opening the alarm went off which deactivated
The phone so I couldn’t call the boss so I couldn’t turn it off
God did that in forty-five seconds--I now believe.
Shaking like a coward my first customer staggers in at 8 am.
He’s holding one of those time-life special edition magazines,
Filled with pictures and few words kinda like the USA Today
He brought a 40 of Steel Reserve to the counter
And said, I never got much schoolin’--I can’t read
Can you tell me what this says?
2006 in pictures, I said.
Can you tell me how many “Os” in “stupid,” he said
I thought hard, said 2
It would’ve been a good time to die
I’ve been holdin’ out for a final punchline. Read more!

True as a Glass of Beer

My favorite quote from the movie "Amelie"--"Clam it failure! (whistling from higher to lower registers)"--applies to me and failed writers everywhere.


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True as a Glass of Beer
Honesty feels less miserable than other shit
When I want to pretend I have a girlfriend
I wash your dishes and water your plants.
I should’ve rehearsed my love affairs starting with the first
My friendships are true as a glass of beer
They don’t need a second or third take to take.
Love is like the cusp of drunkenness
If I cross the threshold and get trashed it’s ruined
Love is a sweet buzz but it comes with a warning
Don’t get another drink. If I leave her presence
And return changed she’ll be changed and it’s over
So I’ll live for ten minutes and taste her sweetness
So at least I can mourn the tale I haven’t yet told Read more!

What Bullshit This Is

Honesty feels less miserable than other shit


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What Bullshit This Is
What I really wanna say is what bullshit this is
To work a fucking job to eat and sleep beneath a roof,
To be cozy and safe with retirement and health insurance,
To make my parents proud as if that’s the be all to being born.
If I were not a coward I’d wipe my ass with this doggerel.
I wanna stink and be real, write poems on napkins,
Hand them to serious business fucks and flip them off.
I wanna eat baked beans cold out of the can.
I wanna drink shitty malt liquor on the sidewalk
Why the fuck can’t we do this?
So I play it safe, lose sleep, wake up early to go to work
Which is ridiculous as all work is ridiculous
Because if we love it it’s not work even if we’re paid.
I am a coward who shits in the morning and asks the mirror why
What I really wanna say is what bullshit this is Read more!

From A Dream (1998)

We are born as a species into misery:
out of synch with creation,
gifted above all things
at being troubled...

Our only respite is to pursue our life's passions to the fullest—
becoming expert in such things
as serve to edify the inward being,
and clarify, and sharpen
our sense of humanity and justice.

Fortifying the will to endure all hardships for the sake of others,
we must strive with our lives as common men and women
to leave in our wake—
not the refuse of a life that was ultimately squandered,
but to erect instead, a monument so fitting
as to become in its own way,
in time,
the standard by which our descendants shall measure
the potency of their own convictions, and virtues...

We must act now, to improve the human condition
in ways that work not against nature, but with it;
that whatever good we may thereby accomplish
might be sustained indefinitely—as nature itself
is indefinite, and respectful of only that which accepts
its omnipotence. Read more!

well wadda ya smell?

*
i love my dogs
they sit up to sniff the breeze.
last time we did that??

Read more!

Homestand

Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and Chevrolet!


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Homestand
After explosions and applause the ostensibly
Normal families seem drunk as they pour
With hotdog-scented steam onto the street.
They hoot and slither through the dark
Wet of their bodies’ shadows, eyes euphoric
And self-lit as kids flap gloves but do not fly.
Last train to the suburbs leaves at midnight,
Faces now pissed, impatient, pressed like weasels
Off to little white enclaves to be processed.
Fireworks have left green vomit in the sky.
Humans hunched over carts claim booty.
One lifts a plastic inflatable bat and beats herself. Read more!

This Time Alone

A poem about failing and falling

Limelights, Post Lights, Stop Lights
Running through my consciousness like mirrors
Reflecting into a dreamlike state of theory and promise
heeding no replies from others, just a glimpse of spasm or spark
In fact.....
This light is compromising everything needed to make a dream my own

Her truth is evidence that all is in fact "not well"
I am ambivalent to these ideas of hope and sunlight
As she fumbles towards a way to swim into this conversation
I seem to laugh at the notion of "helping out" and "support"
Truly, this situation is one for which both parties seem doomed

Her position within the annexed reality is somewhat disturbing
And I cannot help but laugh, again, at the powerless power of her name
For telling someone where to go or how to get there guarantees nothing
And she is now watching her entire reality bounce around, falling forward
And collapsing into another theory without evidence, evidence without reason
For how can anyone truly think aloud if they cannot think in silence

All of these things I ask, again and again
But still receive no legitimate answers
From anyone



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