Thursday, September 29, 2016

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Curated arc
      Thou mitigated
The syllabus-centric
      Didn't do the readings
          Asleep at the back of the
    Round and round
And spinning
  Like a dervish sotted
    Scrub antler
On the backyard fence
Can I borrow your notes
Or your pee-chee folder with
The doodles?

Babs & Pap ©1999 Oil, graphite, on canvas

Untitled © 2000 oil, newspaper, baseballs on wood panel

Sunday, September 25, 2016

the placated antiquarians
       dressed in blue and red
             steamboats bound for Uruguay
                  lost at sea, presumed dead

Antartic explorers steaming crustaceans
          smoking Tareytons and drinking Tang
                  looking out over the ice
                      find a survivor whose name is Chang

packed in wool crates
         bobbing on the sea
                drinking cans of 7-Up
                       somehow survived, now drinking hot tea

the newspaper is months old
              but he reads it again
                       the stories don't change
                                 and no mention of his friend


Saturday, September 24, 2016

stars drifted like
liquor store signs
           we stumbled in the street
              the conversation started
             as the lights went out
 and the waltz
   was frozen
         stringed instruments
            walked away
                       we ascended in alien eyes
                           looking at the cars
 their headlights
       the dreamers were streaming
             videos of cats
                      but no one left
   until you started to yawn

The Breakfast of Champions
   like Rome or 
                   The Parthenon
                   dead Centurions 
                              strewn along the Rubicon
                spilling blood money
     for oil 
waxing the dishes 
    before the feast 
               the moon river 
                                  flows like pure virgin flesh 
the green grasses of Palestine
     the flow of the Tigris and The Euphrates 
     the swamp dwellers
    killing boars 
    in the reeds
    of Des Moines 
 Or Waimea
                we stink of dusty flesh 
                 we supplicate 
       in market share ideas
                            stoving in the craniums 
           of the didactic deity swooners
                   we song and dance 
       at money 
 and money 
   the Witch 

my glasses
are dirty
  the fog is back,
thank god
    summer heat
    is great
   expect SF
to be
   a certain way
                    don't fuck with my

The tables
have turned-
it's a veritable
  shit ball
                 of twister fucks
    nipple twister fucks
    to be exact
    or redundant
   depending I guess
    on something or other

Paregoric trilobites
   encased in Damien Hirst
      funerary medicine cabinetry
    "the wounds of time"
    (some foreign antibodies revel in myriad
asymptomatic retardants)
     Grossly misinformed,
   the electorate
     vote to have their feet
chopped off
       "...better than military flights over
 the Atlanta Falcons game or chicken fingers"
       something something something

the bearded end game
                                                 salacious bricolette byzantium stone washed
set apart
                     kind bud for sale
  and $7 gelatos
            seems too hot for a day like this
                        but the
                                                                cement went $100k over budget
fred said

prurient lapses
 in the remiss
 cake, candles, a wool blanket
     laundry piled in plastic hampers
              the toast is burning


Monday, September 12, 2016

    of justice
            he should know better
    kings dish
  heads on platters
    not elected presidents

lips sealed
 the era of magick
   long passed
         the raven king
looks like sting in dune
     not a good look
    an awesome book
 loved the footnotes

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Six months later and the administration had been
 inundated with a barrage of emergencies-
the war was a continuous beast feeding the war machine giants
that they only concerned themselves with for political ends
  the General took his annual vacation
this year he decided to go to Slovenia
  he traveled in disguise
as a Catholic priest
  his entourage kept the curious and the spiritual away
saying his holiness recently had gall bladder surgery
he did however spend hours at the gaming tables
and made himself an unholy amount of money playing baccarat.


the skyline
baked into the eye
   i steered my mind
 or with out
   scenes of sounds
 and thoughts
    programmable messages
   from my brain
 to outer space
  what the fuck
     still here
 on this ball of Iron
   waking again
to night
    no stars can be seen
 the fog
 the lights
the walls
 I'll steer the ship
   around the corner galaxy