the flip
of
the scar
 marked
paddy wagon
blues
   steady
hold
steady
 and on
 Winston Churchill
   ah you
and your carnaby
    flowers
   seeing death
in your
   mother's eyes
  you clean the windowsill
 stare out at the
   buildings
    who is looking out
Winston Churchill
  grey dark suits
     lace curtains
         and the smell
of a musty room
 time for a cold
beer
  too much dust
in here

careless
  energy
   see
 the stars
   burning
    

taxed
   and doxxed
      spocked
flocked
battered
   and chapped
      flicked
fucked
  finked
 and
ferruled
   spelling
the time's
 simple rule
   you can never go back?
ah hell
  stooped
drooped
  slooped
     hooped
 sad
eyes
   crying
   in the brain
pan
  man
oh
man
 flan

ambiguity
is rarely
   a big hit
  give us a real emotion
anything
   something
    care about something
be something
not just a pinball knocked about
incessantly
 until
game over

downward divestiture
the downward dog
of
   satan's minions
wait what
   stellar mad cap
lightning
with
salt
 echoes
 stirring the embattled
concupiscence
   of canned crab
     and cranky
 charisma
  

the plethora
of non motivated
algorithms
  enticed
with
  cultivated mustaches
    and sandy
tropical spice
   strewn about like a
      cavernous plea for
         assimilation
    waning on the toyota tacoma side
       boxed in
and reading
  eating
and drinking
  still they're
     on the phone
is this a land line
  never mind
  
      

White Astro Van

twenty seven gallons of
gas
   16-25 mpg
do the math
  gas gauge
broken
 odometer
   works
press the short trip
button
 on the odometer when
  you fill up

you chased the dragon
it was a hot cup of coffee
 and a beignet
    it was chilly outside
      you waited for the sun
       
 the real dragon
      you know the one
     lost in the
down deep
  you shook the crumbs off
and made a loitering pigeon happy

 the package with the books you sent
was received gladly
  real mail
    rare these days
unlike the dragons
 seeming to be everywhere

 - fiery breath
like vog
   Lord Smaug
Jabberwocky
 St. George
  The Great Eye
ring wraiths
   on the bus
walking home from work
pyroclastic flows
  the dragons are all too real


  

You most likely had a fourth-great-grandparent, fifth-great-grandparent, sixth-great-grandparent, or seventh-great- (or greater) grandparent who was 100% Native American. This person was likely born between 1690 and 1780.

the sound
propounds
the street
    litter
 car horns
     metal
    chrome
a steel shopping cart
   filled with dirty pillows
  your shoes are new
 and stoned
   you walk by
   on your way
somewhere
 a radio plays
out a car window
   bitches brew
     you beat the time
      on your
left ventricle
      

At The Zoo


feeling
 the stolen thought of Mercury
feet a-wing
  - stay
the calculations
of baby lion proportions
Horace
  the Lion's roar
    the great beast
 feet away
    could knock one down
     save the bars
        here for a wheelbarrow of meat
at 2 pm

the envelope
of not being sleepy
   was creased
      and yellowed
at the bedside
 was a licked stamp
    waiting for an address
yawn


  

the capricious
dead end street blues
   played on a pine tar guitar
     using 1968 as a pick
        singing in the woods
            "Hello New Hampshire,
                good-bye America."

somewhere
on the gray satire
    stood the ace of fogginess
a hand dealt
  by the bay
 

I crafted a broken reprisal
to all your inadequacies
and saw
 just the paper
  

swift blue carrion
 a breach
of Joni Mitchell's Hejira
   album

 a farcical contribution
to the amelodious syncopation
    - stage left- two baroque lutists
engage in a game of parcheesi

Ka wahine ʻai honua

everything gets forgotten
those of us who remember
stand at the crossroads
of the past and the present