Sunday, March 31, 2013

I don't know
I'm trying
but
I got too much sun
and drank too
much wine at Easter dinner
then I put on an old Joan Baez
album
Mom thought the people clapping
was dust on the needle

I'm dust on the needle

We went through the old man's stuff
books and jewelry
hats and Eagle scout banners
badges
boats bought by Blanca
old paintings
from Ruth
and endless whatnot
take this
take that

found my dad's solid gold pocket knife sitting outside
on the porch

they didn't even clean the rifle
but no one ever taught them



Lon Chaney
and Dick Cheney

we know who's
the scariest
don't we

the man with no heart

who shoots
his friends

in the face
w/ a shotgun

No he wasn't working for
Halliburton

but the whole Iraq
war was

Treason's too good
for what he did

war criminal

BUSH lied
thousands died

Good try
Good effort

real horror
is so much more bloody
and
well,
real

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Arctic Rush
knew something had changed
since he had been transformed
he found life more exciting and yet
far less satisfying
He was the same ice cold
blue red orange
that didn't matter
he was now a super hero
of beverages
The Queen had made it so
he began to wonder
if the whole kingdom
weren't based on lies
Were there any products that
had dairy in them?
That "ice cream" must have milk but
why is it so weird
He wanted to go back to being just
his old self
just plain old Mr Mistee

but things change,
right? 
Can you ever go back?

he was wearing his sunglasses
on his baseball hat
like a fucking douche


he thought if he could
go back in time
by getting rid of the
technology he might get an honest moment
of unaware non irony
it seemed too much to ask
maybe it was the meds
that made him always see himself
as a third person
maybe it was the drugs
he said aloud to himself

the off chance
was on again
another rerun
in the history of chances
it had
happened before
off chance on chance
it's all in the lay of the fabric
and the way you cut it?
His scissors were sharp but
his senses were muddled
another gin and tonic
nah maybe a grilled cheese
the clock said
quarter to ten
he poured himself another drink
and turned on the radio

sometimes we stared
at strangers
usually we kept our eyes
averted or
looked at our phones
the sun was doing something
shining
or behind a cloud
everything seemed dirty and worn out
why would you put
carpet on a commuter train?
We used to ride when the cars were brand new
now they're packed and dirty
humans do know how to fuck shit up


the
edge of the table
was where he hit his head
time was no longer waiting for
him
he stopped to unearth the pledge he made
and then passed on
into the void
Mister Mistee
has been banished
from the ice
kingdom
The Queen
has a new love.
His name: Arctic Rush

the beamer
wouldn't start
so she went back in
and put on
a Dylan record

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

one could
again

again
and again

or seem to


I seem to



remember


i swore
I remembered


but you are so
sure
surely you haven't forgotten

no I'm not calling
you
Shirley

stop calling me


remember?


I remember but
I swore


you forgot


seemingly certain

that I was
certain

that you forgot


remember?


again and now

and now


and then

we were
and now are


still

and again you  seem
to


me









Monday, March 25, 2013

there
was a giant pile of
old baseball mitts
and some had writing on them
Larry Kramer
443-7582
in faded black marker
I looked for anyone
I knew
there was one that said Peter Rose
Pete Rose?
couldn't be
it was a two toned glove from the
early seventies
Blue and darker blue
I tried a couple on
they had a distinct smell
of dirt and dried leather
one had stains
that looked like dried blood
I'd seen kids hit in the head
by an errant swing
and waited with them
for the school nurse
I took the blue one
and walked to the counter
Craptastic
High falutinism
braving the
river for the
march
capturing a
bygone measure
a dram
twelve drips
to the
drome
well, we never had silverware
we eat with our
mouths
 and catch lillyfrogs
and beetlerovers
by the Monarch butterfly
leaves
we'll stay in the car
and listen
to the sound
with the windows
rolled up

Sunday, March 24, 2013

going down the rabbit tunnel
with a drug dealer and
a broken camera
there's a fly beating against the
window
that looks out on rabbit dirt
ah what's up Doc?
greetings Earthlings!

this scene is painted
in floral chorals
and mauve masticating


trammeling the
besmirched
throwing nickels at old ladies
the farmers jacket
is in the car
we are the loveless
locked in our appurtenances
not writing porters
in Mumbai
not writing poetry about
walks in the woods
although universally ignored
we laugh
haha
very funny
this is going nowhere fast
Did you see Beyonce?
she was shopping for lip gloss
at a used car lot in Des Moines
did you see Morrissey?
he has double pnuemonia
and still a cankerous tongue
ah yes but we're in San Francisco
dream factory for the freaks
and tech miners
smoking in our vegan capsule
dirfting into bars
waiting for the move to Oakland
to be with the real people
and see a little sunshine once in a while
with the dust
of a thousand days
lightning
strikes
the lonely wanderer

the smell of
onions frying
and the sound
of
a car backfiring
as
the sun settled
in old
sleepy town

where everyone
has a good time on a
Saturday night

Saturday, March 23, 2013

the cliff wall
was a wall of sound
 a wall of graffiti
a wall of mystery
a wall of corporate corporateness
combined with
a suppurating pustule of
legislative hegemony

a turkey sandwich
with extra mayo

a wall of mayo
a wall

why mayo?
I don't know
I'm sorry
I failed

The lady paying for her groceries at the corner store said our bodies and our souls are separate and the body dies but the soul lives on and Victor agreed with her. I was trying to get to the Haagen Dasz Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream and she was in the way.
geriatric glass blowers
watching a Jim Jarmusch movie
while waiting for an expensive
catered lunch
Oh, castles of glass
floating in the sky
next to the
broken wine glass
and the overflowing ashtray

movement distorts
the pretty things
all left laying in a sheepish
pile
of pictures and wisdoms
wistfully pretending
to live in a cardboard refrigerator
house
while Dad works on the car
and swears loudly upon banging his finger
against the fuel pump
the wind captures
the wind is
the wild and wooly wind

I'm laying in bed
I'm lying in bed
I'm aligning in bed

Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans
and Grandfather Clock walked into a bar...

I'm a frayed knot
I'm not afraid
I'm a string tied into a knot
I'm not a string

I am the volcanic carved totem
from the jungle
mixed with the electric BIG MUFF distortion pedal
and an old framed painting of a country
scene in monochramatic colors from
an amateur painter
in a non functioning SF apartment fireplace
Caffeine Roy James was named
for her mothers favorite addiction
and it had a reverse effect;
Caffeine was slow to do anything. Talk,
walk, use a computer, the maths
 drive a car, she just went about things with a distinct
lack of urgency or expediency
"it'll be there tomorrow"
was one of her sayings.
"Manana is too soon." was another.
She did however get her high school equivalency
when she was a sophomore and then leave school.
"This shit sucks" was her reply when asked
why she wanted to leave.
Her birth father was living somewhere
near Sacramento so she headed that way.
Her mother told her she couldn't leave the house until she was eighteen. In a letter to general delivery, Sacramento.
On the train she met a kid named Waynester who gave her some
mdma which made her almost climb out the speeding train.
"this train is going too straight"
When she got to Sacramento she learned her father had been hired
to do computer security for a company in Abu Dhabi.
There was a one way ticket to Abu Dhabi with her name on it which
she talked the airline in to switching for a ticket to JFK.  She boarded
a red eye knowing one friend in New York. Sally Jenkins from summer band camp at Lake Okeewanakapi.

as if to reckon with the void
he perused
the victoria's secret catalogue
his REI dividend lay unopened

Thursday, March 21, 2013

the chinese butcher shop's gone
now there's a store that sells fancy things and letter cards hand printed
it's too bad
they had a poster of Martin Luther King, Jr. on the wall
and I ate some damn good pork chops from that place.
center cut. I cooked them "luau" style
fresh chopped ginger and soy sauce
yum
he erred
in a copernican
fashion
sense
went round and round
and never
admitted
something to himself
something he couldn't say

he threw the new yorker in a pile
and lit a cigarette
and looked at his phone
11:11
times was melting backwards
he knew he should get up and do something
but he didn't feel like it
the bed was warm
the window was open
outside somebody was tapping on something
with a slightly metallic clank

he felt bad
guilty
for no good reason
and he wondered sometimes
if it was the medications
if so it sucked
actually it sucked anyway
when he felt like that
there was no good reason for it
not that he could see anyway

he wondered what it would be like to
sell everything and move to the desert
get a double wide trailer and
a swamp cooler
drive 40 miles to shop for groceries
in an air conditioned Astro van

get himself a pretty little conchita
to make tamales
and feed the goat
drink beer from an ancient refrigerator
Maybe Baja would be better
or San Jacinto




as if to depreciate the world
more people were brought in
because thats what people do
more more more
how do you like it
how do you like it
shining star
of the island
reaching for the water
diving deep and
wrestling with the
jaguar
in the night
it's eyes are fire
and teeth of diamonds

the war is starting again
just outside
right there

the bodies are laying in the street
more more more
we will eat s'mores
we will eat you alive

sing your song
with joy for
being alive
sing the song of the child
pushing a laundry cart

sing your song of
the woman who talks

and humms
to the sound of St. Anne

listen to the sound of sand
and locust
and water

listen now to the wind
or the street
or the white noise of traffic
or the thought of the neighbor
dog barking all day
that's not a pleasant thought!

poor doggie!

as if the breach could not be contained
management of difficulties
thought process
never taken in to account
what is the
what
can't see the forest for the trees, eh Virgo
locked in
to this reality
locked in tight and
not letting go
NEVER
EVER
how could I?
I'd probably end up doing yoga or something even more dreadful.
(joke)
(sort of)
Quas-eye moto
third star from the sun
third moon in a row
barking up the wrong metaphor


Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Dye your hair
hot pink
and do your makeup
on the bus
wrap the puppy in a
blanket
and carry the garbage
to the corner
we're not on sale here
we're not rocket scientists
we're standing at the edge of
one more day

burnt out
hot rod
jalopy
in India
the elephants
are moving logs

killing is going on
everywhere

how lucky are we

we mostly just make the bullets and guns
and rockets
and death

stained blood red
and picnic baskets
for
a summer day
if a photo of a
young man
holding an assault rifle
and twenty dead children
won't do it what
the fuck
will
Mr Poe stares
out like a man waiting in line
for free soup

from here to eternity
the horses head turned
on the carriage
lay Emily Dickinson
in her black bonnet
her skin was white
the jerk store called
I'm on sale
freedom rings from the rafters
poisoned
from the draft dodgers
Brooklyn to Miami

wearing a linen suit and white shoes
buying a can of hair grease

and a can of soda pop

this heat will freaking kill you

what did the paper say?

she said they blew a seal
but it was just ice cream

I guess it's time to go to bed

I know this shit makes no sense
but I like doing it
humor me
oh I'm already here
and the sirens
are going off

the night was rain
and they were
playing baseball downtown
dominicans
against somebody else

Danish? They play baseball in Denmark
there's something rotten about that

there's a nice cool breeze coming in
along with the sirens

I always imagine a house on fire
or the cops chasing some gang bangers

probably just a homeless guy passed out in the street
drinking to forget the pain

Waiting in line
She did the bend over
Show me your breasts thing
I just want a sandwich
And a bag of chips

Monday, March 18, 2013

Unburdened in burl wood
With a complimentary corn muffin, buddy
Fried chicken racing
With Racer 5
Don't banish
thinking,
feeling from
your life
I know it pains-
button up
bottoms up
barrels away
we are the disenfrankincensed
move over
and pass the piper
ring that bell
Quasi- moto
as the escrow flies
you lived for your sins
killed a tree
or trees
or another human being
Carry ack
in Lole
thai jeans
and Columbia girls
with broken leg

look homeward angel

Grotesque head drawn
as by Brueghel,
Leonardo
or who?
you draw it
divided frankincense
with bald head
and a Laoccoon
in marble

my mea culpa
celine- esque
in small tome
living in the suburbs
and washing the car on Saturdays

 Al Watan, a local daily, reports that a ministerial committee is considering changes to the way the death penalty is applied, from public beheading by sword to execution by firing squad. The few officially sanctioned swordsmen are having trouble commuting from one execution to another fast enough.
Nine unrelated things

1. oh the aching
lack of
sleep
comes from sleeping too
much
in a hollowed log
or a hollow sleeping bag
or reading Appolinaire
in a suitcase

2. Marcel standard stoppages
from string falling

3. The practical application of random sample
data collection

4. Finally putting on the new sheets
rather than continuing to enjoy the
tattered ones on the bed

5. having to get up at 6:30
am when you'd rather just
sleep in until 10:30( file this under blah blah
blah?)

6. Someone left their hiking shoes in my
van from when we went to... it's been so long I can't even
remember where we went. Oregon?
Also a Mount Shasta patch with a safety pin.

7. Haiku Haiku Haiku uranium exposure

8. worrying about something like, all the time.

9. oh a good cup of coffee







Sunday, March 17, 2013

It's a girl my lord in a flat bed Ford
slowing down to take a look at me
C'mon Baby
don't say maybe
I got to know if your sweet love is gonna
save me

Take it Easy- Jackson Browne & Glenn Frey

I had a friend in high school who called him Jackson Brownie
I guess that's understandable
he is kinda chocolaty and chewy
sweet and sticky
sometimes crumbly

We had flat bed trucks in Livermore and guys
would drive with their dogs on the flat bed 
those dogs knew that shit wasn't cool
they had a very concerned look on their faces and
their legs would be all splayed out for maximum grip
they were definitely not taking it easy





My neighbor, Bob is always
asking how things are going?
"Who lives in your place these days?"
"I never see them"
Not sure what Bob does with his time
I see him down at the Central Coffee shop
sitting and talking
"HEY DOUG"
"How's it goin'?

We had a guy living in our building who went steadily nuts
he told the police we were pouring water
on the floor so it would go in his apartment
He started cutting giant holes in the ceiling and walls
to get evidence
it got a little scary when
he would show up randomly
when I was in the neighborhood
and start taking my picture
asking me why I was following him

he thought my housemate and I were out to get him
after a couple years of this shit we were out to get him
we were out to get him away from us
we thought he was going to shoot us or some crazy
shit
his ex wife lived across the street
my housemate always called her by the wrong name
he called her Yoko
the crazy guy started putting cameras on her roof
they were pointed right at our living room windows
It took awhile but the landlord finally got him out

So Bob always asks Hows it going? but nothing
as exciting since the poor crazy guy had to move.

Sorry Bob.



Friggin' frigates
nautical naughties
and nighties
bent barnacled blue bottomed
baronesses boiling bromide baths
and and and and
capture the flag
create the myth
crown the queer
captive audience
coagulating in christ

and



    and




and



       and



summers in sandals 
sunburnt
car metal is hot
so is the black top
that girl is hot



and
and
and
and
don't give non ADHD kids ritalin


help me Jeebus!


af fer fuck's sake

hella
hella
hecka
fuckinA



dry mouth sleep
smoke another cig

buy another book

hey Geoff Dyer

I tried to friend you. Bitch.

I read some motherfucking DH Lawrence too
here's to old DH Lawrence

eek akakakakakakakakak

old leadbelly can sing about it

oh betty black betty
black betty had a baby
bam ba lam 
 black betty had a baby
bam ba lam 
damn thing goin blind
bam ba lam 
black betty
black betty
jom steady black betty
bam ba lam

or maybe Blind Lemon Jefferson

ah tell me where my easy rider gone

easy rider died on the road

I'm a poor boy here got nowhere to go

woman I love man she's out of town



The Continual Condition

sound like the Clash coming on
but no

skankin it
skankin it slow
spliff
whiff
from reality I just cant drift

we're takin it easy
we're takin it slow

we're skankin

take it easy

ahh it's Sunday night
wonder if there's any beer in the fridge...





You may be the Devil
but I own the gun
and in my dream I could
hear you sing the two
of you harmonizing downstairs
I almost cried
in my dream
then I saw the airliner
turning too low from the the window at work
"they're gonna have to pull up!"

but I like to sleep with the window open
I used to be able to hear the sound of a train
from my window
no one knew what it was
"There's no train around here"
but they heard it too
and I could see the bay
just a little sliver of blue green
see, right there
living on bed rock never seemed so shaky
as a summer in san francisco
Mark Twain never said that 

Torn sheets
and Macy's
un bounded
sleeping thru
days
and nights
of such tired
and
feeling the
pea up the nose
this phase has to end
the posting
uncommented
I own the jerkstore
tell em I sent you
they'll charge an addl twenty percent


stuck
and stirred
passing
fancy
and
green bottle
beers
mucking about
in sunlight
and park drive
rollerskating
kids
another day done
worthy of nothing
why am I writing?

why don't you write me?
I'm out in the jungle, Paul Simon

who was the greatest painter since Jan Vermeer?

Saturday, March 16, 2013






with pluck&
ploom he
plays
he stirreth the fire
that breathe not
ten hands did perish
in outward gloom
with myre and woe
he faced
his
north
and your south
musket ball &rod
his breeches undone
and yet
was scorned by wythering
lookes
he stole a boat and was caught
by johnson's landing
three months in the grey
hotel
and not knowing him
coming out











ad hoc decorum
motivated by the insurgency in Syria
a prolonged agitation with Cuba
to stir the drink of the
rights that have been
wronged
a stiff drink
laced with an isotope
make your hair fall out and
yer balls will shrivel up and die
it's a combover somewhere in Egypt
It's a dye job in the Gnesset
Australian passports
flying in from Stuttgart
staying at the Abu Dhabi Sands hotel
with Bebe Rebozo
and Milton Berle
listing to Two Cent
in the limo
a no nothing day
like so many others
sunny and windy
in need of coffee
and still lazy
The callused approach flys
Mo
Mo mo fly
Chipped paint
On the windowsill

On the off chance of breaking
Broken on the off chance
Of haphazard
Musing
From bed
In the afternoon
While the the wind forecasts
A large WTF
And the quod
Is aspersive
The final
Gyno Gin Phizz
Child rearing
In Damascus and reading the
Latest book
Maybe I'll go back to
Sleep


as if to remember
as if to forget
to remain

to know

a cabinet
one would need to contain
the world

on television
all is remedied and made diseased
the black wig
the blue eyeshadow
the drop kick

every other
hunger
is in India
or right where you put it

this street is hunger
this lie is vast
a stream of lies
washing you of all purity

every other voice
is not mine
every last thought continues
in bright neon

while the thoughtless
like a royal appelation
the Thoughtless of Cornwall
the endless decree

of worn handkerchiefs&
snotty cuffs

Thursday, March 14, 2013

I crossed the moor
at night
chased
by the phantom
steadily I move south westerly
and he trailed
behind
not a light did I see
the entire night
though I heard
his cough
my blade
sang with
anticipation
the phantoms blood
shocked my face
and his screams
lit up the pitch black
night
and then the wail
the caterwaul
and finally the rattle of
his death throe
I took his canteen
and found it filled
with
strong spirit
it burned
and pushed
me into night







Destructo threw the bus
down Sansome St
and
stopped to look in
Crate & Barrel

He needed some new
wine glasses
his roomates kept
breaking his






As if
to be bent
as Tell pulled
the crossbow
to the apple
 in a mexican
jail






5 Hundy 



La Sagrada Familia






Ghost of Babar 

\

cavorting
with
carnivorous
cadaver-
like
specie
hosts
embellished
with
emory board
memnonic devices

try that one on for size good sir

fearing
the
fraught w
tiny
fingers
 and alibis

the sunken ship
the Antarctic ghost
the born agin scientist
dripping
like R Crumb
in a junior high school
raffle
and performing a soliloquoy
in "The Love Computer".

Across the quad
a 77 Malibu drives
through a crowd
of Viva La Raza
while we ask for more
sour cream at
Senor Taco's

The flourescent light has
trapped a fly
and it's buzzing and banging against
the corrugated plastic cover

"Let's go play pinball."






Old asian lady
Eating stinky potato chips next
To me on the train
Now she's drinking Crangrape
And the tattooed redhead in front
Keeps tossing her hair
  There's a dude with a dog
And some older blond woman
On the phone chewing gum
Eyeing me over
Older white man's
Delta publishing edition of
Nothing More than Murder
Flav R Flav
hates
daylight savings
something about the clocks in
his closet

and Forrest Whitaker
got pulled over taken in
frisked arrested
something about
driving while black

DWB
DWA
driving while Asian

watch out for the red light cameras
they will get you

but a tow
will cost over 500 dollars in
good old beloved
city of hills
San Francisco

Treasure of the Pacific
 where the dirt piles up
and rain is cold
and so are summers

Ah  but Oakland
who would go there?

Why?
I never did. Except for Cambodian food.
but now I go there
EVERY DAY
EVERY FUCKING DAY!

ah that's life, right
we do things we never thought we'd do
like kill nazis
or wash mollusks
or call Tennessee
so we can look at your heat pump

Life makes my back hurt
but the money's good

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

we face 
the chipmunk squirrel
patrol
beaver toothed and elephant eared
skunk
in
the scarlet
jaw bitten dog
and scratching cat
purring and sleeping
on
a giraffe view telescope
prairie copter
shark fin soup
we slink
with skinks
and fly with skeeters
jack rabbit yer ears
and frost bite yer toes
sloth and torpor
seven deadly sinks
saying good bye
never to be seen again
ouch something bit me!
stupid bug
the  pattern
of downtown brrokers

with  brrrrokkken
mindset
sinking in
the street
of dreams
with
a sinkhole for a best friend

and the tv is replaying
the murder
of the

tyrant over and over
but i'm busted
in green land
barnacled in boston
bazooked in brylcreem
with
francis the talking mule
'and wali gator
and boris badonov

sigh
don't forget you found
a diamond
in a parking lot
how did you see it for all the
broken windshield glass?

it s just whatever
and I've got  a plane ticket
to the east coast in May
but they want me to
spy for the state
at work
and pretend A=B
but
I don't think
that's
right

It doesn't matter
it's a little thing
like
the way you check your bank account
every day
or
the why and wherefores
of online shopping

something has to give
like the price of gas
in April
or the FallBack
of daylight savings

something just doesn't seem
right
like an earthquake
we thought the fucking
ground was solid
at least

If we watched TV in the daytime
and drank at night

if we spun flaxen into gold

or sat on a toadstool
if we
we down the rabbit hole
and called it a wurm hole
or even a sink hole
but
it's just a cenote
in the limestone

if we found Minoan carvings
in central Asia
or chipped porcelain
in the Ganges

we would be sadhu
centered in
life

sinking before the rising
of the sun
smoking great quantities
of kif

and drinking some kind of weird
foreign
tea and waiting
for the next book
by Dyer
or who?
jermama

the sadhu leaps into the sun
and flys out the asses moon
lands
on a mule
and kicks a bucket
in the barn
shops on ebay
tells bawdy tales
of maidenhead
in Dover

oh puh lease
make it stop

and somewhere came across
a safari vest
and a Hulot watch
Time ticks in money
flys like a crow
a gaggle of gelt
performing in felt
like Bucher
or Thackeray

inflamed engrossed
self immolating
we the vietnamese of the mind
are fetching the rooster
before the dawn

I love the smell of patchouli in the
crotch
wood eye
hair lip
we trade barbs
and don't get to dance

some of us might paint
take photos
lean toward beauty
substitute beauty
for

beauty

maybe Truth
what the hell
who knows
don't ask me

I'm stuck in the Garp
world

tales of wierd
DC

comics
and Car Toons and Unk









At the behest of Stygian
war lords
our unkempt Sumerians speaking
Akkadian
hammer away
the stone tablets
cuneiform
are you with me
on this one?
and thousands of miles away
buried in the sand up to his
neck a bedouin is dying

Tanks drive like
video games through cities
that housed thousands of families
ancient games of power
hundreds of thousands of people
displaced by war
and foreign enemies
are to blame




Saturday, March 09, 2013

Only a Mountain that Stares at the Sea

Only a mountain that stares at the sea. I used that line previously
but now it's the title of my book
the books is a series of poems about Wilfred Thesiger,
The Englishman that lived with the bedouins in the
Rub Al K'halli (the Empty Quarter) in the lower corner
of the Arabian Peninsula

 I worked in Teaneck, New Jersey for a while in 2005. I was working for an independent arts consultant who lived in the same town she grew up in. Her father was an artist who taught at the Art Students League. Her parents separated and her mother moved in with a ceramics artist in the house in Teaneck.
 These are some of the works I "restored" for his estate. They were buried in the workshop/ basement under years of pack rat disorder and sawdust and mice droppings. I'm surprised I didn't get the hantavirus. I visited the two of them once, years ago in the eighties, and they were pretty much doing the tunnel living thing. There were boxes on top of boxes with paths in between. I remember looking in one box and it was full of plastic bags filled with seeds from the trees and bushes that were still growing around the house.
  The neighborhood in Teaneck or maybe the whole town was primarily Jewish and on Saturdays they would push their child strollers down the middle of the same streets that they drove 40 mph on every other day.
 






sometimes the
flow of life
is merde
and fuck-all
and other times
it's the monster in
Frankenstein

Let's not kid ourselves 
oh wait that's what we do best
humans are so stupid
me too
ah fuck
this poem sucks

then i found ten dollars!



can I hear
the sound of bicycle tires in the street
and rudolph nureyev
in photos
New York is a big city
"Have you had an egg cream?"
Once upon a time
in Hung Fat
we had chow mein
and dumplings and the
broken Bowery toys of
bottled cirrhosis

and she

said she met the Wicked Witch of the West
who lived in the same building as
her Aunt Russ
Can you see Dick Avedon
furniture movers?
It's how to make a photograph

I never did see that building
can't remember the name of it
she knew the gardener that 
worked there



being weird isn't enough
but
I'm gonna
buy
a vowel anyway
In a faraway land
a long long time ago
upon another planet
George Lucas has a good idea
the future Nobel physicist
sits in the Argentinian prison
a victim of Love
The castle
round
upon the day
true love
the fairest
of them all
with Honor
he portrays the gloom
the bite of rust
the smell of blood
and in the basement he sits
on the dryer
and listens to Hall and Oates'
She's Gone

morbid fascination with basketball
and the extent of his endurance
the cars tires soar into the crowd
and burning cars and
shots of Cuervo with
girls in bikinis

oh thyne
murderous eye
prayeth upon
thee
swollen ryvers
tidal march
of
thy benighted
What hath this ryver
brought to bear
indeed sorrows companion
with luck
he doth
arise thy day's
folly
and shoes upon thy feet
he delivers
to the sea gulls shriek
suffering through the
broken/
tirade/
of
jesus mornings

the
television
is /
on/
again
it's not like
it used
to be

we
are/
the/
ones
buying
"the
kool
aid"


it isn't
what it
used to be
We went to LA to see the sky
but we smoked cigarettes instead

We talked about all the things that
didn't talk about us

you took photos of children playing
on the swing and one of a wild eyed kid
hitting a garbage can with a stick

Later you accused me of selling your mothers
rings when she was at "the hospital"
we listened to Steely Dan and smoked cigarettes

We went to the Getty and wondered
how we could make that much money
enough money
to buy more cigarettes



Thursday, March 07, 2013

She couldn't remember her name
for all the faces were the same
lost in a gallery
posing for a while
I've read your book and it took all I had
I'm only a mountain that stares at the sea

I've lost the pen that you gave me
when we were alone by the bridge
you said I should work and find a new life
and then you married Marcel

And he was a poet
who took lots of drugs
your mother called me
to find out who he was
later I heard he jumped off a train

he thought the CIA were in the next car
I'm not sure if he landed well
but something tells me he's near San Bernardino

Your hair was red
but I'm not sure it was yours
the pictures you took
were all of yourself
and me with my eyes closed

We went to LA to see the sky
But the car broke down near a seafood restaurant
you ordered the lobster and a bottle of wine
and then we got back on the road

We visited my sister in Pacific Palisades
and it looked like the
house from Leave It to Beaver

my sister was June. June Cleaver
they seemed happy enough

when you went to Alaska
to live in a tent
and pack frozen fish
into bags you slept in a tent
and slept with some boys
when you came back
we were done

BLONDEY!!!!!!
BLONDIE WE'LL BE PARTNERS
DON"T LEAVE ME HERE
IT SAYS UNK
UNK
UNK
THERE AIN"T NO NAME
shut up Tucco
spits cigar
woeewooooee woooo

ca krakkk
keep that baggage to yourself
Diane Arbus
and let
the sunlight bang down
in slanted shadows of
the Eiffel Tower, Andre Kertesz
there's a button
on his lapel as he holds an
American Flag
Bomb Hanoi
something is in place
of the typewriter ribbon and 68th st
the falafel stand
near the Museum of Modern Art
there was nothing but the
smell of cigarettes in the room
and he could hear her in the kitchen
the window was open
he could also hear
the dull white noise of
what? traffic? wind?
he wasn't sure
someone opened the lid to the
grabage bin downstairs
and he thought of the
sixties poster collector
in Maryland
who was attacked by a raccoon

the captive minuet
like a stock photograph
selling happiness
through your father's baby smile
a fly fishing rod
from 1929
and bag of jalapeno jerky
errors will occur
feelings are hurt
sadness comes and goes
some people have thyroid conditions
this is not what I meant to say
the Bigfoot Lodge
was open and ready
for business
the
society of
Masons
was communicating
re
centrifugal endorsement
of allusory propositional
concatenation.
there was talk
of brie
in the suitcase bomb
and a sword in the starfish
And an English teacher
in a bidet




GOD on a Buddha Buddha Mayonnaise Machine

kaftan wearing Kafka
keeping
the Buddha from crying
sing your song Buddha
let the buh buh buh birds
seek
the cry of the hound the wolf let the mayonnaise
breathe
in tuna
splendor
I am the endless forgotten reminder
few would wish to sit at the table or bar and ponder the 
elemental tableau of visceral remains
the buddha would not
but he would
and that is Buddha Nature
singing sung sang in ho ho ho ho Hozomeen
killing
the dead mouse
the stupid dead mouse
the yawning Agape gaping emptiness
that forces itself in upon
the gaping Agape yawning need
for relentless
sleep
in a time
of woven kaftans
in a time of woven ka ka ka ka Kaftans
spun silently Kafka
cresting and
corrosive as they are
the Buddha will not butter
them with yak buh buh buh butter
the deux ex machina
that lifts our hero like a God on a Machine

er, mein arms
have shined

breathe breathe
the grey clouds

a lottery pistol
grey and black
and a musty smell
to his world war one
khaki riding pants
and gun oil
sprayed the enemy
with a dying need of sleep

dying in sleep
dying on a train
riding home to
wait




creating

confetti
        from the freres

in the alley
the blowtorch reminder

selling his memory

for fried eggs and a poulette

Je bois de biere
sur le bord du mer 

a few spilt rifle shells
in the cabin

and many many many
antlers

nailed to the tree outside

driving the mercedes to

sit and remember how boring it is

listening to her complain
about the weather

Saturday, March 02, 2013

Bruno died for somebody's sins
but not Patty Smith's.
Now a Tattoed Lady is working the
Persian Aub Zam Zam
and talking about moving to Hawaii.

I had something in the
cream
egg cream lady
MR EGG MAN
oh MR EGG MAN
I do love my eggies

something in the trailer
is burning
oh it's the trailer

John Waters is smoking a cigarette
somewhere

Not at The Red Vic
If
I get in to Kennedy on Sunday, May 6th at 5:37 am

and leave Boston

If

If

If
If
If
If
If
I wired
the sun fo r
d     etonat shun
I   'm
     baking
an  anal cake
      I'm arriving   in S         T             Y             L              E
like it 
or     not
I wish I had
a star
upon
a cracker

Slanted
door slanted
eye
slanted santa
sinking in his
oriental
sleigh
so wrong
don't be
a cuddly
river
flooding the
homes
of cute little
tiger cubs
It's an arch in St Louis
so
what
what so
what
an arch
in St.
Louis
so what
what so
what
an arch in
St. Louis
so
what 
I have the medicine
it's killing me
I have the remedy
it's stop stop stop
I have the time
to make it in spades
I have the enemy
Know it is me
Far fallopian far away fucks
I don't want to read about you
I don't believe it
it's a typewriter
in a china shop

As Love works
it's inner weave
I tried and remembered

As the Ice broke again
on the passing sleigh
I awoke and forgot

As Time moves like
a distant reminder
You are the passing
relentless observer

As Movement is recorded
in the blink of a star
we are the the ones
waking in silence
I am the frozen
itinerant worker
I am the bastard whose child
is warned
I am the remote
ever distant
I am the sun burning forever
(this poem self edited for fear of future employment possibilities)


If you can not forget
then remember
if you can not stop
then continue
if you can not move forward
go back
its that simple
My gun doesn't hurt
it is a good gun
and it is mine
others may have one like it
but this one is good
and it is mine
I killed you and took it
I have forgotten
more than I'll ever
remember
I have always
relied on the kindness of strangers
and my fist hurts
I have been to town
and back so have you
so what
does the chicken call out his hunger
does the wire
go around the city
do we push and push
crying children
do we push
and never weep
do we tell ourselves that
is enough and move on
are we not one
we are devo

affordable housing
in a democratic sharia
existence
we voted to not allow voting
we voted to be
excepted
we're done with voting
we want god
GOD
GOD
GOD
WE WANT GOD
or so it went
we are not you
you are the eye
at the behest of
the individual
you are finger
you are the cancer
which must be
CUT OUT
you are the
problem
desperate shipwreck
upon the stars
little prince with his boa
not on the playa
little lover

carafed
en cargo
corroded
en seine
mis
en boteille
I'm starving myself for you
and your stinking love

Down
down
down
the black sinkhole
down the Paris vacation
down the cappucino
and
dammit
down
the socks with holes
poor me
poor
tired
blogging fool
pissed el
whipped
sturm und drang
je bois de biere
sur le bord de mer
As the Cartesian delusion
sank into the mire
her relentless
expediency foretold
myriad indifferences
sewn like a pair
of patched blue
jeans, seventies
singer songwriter style
a trance of Dracula movies
were written down
on the back of a poster
she bought
herself another lease
on life
and thought maybe a puppy
was in order