Im fading from view
i'm looking out
on the horizon
and the past
is all I see

if you had a
shitty ass
dream
about someone you lived
with thirty years ago
what would that say to you?

on Donner
on Comet
on Shitzen
and Blitzen

Undzer kaufften
diertzen prizee

blah ba dee blah buh di
blah

now is the time

the time is now

I'm walking after midnight
I"M WALKIN HERE

ah da fug
what da fug

cuesta forio?
crema de cookie
creationism in Arizona
wears a black hat
and shoots
from a watery fountain

I slipped in a puddle of oil and caught myself
at the last second
my back was tweaked
and I saw my reflection in a store window

In my dream my nose had a large hole
right in the middle of it
i pulled on it to where it would
cover the hole but then it just
went back

it was like a the nose hole of a skull
death!
was that that was about ?
that's not pleasant !

corporatography: the picture that results from a limited perspective of bottom line mind control.

Art Hipster 

I erased
myself
with a pink eraser
#2 pencil
left a lot of
eraser
dust
and smudged
the paper
pretty good

It was a
drawing
of a deer
riding a fixie

the readers
the rafters
the bleeders
the lafters
the badgers
honey
and non honey versions

the broken the token
the spoken
chokin
and tokin
on
the hathaway
dreams
and hathaway
drams

the crybaby
man eaters
and honeyboy
man boys
crying about their
spilled peas
while momma wipes their nose

the cryin lot
the parkin lot
the cryin tot
aerated ice cream looks
like a lot more

the hit and run
and el paso impala
tore up from
front to back
"it was right in front of
the hotel. Somebody musta seen it."

some perfect design
in valued hues
"valued hues/" what is
that?
I'm off the rails
lets get it back on track

Captain Fresgue
beckoned the comely lass
from his vantage point
of the sidewalk

His spaceship had been
disabled
and the crew had beamed
him to the surface
to try to find the necessary parts

that was six months
ago

since then he had lost his communicator
and
his weapon

sold them actually

he had seen several rescue
parties
but had managed to avoid
them
having dug the locater chip
from his thigh with a rusty
knife

it had gotten badly
infected
but the nurse at the hospital
was beautiful
and the pain killers
could be sold on the
open market
or used
to ease the pain

she was
the channel 54
of lovers

somewhere
on that VHF
dial

sometimes
she didn't come
in so good

a little static-y
and snow
ya had to
move the rabbit
ears
around

there were
some good shows
on that channel
but mostly now he just watched the news

Defunct&
cantilivered

born in
fomenting
remedial
political strife in
the family
  as it were
  as it is
while the barstool spins

a sunset in the
neighborhood
with

late night
wind

on channel 32

the bird
outside
the window
an airplane sound
the slam of a door
good morning

primordial

infancy
of

intellect
we are

cave
dwellers

writing on
the wall

with
chemical waste
and chronic
extinction

well whattaya know?

math is as the crow flies

listen to the
quartz
crystal

and tell me about
what god does
and doesnt
do

the probability of
Time's elocution
and the changing speed of light
is the only constant
a billion stars
in the Milky Way
and billions of
Galaxies
Galaxzy
Galaxyz
in the universe
only one universe
no billions of universes
mathematics
unfolding
outwardly
toward the event
horizon
the theory
is changing
as the observation
does

the artist
as Grapenuts
eater

pandering to
sugar sweetened
bits
and
thinking of Lucky Charms

wondering about
crostini
and marmalade

and hotel rooms

a tiny
spur
of remorse
digging in to
one's thoughts
never
more effiiciently
poised
for
a backward
sense of me myself and I

ah
fucked again
moving
in slow motion
as the fog pours
in from
the avenues

digitally genetically goose stepping
to a branded
fear based
shopping
experience

The Necropoli moved in easy
swaying motions
harvesting the wind
for their later enjoyment
The tepid beakers
and lowly petri dishes
were served in ebullience
and without remorse.
"FEAST, my beasties
let the sands of time mark our delusions
and the bacteria of Love
be our swarming enjoyment."
bony hands wavered
in appreciation
of the remarked felicities
giant swaths of crimson
rubberized material
were laid end to end
and the holiest of holies
was unearthed
in a perfunctory ritual
"DIG DIG DIG
we are the NECROPOLI"
"DIG DIG DIG we live
and now we DIE
in Tepid Beakers
and Lowly Petri Dishes
WE are the NECROPOLI."
their song was rather tiresome.
"oh do get on please" remarked the
provocateur but no one was listening
no one
no one at all.
except me.
and you. 

The Moon
shot a glance
at the furry eyed banker
whose glands
were swollen
and might be coming down with something

across the necropolis the
rings of Saturn
were dancing a jig
on a Santa Claus's grave

"you call this Poetry?!!!" she screamed. " you should
be ashamed ...what have you done to my beautiful Poetry? "

Poetry lay in a pool of her own vomit. She wasn't dead but it was close.

"Never should have had that last shot of John Ashbery " she gurgled and spunked.

"Don't mix Ashbery, Gunn and Bukowski...BLAAAART " she spat up another chunk
of undigested readings. 

The Necropoli stood and shook their bony fingers as if in applause.

The narrator bowed and took his underthings off.

"here are my swollen privies"

He farted a great howling wind that darkened the room and
caused the Necropoli to shudder in appreciation.

Outside the Chauffeur waited, listening to Joni Mitchell and humming along..
"Bluuuuue....songs are like tattoos you know I've been to sea before..."
In the back seat lay a tattered copy of Celine's Mea Culpa once owned by
a former Marine.

The banker ran for the limo but it was too late. The limo had left and it was thundering.

The Moon retired behind a cloud and smiled.

oh Fudge-icles
pork flavored fudge-icles
I must be hungry
this diet's not really cutting
the mustard
keep me awake for another hour
I gotta get up early
and call someone
about something
keep them pork bellies
rolling in oil
keep the causation wheel
moving
to the beat
the steady beat
that we taught the
harbor seal
to dance to

dive down deep
sweet baby
sweet baby jesus

dive down and let the water
run
and spray
the fountain
dive down
dive down

like the Dow Jones

driving
mortgages
and

dive underwater to where you lived
we took everything and now
we bought it back
]your homes
your jobs

dive down America
where you live and work and breathe
dive down
for no one is watching

when the shit hits the fan
though your
dead fingers will be clutching
the remote

pry it loose America
pry the remote from my dead cold fingers

pry it from downton abbey
where its always sunny in philadelphia


pry my dead cold fingers from
the throne of games

and I'll walk out again
this time as a brain hungry zombie

hungry for brains
we walk the tv landscape
feasting on GMO's

driving our dinosaur powered luxury vehicles
in to the zombie neighborhood
how could Hostess go bankrupt?

oh yeah the unions

those bastards - freaking taking the cream from the
brains of the wealthiest
and eating it like pinko anti capitalists

I'm dust on the needle

I'm a broken piece of shit

I'm the rainbow at the end of the pot of gold

I'm the yellow brick road


I'm not Elton John or Aspen, Colorado

but I wouldn't mind being

the headlight on a north bound train

or sleeping in the pines where

the sun don't never shine

or Leadbelly


I'm not Hall or Oates

I'm not Caspar the friendly ghost

I'm not Tom or Jerry

I'm not Barack or Barry.


I'm barely who I am

and then some.

drunken mulberry
bush wine with M16's
and Kalashnikovs
bare breasted women
in torn magazines
firing rounds and neglecting
the flank
blackened eyes
and children without shoes
empire demands
we stay the course
and feed the hungry animal
again and again
my cage is too good
it rubs me raw
and festering sores
rankle and bite
brains splattered
and legs
blown off
working security at
the mall
is a little different
why do they sell so much stuff
to people who have no FUCKING CLUE.

If I pushed my boat
through the darkness
and heard
the voices of the damned
left behind
gasping
and shrieking in eternal pain
my tiller set
my brow dry and
unfurrowed
I have nothing
to worry
me as I row your
soul to
eternal
fire

Grasping at Cupids
and
pixie wings
the furs
of Venus
lay in tatters
on the edge of the stairs
near the
vesper balcony
colliding with a
wave
of news
and sorrowful plagiarism
bent to the task
at hand
and cornering
the
blood of Christ
with a winsome sense of
clear denial
and expensively frocked
there were no women about

Born on
The March hare
The raven feather
Of pride and confidence
An elliptical purveyance
And the folly
Of interstate laws
And by laws
The midwives refrain
Tra la la la la
A woolen dream
Beamed and splintered
And hair combed
In the afternoon