the consumptive
gunfighter
  laid low and seeking out the
--- wishful dry dock monotony
   stalled in sullen
bullet riddled
   euphoria
     steadies himself
and aims
  falls
 and gets back up
   too late
the
 campesinos
have fled
   with their pitchforks
he sighs
and
 lays back down
      takes a comic book
from the shelf
dusts it off
  tears off a bit of a page
and rolls
 up some tobacco
   lights it up and turns
on the tv
match game 73 re-runs
    with Gene Rayburn

supports
like feet
of clay
    the sun is painful
   

sad eyed secretions
mounted like a deerhead
   stacked in an odd display
at the back of the hardware store
  where you bought a metric wrench
to fix the Datsun's leaky spigot
   you left a trail for 3 miles back

 

74 el dorado
burned in the bushes
                 once your dad drove it to the mountains
                - his friends climbed every numbered peak in California
  but the real story was
how many pieces of chicken Nathan ate
  at the all-you-can-eat bbq 
it was a boring story
   

on the crispy
drag down
knockout
   barroom
 mayhem
revelations
    ----- you sat at the foot of the Buddha
    renouncing
nothing - impure thoughts
washed over you
   

the practical 

consumption 

     of alcohol

      in 

 expressly 

       day drinking 

 seems

   seemed     

   slightly 

     (or more)

                               like a good idea 

 to honor 

the memory 

         but 

in practice 

     led to the eating 

         of steamed potstickers 

with spicy pepper oil

    and some gastric distress

   actually though

   probably 

                   very appropriate

but fuck appropriate 

 the bar was dark 

   and it was a beautiful day

    earlier we went to look for 

  whales 

   

spillage,
    the unforeseen  
the teetering
          of a shelf
    some semblance of the past
 decayed
 dusty
dirty
  strung out
    and broke
  pedalling in the night
to an unknown destination
     grave robbers
         saying me me me
              ( I could be in Yelapa right now)
     metaphor;
        the tick
the trick
   the wanton disease
   caressed
   by the thought
lady in night
     WOMAN in
the street
    all signs
forget it
   stay away
      keep out
         no trespassing
             motherfucker
   

    
        Dominique


               she od'd years ago
turned blue and fell down the stairs
   then became a profligate
drinker
   OE 800 in a chimney sweep
hat
     black dress
photographed lounging
  on piles of black garbage bags
on the sidewalk
 or,
clutching
a doll's dismembered head
or, just sitting in a room
standing
  a latch key poet

Burn it down
she said
BURN IT DOWN


-in a movie
     pregnant girlfriend of the kid
who gets suckered into buying
  a huge stereo system.

singing at the bar
       eerie harmony
two sorrowful voices
       everyone stopped
but that was years ago
    before she left
and went back to Detroit
  to raise her baby,
oh baby
 

  

heavy slumber,
 like a bear sleeping on your
head
        someone texts
about going to see whales
 
 

cosmic chemtrails
 across your
sky/mind
   the theories are piling up
    every way is possible
you've seen the result
now guess the cause
tinfoil hat life
 protect the chosen ones
 aerial rabbit ears
  noses twitching
smell the electricity
RUN!
or just hop
    to another view
 reaffirming
  in the antechamber
    crushed by velvet conspiracies
       "I KNOW, I KNOW!"
turning to Nature
   though,
  see a thousand colors-
shades of browns, greys, blue, red, & yellow
I guess
  forget about it