across the stormin norman
  highway of no redemption
 blood is oil
   we wash with it
 every day
   feeding it
regurgitated to
our baby chicks
  there you go
yummy
   with computer driven
forks 
algorithms for wiping your nose
  believe it
 its here
   standard models
  starting at
 125
     accesories
    include
  de-lousing
   and sibilant
      erudition

the ramrod
   thru the barrel
      the plague
         the carrion
    marked
 by swingsets
    and spandau ballet albums
       across the sight
     spilling from
 the ears
    of the maiden
an echo
  what the f...
  still the IHOP
special is good
   but they forgot
the fried shrimp
   and no thousand island dressing
honey mustard
 

stop the train
 but there is no
train
 just the sound
   somewhere in the woods
  granite rock
for miles
   so what
 who cares
    the water though
      cold cold cold
   

the moon comes up like a
  sack of broken doorknobs
    why would anyone have such a sack?
 these things just happen
 'put it in the sack'
   great dusty reminders of
lives lived that we would rather
 not know about
    so why am i
 comparing it to the moon
 coming up
    maybe going down would be
more apropos
  n'est pas
  the sack of dusty doorknobs
    came to life in the form of
 a man
 who was a piece of shit
  and the people loved him
     because they too were
sacks of dusty shit
 and they knew it
   and they were tired TIRED
of trying to be
   healthy and helpful and good
and concerned
  they loved their
dusty sack of shit-ness
    it suited their lifestyles
wardrobes
  cars
  houses
   everything
  so finally a man of the people
 who was Wealthy
  and on TV
  a regular televangelist
  for GREED
       telling them
they no longer needed to feel bad
   for their awfulness
      that they could hate
   and be nasty and ugly and mean
and it was OKAY
   for him, anyway
 (the dusty sack of shit doorknob)
   the rest of us
  could just
"go back to etc"
  
  

 what railroad men
 there are no railroad men
 they're all dead
     the trains are a buffalo ghost
   tramping the plains
       but soon the floodwaters will
run over all that
   like some biblical prophecy
from a drunk outside the ohlone river casino 
   so proud
 we sit and sufficient accolades
 from the crowds
make us blind
   ah the songs we once sang
  ah mama can this really be the end
    nope
 not yet
 young fool
    who has never seen a john ford movie
  fuck him
 anyway
    now we have WAY better movies
   but we have no soul
       so MAKE MONEY
cuz we all gonna die!
 

I'm so SLEEPY... the stretch marks on my brain as I catch the last rays of a summer meal...the arrows of greed are lodged in my medulla oblongata...say hello for me to the boys down at the bar...we whisper our thoughts to angels...hello...hello... is that your dog... he's tearing the skin on my ankle...little viper...that's the thanks I get for taking him for a "walk"...still the gnomes of tomorrow are not like these...goddamn those dwarves and Snow White...

the depth
charge
 of your
     sovereign choices
 sank my battleship
  I mean submarine
 73 submariners went down
 but they knew the risks
     still
    friendly fire
can be a real
bitch

there were no longer any
   Ramona eyes afternoons
 or evenings
    the days had seemingly ended
   now there was just
  Time
     time to kill
      time to live
         time to drink
            time to take out the garbage
      so you took a walk
and in the windy bright
afternoon
    the flowers
   were your Ramona

bastid son
     of a morose
son of a gun
 gone
    for the night
  barkin
    Ray Bradburys at
 the carnies
     while holding
    a soft serve
vanilla cone

frozen in the
 time light
     san francisco 4th of july
      police sirens
 in the neighborhood
   pancho and lefty
       hiding out in cleveland
    heights
        the lily pond is
 algaed up
    sox getting beat again
       snaking thru the rhodes
scholars
    step it up
      sweet corona
 lit and puffed
 up