The plastic

          At 2 pm 

   Poured so gently 

              Over ice 

Sell

 Sell 

Sell 

In a handbag 

   Your face

   Post the retreat thru 

  Marbled pink columns 

     Whose car is that 

 Get it

OUT OF THE WAY

     are you going to school

    No it’s on tv

         See 

      Oh okay

    Yay

 What’s for lunch

 Gotta go get the laundry

The static

    Sturgeon. 

     Based on an island 

    In his left ear

     These are the days

    These here 

 Not those

 Fuck those

  

Yer savior 

  Wavers 

                      In between bites 

Of roasted pig

         

Shady McYoohoo

      Left stains in a six foot perimeter

   Around his spot 

     Near the tv

               He borrowed what he didn’t steal

            And never washed 

     A carpet he didn’t like

                                                   Strange days

But the Egyptologists 

     Are still plundering 

              Great evidence has been produced 

            The mud is good for your skin 

       But Good & Plenty 

     Not so much

The cosmonauts

                                   Are selling Jack Kerouac’s 

 Underwear 

          And sidewalk lint

               A treasure was found 

 In the liniment

 

Corroded

 You said 

                                                          Like the brink of a sandwich disaster

          You stuttered falsely

              But just to be stupid

      And succeeded 

        Try wearing pants next time

          Or a shirt 

 Or something 

         I’m on vacation

 Hello from nowhere

The effects

  No adjective needed

Here’s the fling

  Load the binary resolve

 Into the 

Pitch master

      Stake out the barriers

       Send the letters

     We the People

     Of course

   Easy for you to say

        Striped shirts 

 Are for convicts

      Somebody put a bullet 

 In that fuckers brain

   

Tokyo 

    Poor boy 
   
          No sweet wine

The creatures
 On the shady side of the moon
  Have lived there since longer than
Any of them can remember
   They each live for tens of thousands of years
    They each have a given song
 the variations of their song
 Is their communication
       Each creatures song is unique
And yet with others
Form a symphonic effect
   Not all sing
 Some never
 Some rarely
   Some every day
  They hide their existence
    As they are made from moon dust
  They eat moon dust as well
 Which provides all the necessary nutrients
     They can take any shape
But in danger hide as the features of the landscape
 “If no one knows we exist no one will want to get rid of us”
  There senses of their surrounding are beyond description
   They can read who and what you are -it’s not analysis
They just can tell what you are
   They can smell your thoughts
 Read your subterfuge
   Know your honesty
    But you will never see them or even know they exist
        They can’t be in the sunlight
    The shady side is the only place for them
 

The sirens are back
 They’re aching in their lonely nights
     You saw the picture of the burning dock
 Now step away
    Step away
         Down a path of foolishness
 They tumble and tussle
 Barking for corn dogs and freedom
      Some of us hunker down
     And watch tv
And wonder what to eat next
     Lamb chops
 Tacos
   A bowl of cereal
       Then we drink whiskey
But not too much
 Just enough
To ease the pain
 

Mired
 In myriad
 Mirrors
Mirthfully
   Mendacious
 
     *********
 Stage right
   The fat man gets
 A blow job
   From the aging poet
 He’s a stranger now
 Wandering the Pentecostal Highway
 Near St Joe
    He wears a mask of Zippy the Pinhead
      And only eats hamburgers
 Some say
   He could have been in the major leagues
  Others say
  Quaaludes

Some creature
 Forged
 A nascent path
To the avenue of reliquaries
    Stood softly
        Bent his arm around
       A pole
 And leaned forward
     Waiting like a
Child for an open candy

Stymied
   And sturgid
 Reading thru olde
Poemes
 And adding e’s to
Wordes
    Woe
My tidal forbearance
 Woe to plague and plaque
That coats my teethe
     Plague on you sweet
 Darling
Of the purple coat
    Left on a blanket
 Somewhere near Astoria
Where Josh
   Says the Bumblebee tuna
 Factory
 Ruined everything

The Horseman’s on the Roof
 The plague is everywhere
  Paris 1849
      Jean Giono
Stopped writing “ Jean Giono’s”
Maybe we should too

Creatures of
   The Burning Light
 My Heart is
In your hands

The ides of 

 March 

      Came and went 

   No bewareness 

    Shoulda been January

     Who knew?

      Fuck that asshole 

        His profound stupidity 

 And greed has killed 

       Us  buried in mass graves 

 The Fool

 Card of the Tarot

Now dressed as Death

I’m a soliloquy 

 Away 

 From losing 

 Myself 

   Seen in the reflection

    The bandito

    Again

     The white puff of smoke 

 From the rifle 

      Yes 

 I’ve killed 

     But now there’s no Faleena 

    Not even a song 

Stop 

 The fledgling 

     Nincompoops starting 

 The stoops

       Of stairway 

      To help us 

                  Reverberating 

    In their 

                       Dodge caravans 

        Old Arab saying 

   ‘The dogs will bark

                            But the caravan keeps moving’