I need to buy a flannel shirt
I need one like right now
so I can chop wood
feed chickens
milk goats
eat stew
sweat in the afternoon
and sleep
like I mean it

IMMA LET YOU FINNISH
ya damn swede girl
sonographically speaking
(with the best intent)
somewhere near Sonora
and Fra Fillipo Lippi
( Who WOULD have guessed?)

some time ago

Across the darting Lava Fields
beyond the Cinder Cone
back aways toward
Uncle Runts:
Pool Drinks Food

foto store synthesis
bring 49 minute energy
to thirty five millimeter
chemistry
and a girl named Crystal
in Calistoga

bio-moto-sphere-sickle
bicycle cell anemia
a call to peddle
a robo line redundancy
clearly reposada
or a least a little ginger ale

as an unembroigled sunset
swayed the syncopated morass
of heavenly turpitude and milky-esque way
of light years
derivative
of a stoned Carl
singing praises for
billions and billions

portayed in syrup
and flapjacks
bending to the bacon
with oj and HOT
COFFEE
yes
HOT COFFEE

unfinished
unfurled
unfinanced
unforgiven
forgotten
fled
flea bitten
flock of
flicking bics

Wilfred Thesiger

He was the first European to have crossed the heart of the lifeless Empty Quarter (al-Rub’ al-Khali), the great South-East Arabian sand desert. Arabian Sands (1959) recounts his travels in the Empty Quarter of Arabia between 1945 and 1950 and describes the vanishing way of life of the Bedouins. The Marsh Arabs (1964) is an account of the Madan, the indigenous people of the marshlands of southern Iraq.

At the train station Harlan sat and watched a bird. It was hopping around picking at crumbs and waiting for someone to spill bits of a scone on the cement. An old man in a tattered overcoat walked up and looked at the bird too.
"Get outta here, stupid bird."
The old man kicked at the bird who flew off quickly.
Harlan looked at the old man.
He had grey stubble on his cheeks and he appeared to be missing a few teeth.
"Hey you." The old man spoke to Harlan.
" Yeah?"
"Can I get a dollar for a cup of coffee?"
" I gave my last dollar to the bird."
"What, you gave a dollar to a bird?"
" I gave my last dollar to the bird."
"What bird?"
"The one you just kicked at."
" I didn't kick at that bird. He just flew off."
Harlan stared at the old man. He didn't look quite right. Something in his eyes looked broken.
"Do you live around here?" Harlan asked the old man.
" Nah I don't live anywhere. C'mon just a buck for some coffee. Whattaya say? "
Harlan pulled out his wallet and handed the old man a dollar.
"Alright! Thank you son. Maybe I could get another dollar for sumptin to eat?"
"Why did you try to kick that bird?"
"I tell ya, I didn't kick any bird. What's with the birds?"
Harlan's train was pulling in.
"Okay I gotta go. Have a nice day."
"Alright kid."
Harlan grabbed his suitcase and boarded the train.
The old man was picking up a dog end cigarette from the ground.

somewhere on a lost horizon
a pyramid rises
amazonian
fueled by ayahuasca

years ago
dontcha know

everywhere is somewhere
how could it be otherwise?
but I'm still hungry

had my own wind powered Rube Goldberg
ending with the cutting board crashing into the dishes
in the sink

shouldn't drink so many Manhattans
on a work night
i'm a rube goldberg
whisky powered

pa ding
pa dingo
pachinko padma
I'm lost in the desert
of my soul
eating Popeye's chicken
and
carrying a copy of The New Yorker
new corker
porker
hoarder
pleasure palace padingo
I'm lost in the brevity of my soul
all levity has been dispersed
in Rye Manhattans
and the essence of
the bulwark
the encompassing
ensuing unequivocal
vocalized
prescient
malfour
don't berate me here
I'm not under the bough
under the horn of plenty drunk
I'm just feeling a little stressed out.
haha
but it's windy and I need new blinds
California
what is that?
the desert
of my mind
but the biscuits are good
is that the crux
San Crux
Las Cruxes
I'm Ovid-lating
Ovid latte-ing
banished to a rocky isle
a peninsula of fog
and WIND
ships horns at night like they're
coming in the BEDROOM window
fixed on high
and watching the smokers on the golf course
light their live work lofts
with hundred dollar pills
YES PILLS!!
and George Segal's
white figures are still behind
barbed wire
and the camera is still obscura
but no no never mind
it's beautiful
too much so sometimes

and another ship comes in
with CHINA
and another ship goes out
with COOKIES
yes cookies
great greasy god of goodness
am I still here?
in the levity of my sole
walking and
yalking
caulking my soul
lest the rain leak in
or OUT
I'm trying to relax here
but I'm not doing a very good job of it

some seagulls are flying overhead
nasty creatures mean birds
they got the hurried worried
but I like the way they ride the up draft off
the OCEAN BEACH break tide wall
where PEDRO insisted he didn't go to
but his bag was gone
somehow he pissed himself though
that much was obvious

somehow things don't matter so much
when the bonfire's burning
but ten o'clock is too early
to stop having a good time
everyone looking at me like I'm high on drugs or
something
"what have you been up to?"
The dessert of my SOUL
the Ben and Jerry's of my
solidified succotash
sarsaparilla and San Cruxes
the Yeti of my backsassing
Paul Newman
"the brownskinned indian
on the banks that were crowded and narrow"
the effigy
the burning effigy
in white plaster
bunkers
LOOKING out to sea
and taking photos
"where were you when you heard?"
Oh I'm just skydiving these days
pearl diving with Japanese women
in the hot summer sun

I think I'm gonna keep going but
I'm having visions of green beans
ever since I said succotash

there's an awful lot of sirens

now i'm JUST recording sensory stimuli
stimuleye
populeye chicken
Vox Populeye
and the great great greasy goodness great

can't be great enough
grak
greek
grimy
phone call from work
battery change out hours and
still hungry

still sucking on the tash

still worrying the worry
hurrying the hurry
taking pills to slow down my heart
and lower my pressure
like a steam cooker

BAM!

and the sun is shining virulently
and the sun has gone spiral
sinking in the sea

Carnitas Regalo was the only child of a one eyed used car salesman and an obese polish hairdresser. His mother wore a patch where the bad eye used to be and drove a late model Toyota Corolla.
The kids made fun of Carnitas' mom.
"Hey Carnie, yer mom's a pirate. Does she have a wooden leg? "
His dad told him not to worry about those kids.
"They're stupid little shits. Don't worry about those little fuckwads."
Carnitas' mom gave him a specially made set of brass knuckles but Carnitas never used them.
The other kids he hung out with were cool and they told the dumbasses to shut the fuck up about Carnitas ' mom or they'd kick their asses. This seemed to Carnitas to be a good solution.

His dad's real last name was Regalozcyski but he changed it when he got out of the army.
"I was tired of spelling that shit to a bunch of dumb fuckwads." He told Carnitas after Carnitas had seen his dad's birth certificate.

"Why did you name me after a choice for a burrito?" he asked his dad.
"Look at me. I weigh 393 pounds. Carnitas is my fucking favorite!"

" What did you do in the army, dad?"
Well fuck that. Well, I was in the war ya know, over in Vietnam. You know about that, right? Vietnam? So anyway I was a radio operator for the 376th air platoon. We had to call in air strikes. Mostly napalm and long range bombing. But it didn't do any good. Them little fuckers were all underground in their fucking tunnels. Bunch of fucking vipers the VC."

Why'd you become a hairdresser, dad?"
"well I aint no fag but when I got back I gained a lot of weight and my mom, yer grandma Grace, worked at the beauty college and she said I might lose some weight being on my feet all day but I wouldn't have to do no heavy lifting or any of that. So that's what I did."

"Dad, what happened to mom's eye?"
You have to ask her about THAT."

One Night in Duluth

After his fifth rye Manhattan Larry decided he needed to pee. It wasn't a difficult decision but he chose to avoid the Men's room and go out and smoke and pee at the same time. In January in Duluth smoking is best done with something to occupy your mind. The cold air hit Larry as he fumbled with lighter.
'God dammit!"
The lighter fell in to the snow bank.
" Fuck I should have chose to pee under the street light."
Larry lighted the cigarette and looking both ways carefully dropped his pants just enough to get his dick out.
"Lum dee day, Lum dee dahdee day."
Larry had a good piss going when he heard a noise behind him. Right behind him.
"what the...?"
The blow caught him on the shoulder as he turned and grazed along the back of his head.
He spritzed sideways as he fell over a pile of a crusted snow left by the street removal crew.
A dude with a hunting cap and dark glasses was holding a long piece of what looked like an old broomstick and was coming at Larry again.
He jumped to his feet and reacted the best he knew.
He slipped on the ice as the dude swung the broomstick, missing.
Larry kicked the dude's knee hard and heard a crack as well as a loud scream.
"FUCKER!"
the dude screamed.
"yeah?"
"ya fucking broke my knee!"
Larry picked up the broomstick.
"alright dickface gimme your money."
"yer the one who's dick's hanging out.
Larry's pants were still hanging down.
"yeah gimme your money or I'll piss on your fucking head."
"fuck you"
Larry looked around. All quiet. No one had heard a thing.
"Lum dee day. Lum dee dahdee day."

He left his prostetic arm on the table and went out the back door.
A chill wind was blowing as he pulled the scarf round his neck and settled into the Passat.
Charlie was barking outside the car.
"Shut up you stupid dog"
He backed down the drive way with Charlie chasing, backed into the street and with a squeel of the tires left the dog behind. He sped up the hill past Jeanette's house and turned right on Elm. He stopped at the seven eleven and bought a newspaper, a pack of Marlboro lights, a bottle of Jim Beam and a can of ginger ale.
He drove the grey Passat to the ball park, parked behind the poplar trees, and sat smoking and drinking.
The newspaper sat untouched. At 5:25 p.m. Mr. Winterston appeared around the corner headed for his '83 Chevrolet El Camino.
Charlie pulled the gun from his coat pocket and draped the newspaper over his arm, hiding the gun.
He traversed the park and met Mr. Winterston at the concession stand. He loved the cherry snow cones.
"Why George, what are you doing here?"
The report echoed against the gym.
"Fuck you."
Mr. Winterston wasn't dead.
"George.."
The blood was spreading quickly. Mr Winterston's leg was twitching violently.
George dropped the gun in the snow and walked back to the car.

ocular
ocelot smelling up the place
and spending a goodly
portion of the day
fornicating
I really should be concentrating on something else
like sports
or the food network
or the sound of hypocrisy
outside it's raining but somehow
it's not peaceful
shame really
what a waste of a good rain
it seems mostly just obligatory
being March and all
and really it was now or never
and I knew it all along
when you sleep with the window open
you learn the months weather;
beware the ides of March

I've seen the unfortunate resurrection
binary as it were
and against my better judgment
left for the
unknown
biased
destitute
desultory
vagrant
morning
fucking sleep is impossible
after eating two quesadillas
I'm sorry but you need to learn to spell.

statutory Gleason
an Art Carney
of emotions
I'm honeymooning off the rose
I've got a hell of a sunburn
and it's starting to itch

so what do we do now?
pass the salt.

as the mirrorball floated past us
we threw our dying glow sticks
at the glitter clad divers
and made for the refreshments.

twenty seven
rivers
of death
a hundred cities
of wood
burned with kerosene bombs
flames and burning flesh
the rivers awash like a red plague
far down far down
the river
waiting in the grass

Rambunctious and his sidekick flo-bee
were nestled in the bosom of our lord, or rather
they were sleeping off a mighty
drunk at a curve in the river.
"Tonto"
"Yes Kimo sabe?"
"Is that that shithead R. Bunctious and his little butt buddy sleeping over there? "
"yes Kimo Sabe I smelled them after we pass great Oak"

"Let's go fuck their shit up!"

It's fucking raining out
I'm wearing the end of the world clothes
and smoking a Nicaraguan cigar which by the way I like to call a cheroot.
My local laundromat closed - I've been going there for twenty three years. Lost countless quarters
kicked numerous machines
error
error
and I've got a mountain of dirty clothes.
what's one to do?

Glory O
glory to the great GOD
the ONE
that eats at our SOULS
our SOILS
The ONE that EATS
like a Kimodo Dragon
in our caged
self
GLORY O
glory the great and Mighty
GOD
as he (YES HE, bitch)
hitches up HIS pants
after taking a mighty PISS
on the river of LOVE
GOD and LOVE are two completely different things.

On the plains the drifted
horse
a star at morning
and a burning farm house
he ran naked from the trees
and was shot
through the back
The arriving riders kept their distance.
One leaned to the other and spoke.
"We can be no help here, Tonto. Let's fuck off like right now"

After he washed the tomato beef chow mein stains
from the front of his uniform
he turned and shot the waiter in the leg.
"Let's go Tonto. This restaurant blows."

I perused
the atrophy
of endorphins
and belittled time
and time's soldiers
those forgotten sit coms
called your selves
you're too stupid to know you're stupid?
That's Science for you!
We know that we don't know why we don't know what we don't know.
what do we not know?
fuck you!

eat dust mother fucker!

as never
as usual
as the way a Japanese
cowboy
would sneer
and spit
in Black and White
and Garish Colour
panavision
pan atomic-X
the ribald piebald
fleeing godzilla on the
peninsula
yo tonto hold up
bitch!
fuck that white man and his panty
waist
bullshit

we're storming Mt Fuji
for a sno cone
and the monkeys
are stealing our souls
damn them
winter monkeys
in their hot
springs
just bring a me
cup of gunpowder tea
I'll be ok


I haven't worn these shoes before
but my feet are already
high fiving the bath tub

Fortooped
flebulae
motion wary
ambipoxtrous
incommodium
mirroring
the
non abrasive
desultory
munitions
of Bar Harbor