"Slow down,"

 he said 

             "Captain Jim"

                                         but it was no avail 

                                                    the hand that would be cut off 

   was played

       and, by a fluke

        was a winner-

                                                a thousand copper noses

      Tycho Brahe Corporation, Inc. 

      still, outside the bar 

   Lee Marvin and his 

     goddamn whip 

              I stumbled and sidled 

    up to the bar 

                                     "Hand me the shotgun, Roy." 

                          the 45 colt revolver shaking in my hand 

"She's a wide spread, CJ, you better get close"

                                            as he laid the sawed off on the bar and 

added a shot of rotgut whiskey 

                       "Chim-chiminey, Roy!"

    the hot sun beat the churchbell

    DING 

  DONG

saw the marchand 

prime etiquette 

            primped 

 and proper 

          no priors

                                 banned in stuyvesant

         serrated 

   and consecrated 

                                       with the blood of the lamb

                      the body of 

                        the blood of

redeeming again

on the march 

                    we stand by the escalators 

 and watch 

              choosing which side we'll be on 

 after the game is won

 

SALT +

                          carbon benefactors 

                                    LIVING

                                                       with the aging moon  

LADY DAY 

dying in handcuffs

(well, basically)

                          SLAP that thing 

 around the moon 

      it's DYING

     see, 

                                    SEE, the flowers? 

       YES, I see them

      OH 

        SO? 

 

the tulgey 

 bulge 

         snakes and capes 

fearful tigers in the bathtub

 are you dreaming?

   Wake up!

     go play outside 

                                      stupid kids!

    see the centaur smiling 

in his underwear 

       so the troubadour 

                        with his dour puss

C'mon now! shake it like a wooley mammoth 

                                  time's a wastin'!

streaming the dirty tide-
washed up from all the pain
 waiting for the cymbals to crash
- a memory of the street
 time bunches up around my neck-
anger at what
---now ----now ----now
 sensing the ambiguity of sensing the ambiguity
   still the shadows illuminate
like a giant yellow advertisement
  - wooops
 a day Z
   - stories u tell yourself
turns out they're not true
  the sharper the knife
 -the less it hurts?
 -  yeah no
  put on that dude
- and just remind the time
it's a quadlibet -
  you danced until everyone else  dropped
--- say sayonara sweetheart
 time for juice boxes -
 and long kisses
 

 the lost man

                     walked a white line

                                looking for an exit  

                         "good bye, darling"

he mumbled 

                                    he wiped the sweat off his brow and

                                                  pulled the dog eared map out of his pocket 

"let's see here, now, we gotta be on here somewhere"

      a truck blew bye at ninety 

        laying hard on the horn

                            "sheesh, motherfucker"

                             the white line kept going 

toward the next town

Did you 

 open the 

 channel-

    see the beat 

    breaking the 

      way- open eyes-

bloodshot-

   standing in the square

                                  -primed with mango slices 

and a machete- no- 

 no-

  see-

   it's hot-

                                          it's really fucking hot- 

                                                            Maria's isn't even open- 

but her tv's are blasting

-out onto the calle

        

      

the sleeping angels
decide
    who gets the
light
  in a dream
   they send
     it
when you wake up
   you shake your head
      and say
the railroad runs
   but I'm taking the bus!
and have another piece of toast

when the blue plastic tumblers
  all came falling down
  tumbling as it were
 the neighbors were screaming
   afternoon sun beating through
the west windows
   a giant cloud of smoke haze
      I'm passed out
 You said hey it's not working
I said try it AGAIN
fer fuck's sake
   and then it worked!
fucking A
let's go get mexican food!
 

sleepy 

faces 

                                           the support system of the blues

  wandering thru 

see how the phony 

 mimic these every

                                      day 

  you have no idea

  hah

   when the lights go down 

  they're out 

   like mosquitoes

         sucking our blood

    wearing their 

       best     and 100 thousand dollar 

smiles

       ramming a finger 

 in their ears 

 baloooka 

balooka 

baloooka 

   I seen it

 I seen it 

I seen it

          

the rivulets 

of sorrow 

    sliding 

     dripping 

    from the eyes 

                          of the wooden indian 

   we buy cigarettes 

                                       and you buy a silver lighter

          the sun is out 

           

I don't

care 

       fuck all 

 that

              was the general 

           idea anyway 

but that dog 

always howling at the fire engines

I can relate

aawwhoooo

 watching 

                      Superman 

   at the Grand Canyon

                           Ranger station 

                                           with all the rangers 

that was sx70 times-

polaroid life 

in a VW bus with a big dent 

in the back

    

cancel that
it's just too big
     back to square one
 on and on
  like cat stevens
    I know where god is
    we just run around
in the sunlight
   and then we drink coffee
   and make sandwiches

anybody need menthols?
   shine a light on that

the misery 

 of 

                superficial 

       contusions

- still at work

                       traffic is gonna suck

           - the world is 

 killing 

     - go world

          break it 

      don't shake it

              the 

 stand up bass 

 is playing itself 

in my file cabinet

                                                           - my dad never bought a station wagon

    we did have that grey 

Datsun wagon that my 

mom used to commute 

      to the peninsula to 

                                                 teach music to the children of rich people 

like GAYLORD PERRY

                                                     who made his career throwing the spitball

              good for him

the backseat was always filled 

with boxes 

    of music stuff

        i never learned how to play anything 

    until I heard Duane Allman 

     and then 

                                    ELECTRIC GUITAR

                                                                      took me forever to be able to play anything

(did I get off track here?) 

nah just the usual degree 

 

           

                       

      

"jump in the line
   shake your body in time"

       SUDDENLY 

NO 

NO,

 NOT THAT!

  

                                                                          wait!

       OKAY 

I BELIEVE YOU! 

 

pages 

 of 

 yellow     

 lined 

 pad 

- notes to self

                                    buy more Pee Chee folders

          move back to California 

              smoke more weed

      yeah 

                                          blow that cloud 

     across the sky 

                                                        sell that diamond studded harmonica

                              your ex-girlfriend's uncle left you

 and the signed 

copy of 

                Naked Lunch

    "Dr. Benway,

Paging Dr. Benway."

    the Amphora Tobacco can 

    filled with old stubby pencils 

     why did you keep that?
                                       stuff like that is a piece of a different time
it is still in that time

                                                      a time when keeping lots of stubby pencils 

     was a thing

        but other stuff 

 a fencing foil 

                          with leather fencing glove

   a white ceramic tree

      left it in the car 

        still there 

     nobody steals

THAT stuff

     

           

        

  

floated 

 up from a 

pillow 

  of 

 nothingness

     resting my buddha 

      eye 

 on the 

                         rocky crag 

       of samsara

 what is that beats me 

                  jesus was a phony 

                                and fuck jack kerouac

                     stupid miserable drunk deadbeat dad momma's boy 

                                    was that a lot of 

                                mythologizing 

                      the antics 

                          of drunken days 

      and cold nights 

 

                                 

 there's a drive through
   AK47 store
 near the conflict
cash or trade
    the puddles though
 all rainbowed with oil patterns
      you can get lost in that
      and forget
until a crossbow wielding
  saxon comes charging thru the heating vent
      they hide in there
          talking about Saxony
             in low reverent voices
                 until they start arguing
                    which takes about two seconds
  and then you're at the drive up window
and you have to pay for your purchase
two crunchy tacos
a thousand rounds of nothing
    and two terracotta lion heads 
       

  

somehow i got sleepy
 when no one was paying attention
    not at the typewriter store
 (they still have those?)
   lying in the dark
     thirsty
      and no water
         uh well gotta get up
    aren't you glad you
 have a tangerine mind?

dark fortress
  of urban wood
     and brimstone tires
             honking at the windows
   wake up youse
    where's my toolchest
     miraculously easy-
 just do it
  getting through the forest now
    papers here
     hatchets over there
   cd's and other ephemera
      stacked but
ready to fall
 into the pile
   

do the thing
 that sets the
   clock
 turn it
 what time is it?
quarter past dark
    two moons to the sunrise
      barking coyotes somewhere
  not here though
    out there though
out there
   running
all skinny and
   yippin
  

too
 red wined
   and slow cursor
 in my
 hoozey wa waa
    compu-brain
   ha ha
 laugh
 will you?
   bastards
 you're all bastards!

 okay well
 you know
 don't look back Mr. Lot
  " blew that city off the map
   sing it jer
because she looked behind her"
  boom
 pillar of salt
   well the animals will be happy
 "I sure do like Mrs. Lot more now that
 she's a pillar of salt"
  see? 

     

The Collectors


The collectors are still out there
   banging on my door
 yelling up at the window
      " HEY,
   DICKHEAD,
        SELL us stuff!
               FUCKER!"
I ignore them
 it makes the prices go up
 way up

"HEY!"

DESERT MOVIE

a dirty wind blew the screen door off
    she was standing out there
   amongst the lizards and the rocks
      dust covered
        holding a 45 Thompson submachine gun
           pointed right at me
             she said "Put on the Stooges"
                it was already on the turntable

1981
 bottle of red wine
found
 in my mothers basement
    like a workroom
 with saws
and chainsaws and hacksaws
 and nails, screws, light bulbs,
extension cords
 various small cans of some kind of liquid:
paints?
 anyway
     is that bottle still good?
\\\\\\

read the news 

it's not good 

  when is it though?

    the hand before the eye 

                                            the ear gets pressed to the counter 

  the fingers fist 

        the music stopped 

                                         a dirty wind blew the screen door off 

  crows are hopping around 

                                      on the sidewalk

cawing the news 

                                          brrrrraaaaaaaakkkkkkkk!

  

I don't care
   about last year
It's this year that matters
  all those old notebooks
 burn em   no
     sell them to
collectors
(tax collectors ?)
    all the literary worshippers
banging on my door
day and night
   take their money
buy pencils
 and erasers
   
  

the 

stark 

 stream 

 of 

        something 

 said 

    waylaid 

                     by boredom

     the drivel of 

         existence 

         get up 

                          motherfucker 

                     bite the big apple 

        save the cheese!

                               collar the crime 

                                            bend the blues 

                                  ride a ticket 

take the price 

 slow bus to Oakland

 

    

 

 

ex 

pear 

iment 

 73   

    

staid 

steed

stood

stat'd

weed 

wood 

why'ed

what'd 

she'd 

should 

shied 

shouted 

(shatted?)

treed

tried

troy'd 

trouted

         (Brautigan)

jah 

       movement 

     wondering 

                           about not ethiopa 

                                      wood blinds 

                          wondering about long island 

              cemetery 

     rocks 

   and things 

     dead painters 

                       not doing 

 again 

   but DRIVING

and 

    staying 

     near the dreamer

  some atmospheric 

river 

         washed away like a piano 

            like a bicycle 

like both

still thats a bunch of hooey 

still not working 

         stoned in the morning 

               dogs outside 

always they are 

out there

    no not really 

 no dogs 

            but the white van is out there

    AGAIN

                surveillance network 

 shows up 

like Magellan 

                                           on the seas of paranoia 

                we fed them 

 we fucked them 

 and now we're dying 

    great stone slabs 

were all that were left 

 by the time

                        Stevenson showed up 

           

          

 

       

 

see 

 the cross hairs 

    in 

the stable 

      by and by 

 turn

 the past 

   see

 what 

 see 

   yes 

 that exists 

    like the rain today 

    making little 

   bubbling 

  sounds 

                                        as i don't drink my coffee

did you ever take a greyhound bus?
of course you did
 that smell
   musty cigarettes
   sullen attitudes
  cold long nights
 of
 diesel hum
 ensconsed in your wool overcoat
   looking at the girl two rows up
   trying to read that paperback
and then you pull into some
pit stop
   so the driver can piss
 and you amble out
 legs all stiff
   breathe the cold air
     buy a Hershey bar with
almonds
 and get back in
    off you go
back on the highway
   to Tuscaloosa
or Monroe
 Twin Falls
Newport
 Andersen
     Nashua
   42nd street
 and fucking
   hell look out
  it's
goddamn
New York City
  New York
meet your old man for
  oysters and beer
 at the restaurant under the station
    where his old man took him
how many years ago
 twenty
  or so
 

the Arboreal
 Predicament
 salted by
generations
of haves and have-not
 and have anyways
  breaking down the trail of
 critical analysis
   and sawmills
     near the great mighty Hood river
or some flat creek
   where a fourteen year old
wanders
  in the hot sun
     looking for that
 damn hole
   where the big daddy
trout motherfucker is hiding
   but the sound of saws
  and men yelling
   cables snap
ropes burn
    logs jam
teeth grin
  tongues spit
 sawdust everywhere
   and then some
 and your black glasses
   got broken AGAIN
     but fuck it
let's go
        
      

Pihea Crossing

great beacons of light;
rainbows splattered in mango
  the dogs are hidden under the trees
  but one or two sneak out
and tails between their legs
come shyly up to us
   we see them as we walk by
the hunters with their rifles
  hidden in the dark shadows
with their dogs