I ain't having
any of that
      (park rangers
   with snickers bars)
  no mesmerized embodiments
of
 an age-
  the clock has rung-
     we stand and watch
as the
   lemonade
       stands
          burn
 we lit them on fire
it was fun
  now the garage
    let's burn that
 

Rubric C. Cornelius
   held his tube aloft
      "See the bright skies!
and Purple mountain's majesty!"
    the sun was burning his nose
  "ah to be like Icarus
  To fly to the sky
   to the sun
    to rise above
       to fly too high
          too fast
             to watch the wax melt on your wings
                to watch them fail
                   and go crashing down
                      into the lake
                        or craggy rocks
                           like a beautiful Bruegel painting
                               crashing in the distance!"

                             

there was a giant iceberg
    that gave birth
      to a despot
his people starved
 in the cold
   his neighbors
feared
for themselves
   he wore hats
and inspected
  his army
and his
  missiles
la la la

the face
   of gray day
 moving inside
  stirring the druid pot
     still lives
turned in ryhme
   basque gray day memory
 the flint
   of another day's bonfire story
all lies
  

I'm not sure why
  we were drinking champagne
the cigarette smoke curling
 deliciously
a stack of books on the table
  it was all black and white

another one
of a boy
standing by
  a trailer
at the top of a cliff
  pointing down at the lake

I traced
 a broken memory
  of ground squirrels
on a hill
  sad and lonely
       getting shot at
standing on their back legs
wondering
what the fuck

waxing gibbous
    waxing gibberish
more like
  not brightly illuminated
      those elusive illuminatorii
 stealing from dark corners
   places of sterile
      thought
    cold and hot
  burning and sweating in your
suit
   the dust in the vial
owned
they say
by the U.S. Government
   Moon dust
that is -
  swimming pools
 movie stars
  break out the jalopy
it's the Space Force?
nah
 ahhh the hoky pokey
everybody's doing it!
 

     

stormed
trooped
     flooped
     flabberplasted
         floozy
           fucker
 suckers
  busting
     the belief
 it don't work,
see!

that old
   mystery train
  rolling
down the tracks
     way past Memphis
on thru Tennessee
  the sound of
those guitars
  in the night
     biting
       through old beat up
Fender amps
   piercing the night
piercing through the
  the late night heat &
   humidity
        on to morning
 when a little cool relief
  breeze blowing
      riding that train
with the wind
  blowing through your
   hair
 meet my baby at the gate


  
     
   

the flip
of
the scar
 marked
paddy wagon
blues
   steady
hold
steady
 and on
 Winston Churchill
   ah you
and your carnaby
    flowers
   seeing death
in your
   mother's eyes
  you clean the windowsill
 stare out at the
   buildings
    who is looking out
Winston Churchill
  grey dark suits
     lace curtains
         and the smell
of a musty room
 time for a cold
beer
  too much dust
in here

careless
  energy
   see
 the stars
   burning
    

taxed
   and doxxed
      spocked
flocked
battered
   and chapped
      flicked
fucked
  finked
 and
ferruled
   spelling
the time's
 simple rule
   you can never go back?
ah hell
  stooped
drooped
  slooped
     hooped
 sad
eyes
   crying
   in the brain
pan
  man
oh
man
 flan

ambiguity
is rarely
   a big hit
  give us a real emotion
anything
   something
    care about something
be something
not just a pinball knocked about
incessantly
 until
game over

downward divestiture
the downward dog
of
   satan's minions
wait what
   stellar mad cap
lightning
with
salt
 echoes
 stirring the embattled
concupiscence
   of canned crab
     and cranky
 charisma
  

the plethora
of non motivated
algorithms
  enticed
with
  cultivated mustaches
    and sandy
tropical spice
   strewn about like a
      cavernous plea for
         assimilation
    waning on the toyota tacoma side
       boxed in
and reading
  eating
and drinking
  still they're
     on the phone
is this a land line
  never mind
  
      

White Astro Van

twenty seven gallons of
gas
   16-25 mpg
do the math
  gas gauge
broken
 odometer
   works
press the short trip
button
 on the odometer when
  you fill up

you chased the dragon
it was a hot cup of coffee
 and a beignet
    it was chilly outside
      you waited for the sun
       
 the real dragon
      you know the one
     lost in the
down deep
  you shook the crumbs off
and made a loitering pigeon happy

 the package with the books you sent
was received gladly
  real mail
    rare these days
unlike the dragons
 seeming to be everywhere

 - fiery breath
like vog
   Lord Smaug
Jabberwocky
 St. George
  The Great Eye
ring wraiths
   on the bus
walking home from work
pyroclastic flows
  the dragons are all too real


  

You most likely had a fourth-great-grandparent, fifth-great-grandparent, sixth-great-grandparent, or seventh-great- (or greater) grandparent who was 100% Native American. This person was likely born between 1690 and 1780.