born to death

my father came home
and kissed my mother
with a big smile
while she did the crossword puzzle
(for tuesday)

changed a few tires.
the sun shot through the backyard
into the cold pool for laps
bad for the body.

tripped over the suburban clarity
draped over my childhood
like halloween costumes and candy
luring me on

stoned
and skipping in the grass
i used to play soccer here
now i smoke cigarettes

achey breaky heart

body aches
rubbing sores
old, hot. the dead ones in the future.
swollen.
shut.
cat furs tickle my skin.
i yearn.
slumber calling.
the mess
of feeling like shit.

the biggest ever

the biggest pimple ever
explodes and covers a thumbnail
and it shouldn't have been there.

thought about what people would look like
if
at 4
a kid could choose
the size of their nose
eyes
forehead
the kind of hair
the arms
and how this and that one would say
i want the biggest mouth ever

great scott in the morning!

Roger, call the marines!
the doctors are making rounds
and your coattails are dragging.
please pick up Felicity from her nap.
she failed to return from the Scott residence
the cotton is growing by the bushel
deliver me a shirt by noon
you sick
fool.

grumble

if ya turn faces
and split ideas
for 8 cents a piece
sell the crumbs
for saliva
and zinfandel
over a bloody sunset
sprinkled with fog and water rays
you might find yourself
hanging on the edge of some
rumbling hunger
for the line
that splits your whispers for something
into grumbling nothings

lullaby #1

in the hammock til mornin
the one by in the garden
under the dark glow
under the oak

like the mind that swings
in a child's laughter and a perfect iron ignorant bliss.

good to be young
good to grow

and know
that once you start to learn things
it might not be good
to pretend you
don't know them.

zelig

if you
(chameleon)
warp and twist
with whoever, whenever
what are you
in i
.solation

are you balanced
zero
colorless
dull
dead
pumping
?

who are you
if you
are
you
20 times
a day
in different ways
with a wig
and a bottle of scotch

something operating

in the wheels, the gears, the hinges, the doors
desperate whispers of grinding flesh
and the low hum
like french horns in an orchestra
a xylophone man with sunglasses and chipped teeth
pounding on your stomach
because you can't digest your lies

the good grip of a window washer
slipping on her work
shooting senior yearbook pictures
folding over in her rolls
wanting a smile to be genuine
to fuckin scared to be(so)herself

worm dig

somewhere in the dark there is a polish of liberation that soars
and swoops
and stretches
and it erases and burns into something that roars
and dances
and howls

because there is a forgetting
because the wrapping is cheap and lovely
because there are paper people
plastic songs
rubbery acquaintances
and all sorts of schemers and frog hopping slippery toad-like scum

so you have those diamonds
and the spread
sloppy kisses
a friend who says 'i know you well'
and the reason to believe

when a chaos gives birth to a cancer and a sapphire
and things go unfinished
as they do

metal

rust
strong
cold
except
when
it's hot
then
it's hot
losing
strength
had a
purpose
now just
lovely
to see
at dusk
in a glow
or at dawn
but
i wasn't
there

retrograde - this lobby

is crawling with swine
swarming with electronica
. young men and women standing behind counters
with gel in their hair
in all black
frozen in time
.
because like those two periods above
things get trapped.
between, under and over
somewhere
the hands of chance cracking knuckles

and this picture above me
of ella and duke and ray and billie and louis and some of the greats
just like this image of the present
drawn into the satin background
already 40 years past and lost in some other future
which thaws and gets swallowed up by a thirsty poodle.

Grow

hard rush to the head
snake tongues wrap the bed

sweat lips soaking skin
rough scruff and sandpaper chins

wipe rooms with time sheets
five ticks and the time sleeps



never endings and fastfalse starts
memory working on wood souls
carved into a eucalyptus
riding the high
waves
smash on the shore like bowling balls
and roll down alley

last night, once

for the sip at the bottom
the lips at the top
stick
wrapped on the rim

film talk
actors and control-
the power direction,
towards the plug
plugged in, out

the move, tomorrow
for alan, ourselves and the world.
the handshake oracular.
licking the glass
for the last drip.

waiting for that creaking futton
the last time
goodbye

some power

some power is the absence of power
or the tucking away
into a pillowcase
after you make your bed
and sleep for a day.

some girl is mad at some guy
and she speaks
in short snaps
sulking
leaning her head against the elevator
as we move six floors up
and she walks ahead
and i lean against the bathroom
in a torn short shirt
brushing my teeth
nonchalant, cool
behind two flossing lovers in a fight.

some power is a freight train.
and don't you forget
some power is
always
here
and there.

(like mist around waterfalls in spring)

schadenfraude and political snake bites

she spoke
with tiny eyes and small fingers.
she fell off her bike in the dirt and gave a strong smile.
it was fake but she threw it at us.
her tongue was strong like a serpent, poisoning us with her rotting phrases on wealth
and personal responsibility.
i told her she was part of the problem.
that i am too.
and so is she
that this masked lounge, washed over in blue
with turntables from the future
playing jazz-electronic
10 dollar appetizers
delicious
stella artois and a sore throat
choking on my own words.
and loving to watch that girl squirm like a worm
hurt but strong
us against her
when i knew i was right

Le Bal.Cony

new
(again)
more,good,strong
urge.
want.
more,good,life
floor.
dirt.
goodbye.
more,good,tongue
more,
that.

fast

behind.
urgency.
comfort.
new home.
new people.
the day - fast.
slugs and owl bones burnt on the street.
films at night.
new roommates.
wine glass, vermilion.
new sound. new guitar. new voice.
old wanting.
forward.

6am

a spider crawling on the wall
feet covered in smell
worry doused in sleepiness
evening good,
people.
6am cigarette - one car,
one light,
one human,
sparked
shot to the corner of this world.

/No foRm.Old song.\

A smiley face
a fuzzy finger-painted face
is mouthing off
A neverland
a paint to paint the weather and the dreamer's (dream)

She held her hair
in her arms and cried
and left the bathroom drip
ing
wet with wrists and bloody soap
the madness hit reality
silly reality.

A blue moon walk
a jazzy tune the city plays
wide eyed mind
waiting for feeling, contact
from the past
connecting back and forth the past.

Him and her
And her and him and her and her
and everyone
forgetting hunger
all this happening now
now
Now.

The game we play
dynamics and the window gaze
the worshiped ones
and all the dead,
the history - dead.

and me. somewhere alive.
a quick hello, goodbye.
hungry uncertainty.
solo, slide,
once and twice before the number crunch,
the machine world, crushed in gears,
spit out like everlasting gobstoppers
chewed with violence, violet bursts
and happy songs to pop the cork on champagne bottles
to shoot me to a crisp land,
solo
slide.

Do not ask the night, do not ask the day, do not ask, do not tell

Claw
Sprawl
the mixed up call.

Swoon
june
the past too soon.

jump up your leg,
one tease,
the charade
. . some escape
. . the parade
.a curtain fall
.we all wave
.A bloom storm, is soon yours
and the wet sun, gushing
'cus the moon doesn't ask where the sun goes
when it slips from the night

Trust and the nobody there

no
body.
but weak
nesses.
i want
to spit.
but
there
is
nobody.

no
trust.
but souls
sucking.
imagine.
but there
is nobody.

jello

I'm eating a book.
Feel loose.
Rubber arms.
movement smooth.
Rubbing
belly.
Jewels
jelly.

Chipping away at im
patience
with a toothpick.
'cus i don't need it for my teeth.


weird world.
the job hunt hunts me,
haunts me.
but bukowski made it,hemingway made it.
but im not them.

i'm a turntable.
scratching my head at a heavy gush of thoughts
which i hope will turn to a trickle
so i can catch the drops in my hand
and stare at them
before i roll my tongue across my palm
and laugh hyena-like
through the messy,
no longer thirsty.

where i get anxious at the buzz of a fly
or laugh at the sound of a scream.
so things stop making sense
and i start wanting it-
sense.

and nobody will ever know.

in
sane.
like everyone else.

Guts

When I sat down at the table
with my copy of Galapagos, borrowed,
and the end of a bottle of wine (i could not waste)
and a banana
and some carrots and broccoli.
and the grapefruit was my desert
I dug the knife in and cut it up
with precision
until hunger began to grip
the knife and thrust it violently
mashing
juice spilling and squirting
I shoved the pieces into my mouth
chewing on the guts
of that grapefruit.
1/7 down.

from the past - 'Alone'.

The moon looks like a pearl
Held in starless sky.
.
Like a ballerina leaning sideways
Her hand paused
...........................d
..............................r
................................o
..................................pping delicately
under her arched body
and in her palm - the milky pearl
glowing
and rolling
off.
but
it seems i’m the only soul outside
enjoying the soliloquy of silence
and the spilling freedom
(beautiful and alone)
in the blank, black sky.

DragonNight

There are drops of honey dripping from the corner of the ceiling in my head.
The bottle of wine is almost gone.
One sip in my glass.
Cigarette burns filter.
Dragon skin twisting up
Time eating itself and shitting a new day

And swallowing morning
And one last sip
and one honey drip
Dragging by lips of curiosity

A
Dragon
Night.

Ouroboros Over a Week

I am a shadow
Craving light
And bending with it
And away.

I am light
Carved around a shadow
Unable to penetrate
Burning and afraid
And helpless.

I am invisible
Melting and erupting
Into stacks of Me’s and What If’s and You’s and Him And Her and Them and Those and This and Fuck That
Forever.

I am an escape
In search of comfort, in search of a prison
Safety from
What I can handle
What I fear
What I don’t want, what I do.

I am love
(d)/(ly)/(less)
Swirling into Sundae – (just past)
Scooping up the remains
Dropping them like sprinkles
Picking up the pieces

I sometimes don’t move
I sometimes don’t scream
I sometimes punch, sometimes punched
I rarely trust – trust takes time, trust takes fear, trust takes love, trust takes shadows, and invisibility and escapes and light and ice cream Sundaes and.
I sometimes think it’s too much to handle.
and get nowhere.
But here, to myself, and to everyone else again and forever.
thanks.