Monday, April 15, 2019

Things to do before Breakfast

pick up the alarm &
eat it     the sun comes up
for breakfast     &
the morning is like a mother's

a smile has altered forever
the face of the woman
i love     a right eye stuck

a cm out of time     we must
learn what new things are
on your mind

                       death is not nearly
as pale as the moment that births

Saturday, January 5, 2019

The babe

The lost lay beads of smoking tears

a gift they grant is the suffering of life
their smile swell

Waking up to take care of crying babe

I'm on stairs leaning against the wall holding him, teetering

unsure how I got here

not on the stair

I am a father.

Waking in bed paralyzed

to next coming twenty years

a black shroud
shaped as sinister as newborn

head hung on limp rooted neck
stands at the doorway

as an arch

leaning slightly like to burp

his future falling toward

I could not move to escape.

Monday, November 19, 2018

the unreliable forge/ an easy bake oven

the cake is finished when electrified. wine toasts
over inky coals
                          from which is used to write names.
were they to find the remnants of the book
rats would drown in the crumbs. eat gray pages.
make the clouds look like sky starting at the last
            burnt to gradient images left
in church phases. the cross of stainless
steel. stained glass partitions.
the cake is edible when digested as is
the masses. the physical equation of
remorse. ending in remittance. the seven foot
thick ocean of icing.
                                  the terror of sand
as the waves of sugar hit the shore. the deafening
bluster of wind chimes.     the binding washing
out the ill heated oven. heaving
heaving retching. rewarding the starved and
the sated.

Monday, November 5, 2018

the perfect me

know that
                 there's a mannequin in my chair

those waxy kind of thoughts
those waxy kind of cheeks

involuntarily replacing me

the shrouded cathedral
                                     draped over melting plastic
resembles my rib cage

the cracked marble
the discolored ivory

the pearl pretending eyes
                                         i no longer have to

he's cultivated all the refuse
                                             hidden it away

inside of me
i can be opened by magic

a can opener
is magic

something soft stabbed into my
                while I watch for vanished lines

without knees I will walk into
forever places
                       hung with hallowed lights

they will preach florescent

the meals will be of sawdust stars
the wall dreary old cement

I will paint them with the graffiti equivalent
to the years of my life
                                    I will be of plastic casings

a body to sell

until we are washed out
until we are formed into shiny islands
in a retching, gelatinous, blue sea

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

made up of stuff

in this carton
     all the same everythings
always     right      side           up

even the dead things. are left
                laughing     crying

stuff & worried about. their
internal processes

especially their bowels. they were
in focus
              like the growing face of mold
rotted and dotting the exterior limits

similarly afflicted with life. heavily
magnified by
                        our continued
and numerous     failures

chewed upon by the already
gnarled cardboard of their

existence. at all corners the sun fell
like sunday morning drunks. pretending

the terror of monday's work. the terror
of the battle shaking the last infinitesimal
chill from the air
                            from out this carton. the cool
glass breaks. the long unintelligible


Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Shape of things

she placed a heart beside me
drawing the outline     where i fell
you know?--i don't care

i don't know     i wouldn't know
where to go
                     i kept my tv in a bottle
floating out to sea     down the river out
of sight
              into some trout face haven

into some brackish gully     never

          waves high hang clouds
her eye     beside me     where i placed
those old dreams
                             little word worlds
a heart in the shape of candy     where
we ate as the sun stayed put--long tears

like lines of traffic in the night cut
the desired shape     into landscape

dams make way for lakes
                                          lost habitats
she played ragged lung behind me
breathing heavy endless colors
endless graffiti     a palette of heavy things

--i don't understand     i can't go wrong

i am not nearly as aware as i should have been

Monday, October 1, 2018


(they) were playing
(they were) not for what will
(they were shattered)
they were red blood
they were before the (stop)
(they were) could not be were they
   to slow down
(they) were broken into living
they were (not to) make it out
(they) were to be spun from the
they were to be (removed)
they were to be not even
the were to be not even
they crossed back as ever
   into grinding machine
(they were torn apart)
   by flattening engines
they were never to (be)
(they were a mere moment
   from death's crushing weight)
they were never to grasp
   that (feeling)
they were made meaningless
   by time's threads

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

rain drips

each blur drops from sky
reflected in its obscurity
the last day

a puddle to the past
threatens to boils over its edge
memories like sandbags
struggle defiantly in its wake

a trail turns off the rocky peak
taking with it the lives
seeking to challenge its fragile

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

old memory

i might have left it

where i am go
ing it's like a deep
static tv green

you don't see those much

that purple wake
in green static

where i might have left it

but i am unsure how to turn the

you don't see that much anymore
apart from the zenith repair shop
on bishop avenue

where the old static dies

and where it was left
when i was gone

all green and purple outlined
in yellow on that tv screen

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Lake Effect

forward     the image groan
die above 400 feet of valley
they flooded it 100 years ago
buried in 39 seconds

your     blueish skin
resembles sun painting the sky
against the gray waves
the cliff side is empty
it sends your blank face back
the rocks are a mirror
reflecting the other side

death     is aluminum
a toy above severed trees
their stumps are green graves
that become eyes as you pass
the lake an open mouth of god
meant to swallow choke and moan

Thursday, June 14, 2018


when i drink from the fountain
my hair twirling in drain     pushed by tides
     i see     i am kept alive
taking sustenance like livestock
corralled in my squared up     world
kept hydrated     perpetually working off of
pulling like from plumbed water
drying my every     eye
peering into the mortal bin
dripping into pipes
drowning     sip for sip.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Acid rain on sand

I'm a gecko petroglyph
drawn by meat puppets
through the southwest
American desert heaven
drinking dry rain
eating mother marshmallow's

Saturday, June 9, 2018

...that water'll get to ya

The birthplace of the atomic bomb
a can of lifeless Arizona ice tea
the mushroom cloud of hydrogen gas
burning the retina of the atmosphere
rising at slow motion detection
the native fungi of the america continent
national lifeform of the cause
a marshmallow Armageddon
released in the breaking of a tab

Friday, June 8, 2018

I love your gray cat what-s-his-name

what's the name without his legs
living in a tree stump in kesselwood forest

there are no badgers on the east coast

they haven't emigrated
                                     but enough about
me and what in the hell is it like to climb
below the cavern walls

probably in 1983

first time I noticed you by the tin can water fountain
banging on the corrugated sides

what's that material
                                if he's talking about plastic

I wonder why?  there wasn't fuck to give
to dead things because you'd have to bury the whole fucking thing

poor quality static makes everything
stage-like played through tape on a VHS

what's gotta give name on the fanzine
to cancelled children's programming

this place is not the gig it's the aforementioned before

chain-link prequel to the fence bitten through

what's it like to chew on the thing
to swallow the broken tubes

fuck if I know about any of this
of any of this fuck if i know

Super group; or semi-colon

can;t drink on the j;ob

fuck in buttered rice

it doesn;t exist; this character is like

the end of the world

the instruction booklet
is a training regime; sucking up the nail


fuck the laugh track in the live show
the audience is a bullet in the cock; farming

is a fictitious waste
spilling out the humanoid power plant

stumble upon it; put the nee;dle on it

play the spinning flat ass earth

you can fuck with the midd;le; you can die

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