Say it, see it, gone gone gone western blues

Just so you know
I haven't forgotten--
been lugging my bag and
banging my head on
down that dusty road
west, been out and
gone in junction city kansas-
style on a sunday
nowheres to go and no
car to go it in--been lost and
cold and wet on that
highway life at 4am in
the thickest tar black night
you could imagine--been high too
digging everything all silent in
my wanderers head--thinking
and writing whatever hellish unprintable
mash I could envision
been takin' down the days the hours
as the tires turn wear out rot
and angle--seen every god damn
god fearing thing--unconquerable
unquestioned--rising out of the
gray american fog--
lost all my words trying to figure out
what it is
where it went

Because they brought milk

I'll kneel before
their goodwill--
     If the Nazis had
smart phones
I'd have read the same
pictures on those invisible
text books
     erasing motivation
fanatically defending
     our defiled brains
        betray
                  the marching
                  heavy endless
cold marching boots
                  of technicality
because they bring milk
we suck down the dream
I place the bill under my tongue
and pay the interest

Death of Poets

until the wind
rots whole forever
This one started
as two crossed out lines
no thought just scribbled
failure & no voice
and ended as
eight mishandled lines
almost
saying something--

Sweetly by the hour

Slim to the cunt
she's a legless
     wonder she says
our windows let
     in too much light darling
     betrays the morning
whistle of
          the doves in my hair baby
the heavy floods
in the basements below
          will keep you
     busy all day & sweat
          but I'll wait
               for you in the golden rays
reclining
counting the hours
                            only
the hours
counting the days.

Thought Police

I believe &
my eyes see
the defenestration
of miracle society
acceptance of the perverse
my brain a soiled docility
drug to drag belonging to the house,
shut down my clogging veins
& molest the corpse
of the girl hidden under my bed,
I take her to the sands
of the beach of secret forgiveness
& bury both our heads
I believe in photoshop
& mediocrity
I believe I'm safe
I repeat.

False Flaggs

Little boy drop these
bombs & $tep away
use the backdoor staircase
escape--
     let them catch the
eye of the camera store
bring the car around
with the doors ajar
slam those headlights
     into gear
watch for old ghost dogs
of old Kentucky roads
     find your way in the
umpteenth night
     doom on the horizon
playing house with
handgun girls
     unashamed--
          holster the backpacks
          under the cupboard
          kindergarten dreams
we'll all stick to the story
with the most holes
     sew the plastic around our heads
tight
     suck up all the air

CNN Drops BOMBS

Two hours into
our CNN trip &
it's like that trash
can nightmare night
of all over again static dreaming
(and what would I do for one coming)
same image on rerun
remote control reverse
     sidewalk sameness
     over and over sameness
     paranoia
          will bring us
          together into
governmental pockets
mocking each other
(spying)
hiding our thoughts
drowning the dream
changing the channel

You never paid

There's no parking spots
left in any East Coast town
that even great Neal could
back this baby into--
this current automated society
rear view camera without a clue
how to enjoy
                       the last third
                       of humanity's joke
while kids in Easter egg ties
roll the dice
      on their cellphone device
trolling idiocracy,
planting unoriginal seeds (we survive for you)
in the chat-roulette
of our ancestral souls--

laughing go the cameras
always on record

a crime against the corporate state
is a crime against society
is a crime against you me us we

take your communion at
the ATM alter
suck that green gold down

live forever with eyes seeing eyes

Amen.

At the Corner

You'll give me the time
smile for the ages
rock schism and tumbles
toward sea roaring
south of night serenades,
crickets cling to weathered
screen doors
on far away southern plains
                         of my eyes
I'm aching side-wise
calling out to you
over the noises
you'll never feel
                        above the cigarette
                                        lighter
my apology.

The Collarbone Clock

Handle is a blindfold
farce synced up with hashtag
radio waves poured from the
ancient central telephone cable
a wired rig sinking into
our subconscious regret--
search again-without the
frozen oil spill this time--

it's found poetry
a payment for the injured
aircraft losing altitude in
the spring night sky
of the not so deep south
reflected in the garden patches

2d darkness
wood panel horror stares from
windows across the way
neither exist
neither existing

butcher the sentence
in the aftermath haze
dine on the dewy remains
slick with morning light

smell the sun up

feel the pulsing click and turn.

Tell me the time--I'm always late and contemplating not going

A buried eye tempting the past
shining sky of terror
shorn like the sheep's wool
immemorial time phrase,
an unused category of cloud
description cartel caravan--

I've encrypted the rays
tucked in the corners of empty
houses demolished--

I am a feast for roaches
without a tale

coffee floods your veins
coats my walls

the gauze you carry are bloodstained
and stale.

Malls

Girl got the same clothes
as everywhere on sterilized
sidewalks of Northern Virginia
sunlit weekends going about
the set-up actions
of the attitude adjusted replicated
in re-runs of culturally reinforcing
sitcom punchlines
sunglassed and moving store to store
shopping day off from 5 days of earning
money to shop and maybe tomorrow
she'll think of the kids she'll have
when the man she wants has enough money to
spend on the house owned by banks
she trusts because people kill and steal
from anyone wandering the parking lots
warm with anything to lose
cash and purchases and story
specifically
on which the poor feed and covet,
those dirty whore pariahs threatening
to break down the empire
the objective entity of the masses
that cares--loves--protects--
determines--promotes--
girl got her ideas figured out
from what she sees and hears
the truth of reality through the lens
telling her where to be
reminding her what to see/

Wake up!

maybe too much

plastic clapping laugh

track hysteria in heaven

ambiguously dreaming

of endings not like the ones

we've already known

maybe not enough

dancing on the graves

of unhinged conscious minds who

dragging themselves about the tombs

of time forget and forgive

this human race of all its sins

on earth 

or maybe I'm so very wrong

and all is merely, justly an afterword

to the total societal awakening

of Buddha-ness in the far-flung

future membrane spark--

I'm a walking skeletal remnant of failure!

these things do not exist

throughout--screen doors

swing in the green suburbs

of the concrete greenness of

America--a billion years in

the past is already happening

I've already wasted this line.

Funnel; Tell myself Go

just write
why don't'cha?

I'm not broken
not engine machine rusted
not the normal brain trust hell
not functioning correctly
unfit--stumbling--ah--fucked--

I'm falling to the wayside
the after thought
continuity

I remember all the losers
the talent-less dregs

I toast to them on sodium fluoride
paint their graves in corn based colors

I'm tipping off the wayside
the jelly between culture
the infinite man

I've got more story to tell
everything is story
history is story
fact is story
I am a story

All story needs to end
to be told.

My apologies

The tv says you're dangerous
the tv talks in spaces
all kinds of phrases
language syncing to the invisible
inclusive speeches and
imaginary thoughts filled
with barbwire haywire
fireside chats cause damn
the past I am the future
unreadable--remote controlled--
stop the tractor beam, high tail it
to the next big deal big bang
section of the text
for I'm interested in human life
gutted and fresh on the
chopping room floor
the bazaar
of all nations burnt to dust
by minor flames
on
on on
on on on
like nation of man
in the end song
siren's song
I've never been

closer never been

further never been

lost--

Some poems are
too damn long to type out

sorry

they can't all be perfect.