Thursday, July 25, 2013


caught a glimpse of an
old man crying, having lived
anonymously 98 wasted years
unrecognized, seized his
aged heart in helpless wrinkled hand,
going with nothing to prove
his existence but frayed
stack of journals, unread,
unappreciated, piles of emotions
unrequited, ignored,
asked why me? with blind eyes
used to seeing so much, begged
for the probationary clause of god's whim,
wondering why not me?
what did I do wrong? was I not good enough?
what didn't I say?
I didn't have the time to
pick his lifeless body from the street
or say a meaningless word,
what with all the poems
blowing away--

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


pick up my words on the internet
on the digital sound corner
html stained to resonate
w/ the meme soul

I sold all my ink
to make a living
melted it down for junk,
I mean, take in this battery heat
death is the fiber optic dynamo
running under our feet,

monitor brain needs city sunset
skylines to blow--

a fixed metaphor sub-space context,
the consensual state orgasm-mechanism
rolls down martial law suburban
streets at dusk, warnings on milk cartons,
milk carton joy, words downloaded
by the great Bodhisattva TOR
the mainframe diabetic
shrunken head search engine;

no gods! No gods!

I'm wired for the future,
all veins and hatred,
gurgling singing laughing
mistakenly, giggling
on upset space-time collapse

our god is a cloud
a cloud is massed information
is untouchable reality
is subjective truth.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013


How does it go?
140 miles from my haloed
head, my ignorant
pearly bones hunched down
in familiar seats, future
     a billion star systems
     burning into the inconsequential
     veins of the subway fabrication
     drawing the late straw
     by minutes unfortunate
          I'm left as always, sorry &
          on the outside, a familiar
          stanza, ah, metered apology

remember my cadence,
I'll surely be here again.

slim picking

Slow to favor
my facial recognition
I want them to know
where I shit and fall
drunken on poisons

aging pictures sunken
caricatures guide me
to lost realities

time verified dream snatching
portrait painting anachronism--
choice, like choice, is the
best example of a waste

I'd rather it be decided.

Safe Zone

This thing has got to
blow over
          my sulking skull
is haphazardly
     skipping the fault lines
          nerve decay
nonsensical humming of
     the drill bit of the brain
of the maw out there @
the corner
              of what galaxy?
one we know isn't there
     lights are out light years gone,
our no-savior--no linear thought--
last page survivor
cowering in squat
brown wrinkles
          why are the stars pink,
like the alter caught
in tornado winds?
     Blowing through
                  through jubilant
          concerning stares
marked us all on wrists
                          of gold
we listen & work for
          legitimacy, waiting for
the storm to blow over
they say on average it takes
about 75 years.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Blackhole Junction
on roadside 2am
36 hour stall
tagged across america
forever home


There's a zombified boy
trying to slander my name,
He's got the valedictorian honors
on his honest fascist coat
looking out his high school
cell bars,

He's gonna claim
that prophesied
yuppy job in the mind
frame part of town,
it's to pay the rent on
the societal zoo,
the believe, the brave, the blue,

He's gonna quote those
sellout heroes & uncle toms
stereotypical one-liners
who kept their heads down,
he's gonna believe what he's told
in the square city, the squat roofs,
he's stealing my name and casting
it among the silver polished tools,
the wastes, the blind men,
following the crowd,
the CNN mentality liberal leftist
dragging pearly mud
in on his pearly feet,

He's been breed to erase me
in mediocrity, with obedience,
and soiled crotch,

I am an abomination
he's the american dream,

I say too much,
he's perfect,
he thinks too little.

Google it.

It's good
Google schedules my day for me,
it's been years since I could
remember what I liked, see
the ads on the side-scroll totem
say your prayer to the
Amazonian gods, I suggest you
read them used, it's cheaper
and there's minimal wear and tear,
just speak with the credit card
swipe and the tap of the modern
poet, finish up with the security code
stanza the signature so's the public
private public knows it's you
and can connect the heart of the
bank account blues, the scrawl on the html
wall, the mailbox and the waiting game,
the unwrapped potential, buying homogenized
fame, we aren't a cult of money
we just know what we want
and it's whatever we're told;
I'm good.

Thursday, July 4, 2013


The next you'll see me
on that roadside
lookin' dirty but lookin' for a bite
a true bite unfettered by the
consumption culture
of city center logic, I'll be pointing
west to the pacific brother,
I'm an angel of the east tho,
truly watching it burn,
falling in love,
dying to care too much,

come on,

don't pass me by--
I'm a drop in the pan
a waste on the money state
I saw HD on the horizon
talking to Zeus,
said she's writing a
pome for planet earth
said she's makin' her way back
from heaven to read,

Don't'cha know?

I can see the sunset
racing across the earth
as Sisyphus at the rock
crying, heavy;

Don't'cha see?

I'm unashamed of sadness.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

No I won't I call it whatever I like, whenever I want (left alone)

Cars at my window
collide like ocean and stars
in the dreary night heading east toward
the sun, I'm hanging my head
above the aerosol can
taking in the scent,
getting high
getting wet
fusing with the consciousness
stream on the yellow line
on the white line, man,
I can't see the tears from
my balcony, they've all but dried,
I can't catch a glimpse
of the shore.