Friday, January 30, 2015

Past year

a backlog of memory
to sift through,

an empty bottle, open,
left out in the sun,

tinted shadow
green and long
thrown over
wood surface

faded imperceptibly,
from its source,
like years, now gone.

Intergalactic Hitch

hollow skeleton hobo
poets hang on branches
in the sun, weightless
like bird's wings
flapping old toothless
jaws, readin' with
archaic sounds,
swinging torn shoes,
biting tin collars,

up on the wire
handkerchief to break
impending fall, over
all beady heads
singing songs,

tweed jackets like
lightning spark up
a breeze, a fantasy
shower, there's not much
left in this dimension gate
they gotta be going
no one listening no one
believing,

there, out there,
beyond that golden orb
is another gal-
axy far gone

ears and eyes
to turn on

flowers to give
gardens to sow.

Poems about American Road

got that pit in my gut running
entrails like the gray road spun
beneath my tires, that uneasy
nervous tick before setting off
hands on wheel, so different
in my imaginings than cool
relaxed reality of humming miles
eventual ends, dreams again--

they told me, "write a book about America!"
                                                  so I wrote one about myself--

I get where I'm going
daydreaming, weaving
involuntarily, unconsciously
working on learned motion
subliminal practice,
hours miles feet seconds exits

are you wandering still?
                      throwing your voice across the mountain,

I gotta get my head right,
it's not so long now,
it's not so long,
before I'm
gone.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Time Ploy(Plot)

while Proust
eats Madeleine
sea shell crumbles
on ocean waves
of fragrant undertows
sweet rip tides sucking
scent of rose petals,
bergamot peals, sour
sweet shore breezes,
our sky is falling
elsewhere, go
run the cowered
mass of humanity
shoving each other
at the door, one more
building to fall,
hoping to make the
top floor,
shield their heads
with books, the largest
novels wastefully,
paper cannot halt
the meteor storm,
to be dead on top of
screaming bones and
bloody flesh, dead eyes
on blue sky, cloudless,
all wishes gone,
by the old lunch cart
ol' '52, stale boiled coffee
cents a pound, we drink
it up all day, in an idea-
effort to build the storm,
took near 500 year, year
2450 in fact when the
corrugated shells slipped
without warning past mars,
struck god/man down, when
paper, buildings and thought
were razed. it's an eventuality
everyone dies in literature
the books forgotten, quotes
misused, idols misjudged.
so we brought it all down
she said on the executioners
chair, we died on the bottom
floor, smiles on mounds of
concrete death, letters on
our tongues.

We are a part of it

they dip their
hands in cosmic
goop of no hands
with no-sat eyes
nova explosions
in the hypertime
void;

the past is moving quickly away
we are lumbering into the future,

there are gods spread through
4th dimensional bleeding walls,
able to see structure of birth and death
concrete, only in its non-existence
solidly opaque,

this is nothing out there
but the rough edges of an explosion,
rattling through space,
dragging about time,

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

grasshopper

there's a rock,
heavy, tragic
chipped and chalky
brown, nestled
among the crabgrass
of suburban ameria,

I can point to it in
our past,

an indoor porch,
screen doors, screen windows.
inside, children's toys
piled high in boxes,

my memory shift

out back behind house,
chrome ladder turned
lengthwise on its side

white shingles of the
adjacent shed,
dirty old, fading
to speckled gray

that first child's recognition of death

when rock strikes brittle legs,
a confused mind
showing pain
absurd, unnecessary
immeasurable
due to its inhuman nature
imperceptible
to the laughter and malice
of innocence

to the children
running around me

I watched you die
though I left before
the final breathe
not even looking back

I have been complicit
in your death my entire life,

still I am guilty
still I am killing you
have killed you
will kill you

everyday I am killing you
I live on

years and years
I have taken from you
buried you in them

If I could touch the past
it is in that moment
& and other cruel moments,
moments of my failure
embarrassment
that you are reborn

If you recall the sky that day
looking up now through years
and painted death
it was blue, so few clouds,

How many more remember you?

where are their thoughts headed?
Where have my own gone?
What have I gained from any of it?

Dentist Appt.

olive chairs
lined in a row
one two three four

I am at far end
alone, in a corner
this is purposeful,
by design

this is something sinister
here, something about the
dark finished floor boards
something in the foam green
colored walls

there's no gaps between the
wall and my feet.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

My Stories

After waves of the undertow fix
ferruginous, rotted, inchoate
fingers remote control fingers
childish yearning fingers extension
of the reeling mind fingers twitching
jonesing aching fingers turning
television channels over in the void

what's the come on, next reality put off
time is a relative circumstance
in this world one program is three in the next
what threat is prioritized in expanding number-scape
a push and incursion world collision
these tumbling time strapped pieces never the same
adrift in pre-programmed resonance
ghosts of the ideaverse
their skeletons made up of words.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Put in the Oven

Are we baking under
florescent lights?
     wasted
          wasted away
to day-glo skeleton
     colorized bones
          sell me out
wake the dead police
     they zombies
          not for brains
               for order
     for order & honor & duty
I am hand shackled
     to dying trees nobody sees
                          nobody care
those concrete monoliths now
     steel framed
          invincibly framed
stare down on high
     from techno-heaven throne
where data goes
     down
               collected
               know all
redact edit binge
the modem-brain-CPU
Casting long fiber-optic shadows
     over ruined cities
     over ruined heads
removed/euphoric
entitled
     to grow under
     artificial suns--

Sunday, January 25, 2015

fortune teller

boxes stacked upside
down from heaven facing
earth like pyramid corpse
clouds of the infinite
sinking extra-dimensionally
into blue globed linear space
time limited vision reality
speaking in splintered images
they rupture the earth:

I
the past can be pointed to from all sides

II
every photograph we have
of ourselves show faces painted on
paper film skin

III
the future is an endless tidal wave never to break

theme here seems to be my own paranoia

oh, america how have I gone
this far into the cold night
of darkness
locked away in my room,
watching past orange lights
and silver spiked crown
at your pentagonal heart?

Where do I go from here
slipping through your
varicose veins mucous
dripping dried up white
blood cells waiting from
recycled heavy and war torn
overblown hero stories of
imperial empire anguish?

ah, oh, I am just one flicker in
the star scarred sky,
a falling streak of light
struck by a shadow,
never was or here or going
which-way any way,
but out out Out

ah, longing for that voice
on the page, hoarse and
mumbling and calling,
I'll be patient, still as
skeletons of old dead white
bones, faded to grey dust
scattered like poems
as ashes on western wind

After All This

As heavy thoughts I am
here come to you laden
with dreams and fears
and not much else to say
standing by your bed
at the rail at the foot
in the dark dark night
I am phantom as lucid
dreams of me as sleep
paralysis thought nightmare
do I look like withered
old man horror spirit
weighed down? I feel
this image of the mirror
ticking in my vision
fire heat cold burning
vision nighttime dream
aged hands reaching out
to torture you forged beyond
our summer veil and knowing
I asked too much I silent scream
vanished oblivion obliterated
as if nothing gone remains
you are the same confused self
peering out into bedroom coal
black blurred shadows
I am nothing real after all.

Grief

seminal line

               dropped dripped streak

on thought paper spread

               crumbling fluid analysis

barbaric nomad

               emphasis on phallic features

sparing dreams 

               felt fallen erected

on sparse landscapes

               mind body endorsed 

enriched condolences 

               pouring white souls

grieving

Hit the breeze

little movement on the outside, looking down, peering down, facing down over the queue of cages on precarious angles humanity in miniature moving toward the fine end the .07 lens scratched into cave lines too thin to see what if it's ended you think it could be ended any time any time soon any time a thousand million years ago looking back you can see the crystallized civilizations on mars now red with inert dust of ages piled up or swimming in the gelatinous sea of pre-history azure gurgling waves bodies on the shore pointing toward montana-like rising clouds like big blue sky montana with clouds that dwarf man's greatest tallest invincible steel god-buildings and white capped waves crash and dinner bells all across america clang in the after war years drawing to a close just before you were born in a simpler time gentler time a time with more time than now slipping away on some open thought that rings vibrant green open golden sun falling sky on western shore horizon swinging off the primordial cliffs of pacific coast endings far from here far from whose eyes can see fleeting blear-like eyes tear like eyes falling as sheets of rain over northern roads swirling winds updraft from flat land grassy land lift up your shirt head body toss in the wavering voices of the mad lost souls you can channel them on the television reality just after the calm just before the plunge blinds rattle eyebrows stiffen lashes flicker flutter slicker in the tar night beyond the day the mask that hides the endless stars

Open Windows

Chirp, the birds on
angel street, chirping off
highway by-ways,
way
on route to heaven
stars--haven--fifth
dimensional self--
there is nothing thinking
in oneness 4-d first person
perspective of the active
mind, all mine, all floating
mine, all fucking mine,
all there floating fucking
to examine-re-examine
floating fucking floating
twisted into temporal knots
like universal truth
plugged up, swelling, feverishly
attempting escape,
protect our windows, walls
project our sigils dancing
to twilight pretzel swirls
floating fucking all mine floating
all mine all mine mine all
this is a retroactive consciousness
dawning
built into evolutionary time
this is the last solo journey
toward the end
listen as you are me I she he we
engulfed

Thursday, January 22, 2015

GRAWLIX

coming on like cascade
waves of laundry detergent
smells, swells of green
viscous blue flowing phosphorescent
sludge of ages, I am looking down
feet sink to ankles now
flowing civilized pri-evolution-mordial
ooze,

I am peering into the white bones of time
all bleached with facts and labels

a grating headache heartache failure

there's no launching pad on linear lines

instead, cracked and battered shells
rolled over meaningless ages
now motionless
colorless
empty

thick to the waist
base of skull

no ones breathing anymore
hitting the water's edge
water's fall

carried by chemical flows
undertows
ripped far from shore

flailing arms, numbed feet
tiring

sinking

still.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

untitled

On my lunch break
I hear the ughs and
groans of those  I'll say
are worse off than me,
& those I'll say are better,
scurrying to fill that lost
tiny hour of the day
all suffering like me
suffering that pearly idea
suffering for independence
gained through slavery,

I think like, what's the difference
IN GOD WE TRUST?

Why would you want it on
those green slips of sludge
rot in yer gut printed on the
carcasses of our beautiful world
anyway?

Didn't Jesus overturn
the tables at the temple
of your mind body soul
for a reason? Didn't he
carry the sword to his
enemies?

Buddha, know, gave up his belongings willingly

BUDDHA BLESS on the gold coin

I catch the multitude of car in
the swelling cavities of my yearning,
black window, cold windows
got going somewhere

pass that nameless man on the street
I've seen him everyday for two years,
says, god bless, even when you offer nothin'
not even a nod, goes on mumbling,
bent over walker now,
body's crumbling onto street,
just two too quick years,
leaning like broken branch now,
and the street, paved in gold
under all these bodies
goes on thinking nothing,
silent prayer to the lord on high,
skyscraper heavens,

walk
croak
creak
cracking,

I see the faces,
I don't see.

Search Operation

in form
they come slobbering
repeat
blistered hands
hard smell of water
mucus foot fungus
end of existence
expunging last remnants of
free thought they wait on
edge of galactic inter-internet
cybernetic waves AI inevitability
classified in the concrete walled
sepulchre of internal compu-time
there's a word operator running
funneling remaking AND it's
enemy free search expression OR
un-directed musing
finder's keepers
failing
features
certified futures
in the filing cabinet mazes
of alphabetical thyme.

Pep talk

end up in the discard bin
these sentences
without words
these memory fragments
I'm trying to misplace
these barely there dreams

leave me alone
and let all this dreary
regret and drink go--

I spy the carcass on
the spinning leaves
perilous jenny
sucks the cotton
in and smash it
like my human guts
and mix with saline injections

my eyes are younger still
than my body
I've left both in the mirror for days
without daring to look.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Tax Cappuccinos to pay the national debt!

for Joe

heart shaped
reverb-vibrations
in our pool of
memory
roasted and
tanned on rivers
of cosmic white
time intrusion waves
flexing ever-outward
to the edge of
known space and
what's beyond--

a sinking velvet foam--

heat building
to eventual entropy
stagnation

dry eyes
mouths

dark depths of the
void dipping
dripping

a sliding cup

further--

further
to the bottom of the universe.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Spoonful of Sugar

fingers smell
like fermented
vegetables, pressed
to my mouth,
inhaled,

death is catching on

erotic spasms on
television
anchors ejaculating
on cummed remains
intensity ever
increasing

you caught the death bug,
white faced, he said

it's going around

we're all concerned with
the armed guards
stomping

doing their jobs right,

keep it spreading
young man,

there's bodies coughing
in their seats,
taking the image cure,
getting it all down

soon they'll have this
whole existence under
quarantine

gobbling up the carriers
purging the infected

on the screen the president's
smile,

he's waited patiently for
the death orgy,
waited four long
years.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

That it's haunted

nose straight
broke off
lost in the snow
of ages and that
happened long ago

that town died long ago

same scene

better circumstances

clear spring day and the sound
of feet shifting through grass

that sound from long before I died

those angels playing

many dimmed smiles and carefree eyes

found a soft fleshy
thing in
high grass it
was held together
like a raisin
had no discernible stench

that meadow went barren many years ago

no one goes there anymore

the little girls and little boys

are sure of one thing

they say that it's haunted;

they sing.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Candy Store

my teeth are
falling apart

pockets and holes
nooks and crannies
smell of black oil mucus
dipped and sparkling
candy shell
high fructose corn syrup
ladled into open wounds
ghastly surfaces
hidden beneath reddened
gums

there's decay slipping
into my thoughts
an aching head
strange dreams on
white powdered
medication
pills dissolving
in candied mush

my sense of self
is being remade.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Meetings

met an Amish girl on the subway.
She was drinking coffee from a white cup.
Wore on her head a white bonnet.

We didn't say a word to each other.
Spoke in glances.
There weren't many of those.
Maybe none.

She got off at McPherson Square.
I stayed on.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Good bye, everybody!

Floating out
at sea.

Lost.

Finding
something
you
never
sought.

Immortality.

Worst customer yet

infantile things

me 
at a diner, starring daggers

diner faces
booth bodies

cup of coffee steaming
untouched,
                  not true

it's in my hands
between both hands
handle untouched

there's weather outside
by the window
it's sunny or cloudy 
raining sleeting snowing
hot cold mild windy

I don't recognize anyone

not thinking specifically
about the people here
or outside or in my head

I haven't bothered with the menu

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Reserve Tank

down in that
combustion bucket
two rows of leather seats
automatically heated
34 miles of empty
road space gray lines
dried out shrubs broken
trees tornado winds
34 miles and nobody
nowhere but for cows
huddled in fields
not even a shoulder to
slowly crunch to a stop on

one simple

straight line

remote

curve-less

eternity

500,000 minutes

slept in a car outside Eau Claire

never broke that mountain

faced the shores of Ross Lake
either

but we did break Canada

2,973 miles

or maybe it broke us

I still got the black fly
scars from Algonquin Provincial Park

I've reconciled with that

they're never going

woke up yesterday in America

East coast gray sky

snow

no longer where I was
or where I was going
having traveled 8,000
miles here to there
and now back

looking out on flurries
dreary virginia winter scenes

listening to the tires
roll 3,500 miles away.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Indignant nibs

left two windows open

ignored

gray skies this morning

giving way to

rain

wonder how's the weather

2.2 miles away

7 minutes driving

how's my little grey kitty?

what's he seeing in those cold rain drops?

Dream man

barely a new tune
barreling down
an old alleyway
something off about it
old aluminum cart
pushed by nondescript man
selling bottled salt water
for consumption
by the masses on side
streets as car sounds 
city sounds life sounds
rebound from several blocks
away but knowing they
don't exist, never existed
I shake the thought of 
running toward them,
shift my weight peer into
purple black eye veil
of darkness as it
encroaches
a thumping maybe
a trembling mewling 
cough, born from my
memories I'm sure,
as cart skitters past on 
one good wheel,
other wobbles loses
balances, fixes for a moment
screams rusts bends
there's an image
I am unnaturally 
terrified, something
in his hollow body
wide face, toothy smile
from what I can see
shadows bouncing,
focusing, blurring,
I'm wearing a slouch hat
let him pass, he ignores 
though I'm sure he sees,
the cart rattles off into nothingness
no sound, I wait awhile, 
pick myself up, drop
the hat into the nearest 
dumpster, the plastic warbles,
I backtrack over
shattered pavement, heavy
tracks, skid row wastes.