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

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.

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 s 
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.