Thursday, February 28, 2013

Fanatics make things up to make themselves feel better, yep

checked my watch
at 9:11 preconditioned to
dismantle the codex or repeat the
signal out to falling buildings
reassuring its eyeless audience
that science is stalking the night
there's no way outdoors
fuck who would want to?
in this glorious controlled
environment we entitle ourselves too
with our rights and force the
powerful to bend to
our every whim and word
because they can't do anything without us

and I am called delusional
because I wash your
windows at night gorging
on pop culture pop corn in-
formational sessions held in the
deepest halls of the tempted
schools of thought erosion--sodium
bicarbonate is ejaculated onto
the scene and wipe it
up with them rags we've misplaced
into our back pocket logs
if you can't find it no big deal
its got built in gps clone
rfid chip technology running
off the electrical current of our brain
and they
only say it takes 40 years off your life!
for all that convenience?

I'd like to believe it
but it sounds made up...

Kesey says Holmes says GO

Git west free
rollin' spirit of green
vast rumbling hills and
grand rivers and white capped
mountain ranges you can't even
dream about tho you try
to come to some
semblance of
standing the thing//is
it's out there
even if we're to pretend it
ain't, it's stretching farther
it's brighter than it
was not duller darker
it's a mystery again
a frontier
we're all forgetting on
purpose to remain in
our place--but I won't
I'll keep reaching for whichever
coast is further--it's a
state of mind--it's a distance--
it's a memory of what
used to be

White wall haiku

under stars
we walked
an empty street

the snow fell
as white crystals
under blank street lights

against your chest
I listened to the
emptiness in my head

walked out at dusk
the day had
passed me by

against the full moon
snowy streets blinked
my tea was frozen

two chairs alone
on a balcony
a wintry afternoon

drifting clouds
melting snow
construction hurries on

if i watch
close enough
the sky melts

from the window
a maze of concrete
no trees

there's a car somewhere
meant to carry us
to the end of the world

after everything is said
I'll wash my hair
in Pacific baptism

A Few of these have titles

Jack walks past a statue in NYC
by a park
a picture snapped
under the new mexico desert
great drills terrible roar and grind
forging the horror tunnels
beyond man
further the gate
of misunderstanding
the god misinformation

how to fight a holy war against heavenly beings?

the practice of ignorance
is the greatest feat of modern man
or what we say is modern man
what the books tell us occurred
the prophets said
this is about to occur,
I invented it all in my head
one night when the acid
forced lightening
from Joe's breath

I understand the tv creates
imagined world community
the internet imagined freedom
I want neither
I'll post that on facebook
so everyone will share
0 likes, it's only just begun,

under the desert Dulce sweet
they fight a losing war
Jack is sick in florida 1969
he won't make it
Neal won't make it out of Mexico
will we make it to the coast?
when I cross the Rockies
I swear to shout as loud as God
at those rising giants
those youthful monsters,
I'll live 10,000 lifetimes
I'll dive into the Pacific expanse

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Thieves and grave robbers

A cramped up fascist
dream on beige towers
hidden in plain sight
with school and church
and fast food franchises
lurking adjacent to that
sinking gold vault below sinking
into the black void dragging
everything and existence
with it to spoil degrade
deviate boil--there's no
grass left in the court yard
and the gaping hole in the
sky is blue suffocated by
swirling gray masses
and it's so close to the ceiling
help can't fall through--it's time
locked to forever, our gift to
ourselves--only the security guards
laugh--what they're guarding? who the
fuck knows--
some treasures are better left to
the thieves and grave robbers


I've lived with cats so long
I push back every chair
with guilt &
my shoes are always
crushed rubies and sandpaper
on your old rug
with the purple lock on
the corner cabinet painted white
creaking ancient painted white
cabinet that
wakes all ears and shouts into
garish night time scenes,
"take me! take me too!
where has it all gone?
and we are so lonesome,
loathsome creatures with nothing
but our own faults and forgotten
beliefs! Traveling madly throughout
linear prismatic time! Abandoned
walking hunched clouds
that were once flesh and mind
and soul
Am I screaming? or are
those shadows on the cabinet

All gone, all gone
and fed and chewed &

My shoes are over the balcony
the rain like ghouls
take them shred them
the chair blue tweed patterned
grinds and howls into the

and stirs no one
just me, listening, waiting
moving on,
just me

Monday, February 25, 2013


Dayton where
I left my hat

Dayton where
America starts, roaring

Dayton when we
needed more road
you had it

Dayton where the
hotels force you
on your way

Dayton as the sun
comes up gray smelling
like the the highway
never ending

Dayton that
promised us if we'd just
keep going we'd find something

Dayton because
we did

Dayton that's unforgiving
and never grows young
or old

Dayton where my
hat found someone
else's head

Dayton a gift
and a day forever
making way

Dayton that welcomed us
and waved good bye

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Just a second and I'll finish that sentence

     a dozen roads
end in straight lines
headed east
the pentagon is a five-
sided wall of counter-
perceptive cement piled high
on top of whirling heads--ruby red grapefruit
isn't a faultless circle on
the periphery--but it can be made
to seem natural if you'd like
it--so cover up with the sandbox
sand, it comes home from
hospitals too--on special,
crimson special and the prescient
silence--I can't see Jeff
but I hear'em going south
disguised, disgruntled
ready to shift--to be shipped
to the next locale--the further
on down the line bubble--probably up
past all those stick white graves
and the BOMB--close to that enemy border--
charred gray and towering
ruins--eating everything BOMB
getting close BOMB to my afterthought
when we're gone gone and I'm
a set of teeth for the dental records
screaming I was right I was right
I was
I was right!

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

I'm Home

Do I honestly believe
I can
follow you anywhere
along the
red river trolley
but a stop is requested
no stops are ever requested
this line down past
the surface of the bank
vault front
               so much I left my
money inside like a good boy
everyone else-- you won't
wait up drifting thought
sky like
knives on screen door
swinging dreaming
              I'm gonna hitch
a ride on the next car thru
pick you
up at the station
the only station in
where the old couple becomes
the new couple
in front of bunk bed
the cave where gypsy
spray paints nonsense on
the walls
us about the fantasy
in ketchup/mustard
I must be here/arrived
I mustn't be lost

They picked all the apples
years before
in the future and ate them
backwards in time--
I like the smell
of their never once were

They'll make nice trophies along
my roof

From the river I see the cells
and people waving
I'm home
forgetting we were supposed to

Sunday, February 17, 2013


These words are for my mother
a continuous ramble
dedicated from the womb
to my eventuality

I would pull the plug to
watch us drown
     I would drop the bomb on
     our ashes, like the match
to wash us out

All my poems are one story
of my failure & my
     mother's success
they are love unconditionally
and blind faith

I am humanity
& life & stupidity--
I have suffered ignorance
& regret

She has held me & lost me
mother, the earth,
the thought of home & the

read this like the lines
between the lines on my
aged face

I am untrustworthy
a liar out of cause
stack the boxes memory & thoughts
since the dirge we
sang of time

I wish for the innocence
you left in me
a boy already running
out of his ideas,
     words begin to die the
     moment we are born--

I've wasted every thought
every letter of the alphabet,
countless times, on myself
I am selfish
I wander without care

I will fade
I will find a way

I leave everything
I am for you


Quickly Now, All's Quiet

Army generals guard the
green carpeted bowels of
Crystal Plaza now & just
like everywhere zealously protect
& fellate the establishment cock like
this gray haired asshole in blue who tries
to keep me out by slamming the
auto lock door, but I grab it
before it smacks the little old
woman walking behind him, who is
off to shop pulling her cart behind
her, "Thank you so much," She says
in grandmotherly voice for the save & the
door, with the general looking ahead
uncaring of the masses suffering, only
marking our names on his
precious concentration camp list
     "Thanks Asshole!" I yell before
he reaches the double door escape
to the mall and's out of earshot, "Mark
mine down in red fucking pen!."

Little Ant

Little red ant
on my coffee cup
wind can't blow you off,
I did, near the crushed
whole stick of gum that
defies time you fell a
million million centimeters,

I'm sorry,
the lid was open,
the coffee hot,
It's going to pour tonight

Coat this damned earth
in pre-spring rain, the clocks are
jumping back, the sunlight
is lilac-dandelion mystery in
the swarming southern clouds,

Kerouac said this once

Just realized
--I wrote a poem
at 28th & East River in NYC
2011, 60 years after
Kerouac in 1952 sketched
the scene, sitting at same
location temporal shift, tho for
me it was urban oasis new dog-park
walking under Robert Moses planned highway,
for Kerouac it was still pure shipyard,
maybe (I watch a tourist
river cruise leave at 1230
every tues. & thurs.) the river
was brown & gray, in the bend
of time we painted same image
a scene of shifting life, but the flow
remains, it's New York after all,
it's the East River for sure,
there was trash, there was graffiti,
there was beauty.

Two Orange Parking Cones at War

Now one cone is at 90 degree (?) angle
pushed over, moved by hose--
for gasoline(?) refill--and instead of
teamwork it looks like one cone is
stabbing the other a mortal blow
he's crumbling,
Mordred and Arthur.

Two Orange Parking Cones

Two orange parking cones
parallel to each other
near the top a pole is
shoved through each
connecting them, at its
center-mid-way are two strips
of red tape wrapped once
around, it looks like a
track hurdle, I have no idea
what the fuck it could
be for--

I am

I am the next poet
I watched Saturn &
Jupiter burn in the sky
over Chinatown, I need
to plan this cross country
trip or I'll die, I need
to cut into this shit world
with my knife that's my
word, like a dying sun
I've nothing left but to
devour the life of planets
I've chosen three routes, I'll likely
plot a fourth without Denver, Colorado,
as Neal & Jack lived there, I need to
see the Rockies, the passes,
the Pacific shore, San Francisco
the great American desert,
the belly of the land at the Gulf,
the sunsets & rises in great
Dark America, the beauty &
love, I must have it, I am
its new poet, I must drink it,
I am its new source,
I must, I must feel it
or I am nothing--

Empty pots

So the little old
korean lady fretted away
as fire reigned down
on russia over san francisco
through the heart of roman catacombs,
she went shuffling back from
the kitchen with toast, faint
impression of sweat and
worry and overwork, 
tourists having wandered to
her innocently from
the single tracked metro
and me just one more 
mouth to feed,

tried to over charge me for
the coffee
that wasn't even there
but we both 
did the math
and decided against it.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Remember that time I pissed in the soda machine?

All the pretty failures
laid to rest--
it's thanksgiving in
the war night for the turkey
in the desert-- horizon seeker--
mining the fields day and
night "if only some rain would come"--
wipes sweat from brow--
in the projection farmland,
a singular shape of overalls
and old slouch hat--"then
we could eat and eat good"
--or they'd grow--the stalks--
long and tall and frighteningly
beautiful--like we're told to
imagine war is--the crooked righteous
cause for saints and martyrs
and kissing booth fools--
all the pretty failures
rising up to meet us--
toothless eyeless howling
grinning starving scratching
mass grave digging hysteria--
all the pretty failures
stretching back infinitum out
to entropy--engulfing the history of earth space
pure godly intimate loving barbaric bucolic civilized
smelling of death's hands--

all the pretty failures buried underfoot
waiting to grow.

Orders burnt

Guy here talks about
puppy bowl--hedgehogs
this year--laughter--
saw it on espn--the remote
control towers guide our
masters through the void--
mis-communicated power stations--
innocuous risen bacteriform--god
signals from above heating--
codes are buried in prehistoric
memory--timeless memory
of proto-birth photo finish--
diner serves microwave frozen
dishes cooked in the fast
disease of first man--shining
like apples--in a bunch--
thoughts beamed to brain stem
recall--to eyes--control the sight
the ALL--operate completely

Monday, February 11, 2013

Road map

America this is
counting down to extermination
the final clause

the beating drums
of war torn war
by US and WE and THEM
annihilate perspective
emulsify the ability to classify
correctly as I'm told

it happens

do you accuse the TV, a liar?

I have a theory pasted onto
the contours of my humanity
telling me what to say
lincoln logs lego thoughts
inside the box--that never breaks
has no borders

what do you make of it?

Whatever you are told,
stare eat
selective love reality

Friday, February 8, 2013

Our Sentence is up,

All my bitter children
stranded on earth
listen for the drowned out
it is a whisper out the darkness
from our past
calling us to remember

To begin with

Ah, it was curled up against
the wall last night
dragging reality down
in my vision
without remorse
I chose not to plead for time--
even America will end,
even as I wait to see it all
it's ending,
even, it said to me as I stood there
"it was never there."

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Bulldozer war homes

Her castle is a shadow
puppet's lair built deep into
the gold damp mountains
under the crystal sidewalk
stairs--it's down south,
ancient president--dead
society--fitted beards;
It's a chin up kinda place
at the end of ended streets
a make believe cauldron
beneath wronged stars--mistaken
constellations--scatterd maps--
it's below the sea-level line
an anachronism 4.6 billion times--
it's a home with bladed grass
and circus traps--

it ain't far off the armada's path--

Wednesday, February 6, 2013


I woke up on the train
holding the third rail
took in the oxygen tank
smell of the rearview
and emptied the datasphere
among the stars
drizzling toward the point of
human conception
it was falling space
and unseen brains mimicking
future ticks
I passed out on the passer-by
vomited on the tracks
slept through the hangover
bio-hammer feed--

it was
all in a days work
seeking infinity.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Superbowl Sacrifice a reverse prayer to out and save us

faces taking up all
the bulbs snapped into the
well wall water the plants--
afterlife shells--confidential
memories and somebody you
might know--wasted catatonic
hourly crusade bad word search
weak word journey uneasy choice
apathy--invisible comments of the
social brigade one more public ceremony
for the beast on holy sunday creeping
devil pyramids and the eye watches all--
if you see something--UNREAL--
say something to drown the whiskey
in vomit climbing up your throat
or the thought that there's something
beyond this coloring book
post misinformation on social media
get the train--all source beyond THE
source is the lie--I am god truth
Baphomet, I know your name--
capitalized into eternity,
stay in your homes, fear yourselves
your neighbors, humanity hides it's
secrets under my bed--I am only a dream
symbol but you make me real--
I name you to disarm you.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Commercial broadcast

The data spikes
government sponsored
absurdity junk rules
into the spatial filter--
we have all been arranged
from birth to act this
certain way-- it has been
waiting for you, do trust
the accepted image
science gatefold image--
no study would lie
for money and control
history has taught us this
all structures are trust worthy
when built as grand grinding
machines--humans are
liars, cheats, truth is a foundation
stone of power and currency
and guns--be my drone baby
bask in loving arms
The data spikes.

Friday, February 1, 2013

God creates love ever

There was this.

I've been asked to repaint the universe
start with the fundamental cell
that one that isn't there
unless you look for it

it is non-existence
I walked to the basement,
only took 12 billion years,
the lights never work
down there
and it takes half the time
times 2 to get back
where we started

where we started.

I've been tasked to remake the universe
it isn't there

I've been wandering for ages
looking for signs
but there's only words
for direction

they don't break much
or change
they are misdirection and maps

I am growing weak

I've already been old

there's a week left to entropy
they say
tho I haven't seen a janitor down
here in ages (or evers)
it's been entropy since our eyes
met the continental oceans
of past

Janitors always see the end
in everything in everyone

I found the broom closet
somehow with all the dark

I unscrewed the light bulbs
but the closets were empty.