waked by mother jones
entombed on a sign post
faced to national guard posts
back against the combined might
of the Pentecostal awakening
broken by the sea of automated engines
selling their gooey insides to
the lowest bidder
balanced on one iron leg she stands
CHAMPION OF LABOR
a block away the US army
barricades itself inside
protecting the most important
AMERICAN ASSET
its PRECIOUS WALLS
its PRECIOUS SOUL
she is unaware of the years slowly eroded
or the yellow grass beneath her
the doldrums of Mays forgotten
half lit on radiator screens
brushed over by calloused finger
she was once MOTHER of ALL
the sad chain gang of FLESH MACHINES
bred in factories
worked in conveyor belt fields
dreaming fabulous MECHANICAL dreams.
I guess you could say ink and paper make the writer, and I guess that's why I choose not to use them.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Wednesday, November 6, 2019
Gone
my grandparents house
still exists.
in the drawers in the bedroom
upstairs
facing out toward the street
my pop's impeccably
folded clothes
his musty forever smell
the orange carpets
that quiet the stairs
remain there
the railing that shook
but never failed.
the mirror along the living room
wall
reflecting the circle coffee table
the two lounge chairs
the kitchen directly behind
the space between the oven
and cabinets still slim
enough for only a single
body to pass
to the basement steps
just and inch or two
too short
and noticeable
the exposed basement ceiling
the sound of my nana
walking slowly upstairs
heat from the oven working
its way though the floor
she is there missing my
pop
she is there being alone
they are there at the table sitting
at each end
my nana is placing my brother
in his high chair
my pop is feigning disgust
over my sister's laughter
my grandparents house is
still exists.
my grandparents house is
still there.
still exists.
in the drawers in the bedroom
upstairs
facing out toward the street
my pop's impeccably
folded clothes
his musty forever smell
the orange carpets
that quiet the stairs
remain there
the railing that shook
but never failed.
the mirror along the living room
wall
reflecting the circle coffee table
the two lounge chairs
the kitchen directly behind
the space between the oven
and cabinets still slim
enough for only a single
body to pass
to the basement steps
just and inch or two
too short
and noticeable
the exposed basement ceiling
the sound of my nana
walking slowly upstairs
heat from the oven working
its way though the floor
she is there missing my
pop
she is there being alone
they are there at the table sitting
at each end
my nana is placing my brother
in his high chair
my pop is feigning disgust
over my sister's laughter
my grandparents house is
still exists.
my grandparents house is
still there.
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
a mushroom grows in winter
last seen
in empty street
hands on crooked chin
just vanish
old island junction split
heard a witness screaming
consumed in lives
a number of years
strung like murder
investigations
unsolved reunion cases
not long after
abduction border lines
decomposing
no body knows
just jump off rutted roads
no tires to churn
the light
in empty street
hands on crooked chin
just vanish
old island junction split
heard a witness screaming
consumed in lives
a number of years
strung like murder
investigations
unsolved reunion cases
not long after
abduction border lines
decomposing
no body knows
just jump off rutted roads
no tires to churn
the light
Friday, September 20, 2019
Cat
and with the sun tucked under
your arm,
you carried my eyes before
the dawn
when i woke up i had forgotten
where to go
because there was no there
where you left me
that was many dreams ago
the last time we talked
you would never close your eyes again
or breathe
'dying is like going to sleep
and never waking up'
and i was there
where ill be
when im the next to find our dream
and we can say good night
forever.
your arm,
you carried my eyes before
the dawn
when i woke up i had forgotten
where to go
because there was no there
where you left me
that was many dreams ago
the last time we talked
you would never close your eyes again
or breathe
'dying is like going to sleep
and never waking up'
and i was there
where ill be
when im the next to find our dream
and we can say good night
forever.
to mourn the loss of the sky
but i was born after the fact
and when i landed you would have noticed
my eyes were gray
If you had watched where I fell
instead of looking away
Monday, September 16, 2019
Blood for money
i push my fingernail against
a broken tooth
but the nail bends
maybe i am left behind
a body of broken star systems
defunct
starved of calcified bones
ground against the
wiper blades of time
i remember when the insides
did not mold and degrade
when i could see within them
the tenuous blue sky
the limitless progress of age
a broken tooth
but the nail bends
maybe i am left behind
a body of broken star systems
defunct
starved of calcified bones
ground against the
wiper blades of time
i remember when the insides
did not mold and degrade
when i could see within them
the tenuous blue sky
the limitless progress of age
Labels:
a thought. friendship,
aging,
poem,
poetry,
years
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Rooms devoid of light
wind up the
harmonic
blades fundamental to
our vibration memory
vultures sitting on propeller
fern trees
drooping over skid row alleys
of future LAs
a chronicle of walking without
shoes
played on repeat
rewound in VCR type
static board and frayed
the aftermath pre-
recorded for laughs
perfect symmetry
overtone of darkness
paints the sidewalk black
invisible cigarette butts
in invisible hands
only the broken teeth
tear the page
lost in rooms devoid of
light in almost readable text
total blackout last breath
life memory prior to the end
harmonic
blades fundamental to
our vibration memory
vultures sitting on propeller
fern trees
drooping over skid row alleys
of future LAs
a chronicle of walking without
shoes
played on repeat
rewound in VCR type
static board and frayed
the aftermath pre-
recorded for laughs
perfect symmetry
overtone of darkness
paints the sidewalk black
invisible cigarette butts
in invisible hands
only the broken teeth
tear the page
lost in rooms devoid of
light in almost readable text
total blackout last breath
life memory prior to the end
Friday, July 26, 2019
little boy
off
where pain shifts like the ping
of engine
the sound of
a thousand cats puking
I
perched on a tree branch
outside your mind
a mountain top
is flat
if you sleep upon it
think about it
the sky is a blanket of dewdrops
that are vast stars
of the void
and you are cold in your sleep
so I cover you with my dreams
wondering
what will you look like in
20 years I can't even imagine
what you will look like tomorrow
when I am an afterthought of time
when I peer down from the
blank clouds
that are the deep black
ground
eyes
ivy white and homeless
trying to catch a glimpse
of your mind
no matter how often
we disappear
forever
my little boy
where pain shifts like the ping
of engine
the sound of
a thousand cats puking
I
perched on a tree branch
outside your mind
a mountain top
is flat
if you sleep upon it
think about it
the sky is a blanket of dewdrops
that are vast stars
of the void
and you are cold in your sleep
so I cover you with my dreams
wondering
what will you look like in
20 years I can't even imagine
what you will look like tomorrow
when I am an afterthought of time
when I peer down from the
blank clouds
that are the deep black
ground
eyes
ivy white and homeless
trying to catch a glimpse
of your mind
no matter how often
we disappear
forever
my little boy
Thursday, July 11, 2019
the problem will not go away
it was a nothing vote
banned in the crosshairs
of permit relations
no dance license
sensationalized official releases
running smoothly thru news boxes
heavily sedated radio waves
convulsing on the street
under the lights of the iron sweeps
no eyed glasses
lined up outside
blue rats in military formation
formal head gear
broken lifeless teeth
they hung their smiles
from lightposts died out
gleaming like triggers
gun pushers drugged engines
no widely released lineage
steeped in rotting cords
clueless memorialized slime
full of shit
banned in the crosshairs
of permit relations
no dance license
sensationalized official releases
running smoothly thru news boxes
heavily sedated radio waves
convulsing on the street
under the lights of the iron sweeps
no eyed glasses
lined up outside
blue rats in military formation
formal head gear
broken lifeless teeth
they hung their smiles
from lightposts died out
gleaming like triggers
gun pushers drugged engines
no widely released lineage
steeped in rotting cords
clueless memorialized slime
full of shit
Monday, July 8, 2019
cafe table hustle
against the table
the rain like nickles
from some lost pocket
fall
discolored and
useless
to the cold silver
speckled ground
under the tables
the spiders born in
back of taxis
new york to holbrook
arizona
never knowing their fathers
ask their mothers
how often in their lives
will they have to
watch the sky fall
and the answer unfolds over the
endless flooded grate
until they move the tables away
darling
until they put the tables away
the rain like nickles
from some lost pocket
fall
discolored and
useless
to the cold silver
speckled ground
under the tables
the spiders born in
back of taxis
new york to holbrook
arizona
never knowing their fathers
ask their mothers
how often in their lives
will they have to
watch the sky fall
and the answer unfolds over the
endless flooded grate
until they move the tables away
darling
until they put the tables away
Thursday, June 13, 2019
a murder of lost consciousness
a murder of lost consciousness
eclectic turn back torture
any evening after that
where to find her? in london/
like a missing person
with fact. many to go over
no bags, electronic bags no return ticket
wake up immediately. shock. constipation.
search the computer for drowned bodies
no nothing band playing no attendance
without a trace
an unknown smile with intercom
information linked to blood posting
fire chamber no monday. no money
www close your eyes Tom for a rough translation
who was the question the man asked
at the police station online
a triple phone internet of data
led to untimely death
December 1st 2008
a game of russian roulette/ painted walls
out of her mind magenta. high on conspiracy numbers
in fact. buried. original ideas
sleeping heads on the couch
so quickly did you leave. a death. a birth a homicide
eclectic turn back torture
any evening after that
where to find her? in london/
like a missing person
with fact. many to go over
no bags, electronic bags no return ticket
wake up immediately. shock. constipation.
search the computer for drowned bodies
no nothing band playing no attendance
without a trace
an unknown smile with intercom
information linked to blood posting
fire chamber no monday. no money
www close your eyes Tom for a rough translation
who was the question the man asked
at the police station online
a triple phone internet of data
led to untimely death
December 1st 2008
a game of russian roulette/ painted walls
out of her mind magenta. high on conspiracy numbers
in fact. buried. original ideas
sleeping heads on the couch
so quickly did you leave. a death. a birth a homicide
Monday, June 10, 2019
poor post-it notes IV
unattended bodies
feel the crawl of each imagined tick
arms outstretched in ready embrace
the minute horror of the lawn
backyard--the unenviable loss of
time--
the growing up of space--forgetfulness
--the slowing of pace--
dying.
feel the crawl of each imagined tick
arms outstretched in ready embrace
the minute horror of the lawn
backyard--the unenviable loss of
time--
the growing up of space--forgetfulness
--the slowing of pace--
dying.
poor post-it notes III
the old wood that rots in the garage
what are our priorities? leaning into t
the unknown
I borrow a hat it catches on my thinning
hair
attention span--lifeline--unphoned
ear--youthful mind
I leave what I've brought in honor of
the trash can
what are our priorities? leaning into t
the unknown
I borrow a hat it catches on my thinning
hair
attention span--lifeline--unphoned
ear--youthful mind
I leave what I've brought in honor of
the trash can
poor post-it notes II
stretch like the pale ghost before me
darken my sad child's brown eyes
narrow in thinning periscopic lament
your great unknowable self
become once again the implausible dream
darken my sad child's brown eyes
narrow in thinning periscopic lament
your great unknowable self
become once again the implausible dream
poor post-it notes I
outline the sun
with red cliffs
sand in my lungs
great gobs of dust
float across the gravel road
--america--you forget me
abstain me--I am lost for words
for you--you endless gray cloud
you endless gray arrow
of the heart you endless idea
west
with red cliffs
sand in my lungs
great gobs of dust
float across the gravel road
--america--you forget me
abstain me--I am lost for words
for you--you endless gray cloud
you endless gray arrow
of the heart you endless idea
west
Monday, April 15, 2019
Things to do before Breakfast
pick up the alarm &
eat it the sun comes up
for breakfast &
the morning is like a mother's
kiss
a smile can altered forever
the face of the woman & has
i love i have a right eye stuck
a cm out of time we must
learn what new things are
on your mind if so
death is not nearly
as pale as the moment that births
life.
eat it the sun comes up
for breakfast &
the morning is like a mother's
kiss
a smile can altered forever
the face of the woman & has
i love i have a right eye stuck
a cm out of time we must
learn what new things are
on your mind if so
death is not nearly
as pale as the moment that births
life.
Saturday, January 5, 2019
The babe
The lost lay beads of smoking tears
a gift they grant is the suffering of life
their smile swell
Waking up to take care of crying babe
I'm on stairs leaning against the wall holding him, teetering
unsure how I got here
not on the stair
I am a father.
Waking in bed paralyzed
to next coming twenty years
a black shroud
shaped as sinister as newborn
skull
head hung on limp rooted neck
stands at the doorway
as an arch
lurched
leaning slightly like to burp
his future falling toward
me
I could not move to escape.
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