regardless of the pain
that Ive had to feel
I keep on going

it's kind of like that story
I forgot the ending
but they had one hell of a ride
and they helped so many

all along the way
should be not one kid starving
not one to put shame
all art embraced

only love remained
and we all hit one note
and floated in our brains
we were one of the same
but different
that's what remained
and we listened

and learned, sane

honey you should see me with the crown
jewels stacked atop a pyre
moaning like a beatnik and a 4 AM cheap hooker
at a truckstop in Saint Louis

i have heard the failure
of words dripping
from ten thousand suburban roofs
from tongues of boys who would
have been around the point
of intellect and left with
nothing but like's and um's
and snatches and playing
with their privates
and slogans like
hip hobart my hip hobart
and god bless america
and heil hitler

wheres the last train to cool
out of a moral landscape
from a moral heart
from a moral chest

shine your shoes read the news
about motel art and the price of oil
clinging to the side of a lifeboat
of boredom and inadequacy
in a world of grey pinstripes
and papers in latin with seals
of broken fuse boxes and cluttered attics

ive heard crying
bookshelves and binary friend limbo
playground bullies and their mother's
nipples when they were bit in the 90's
all in the shape of noise to come

in uncommon deference
to blow
to blew
to never better
to the shake shake
shaking of basements
on broken foundations

honey you should see the chop of Seneca
and the drowning of dumb
deaf blind Zarathustra

Most breeze through the Boardwalk Big Dipper Bling
Ocean Street Sleeze, and a walk on Cowell Beach and say
I've seen it all, that's Santa Cruz, as they cruise off on highway 1
or crash into the barriers or 17 but that's not all, at all
I love Santa Cruz on a bright sunny day in May as I
gorge on the Indian vegetarian buffet, available all day, by the way
And check out the O'Niel sidewalk sale, and then past the sweaty crowds in front
of the Cineplex and the sign in the window display at Camouflage that reminds:
May is National Masturbation Month, are you doing your part?
and at Pergolesi a homemade sign says "friends don't let friends drink Starbucks"
and there are two art house cinemas within 200 yards of each other
and there are lesbians holding hands and homeless people breathing the fresh air
with their shelter pets and I feel free
like anything can happen here, even me

what will you have left
when there is nothing
but darkness shrouded
in conceit of faded light?

when there is no money,
no power, no science, no art
no alcohol or drugs to take
your mind away from thought

when there is nothing but
nothing itself in shameless
night where death, being the
only option for life, derives

madness out of your vexation,
your surety of what is and is not,
and that hope was all you needed,
you find it harder to believe than deny

sin.

You gave me a copy of your final art exam piece,
I recall.
It's still stuck right there, you know,
On the wall beside my bed.

Beautiful;
A scene of nature.
Green woodland,
A gentle stream.
There's a mountain in the background, with a castle on top.

And me, in the foreground,
Oh, how lovely of you.
I remember, you took my photo in front of that big green tree.
In the woods by my house.

I wore only shorts and a vest, despite the cold weather.
(I remember the goosebumps.)
I couldn't wear much, you didn't want my clothing to be too visible;
You wanted to transform my body, into the trunk of a tree.
As if, I wore
only bark and moss.
Oh, but why, oh why?

When people saw my bare arms and shoulders, you told me that
they asked you, whether I was naked when you took it.
''WELL, OBVIOUSLY...''
I remember, when you told me what they'd said,
I laughed.

I've never liked my face in that picture.
What is my eyebrow even doing?
And I've never quite been sure about the shape of my cheeks.

In fact, if anything,
I've only ever really liked my hand.
My wrist, quite thin,
and somehow my hand has a delicate look about it;
The fingers curved at the ends,
The cold had made them pink and soft.

Oh but, why, oh why, Darling?
Why of all things,
Did you have to make me a tree trunk?
Strong and sturdy.
With the moss,
And that other tree, the one that clung to me,
Twisting, growing around me.

There's nothing I can do now,
but stand here and watch you evolve.
Oh, you told me to get help baby, but what if I didn't want it?
To me, there's only ever been one solution.

But, you made me the tree trunk,
It's what you did.
And now you need me,
Now you grow from me.
Now you cling to me.

No, I cannot stir now.
For, I am a tree trunk, (I need to be strong and sturdy)
And now I know, only too well, that if ever I were to fall,
I would be bringing you down with me.

Sudden decent
dents paint scent
into my mind.
What is this "art"?
Something stupid and contrived
derived from work-for-free
always-be-the-victim me.
I sit here with you,
towering over me like a mammoth:
ancient and urgent
itchy and crawling.
You're all I have left
and I feel sorry
for making you into garbage.

I thought by now I'd make less trash
I thought by now I'd be less trash.

Take one bowl and add:

Several adventures
Work and art
occassional concerts
Theater and dinner after
Camping and hiking
working out land and water
Relaxation....yes a key ingredient
Now toss it all up
Daily pick and choose
And enjoy to heart's content
A recipe for simple pleasures