Working martyrs of the boulevard un-ring bells
Over bleachers in heaven and box seats in hell
While the simple saints with time to serve
Just hold their hands up on all the curves

My blue Jesus take a look at me
And whisper to me what you see
Bind me up and draw me near
Make me strong enough to hear

Lightest of the brightest
Priceless and worthless
Least of the lowly
Crowded and lonely

Newmerica
A kind word up oldcrupt
It all burns down huground
Newmerica

Usedtobecans
Newmericans
Virtuquired Datalives
Newvolved digihives

Newmericans
Dearhear a dreamveiw
Knowsaw memberyou
Newmerican

Singularity socioplasma
Checkit future beatcha
Beauty vulgarspoken tweaktalks
Brokenrule syntax thruwalks
Collapsecom moreless
Triplespeak betterbest

Mindmush neuroplasticity
In homodatum newbie
Virtualsapien weblifes
Newreal digihive
Override overuse overbe
Oncewas nowam newme

What we were to where we are.
To the future just out there.
Be sharp and no one understands.
The one eye in a blind land.

Where love fought lust.
Where dogma met trust.
The world is new to me.
Covered in fine blue dust.

Curse the ear and what it hears.
Close the eye to all the fears.
Fight with the darkness inside.
Claim all the dreams that died.

In a memory palace list.
Held by an angry fist.
Ideas too big to think.
So never to be missed.

On the day of a bigger mind.
Digging in another idea mine.
Your thoughts will surface.
To someday be of service.

Don't look at me
Stare straight ahead
The camera sees
And hears what's said

Fear 'Little' Brother'
In the phone for when
Everything's discovered
You turned you in

Bots with your social
Your facebooked look
And alexiacon vocals
Read you like a book

It was you but only you
Who fed 'Big Data' bots
Letting trackers through
Accessing all you got

Surveillance in any hand
A.I. genies in all reflections
Takes itself from every man
Knowing every direction

Losing a piece of me
Is losing a piece of you
If you come close you see
You're a chess piece too

If we do or if we don't
If we will or if we won't
If we come or if we go
Nobody will ever know

In the land of the living
The excitement grows
Amidst lies the wild thing
Truth puts on a show

Life won't be denied
And it has the notion
New life has arrives
Evolution has solutions

Being so overwhelming
To the living or dead
It humbles the living
And wakes the dead

Seven billion lives know
This world is his for he
He erases friends and foes
And owns their history

There will be no secrets
Nowhere to hide
The left and right outwitted
And little brother inside

The drones and data crawlers delve
Dreams and nightmares being ourselves
Compiled evidences mount concern
While mankind’s bridges burn

Our cyborg image never shown
Our accessories scent allured us
Hums of technology a pleasant moan
We breathed deep the aroma’s service

Bandwidth culture firmly in place
Everyman has no face
Ethnicity of avatar and clan of choice
Everyman selects a voice

The blind face themselves feeling
Something’s missing out of sight
Reaching for the cognitive ceiling
Surrendering for wrong and right

To machines constant drumming
The overfuture’s coming
Where there’s nothing left to do
And no difference from me to you

From my chair
Through the air
I want my info now
Truth or dare
I don’t care
Give me info now

Hip wired infolites
Something bout usage rights
Whereas my info wow
Flying flags ever knowing
Looking back never going
Here’s my info now

Meaning without content
Exists without it being sent
The contents meaning slowly dies
Contending feeds on sore full eyes

Mercy typo pings brindle blogger
Immortal mention 2 NSA loggers
Wikimaster with google goggles
Seeks truthess acknak for boondoggle

Give me just a little push
My parental burning bush
Life lite the snippet deluxe
Youtube the world gone amuck

Where is that daunting monster
Boogie man in life’s shadow
Master mentor and concierge
Whose touch I’ve come to know

To you I’ll waste no breath
Beauty is not long and septic
My daunting docent of death
Midwife to misery, work quick

What small dignities remain
Strung of vomiting seconds
Cultures a pearl of great pain
To ferry a man of no direction

Untitled because it is not about any one thing. It is of the stuff written about, untamed, undiscovered… un yet. That which is just beyond. Before the hand reaches it, before the eye sees, before the mind pours it into the shape that is comprehensible. It is pure. It is debauched. It is half and complete. It is the blind mice playing a symphony with small instruments in Schrödinger's black box where he suspects a cat to be. It is the mother of “Ah Ha” and the father of “Eureka” that is this tear.

Be neither this nor that
He nor she thin or fat
Be and being not
From any given lot

That grail of poetry
That makes it be
This lightless paint
What tis and taint

Who may choose may
Find who chooses say
It choose me instead
I am and was dead

Be rabbit or sacred star
Do I follow and how far
If I am weary I resume
My fleshy wick consumed

So big… yet so small
So… yet… so it is all
Great be in my being again
Now at least I have been

Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night
Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight

Antagonize the heart and turn the eye
A visitor to the heart or passing by

From this spring that we all drink
What whispers all the thoughts we think

Lunatic genius with eyes turned in
Tell me where my mind has been

A freighting tether is shelter and cage
Where the writer’s pen touches page

Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen
A history of where my heart has been

To go and not say in doing so
Beyond this point no words can go

With feet of clay and hand to chalk
I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk

You can see it in a drowned man’s eyes
In the pawn shop window I just passed
Frosty truths that come to the table uninvited

The poet and the truth
Face to face, one whistles, one listens
The napkins fill with cognitive snapshots

The poet drowns in words
Just wanting to say something
Or hear it said at all

The dying words from a poet’s mouth
Blow about in autumn color
Drifts and piles that shape the years of practice

What's worth saying has to be said by someone
So a poet goes looking and would suppose
That words rubbed together right would produce

Word museum sentences ripe with meaning
Phantasms haunting great books and minds
Torches lighting the way for all

The poet takes aim and fires
At the fog of meaning
He tugs at God’s coat tail

Where are all the great patrons
Throw me a hook you fishers of men

That I might be caught and eaten
by the audience beyond the footlights

That my blood be spilled on pages
and canvas in prescribed portion

Afford me the flame of arrogance
to believe that my own hand
in the fire of creation touches wonder
and maybe God himself