Bitter imagination
I know the wheels on Mendicino avenue
The saint of the rose
Where she goes alone
Only hours behind where the sun goes to set
Grown so tired
And each irrelevant question
Interminable problem
Becomes a fear hard-cast in stone
And even the weightless
Is too heavy to bear
Life is a battle
The world spins rounds of ammunition
The man pains to bring peace
To that city far west of the place I stand

There are no flowers in the desert
Only fruitless land
Barren, dry
And beautiful

  Feb 2017 Busbar Dancer
Nateive Son

The end of my job interview,
For a legal marijuana grow house,
Ends with the standard,
"Please tell us about yourself, Jojo"
And I take a sip,
From my Days Inn coffeewater,
Savoring the moments,
Before the dam breaks.

"I guess I'll start with the basics,
I'm a technologically advanced psycho luddite,
Shot into the future,
But something keeps tethering me to the past,
Whatever that even is,
And every time I'm next to a river or granite chunk,
I feel this peace that things are even somewhat permanent,
Unlike the 24/7 news cycle,
Which grinds my food into shit,
The stress that powers the universe I suppose.

And I can remember back in J-school,
Being really excited about living in the hole,
And calling up the cops for grisly details,
But then the next day,
Something else would happen,
And it was like yesterday,
Totally erased.

I just didn't get it.

And so I rejected the socialization of modernity,
In favor of roaming this Brave New World,
With nothing but my own mind,
People are always trying to take that away from you,
And now I'm here,
Because I enjoy talking to plants,
More than people."

The hippy chick,
With some great pit hair,
Looks up from her laptop,
And gives me a small grin.

Good news,


This poem will be revised and expanded at a later date

Too much caffeine, not enough daffodils:

I'm sure the stars creation
Held only a little of the feeling
We have
The stars no longer fleeting
We gave the stars their meaning
Here and now
Is everytime
And anytime is only what we make

And should those stars not shine tonight
Should they ever collide
Would they fall into black holes
Or simply collapse
We are
And all time is now

I'll be waiting for you
At the ends of time
And the edges of the universe

It once was darkness
Once was light
Its all your thoughts
Its always right
Its all gone wrong
In all ways right

And would those stars all shine tonight
Should they bring us light
Would a galaxy surround them
The stars that gave life
Give us music
And the song that plays forever

All time is now

I'll be waiting for you

Busbar Dancer Feb 2017

As to this
cobbled together understanding:

what’s that?


the fuck is cobbled together understanding? It’s not very “poetic.” What does it mean?

like, understanding that has been pieced together from disparate parts.

The fuck? Honest to christ! Have you ever even read a poem? Try “Pieced together, this understanding…” You can have that for free.

I’ll stand pat on cobbled together understanding, thanks.

The universe despises absolutes, and
cares not for truth seeking.
The grand spiral needs no faith.

Holy God. Shit son, "grand spiral" ain’t poetry!

I think there’s an elegant artistry to it.

what was that? I was temporarily haunting my National Book Award for Poetry. Please, continue on about artistry.

It is not with the master's death, then
that we have become spiritual ronin,


beholden to none;
without obligation -
without the comfort of purpose....


Instead, here we are,
the rain dogs of the cosmos;
lost and alone
on a strange world
with no scent to follow.

Rain Dogs? Like the Tom Waits record?

It’s a common phrase

weren’t you listening to that record a couple weeks ago?

It’s a common phrase! Maybe it seeped into my subconscious, but I read somewhere that Tom Waits got it from a novel.

Oh, right right right… Reckon what novel? Like was it a super iconic novel? Like was it heralded as genius? Did it contain some super quotable passages, like, “squeal like a…”

go to hell

reading your “poetry” already

We are the orphans of sun and moon -
bad parents if ever there were.

I was going to say something about your parents, but fuck it. Just stick to poems about hookers and fighting. That’s what you’re good at”

Fuck you, Dickey!

The original was called "Bibles Are Free, Except When They Aren't," if you care to visit the unmolested version.
  Feb 2017 Busbar Dancer
Nateive Son

Getting Out,
Being Free.

All elements of the same dice I keep rolling,
Hitting the wall,
Working my abs to make sure I can feel them,
Not buried by the junk,
Makes you want to break into the Apple store,
Smash everything,
Fucking Steve Jobs and his fucking real deadbeat parents,
Poisoning the rivers,
Ironically educating me and millions of hipsters
In corporate coffee shops.

Whatever happened to mom and pop?
They smoke their legal weed now and don't have nostalgia,
That's what indica does to you,
Why I smoke sativa,
When I feel like checking out,
Which isn't often,
Because Jesus Christ this is all too real,
All too real,
All too real,
It's all happening right now,
The same things again and again,
Nobody is learning from the books,
Writing since cuneiform and the Egyptian pictures,
Again and again,
Gone and gone and gone and GONE!

I'm not going to live like this,
You got me as a slave in preschool and kept me until
After college,
And while I do really enjoy the music at Mass,
I move too much,
Think far away,
To throw the verse at anyone.

That's for you to find out.

And if you could see me clacking
On these goddamn keys,
Like Kerouac with his typewriter,
Against nothing,
For everything,
You could understand how fragmented,
And far gone I am,
From what the Cherokee,
envisioned for me.

Always trying to get back to Earth.

When you come out, your shit is gone:
Busbar Dancer Feb 2017

hot blue and extremely luminous.
From across the blackest ocean
seven sisters call, but
just three are putting out and
only one loves me.
That's okay...
She's been my favorite
since she said,
"It takes a mighty rocket
to pierce the night sky and
thrust into space."
Goddamn right.
I write my atheist, gray gospels
using only the letters of her name.
I collect the relics
of long dead nova clusters
to construct The Grand Heart Emoji.
And if I never make it back to space
maybe one day
we can hold hands
in San Diego.

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