they say a watched *** never boils
but my mind certainly does
and i watch it all the time
it's never out of my sight
yet it's constantly spilling its contents
in a roiled turmoil
all over my consciousness

the result is a reduction
of my state of mind
of my perspective
either a concentrated awareness
or a flavorless sludge of grey matter
it all depends on the heat applied
it all depends on evaporation

a proper chef would be attentive
a saucier of good stock
choosing quality ingredients
maintaining a simmer
avoiding a seethe
controlling condensation
distilling even pabulum to perfection

Writer’s block does not exist,
there’s only uncreative writers,
and those who don’t care enough
to care so much.
As the former,
I will write this in my quietest voice:
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
Few would care to know,
fewer would care if they knew.
But it is the truth,
and I am in no business
of making truths I cannot keep.
I no longer write with tired eyes.
I no longer think with shaking hands.
I am no longer transparent,
or translucent,
or opaque.
I am okay.
I know this because I woke up today.
Simply that.
I woke up today,
and I am not empty.

i am heavy
[with ugly emotion
that nobody
deserves.]

We sat on opposite beds
and talked about our future
and I think the word "scary"
was used a dozen times.
I told you the truth
about why I sometimes get sad-
about how everything seems
monotonous and irrelevant,
and you seemed like you hadn't thought of it that way,
but then you seemed like you really understood,
and I think it maybe even
made you a little sad.
I told you the truth
about why I get high-
about how I think so much
that it hurts and it's the only thing
that helps.
You agreed about
thinking too much,
and you told me that your mind
flows from one thought to another too quickly
and that sometimes
it doesn't take a break
and you have to take a moment
to catch your breath,
and then you felt silly
that you had admitted that,
and you shyly said "you know?",
and I nodded,
because I really do know.
I let you talk most of the time,
because I knew that
you needed it,
and because honestly,
I just really like
hearing your voice.
You left my arms too soon
because someone left something
in your car, and I could tell
that you were agitated,
so I tried not to let it hurt too badly,
and you apologized several times,
and then said you would
"talk to me very soon",
and I tried to believe you.

April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -

Bad Day
When things seem rough,
life getting way to tough.
Feel like giving up,
drinking from a Dixie cup.
No food on the table,
been awhile since cable.
No money to be found,
too shy to make a sound.
Already ate dogs and cats,
lowering down to only rats.
Lost the house, and the car,
no more cookies in the jar.
Living now with mom and dad,
roof overhead, just be glad.
Looking for any kind of job,
tired of being a lazy slob.
Not a dime in the bank,
Only yourself to thank.
Burned all the bridges,
never was very religious.
All this happened in a day,
hoping soon to find a way.
Things could get no worse,
drug overdose, put you in a hearse.
Just another lost soul,
who had no self control.