I have this tattoo
of a cat in a shoe,
and below it reads CAT GOT MY TONGUE.
At the time I was young, now I've grown and it's shrunk,
And that's why you don't get tattoos when you're drunk.

Boy, SCUBA diving sure sounds fun-
to play in seascape soaked in sun.
I'm certified my classes done,
if only I could rent some lungs.

In the freshly seared hours of the morning
there's a hot, bothered growling
coming from beyond
the rose-studded chipping fence posts,
sick with the stench of stained mattresses
and mounds of cage-less garbage-
tossed *****-nilly
into a smoldering, contorted
**** of stacks.

Here,
in this spot of dawn
-in today's un-showered
moist enclave-
I find, syncopated
by the vrooooming scooters
and gassy buses,
a fresh hope diffusing faster
than the steam from drains,
-subtler than the soft soju snores
of last night's  curb cuddlers-
slinking up, down, around convenient stores' corners
past every security camera,
bouncing off rib cages,
tickling the barbules of  the songbird
perched in my utility wires
in a nest neater than my bed.
This is summer, Korea.
This is Korea in the summer.

Fish intestine and egg sac soup-
do yourself a favor
and call it noodles and beans,
but still try it!

I want to go with your foreign body
beyond these man-made lanes
and artificial light,
take you further than radio waves wander;
find a spot where we can make a blanket
of rays and seashells,
and when we're still,
sleep.

Soaked senses tell me
the top of the "mountain" is dry
like ice.
With a hyper-awareness
I clatter along,
with a warm coating
of ever-changing plaid
warmer than flannel-
burlap bones
wrapped in velvet veins-
and all of these observations
report to a head of fuzzy stars.
So when this stairwell
feels like a scene from the Cold War,
with its chilled chipping cinder block,
violent eruptions,
and moaning drafts-
a cause that my allies
in the self-flushing latrines
have long forgotten-
I will understand,
as they will,
and you'll just have to trust
the facts reported to you
from yours truly.
-Gonzo

There used to be a valley here
where this man-made mound sits,
like a bump on a log,
Well, this used to be a valley.
back in the day before batteries,
before outlets, before highway gas mileage,
before we realized how many life forms we could jeopardize.
Now there’s just beeping, and dumping, and hissing, and honking
and spilling, and wasting and burning, and taxing
and killing.
Now we're filling the part of Earth that we call dirt-
give it a hopeless name so that we can spit in it
years before we’re buried in it.

Longboarding barefoot

I can’t afford to slow down.

No shoes, no service

Just when I thought my muse had left
a splintered staccato formed words on a page;
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.

Haste in the morning fuels the morning breath
for two lovely dumbstruck lovers looking young for their age
just when they thought their muse had left.

I’m not sure I remember the rest;
The words stop like drumsticks dropped in rage,
but I still have a taste for the treble clef.

Desperate to try as my cousin suggests
burning through candles,  tarot, and sage
just when I’m sure my muse has left.

I vote for stripping this verse and shredding the rest
Getting in with producers and out with the wage;
We still have a taste for the treble clef.

Tequila sunrise and a Mumford sunset;
Is freedom a ***** once you’re out of the cage?
Just when I thought my muse had left,
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.

Sulking blocks of concrete boxes
miles of live wire, chrome cheeks, cityscape
glass, promotions, ticker tape,
canal rides, McRibs, sour cabs
human losses.

Flying with night owls
over sleepy smoke signals
leading brujos home.

Think of the profound
as the moon gives me shivers
like spinal lightning

I've never cared too much for history, found no appreciation
for it's multitude of names we commit to memorization
there's a certain friend of mine, born in 1989-
Sir Maximilian Relaxilian- and he lacked all motivation

Since the origin of time, I have traced his family line
and their genetic disposition towards supreme relaxation
He's the great great great great grandson
of the founder of vacation.
And this founder's son Clyde, well, he invented the slide
Clyde's kid brother Greg helped patent the keg.
And Greg's great grandson Snyder sold the very first recliner.

So whenever Max was challenged, troubled, bothered, or confused,
He'd recite his family tree, and use the very same excuse:
   "Hereditary mutations within each generation!"


     And so he sat around and slept,
     But never cleaned and never swept,
     Never ran, never lept,
     His promises were never kept.


Maximilian never managed once to get up off his ****,
too tuckered out for bowling, just too lazy to putt;
He Never traveled to the sink nor had he once bothered to think,
too coward for a shower, found no reason not to stink.

And then one super lazy afternoon a quarter after two,
Maximilian had a visitor, I promise this is true:
A tiger stood outside the door which he was too lazy to lock
as if he'd try to find the **** beneath the pile of ***** socks.
And then of course, it's no surprise he couldn't hear the kitty knock
and once you hear what happened next I guarantee you will be shocked...

The tiger tickled him
and giggled him
until his ticker stopped.

So next time you think of staying in,
instead of going out-
or complain about the effort
that it takes to leave the couch,
Or refuse to leave the sheets or venture from a cozy pouch...

just remember Maximilian Relaxilian, King of Slouch
and stay out of bed instead,
stretch your legs and use your head
then count your blessings, kiss your mother
motivate one another.

I want to know
have you ever seen the rain
spark the fuse and
emblazon the grain?

What miracle my Love allows!
She helps me walk atop rain clouds,
and if my foot dips 'low the shroud-
and pulls me toward dark, distant ground-
She slows her pace,
bends at the waist,
then plants a kiss upon my brow.
So once again my footing's found!