It's 8 o'clock
Feels later.
I'm not hungry anymore.
Show's about over.
Got one more drink of coke.
Two more cigarettes.
Ignoring phone calls.
It's snowing outside.
Work's been delayed.
Get to sleep in tomorrow,
If I sleep at all.
Already played the guitar.
Already jacked off.
Running low on toilet paper.
Apartment's *****.
I'm in between cleaning ladies
Right now.
I am barely hanging
On here.
World, here is my holy litany!
World, here I am
Naked on the couch!
World, my foot's asleep!
World, I could stand to lose
20-30 pounds!
World, I am not a pretty sight
Right now!
World, I am jealous of my
Buddha statue!
Carved in stone.
Setting heavy in the corner.
He is at peace.

I
A scream scares the day away and makes the night a dark eternity.
Mating calls lurching behind barstools talking about nothing and jumping deeper into conversation over the bovine carcass at Applebee's.
Desolate honkytonks fueled by Percocet and chlamydia, fat musicians and anthems of Beer drunkenness hanging over the toilet to ***** their soul away for a buzz.
Coal diggers and gold diggers painted in black and red and the pinks drips down their leg to a puddle of shame. Crying in the corner for a fix with their broken knees and backs and their black lungs and their pharmacies of solutions that end up being their prison. Poisoning the air with the smoke of death and masculinity with broken hands punching the walls until the blood pours.
The **** of the body and land in unison in mind, flutters from our corner of the world to the coast
then to the heavens where it again rapes. Where it forces itself upon the consciousness of a nation
That buys it up and sells it again for naut. Souls of the lost gather for your final baptism in pain, together,
Ready and willing for more.
Trailers like tombstones in the distance at the end of hollers buried beside their dignity in the mines. Eternal monuments to good enough sprouting from every seed wasted in the divine Goddess who is reduced to the ***** of Hazard and surrounding counties.
Repeat the cycle of suffering.
Churches of skeletons praying for that divine **** of death,
reap what ye sew,
Harvest of the men in plenty,
eat for your fill!

                                                            II
I­t has been a cold winter, and I have traveled to the land of my heroes, who live now only on the page and in spirit alike.   I have bussed cross nation, gone to Boulder and Denver and dear Allen Ginsberg I found out the time. I search for the street where I can find you, curl up in your beard, hear your stories, and hitchhike with you to Nirvana. I have snowshoed high and happy with friends and have no regrets only that I didn't stay longer.  Played music on the top of mountains and felt them dance under me. I have been reborn with life and friends and it is good enough. Dislocated souls connecting in the ephemeral plane somewhere between Kentucky and Colorado in dreams and though and music and poetry and body and soul.

I am dharma

I am the scurrying vole in the talons of a swooping hawk.
I am where the mountain breaks the air,
I am the plum sky dissolving to the golden horizon,
I am the shadow of the clouds that nuzzle the Earth,
I am the vail of mist and the breath of my breath.

I am the cities and the buildings and the roads
I am the cement the steel and the iron
I am the legions or workers and the industry of nations
I am the atomic bomb and the internet
I am the electronic and the plasma

I am the stars in the sky,
I am the sun and the moon
I am the brilliant nova
I am the seamless dark

I am life and death
I am suffering and sufferer,
I am euphoria and delight.
I am the hot rocks, core and the burnt crust,
I am shining light and the womb

I am the crying babe and the gasp of death
I am birth of awareness and spark of thought
I am sickness, the fever and the cough
I am medicine
I am the face of the hopeless

I am the beggar and the businessman
I am ragged and the *****
I am sleek and the clean
I am spit upon and the downtrodden

I am all
I am nothing

I am dharma.

Breathe

Growing up is like
A gummy worm in a wine glass.

Music! Drums!

Beatings of hands on outstretched hides
echo through the night.
Dancing children, moonlight cricket moanings,
Cast over vast savannas with
Elders chanting, visions and transcendental moments of
harmonic bliss playing on the bird bone flute. Flash to
Electric bass booming in the dark with keyboards
and young girls twisting in the firelight
pentatonic realities of electric guitar playing  
funk, and the procession of notes
perfect!

All souls one, beating with the night.
Beating with the drums.
Screaming half naked, wild and full of drugs
and the right ones.
A harmonic industry of electronica and ecstasy, a decadent tribal fantasy land.

here we go again.

Our conscious being, outstretched over the fabric of time and space
played by the hand of the ancient primordial tribesman of protozoa. Every note an eternity, every moment of every being and everything beating as one!
Tranquility and soliloquy of music.
Harmony and beauty and intelligence.

Pulse movements and beat droppings, spinning by the neon lights.
Cannibals of interwoven overlapped miraculous hippie skirts
with dreadlocks and armpit hairs, unshaven legs and unmistakable smells,
and no one cares.

New age alchemy of alkaline waters and wondrous miraculous healing stones in ***** dens hiding from the undercovers.
practicing yoga and tantric rub downs, relaxing in the hanging curtain of smoke.
Lecturing on the absolute perfection of the tetrahedron in the ashes of Buckminster Fuller seeking complete shelter and sustainability from this monstrous and hideous human creation of western ideals and ramen noodles.

Speaking of elves in the absolute present sense and giving them names! Leaving little room for debate, and honestly, why even bother if you're that far down the rabbit hole.

Electric forest hallucinations,
Ego death and eternity.
Music in the background of the night
and in the background of my life
speeding up and slowing down
to conform to the tempo of the soul.

Entire band coalescing to a lone thought,
guitar fades to a single sailboat tied to dock over a silk blue stream hanging by the moon.
Bass fading to the single tribe song beating of the drum in time
and that drum beats fade to the memories of rain on the aluminum roof,
frogs croak by the pond at my childhood home in Eastern Kentucky,
rain falling on the pond also,
fireflies and crickets in the hung-over dew of the morning.

Fades to a picture of the Earth in the black and empty backdrop of space
a spec of dust in the cosmos,
hanging by a thread to eternity.

Love
Cuts with a
soft knife.
Bleeds lavender
On the white sofa
In front of the
Fireplace.

Curls up
To die
alone
On the rug
Where the dog
Used to
sleep.

Was Carried to
Heaven
By the birds
That  sing
In the snow
Covered
Trees.

Returns
In dreams,
Tired and
Naked,
To lay
Under the cover
Beside us.