words are
poor conveyers
of what is locked
up in the very most
center of my brain
or I'm just full of it,
either way it
feels like something
is in there that wants
out

"Beuur ahhh craaa seee"
"Beuur ahhh craaa seee"
I said it over and over
until other words
shared its ambiguity

"Aaam biiih guuu iih tee."

I watched him
sneer at his
plan gone a-rye
he was uptight
and outspoken;
the worst kind

as the ribbons
tore and frayed
he gritted his teeth
until it was too
much and he lunged
at the young man,
grabbed him by the
throat while screaming
"IV'E HAD IT GOD ******!"
"I'VE HAD IT WITH YOU
MANGY *******!"

many years later
I saw the uptight
outspoken man
on a street corner,
laughing at clouds

Value is a
funny thing,
like a line
in the sand:
one step closer
and you're finished,
the gamble's
busted, the whole
thing's a bust,
so you reevaluate
the circumstance
until the line goes away
and all your left with
is sand, which isn't
worth **** without
a line to cross

Way up
on the highest branch,
the can't reach don't
try too tall up there
******* with the best
leaves and a couple
flowers that bloom
slowly so you know
they mean it branch
well, on that thing
sits a girl
not a girl but a woman,
at times, others a kid
others an old lady
but always beautiful
and up there, really
up there in every way
sittin' there, just
sitting, no where else
to be but there in this
moment and I know it
and I see a flicker in her
eye and I know its on
and I should try with all
of my being to connect my
chest with hers in a way that
only crazy over the top lovers
will ever get and enjoy
and worship as Holy with a
careless laugh, yeah the good
times the ones that feel like
a warm blanket over your fears
and expectations and take your
soul for a ride down the block
a bit until the morning, and
its all real and rough to the
touch like creepin' grass
and she's up in that tree
on that limb with the good
leaves and flowers that let you
know they exist and she's there
and I'm here on the ground
with dirt and rocks and
creepin' grass where I know
I can flourish

When asked I said:
"I don't write for people
No, I've known too many
To waste words on
And I don't write for poets,
Poets are as bad as me
And all the good ones are dead
No, I write for god and the angels
That they may have mercy
On one of their own."
And god said to the Muse:
"The idea of Invincible
Is more important
Than life itself."

When deprived of
Rational thought
For long enough
The brain begins
To gather knowledge
From the smallest
Crevices of humanity
And in the cracks and
Crags of Know and Is
Runs tributaries of
Emotion and Touch
And the whole thing
Is a metaphor
And the whole Ship
Is a crazy illusion
In the mind of an infant
Vibrating nonsensical
Everything throughout the
Walls of human record and
Memory,
This is my doctorate and thesis
This is my final showdown and hoorah
This is staring down eternity
This is laughing with god
This is feeling it and running it down with bare hands
This is the how within the why
This is you me all the faces all the ads and fables
Every leaf and grain of sand in
Every toenail and cornea
This is poverty hunger sickness anger frustration confusion bliss
This is life love and the pursuit
This is the final frontier, the jumping off point
That comes every so often
Like an old friend
To remind you to
Get it all together
Into a single image
Of worship and Holy
And see it and eat it
And spit it back up
In bulimic flowering
Yeah, this is war
This is the last supper
This is Rexroth and Bukowski
In love with Hate
Saying, "Give me something better or get out of my way."

I'm hungover,
and colors don't
smell right
and images don't
taste right
and my lungs
are coated in
exhaust and liquor
fumes

I'm hungover
like a dog searching
for a bone that
was buried long ago
in a deep hole
in the middle of
nowhere

god ****** I'm hungover!
and I can't escape
the cigarette smoke
that follows me like
a bad pun
and there's a headache
starting in my toes
that wretches my
brain in the back
left corner
where my poems
come from

writing is not
a calling
it's a warning
it's Bukowski
saying, "get out
while you can."

Your ***
Which I have never seen
Remains
A thought a guess
A sacred cow
The Unattainable
Mandela wrapped in denim and lace
Your ***
Which I have never seen
The Grail the Moslim War
The True Keats True Plato
A sign of Heaven the Way
Your ***
Which I have never seen
Parker Davis Monk
And Choir,
Oh the Choir never
Sang so Sweet!
And angels in black
Triumphant Angst
And jesus with smirk
And god all giddy with
Satisfaction
Your ***
Which I have never seen