They are building
wielding hammers, driving spikes
brick by brick. precious mortar and pestle
Babelesque they build it
a spire points to Sol, blinding eye of the gods
to breathe spirits into lifeless bodies
They are reaching
so much further than they dreamed imaginable
masterwork of skill, a testament to pure science
In defiance they shout
Psalms of caterpillars
chants of butterflies
They are ascending
laughing at gravity, how it surrenders
beneath their naked feet
They are serious this time
the new tower
the Internet

Joy so constant we took it for granted
plugging jukeboxes with quarters
loading those noisy machines with B-sides
that only we had ever heard

Van Morrison's "Blue Money" bounced the skip
from station to station in the AM static
we loved that doowit dooey doop, doot door dooey doot, do doot
but the mystic sang of sweet things on the other side

"Saturday Nights Alright For Fighting ", tough ol' Elton John
worth a quarter to hear that song
flip that ***** get your money's worth
two songs there for the price of one

The Stones rocked "Brown Sugar" like slavers in heat
too young I was to understand
why the controversy, so many offended
I rarely chose it, though, cuz I loved "Sway"

"Sweet Hitch Hiker", CCR
sounded more like a razor than a tuned up car
do you remember "Door to Door"?
didn't think you would

"Children's Heritage" over "D.O.A."
"Generation Landslide" over "Hello Hooray"
"For Emily Whenever I May Find Her" over "Bridge Over Troubled Water"
yes, even

B-sides whenever possible
because the A-sides were all on the radio
why feed money to the jukebox for a song you can hear for free?
such are the economics and logic of the 10 year old music aficionado

2001: The Trump lobotomy partially successful
the Successful partial lobotomy performed on
Donald Trump was increasingly expensive
as complications were disregarded
He could have woken up with a Messiah complex
But a stray clot attached to the memluk
as a result he was unable to speak the truth
forever trying to make people believe his lies
"Liar Liar Pants on Fire" he bought a LOT of pants in the years after the chisel
Trump would meditate and contemplate
his singular black hole fate
so pathetic
it turned him
it turned him bad
it turned him into a bully
it made him hateful and unafraid to call wicked names
so many people hate the crooked one
what love they have left is for the liar
the one who doesn't know how to laugh
they'll give it to the man with the lobotomy
they'll give it to Donald Trump

i.

Wicked elixirs gush forth to the north
the force of the earth pulls like rain drops
down south without doubt into your greedy mouth
your greedy, needy mouth

ii.

I'm the least materialistic person you'll ever meet
but you steal from me
I will cut you off
cut     you    off

iii.

The sad background music
she is crying, inconsolable
does not draw out any more sympathy
silence an echo chamber, effect achieved

iv.

If I were not doing this
my eyes would be closed
merging with a gas planet
collecting alien frequencies

v.

Five
Fold
Path
Diversion

She sings, unites beautiful melody with a naturally melodious language
The end result being how I don't have a clue what she's saying
chanting the mantra given to her
by the bearded sage in the terry cloth bathrobe
who told her "your mind is a vast field where elephants gather to play"
before conferring the mantra

She lets the Sanskrit words roll over her tongue
a vernacular of formidable power
effecting even those who don't speak a word
such was I, Sanskrit illiterate, but the repetition
opened the lotus flower of my heart
the baby blue visage of Sri Krishna materialized
from the words she was singing

I took away his flute and blew a line from an old Jethro Tull song
she thought it enchanting
but Krishna was not happy to see his vaunted woodwind in the hands of a mere mortal
he stepped up to me, polite as can be
he says "if you don't give me my instrument I will be forced to cut off your hands, and then what do you think will happen to this poem?"

I stood my ground, possession being two thirds of the law
I blew the flute solo from Genesis' "The Musical Box" (having known it by heart)
the blue boy asked several times for me to
give him that almighty flute
each time I told him "No! You'll have it soon enough"
apparently not soon enough

(For he felt a pair of garden shears slice firmly through his right hand
the same set of shears severed his left
he dropped his stylus and papyrus to the ground
toppled over, landing smashly with a great crash
within a matter of time he bled out from the stumps where his hands had once been attached

Krishna picked up his flute and said
"what a pity"
and vanished into thin air
it all ended quickly as it had begun
and the sweet lady never stopped chanting her mantra
in fact her back had been turned before Krishna even showed up
it was a great shock to find her gentleman friend's lifeless and handless body on the ground

She shed a tear
I was no less miserable and sad
wished above all else
that I had been a real poet
so I could have finished the man's life work)

(So few realize the power of words
or is it my ability with words that confounds?
I am a talented man
even so a Pretender
I'll bring you over to my side
until you suss it out for yourself
that my side
is the last place you want to be)

Seven short stanzas for you to get lost in
you could breeze through in two minutes
you could get lost in my thoughts, spend half the day
lofty as they are, I laid them out just for you
swinging the bulky mallet of my cynical opinions
I'm sure to thump your cranium at least once or twice
before you find that word that stands a fortress
between what you've read and who you've been
when you'll take your own ****** mallet
and tear it down

What will you find when the veil has been torn?
more sneaky words
misguided snarky sentiments
you're fascinated by my judgment of divinity
though those words are fragile, practically meaningless
you see something much more sinister
the Pretender cannot deal in sincerity
nets for brutal fishermen casting lines to men

The Pretender can't play by the rules
he doesn't have to
he notices the list of "weak" words is almost as long as the list of "strong" words
somehow he isn't bothered
knowing full well that his purpose has been accomplished

The abstraction is bad/cliche
the Pretender should be showing
as opposed to telling
I'm telling you
it's a lost cause

You saw 37 lines with only 5 stanzas
I'm *******

Scared?

I was high, oh my, higher than a bird
flies on the breeze, gliding that fast track
to the sun

Anchored by a hunka heavy bass guitar
jumpin' up and down singin' chunky words
look around, those my friends strappin' guitars and drum sticks
call us Behemoth, heavy and hairy and loud
call us Godzilla spittin' radioactive beams
but we been up here for four hours
anybody listening?
I got secrets of the universe stashed
in the second chorus of Dazed and Confused
People, you missin' out

Whose that spittin' at the table at the stage?
she keep tryin' to catcha my eye
she done caught my attention
gal knows I'm only playing two more songs
I telepathically dedicate the last one to her
I'm sending signals and suggestions till my knuckles are blue

Hot **** the girl done understand
I got her right where I want her
feelin' bored I'm needing a lot more so I say
"condition, baby, who is that lady
hanging on to you all of the night?
You think she's down for some animal action
with me and you in the hotel tonight?
cause I don't feel like a natural man
that's not what I want to be
I'm tired of settling for one, how 'bout you?
when I can get me two, two and one makes three

She introduced me to her own best friend
I smoked a bowl of some bud
they weren't looking too bad before
but that herb had 'em lookin' REAL good!

It was on like a *** of neckbones
we was making movies
feeling groovy, feelin' frisky, feelin' high
feelin' fine, feelin' fine, feelin' fine
we crawled together like a funky new animal
swapping each other's sweat
just when I thought I couldn't take it no more
the two on 'em swore they wasn't half finished yet
I gave 'em one more hour then I hadda shut it down
though I appreciated the party goon' down

They was gettin' dressed and puttin' their shoes on
the first turned 'round to me
she was the prettiest of the two
so I listened to what she thought we should do
"let's do this again maybe tomorrow morning "
I admit that sounded like a capital idea
"you guys rock and you deserve to live the life"
I most surely could not argue with that

Went to her crib next morning
ready for a repeat performance
but she opened the door with a sad face
"baby," she said,"my oldman's gettin' outta prison today
he'll be here anytime "
I could read in her face
not even enough time to knock off a quickie
in fact she looked frightened
as if he might walk in the door any minute
I wondered if he knew what a free spirit his wife was
this was the first time I was aware she had been married

I turned and walked to my car
perhaps no groovy lovin' but at least I wasn't riddled with bullet holes
I will live to rock another day
but I don't harbor any illusions
I'll ever kink as supremely
as I did when I had those two beauties
and those two beauties sho nuff had me

I long to shed this bulk
flesh and bone cocoon
something in me longs to expand

A quark
flickering into Andromeda

When will this coma-grey fog dissipate?
shouldn't years have absorbed it by now?
something in me suffocates hope

A stone
tied to a rope

I wait to close my eyes
drift into unfamiliar pastures
something in me remembers

A dream
of shouting into empty silos

I know now that I want nothing
nothing is all I want
something in me is too full

A piñata
stuffed with rat poison

Dripping, a heavy metal teardrop
From the hatches of Enola Gay
A quiet moment to court gravity
Before judgment is passed down
In a blinding flash, murderous circumference
An unholy force lifting trees from the ground
Invisible fire encompassing all
Laying low flesh and ideals
Shadow triumphant, stare into it's glowing face
Turn around knowing
**** Sapiens crowning achievement
And all it portends
Only the dead were spared
The realization
They are the lucky ones

That's some weak death metal you're praising
Whatever works for you
Deeper levels of hell to be raising
Got better things to do
You say you want a revolution
It's nothing but a game
Pleased to meet you, mister, get your gun
Hope you guessed my name
You still believe everything you're told
Without a question why
Realize you enjoy being controlled
Accept you love the lie
Weak death metal is all that you've known
From the days of your youth
One day I will show you, when you have grown
Black metal is the truth

I should remember the color of your eyes
All the time swimming hypnotized
Lost sight of surface tints and hues
Drowning in the deeper parts of you

Twirled your hair around my index finger
Things you wouldn't think I would remember
Shivering embraces desperate in afterglow
Restless and naive but even so

Sure enough how we had conquered love
Or likely more how love had conquered us
Fingers tracing lifelines, mine yours, yours mine
Telling wondrous stories of all we looked to find

Then the day I watched you fall out of step and down
How I tried to join you when your body hit the ground
How they held me back and swore you'd be okay
Sure enough without my help you got up and walked away

I hear this song and I always think of you
Fragile music we once liked making love to
Invisible reminder of things that used to be
Fuel for the fire of our union's memory

Swans drone and thrash filling every square inch of air in this room of solitary confinement
I've got feelings, need to get 'em out
To fall upon the deafness of every ear in this house, disbelieving
The cacophony soothes me somehow
But I fall asleep listening for phantoms trapped in white noise
Sometimes it's the only way
As the stress of the day won't let up and it stretches all the way into the lonely hours of night that are more accurately referred to as the early morning
That transition is usually lost with sleep and dreams
Unless sleep and dreams are playing hide and seek
The noise of Swans comes as close to anything in giving a sound to the stiffness of my mind and the heavy weight in my heart
The mean streak, can it be forgiven or forgotten?
I have something to blame
But integrity keeps me from pointing fingers
My greatest wish is to either be
Smart enough to grasp the worlds philosophies
Or so dumb they don't mean a freakin' thing to me
I'm tired of existing in the halfway point between the poles
Tired of courting hatefulness
Knowing it's not me
Hosting a wretched spirit with dark thoughts and self loathing
Knowing knowing knowing knowing knowing
My Father Who art in Heaven
Hold my cowardice not against me
Let there be justice in this one thing I ask
As I lay me down to sleep
Let not the morning sunrise stir my soul
Lost in deep unconsciousness I offer one final breath
Take it, Lord, and give me not another inhalation
Set my spirit free while my lanky body hardens 'neath the quilt my grandma made for me
Show me the mystery of all that lies ahead
And let not those I left behind cry that I am dead
May their mourning bring them peace and when it ends much joy
I'm not suggesting you made a mistake
But I just don't belong here
So when I close my eyes tonight
I will squint, hold the lids down hard and tight
And finally pray You'll make it all right
Please let my spirit drift listlessly into the night
In the name of your precious Son
                                                                  Amen

One end of the rope is tied
Snugly 'round my ankle
So tight, so taut the pull

Of the other end of the rope
Secured to heavy stone
Dragged down the mute atmosphere

Of water caressing me
Of pressure surrounding me
Of acceptance, the liquid's deliverance

I wrapped the rope 'round my ankle
Made sure the knot wouldn't slip
Tumbled into gravity's strong embrace

I measured the size of the anchor
Sufficient to carry me down
And the rope long enough to confound me

Out of my hands and into the deep blue sea
Out of time and into eternity
Out of control, depression's destiny

The Monkees' "Headquarters"
   Is one of the greatest
      Most under-rated pop/rock
                                                  records
                Of
                         all
                                      time
Just learning to play their instruments
Slowly but surely crawling out from under
                                        Don Kirshner's thumb
The sound wasn't as confident or solid
As seminal recent offerings by the Beatles
           The template...    The mold....
Yet there were several pearls in those oysters
Pure raw ragged pop perfection
To give Lennon, Macca, Harrison and Starkey
      A serious run for their money                                  
            even Brian Wilson sweatin' jeaulosy
"You Told Me" solid out the gates.
"Forget That Girl" Breakin' hearts.
"You Just May Be The One" offering encouragement
"Shades of Grey" and Early Morning Blues and Greys" reminding us we're but fragile hearts
"Sunny Girlfriend " a standard to be achieved
"Band 6" and "Zilch" for comic relief
And don't forget the bands take on flower power
"For Petes Sake"
If you couldn't get all that
Get it good in your soul
There must have been something
                                                wrong
                                                      with
                                                           you

Your lips were so small against mine
Slick, soft, slippery, alive
Pulsating imperceptibly
Sticky, sugar, chewing gum spit
The taste of children's wine
Ambrosia, Spanish fly kisses
Sweeter than old bones can stand
Electricity that forces eyelids shut
Shocks, sends spiraling
Into another dimension with you alone
Joined together, flying or falling free
We made a Heaven out of nothing at all
Ruled the darkness and named it "light"
Let it shine on our naked souls
Pressing against denim, moistening cotton and silk
I slightly opened my eyes to steal a peek
To see if yours were closed
To see the roundness of the orbs
Indeed sheathed beneath thin skin

I traced those small lips with my tongue
As if to gauge their width
I kissed your cheeks, your nose, your eyes
But always back to those lips
How many hours lying there
Did I taste the Doublemint gum
That was somewhere in your mouth?
And pushed the candy to the side
Whenever it got in my way

I woke up when I sensed the change
Peppermint grotesquely morphed
Into stale tobacco
Thirty years came crashing in
Memories of plans abandoned
Empty prayers, empty mouths
Good times, bad times
But never that Heaven again
Whose to say you'd be the same
Had things not changed, had you remained
We are not the captains of our own destinies
Our ships are fated to never again cross
In daytime or night
Perhaps you stopped loving me the hour in which you left
My love for you died a slow and painful death
In it's last years it barely had a pulse
But I remember when that thing stopped beating
It was when I found out you'd started smoking
After you walked away
And the thought of Doublemint and Marlboro mixed together
Makes me sick

Sparrows darting heaven bound
Surrender to the breeze
To become one
With air
In free fall blown
A moment to float
A  moment to know
As they are known

**** you
Drained me again
Dodging twisted telepathy
Pickled in the murky brine
Left to rot in your mind

On your knees prostrate
In the kingdom fields
Satisfied to look through the glass
Darkly so long as the glass
Is a mirror

You wear me out
You wear me out

David sang of evil men
In psalms of praise and truth
Beginning to think
You're one of them
The king was singing of you

And who are you?
Do you know?
Is it you these words portray?
This is not your mirror
Precious and beloved
A transparent pane

A light breeze stirred by a ceiling fan
Rust colored grapes with unused wick
Black boxes making loud noise
Wood, steel, dust for ignoring
Seven books of circles, missing two
Eyeless snake, purple, blue, green, orange, yellow
A substitute for your tears
Glass wax filled cup extolling LOVE
Bars of buttons, black, silver and white
Metal cross that will never be pierced by nails
A portrait of Jesus Christ beneath red time
Dead motor starving for electricity
The smell of ***** stirred by the whirling spirit breeze
Flower time never passing five twenty three
Altar temporarily darkness shrouded
Rabbit, flowers, bear, O Happy day
Invisible God sings “Come back again”
Sound and vision categorized, rarely seen or heard
Small life, tiny breathes, hungry for ****
Magic metal cubes, alchemic circles
From thin air, manifested manufactured chaos
Messages, riddles, proclamations of love
A bedtime story about the Wild West
Slices of trees, glued together, given names
Shadows, mirrored lights, ceiling fan, triptych
The Great Emancipator looking under fingerprint stained glass, discarded
Evolved being denying the elements
Narcissist pools everywhere
Incredible miracle fed through lines and air
Cells with open doors, keys thrown away
Prisoners content, afraid of what’s outside
Poets fooling themselves believe in inspiration
All of this. All of this. All of this.
All of that. All of that. All of that.
It overwhelms, confuses and boggles
Try to take it all in---explode and disappear
A chain hangs from the ceiling
Pull it once, the ceiling fan turns
Pull it twice, the ceiling fan slows to a stoop
And if you pull it really hard
You will yank the ceiling fan from it’s moorings
If lights are part of the fixture
They will break into a thousand tiny fragments
If you step on one your foot will bleed

You know it's not worth all the trouble
The stationary on the table
Open the doors to needy families
They need their ice machines
Need their locks and they need keys
And they need chairs and beds and ashtrays
The stationary on the table
Next to the television
I was in the shower
Looking for my soap
The doors were closed, I'm sure
No one knows I was there
Kept it well hidden, then I
Did what I had to do and then I
Walked away and I forgot this day ever happened
Ever happened
It's easy to walk away just turn your head
And forget this day ever happened
It's easy just to walk away, turn your head and forget
That this day ever happened
It's easy to forget, turn around and leave
Wrap it around your sleeve and forget
Forget this day, this day ever happened
Left the ice machine
I left my locks and keys
I left my luggage and my ***** magazines
I left my ashtrays
Left my bed and my buffet
Left my chairs and my keys and
Lord, I left my "Do Not Disturb"
Left my family, left the housekeeper
And I left the ice machine
Left the postcards of the pool
Left the restaurant, left the shower
And the rooms and the signs that say:
"Soap upstairs, stationary on the table
By the television."
I stole the towels and the TV guide
I got into my vehicle, I stole another ashtray
From the bar, by the bed, by the buffet
Sat in your electric chair and thought of children
I was a clerk, I had a "Do Nor Disturb" sign on my head
And the Doors were playing in the background
About the broken families
And the housekeeper at the ice machine
Where she lost her keys, but she never could find the locks
And her luggage and her magazines
Oh, she's on the phone too much, and the pool is warm but it's closed
She's got a postcard
There's a remote chance that the restaurant is still open
But we've got the keys to the rooms
We got showers, we've got signs that say:
"Soap can be found upstairs
By the stationary on the table
Sitting by the television."
Well, I brought back the towels but I kept the TV guide
My vehicle's in the shop and the ashtrays are filled
With roaches and roach clips
And the bar of soap that I stole from the hotel
That was by the beds that were never quite made right
And the buffet that didn't taste right
And we were sitting in the chairs
We were listening to your children
Oh, that purse does not seem to like me much
I said, "Do not disturb my meditations, if you please
Turn that Doors tape off, if you please."
Gotta get home, back home to my family
I once was a housekeeper, I once was a housekeeper
Yes, I was, do you remember when I was a housekeeper?
But I never knew my way to the ice machine
And they never gave me keys so I never knew where the locks were
And I never needed luggage because the only things I'd seen were in magazines
Heard about on the phone - spent some time by the pool
Writing on the backs of postcards, suicide notes
But it's remote- this restaurant will not be the place I do it
I know I need some rooms - rooms with showers
Need myself a sign that says "The soap can be found upstairs
Next to the stationary on the table by the television."
I need some towels but I don't need the TV guide
So I got the TV, yeah I put it in the vehicle outside
Along with a couple of ashtrays
And a bottle or two that I had ordered but never paid for at the bar
Well, the beds were made this time
But the buffet still didn't taste quite right
And the chairs they gave us were much too small
Like they were made for children
But the clerk was not responsive to my complaints
She kept on saying, "Do Not Disturb me
You know the way to the doors."
If I had a dollar for all the families who were expecting me to be a housekeeper
I'd go buy the ice machine
Empty the ice and find the keys
And then I'd go look for the locks
Take my luggage cram-packed with magazines
I've got some quarters for the phone
Brought my swimming trunks for the pool
Send a postcard
But there is a remote possibility
That I might never leave here
But stay here
Eating in the restaurant
Where the rooms are not too cozy
And the showers ain't got no running hot water
We need a sign, there were nothing but signs
I should have been paying attention to the signs
I should have brought my own soap
The thought occurred to me as I walked down the stairs
That's why I need some stationary
I'm gonna sit down at the table
Turn the television off, send back the towels
Open up the TV guide, think about the vehicle outside

May a bolt of lightning strike
The metal posts of the headboard
Grow tendrils of electricity
Send voltage like a clutching fist
To lift my head from the pillow quite unaware
And flow like so much wobbly frozen fire
Through each essential system
Manifest in its own way
All called by a Voice of Authority
To traverse every inch of my body
Shaking and baking, front to back
Lost in a dream of Iceland's lunar cycles
And how much better the cold feels next to the artificial heat
Artificial heat send me away to where I belong
Anywhere but here
Lost in a jungle of neon signs
Now it's time for an English muffin

Without Love
Protons and electrons break loose
To float their separate trajectories
Into nothingness
Nucleus abandoned
Merges, One, Explodes
Into nothingness
Without Love

Without Love
Atoms rebel
Defy the sticky glue that together
Makes them matter
Trees and things
Reduced to dreams
None of which matter
Without Love

The heart grows hard without it
The soul can't live without it
How can the thinking mind doubt it
With so much revealed about it?

Without Love
People forget
Wonder and mystery, hope and memory
As if Love never existed
They strive for nothing more
Than a gentle death
And hope someone will remember
They existed
But the grand Valtari of time will ensure
Nobody will
Without Love

Without Love
Without light
Without the dividing line
Between day and night
Without belief
Without grace
Without any reason
To stay in this hard place
Without these things
Who can live?
With nothing offered
With nothing to give
There are no words
To make you understand
Not even these
O, loveless man

This is the moment Tolle exalts
Unconcerned with directions
Left, past, right, future
Full stop center in linear
A chronology we don't trust
I'm bullseye center
In the shadow of I Am That I Am
Happy to be there
Aching wrist holding this iPhone still
While my numb left pointer taps
The tiny letters and the long harmed f space
Clicking these incomprehensible words
As gallons and gallons of race be
Pour  from selfish yet hursting bags of water
Lightning flashes brilliant illumination
On the center of the spiral
The black hole is surely out of our reach
The exhaustion of trying to edplain
Sends me to the kitchen in hopes of finding an orange
Or pickle juice in lieu of apple and salt

A sharp blade slashes with divine precision
The softened heart
Leaving the most precious wound
That will never heal
A sign, a seal
Of all that is true
And all that is real
All that remains
When the blood is drained
Empty space
For the wind to fill

Through the gates of a paradox
Past three strands of infinity
I pull up the curtain of night
The face of God by chance to see

To bathe in rivers of moonlight
Enamored of hope's gentle glow
I breathe in fresh lungfuls of sunshine
And slowly forget all I know

When my tired mind is empty
Every memory stripped, every care
When Nothing is all that is left me
I know I'll find you standing there

People are dying, baby, all around
Can't catch your breath another's fallen down
They stop living and you know it's true
Gonna happen to me, yeah, and it's gonna happen to you
People are dying, baby, everywhere
You name the city, the Reaper's been there
He come a-swingin' with that shiny blade
Make you pay for all the mistakes that you've made
People are dying, baby, that's a fact
There ain't a-one of them a-comin' back
From where they're going on that uncloudy day
Didn't tell no one they was going away
People are dying that's the facts of life
You gonna tell 'em to the kids and the wife
You gonna live 'em there ain't no escape
Put an end to all the plans that you make
People are dying, I don't mean to be irreverent
But I got this problem with the social experiment
They call war and it sure is hell
Black water from the wishing well
People are dying, baby, some too soon
And some are thankful for the Raven's tune
But some too soon, is that what I said?
Some people are dying, baby, all the others are dead

This is mine
The overwhelming urge to share
Is a symptom of a condition
Is a desperate plea for affirmation
Unbecoming one as needy and selfish
As I

There was a time
I was the loudest laugher
When the laughter was at my expense
Hunkering down, stealing against depression
With varying degrees of "success"
My sense of self-deprecating humor has suffered

But this is mine
So I can take it with me to the grave
Walk it down the aisle
Put it on my face fall in love with mirrors
Turn up my nose in scorn
At any fool who thinks he can take it from me

You don't have to talk to me, babe
No, you don't have to talk
I won't say a single word
There's nothing more I could say that you haven't
Heard it all before
What was it like before?
What was it like before the horsemen
Rode that final mile
What was it like to rustle cows all day
Drink up the saloon all night
Girl you betcha heard me right

I knew you weren't no saint, from the
First day I saw you I knew
Courting trouble ain't a winnin' game
Sometimes it feels the victor is the one who loses too
What does it all mean?
What do you need from me tonight?
Now has come the time
You better tell me why I shouldn't cut you off
Like I should have a long, long time ago
Tell me do you love me so?
Courtin' trouble ain't a way I know
Courtin' trouble ain't the way to go
Courtin' trouble and nobody throws in their hand with the winning card
So where you goin', Cat?
Where are you going?
Cat said I ain't going nowhere,
I'm staying right here with you
From sunrise till nightfall
I be with you throughout it all
I said Cat you're a dreamer, baby
But this is one of those dreams that just don't come true
You got no choice but to take it, baby, embrace it as the truth
One day you will look back
Laugh and recoil at scenes of your brutal youth
Laugh and enjoy the bitter irony
Of following a muse a man made spirit
Who can explain these things?
What are the feelings we share
And to what extent do we truly share anything?

Did you get the part about the horsemen?
It was one of the most painfully obvious placements of symbolism I've ever read
Just as the last sentence was the most painfully inept viz. grammatically butchered and la di da dee da
We want you to sing along
You remember that Carpenters song, "Sing"?
Hokey, corny song then, only made more hokey and more corny with the passage of years since the time it first made the rounds on the AM radio and the streaming realities of the music industry's eventual ******* by Spotify.
But that song..."Sing"
You remember that, I know you do
Let's sing that chorus
Here we go, everybody ready?
Ok, 1, 2, 3, 4
'la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear, just sing
Sing a song'

I asked you to not say a word
And you were chivalrous enough to grant that request
I appreciate your silence
As I also hope you have appreciated my own utter cavernous silence
Without a single word spoken between us
This was without question the most quiet dinner I've ever spent
With anyone
Else
But
You

When the weight lifts
I rise
Hope like sunshine fills
My eyes
With gentle certainty
Realize
All things change
Nothing dies

I'm not as smart
As I thought
I needed to be
Now I see
I never needed to be
As smart as that

I idolized the intellectual
Depression was my reward
For failing to meet that standard
But life gets hard as the years go by
Harder, harder, yet harder still
Death loses more of its sting
The older I get
Until I'm happy to go out
Like Kevin Spacey's character
In American Beauty
Lost in the portrait of better times
Distracted unaware of danger behind
For at this moment Heaven fills his mind
A camera shot the photograph in his hands
A hateful man shot a .45 slug into his head
With a smile on his face he fell to the floor dead
Life extinguished in the exact amount of time
It took for the flashbulb to illuminate the image
In the frame
Smiles all around, except for the executioner
He was miserable
Feeling the weight of pounds and pounds
Lowering onto his back

Never to lift, thrown into
Water
Drowned like unwarranted litter from the
Fat belly of a mangy dog
Sinking like the ******* twisted face
Of the unwanted feline
Ghost sends for the ropes
Ghoul fetched the heavy stones
Goblin tied the ropes to the animals feet
Gully dwarf secures the stone
And I'm the only one with the sense
To see what needs to be done

Weight has lifted
I'm not as smart as I thought I was
Slow down, read aloud
It's almost as relaxing as cannabis

But that don't mean
I ain't gettin no cannabis tomorrow
And I hope it's bomb sativa
Cuz I wanna fly

There you are
I'm sorry
I gave up on you
I forgot what you felt like
Filling the emptiness I had come to believe
Was all that existed

Poetry congealed muddying the waters
Hardened into a gelatinous soup of words
A monotonous stream of narcissism
Unafraid to employ half-truths
Unable to regulate the deterioration
Of chemically mutated thought processes
In love with language only

Brother's birthday
I didn't say a thing
Y'see I ain't spoken to him in years
Dysfunctional ****** up family we're from
I distinctly recall him not wishing for me
A joyous occasion
The ties that bind
Were severed loose with great skill
And apathy
A bag-full of hard feelings
Solid as the stones in my pocket
Neither of us cries
But I wonder about my old mother
Having seen what this despicable world
Has to offer
You don't get what you want
Drive on by and try try try
You can't help but see the hard truth
In slow motion, dreams burst like bubbles
Empty plastic sacs
Litter the sawdust splattered floor
Waiting for the beast
That feeds on this misery
I think he's right around the corner
I heard his belly growl
When he looks at me I will close my eyes
Smell his matted hair
Hear his muffled grunts
Then I'll kick him so hard in the crotch
He won't know what hit him
As he slides harmless
Down the length of my body
Distracted by vision
To slump on the ground

Only a moment to tell you
Bradley Cooper wearing a trash bag
Makes more sense

How I despise
Still yet I cried
Or at least

There's no shame in begging for your life
When you're looking down the barrel of an assault rifle
In the hands of someone who isn't listening anyway

There's no shame in turning the other cheek
When the spray of bullets penetrates
Both

There's no shame in being remembered as a victim
When you never had a chance
Or a choice in the matter

The squishy adaptability
Of my memory foam pillow
Insures that the side of my face is
Properly buried
The feel of scraggly whiskers
Pulled roughly across the cotton
Pillowcase
Yanking gently the baby skin of my face
So I do feel something
Bryar's "Sinking of the Titanic"
Colors the air in the room
A timbre of melancholy
That effortlessly fills every square inch
From floor to ceiling
Tires our eyes, so heavy the forehead
So close to sleeping
So soon to seeing
That big fateful iceberg
Plenty of time to disappear into
Soft carpets and secret rooms
They're only purpose
To lull me to the paradise of sleep
After they explain to me how I got this old
Sometimes I don't mind
Other times they stink of death

the coarseness of his whiskers prickled
rubbed red rash masses burned cheeks
lips past chapped stretching crevices
straining to kiss your goose down smile
wondering what you see behind thin skein lids
closed but to the most brilliant illumination
so sweet so soft two fat bellied worms
caress cracked slugs immobilized through sodium
his voice a dark tunnel a flickering tongue of fire
settles
you absorb the warmth understand every word
reach to stroke the bristly brush bush pulls
down
push in fall up
for the reprieve from light's absence
as the two of you stand naked in the rain
waiting for lightning to strike

fROM THE dESK OF THE pOET**

I'm embarrassed to admit this. The night before last I ate an excessive amount of Sour Chewy Sweettarts. If you've ever had them you know that just one or two have enough toxic chemical dust sprinkled on them to make your mouth numb for several minutes. Well I got into a rhythm of eating one, then adding one to it, then another for three, then four, then five, then  six all the way to seven at one time. In that experiment alone I consumed no fewer than 26 Sour Chewy Sweetarts and even that was after having warmed up with several single helpings.

Sour Chewy Sweettarts were at one time marketed under the name  "Shockers". Let me tell you they should have respected the truth in advertising inherent with that label. The intensity of tartness conferred from all these ***** Wonka treats was remarkable and very well could have been the most face-squinching sourness I've experienced in my fifty-plus years.

The unfortunate downswing of these hijinks is that I developed a chemical burn that spread across the entirety of my tongue all the back to and including the area where my uvula hangs.

It's my own stupid fault. I could feel the chemicals eating through too many layers of cells long before the administration of candy pellets had reached four, even five-count multiples. By the time I had the seven pack ****** down to gel the burning was so bad I had to squint my eyes. The question that found priority amongst all that came to me at that moment was "how long is my mouth going to be so alternately sensitive and numb that I won't be able to eat my beloved jalapenos and spicy vittles?" A couple of days later and that answer still has not been found, although progress has been made to the point where I have faith it WILL indeed heal...you know how paranoid I can think sometimes, surely my mouth will never heal from THIS god forsaken self-inflicted injury, after all, I deserve it, hence the term "SELF inflicted". It's nothing but payback being it's usual self. If I never get to taste the wondrous seasonings of a well-mixed chili recipe cooked to perfection by someone who really knows how to make chili...if I never sigh with uninhibited satisfaction after downing a swig of Dr. Pepper or Miller's High Life or Guinness Stout...if I never again will be able to tell the difference between prime Angus beef and succulent Maine Lobster it is for good reason that I've been deprived of these tender mercies. It's because I knew when to stop and I kept on eating, though tears had begun to form.

No, it's more than that. It's because Universal Forces were all the while begging me, whispering in  my ears, "Stop! Stop! Enough! No more!" What would have happened if Joseph had ignored the Lord on that cool December night? Gabriel let Mary in on what was going down, what do you think would have happened if she'd gotten jealous of Joseph and disregarded the angel because he didn't have quite as much clout as her husband's Messenger? What would have happened? Nobody knows. But I know what would have happened if I'd heeded the advice of the benevolent spiritual  beings who were trying to warn me to lay off of the Sour Chewy Sweettarts. I wouldn't be sitting here typing on the hp laptop about how I got the chemical burn from hell.

But it seems like valuable lessons may be learned at every turn. So it is that with almost every experience I am resigned to also look at this one as the hard earned silver lining. Just what exactly have I learned? Well, first of all I've learned that it would probably be a good idea in the future to regulate severely the amount of Sour Chewy Sweettarts (aka Shockers) I eat in one sitting. If I ever eat them again, If the emotional scars of the chemical burn will free me in my sweet tooth's cravings for Wonka Sugar to ever again opt for the sour stuff. I learned that eating Vlasic Kosher Dill Pickles with such a freshly de-sensitized/throbbing chemically-scorched tongue is a prospect that shares much in common with a full day of taste-testing ghost peppers. Only on a slightly smaller scale does the briny pickle juice pack it's own searing acidic punch.

Other lessons? Oh I'm sure I could fill a book with lessons this has taught me. Writing that book might be the most useful, benevolent gesture I ever offered my fellow man but I don't know if I can do it. But if I did, this would have to be the first couple of lines on the very fist page:

Make sure you're going to have a LOT of alone time the morning after.

But that's just plain good advice.

It still may be the creeper yet
You just can't tell and that's just as well
Cause if you knew you'd lose that bet
Just might be the creeper
I said it just might be the creeper

It just might be the creeper, slow in coming, soft and humming
Hitting ceilings, hurtin' feelings, feeling like you sold your soul to a
Brilliant confusion in an infinite illusion that goes on and on and on and on and on
Yes, my race-baiting people, the creeper this might be

When that creeper finds you he will open up your soul
He will show you where your third eye used to be and give you his own
Yeah that's a mighty fine creeper, Yeah that's a mighty fine creeper
Ya don't even know you're so high
Yeah, ya don't know cuz you're high

Well, baby, is it creeper yet?
Has it made you doubt you mind?
Were you running round in circles till it
Snuck up from behind you did it
Make a sound as if lifted from the ground
It finds it's way straight into the heart of everything you believe
Convinces you, you've been decieved
But don't be afraid of the creeper, darling
He ain't selling you nothing you don't want
Ya shake the hand of the devil
Ya say it's all on the level
So by God it's all on the level
In your mind
But you walked away and left it behind
It's been gone so ******* long
We all know she ain't ever coming home

I get lazy sometimes
In my body and my mind
I know I ain't the only
Complicated schizophrenic in the world
And I ain't the only one who
Loves me some creeper
Yes I loves me some creeper
I'm down with the creeper
Hope he's
Down with me

The hissing fan on my aging laptop
Sounds like a woman being tortured
With varying degrees of severity
It's beginning to sound like music to me

Baby, tonight would be a good night
For you to surprise me
I ain't been surprised in so long

This is the creeper speaking
Y'all have a good night, ya hear?

When a pet bird escapes
Through windows or holes
In the walls or the roof
She is overwhelmed by freedom
Wings catching air she soars
In only one direction
Up
Almost as if she knows
There's nothing for her down here
A beeline straight into the stratosphere
Her weak wings quickly wearying
Having never really been used before
They can take her only so far
Until worn down they give up
Burning and aching like overdriven muscle
Exhilarated and ready
For free fall
Her weakness is the ceiling
An invisible barrier of pure air
Across which fate has decreed
She will not pass
Not high enough to touch clouds
But much too high to expect
A smooth landing
Much of a landing at all
Perhaps someone will see her
Grisly reunion with Gaia's unyielding Tarmac
The price you pay for too much freedom
As her cage is cleaned
Ready to be sold in a garage sale
Because the guy who kept her
Couldn't bear the guilt
Of accidentally leaving the window open
No matter his love for winged creatures
He'll never own another one

I would let you have it all
Each heartbeat, every breath
In moments like these
When I love myself
In such rare moments as these
You could take it all
Leave me back at square one
With nothing to work with
And nothing to gain
A mountain of a mole hill
I'd want you to soak in this feeling
Let it stain you like dye
Fly it like a flag
Hit the floor drunk with the ecstasy
Bust your head and wind up in the hospital
It's yours for the taking and so much more
If you can only help me know the truth
And ask of me one simple request
"How about not equating death with stopping?"
Please may the fire in my heart that acknowledges truth
Blaze all the brighter in the acceptance of this one
For it is the biggest and best truth one could ever know

Sleep tight
Don't be afraid
Tomorrow will come around
As surely as the sun has set
On the day you leave behind
Float into exquisite darkness
And follow the moment
Into eternity
Cognizant and assured
Of a safe return
To all you're leaving behind

Life arrived at through circular escalation
Chasing death the whole day through
Place the dot on the outside
Let it burn and settle in the retina
Microscopic from an angle
Clear as day in the sun
Try to catch a worm
But they slide
They glide
Swim
In
I

"Who needs rules? Rules are for fools! I'm the King of the Bees!"
              - Buzby, the King of the Bees*

Today the dank atmosphere brought down heavy curtains of fine high thread count cotton a magic carpet ride for a colony of lost bed bugs sturdy and steady so steady and sturdy it crushes my back when it descends down down down to crush the ever loving **** out of me so I pretend to pray

Pretend to pray because all my life I seem to have gotten it wrong they must have wanted more than I could give I couldn't talk to.someone I couldn't see and who who would at least acknowledge that I was being listened jim Morrison loudly proclaimed "YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LAWD WITH PRAYAH" time I thought that seemed pretentious but though I don't doubt the possibility that the LAWD may in his ****** way answer some of those impertinent petitions I a.) don't know those people or b.) slightly resent the fact that he's done so much for swindlers, charlatans, and scammers but never saw fit to send me the super sized blessing we been waiting for

But I was provided for and for that I am grateful tomorrow I'll be dispatched to see the grade school kiddies (just before they get slapped with a  handfuls of mercenary stew)
This  p
an suffocates

Maybe for the sleepy
A song
"We won't wake up tomorrow
So celebrate
On the ***** blvd
With Lou Reed

I'm good for nothing
In a world
Where Gertrude Stein
Is considered influential
She writes rolling rivers
Rushing rapids to drown in
Bitter algae laced salt water
But no rocks
No branches to reach out for
To grab and get your bearings
It is what it is blessed relativism
Feet in the enemy's camp
I stare aghast as the coven chants
Worshipping the inscrutable
Collection of letters, words, sentences
All placed in the service of...
A preference for emotion over reason
Because Reason won't stop laughing at the impertinence.
Perhaps Gertrude Stein's childhood home is for sale
I'd buy it and sleep in it and keep all the Stein groupies outside where they belong
They've no business being allowed inside
To sully up the detritus of innocence with their confusing, convoluted badly misjudged critique of Stein's cosmic joke

I write under my own name
A crushing weight of fear and shame
To remind myself
During times when I needed reminding
I'm good with alphabet soup
Words flow almost easy
Pulling your own teeth form your gums
A piece of spinach clings to my left incision
So that when I open my mouth
Just long enough to crack a smile
The spinach is a flat blackgreen
In dark environments
I may have scared a lot of people
Children in general
Without mincing words
My tooth is falling of of its own accord
I dare you to put in your mouth

I'm here to run off the John Mellencamps
To take the tops of the female hippies
Toss them into the air and stand back
They are going to crime like mommas
Missing their daddies
And daddies missing their sons

Melodrama don't care
He's got a 2/@@©aS
He's outta he-hurt
Making appointments with a guy sell small tortilla chips
But he expects that from melodrama

Nobody expects her to fall asleep in a large silk bed
But she does, and the only thing she should be concerned
about.
They may well lying on their stomach
Laying their heads on the ground so they could
Hear what's going on down there.

Wouldn't you like to know.
No! I do not want to watch her

I'm not feeling sorry for myself anymore
Though you may perceive it otherwise
I'm not wallowing in melancholia
As if it were the only drug
I'm addicted to
It isn't

In death, perhaps
I can slough off all these dead weights
That bar the entrance to my heart
That block joy and lasting happiness
That keep me from loving you
That keep me distant and alone
That keep the thoughts, judgments, cynical tainted observations
From mattering enough to mean anything

The responsibilities of life
Hit me too hard
I was too young
Forty years later
I'm still reeling
Stunned
But I'm not feeling sorry for myself
Because everyone carries a cross
God Himself brings the hammer and spikes
Just hanging around waiting for you to
Find a place to lay down and die
Nowhere on earth seems good enough

I'm not feeling sorry for myself
I'm just feeling sorry
Because for every moment of peace
Contentment and satiation
A fortnight of confusion
Despair and uncertainty

O, what a life

Gotta find a new way
To scribble the pencil on paper
To draw letters and words
Sentences and paragraphs
Chapters and books
Because there's just too much going on
In my mind
It's like a cement mixer filled with rock and mud
Turning 'round and 'round
Mixing that **** into concrete
You can put your hands on the spread product
And the imprint will dry in the block
Forever for to contrast the size of your hand today
With the size of your hand in 25 years
(Barring a catastrophe that demolishes the concrete)

Always hoped my mind would be a deep well into which could be thrown a cavalcade of essentials,
Knowledge, wisdom
Intellect
I've kept my mind open for them
And yet they weigh me down
They make me feel awful, like being squeezed across the chest by the not particularly strong arms of an aging circus  sideshow barker

Take what you will
Lighten my load
For Gods sake take the fear
Of being happy without feeling this ominous depression

This is the point where I rail against how unfair it is that in Colorado and a few other enlightened states marijuana is given due credit for it's medicinal propensities while 10 hours away in Oklahoma you can still be thrown in jail for possessing even a small amount.

People, scoff if you will
I need medicinal marijuana
I know that nothing else is going to bring me a modicum of joy such as it has for so many years

And I know it's wrong to be more excited about hooking up than in communing with God, meditating and contemplating on His Holy Name.
It's wrong
It's got to be a sin, obsessing about ***
While my desire for God wanes and
Flutters like a flag at a losing race
I'm sorry I feel this way
But I do
O Jesus I trust total honesty
Means a lot more to you
Than puttin' on the show
Pasting phony smiles
and lying, making out like their love for Someone they've never seen is consuming them with the same passion had it been a new boyfriend or a special girlfriend with flesh and blood and sinew and tendon and breathing heart and beating lung
Speaking words
Emitting odors
Skin to pinch
Glorious laughter in your ears
Guffawing at your stupid jokes, she likes you!
Mikey liked you, dear, I know that means a lot
Maybe ask them if they want to go see God with you
But if they don't you'll be disappointed
And if you're as depressed as I am
You'll stay home and hope they'll decide to hang with you

Because there's too much information
There are too many idiots walking the terra of this country
Too much misunderstanding
Too much pressure
Too much unloving intolerance
Too many headaches
Too much wringing of the hands.
Mister, you wouldn't recognize Jesus on the street if He personally placed your hand in His side
You don't want to know him, do you?
The Truth is a terrifying concept
Don't get too close to it, get burned by the light
You can't handle the truth, afraid you'll see it in the mirror
So you hoist the beam from both your eyes
Because someone said if you did that you could judge rightfully
But you didn't get that the beam wasn't a literal object , that it in fact could not be removed
None but the Christ Ever had the right to judge you
He judges from love, always seeing the value in the man, long past forgiven all sins
But they'll run from Him
I think he'll giggle, knowing they'll eventually come around
Maybe he'll have to show them
But for right now I don't see Him
My faith may be weak
But I need some ******* relief
I have a feeling He wouldn't mind
If nothing else He'd be pleased that it made me feel like living again

Scuse me while I load a bowl
Let me get a few tokes
Then you come back
And I guarantee you'll notice
A much friendlier, social man

Relaxin'
Comin' in for a crash landing
After a week exploring man-made weaknesses in the Ozone layer
It ain't no easy ride
But ya gotta come down, man
Yeah ya gotta go home
Don't ya?
It's like high dollar paste or glue
That binds me belly-down to this bed
Deceptively soft and comfortable
Mother, where are you?
Oh, Father, why don't I care?
I would still recognize your voice
Even if my eyes have forgotten what you look like
Do I expect forgiveness
If so tell me what for
You seemed to always want more
When my best was all I could give
How could I have known
It wasn't enough
Nothing can stop this train
No adequate force
Relaxin'
This is decompression
Sleep come down
Mama...

Claire, what was the title?
What was the reaction?
They told me bricks had fallen to the ground, that it took a lot of blood, sweat, tears and heavy hammers to bring down the devil's den.
That foul fortress of despair and wonder
Forever enshrined within the hearts of silly sailors everywhere.
There was laughter buried within those walls
But secrets.
Pain and mystery called together
Your name was not Claire
Indeed I know of no Claire.
It's a constant discouragement, this inability to complete a sentence.
Dualism they say.
They say dualism.
They say "Oh, no good, no good" but what they really mean is "You don't appreciate all the good things you have" and what I really mean to say is that all the good things I have were stolen.
Guilt turns to brightly shining example.
When I was about your age I was out working for a good ten cent piece. Uncertainty is a plague that I've lived with
From the end to the beginning.
When all I really wanted to do was to blow your mind.
Today is nothing.
Everything expands from a moment in time I lived through many years ago.
It may be lying to me.
I am easily deceived.

This was my life's work.
It's all I had going for me.
A head in a hand basket and a knuckle-rust sandwich for dinner.
Stored neatly in a corner
Reserved for mice and maggots
Wrapped in used aluminum foil
It's just as I left it
That cold and only day
Far away from grey skies and blue turtle tails.
I could barely concentrate on it most days.
Too much pressure.
Too many distractions and though I realized this was to be
My memories last stand
I couldn't help but feel as if more than time
Was being wasted.

All I could do was apologize.
It's the way my brain works.
Nothing gets done.
I fall in love with the thought of impermanence
Until the cold realization that it's my own illusion  
Whispering away on the wind and no one else's.
So
I fail again.
This beginning is near the end and it's no indication
Of what I'm capable of.
It's an anti-****** of sorts.
If there's a God in heaven,
If I haven't wasted all this life struggling against the weight of damnation in vain
I'll be redeemed in it's eccentricity
For eccentricity is all I've experienced.

Let me say that again.
I've courted eccentricity like a blind lover
Too eager for the afterglow.
The expectations I've hoarded are staggering
They make me an eager handyman of souls.
This eccentric nature I've absorbed
And yet it is loathsome to me.
I crave acceptance but ****** be the man who can figure me out.
It hurts so much to know I've missed you.
The signal resignation that I've been forced to grant normalcy.
Without sense or sensibility.

Should I speak in the third person?
Would you think I was trying to hide behind a character the thoughts and plans and deeds I might not care for your knowing?
Is that something I might do?
Those thoughts.
Those deeds.
Those plans.
They exist be they the property of
I
ME
MINE
or of Jerry the poultry dealer.
The only difference is that Jerry the poultry dealer is a fairly affable fellow.
I'm a *******.

The best time to spit your chicken little poetry
Is during the sad hours between midnight
And four in the morning
When the words get swallowed up in hungry darkness
And those who have ears to hear
Sleep the slumber of infants