Silence and cloudy corn fields
dragging thoughts and ways of life
up the stairs, and who cares?
find out who the real ones are,
who the real ones are.

The ones that cry beer in the night,
whip up emotional whirlwinds
in the grainy desert under
cornered countrymen,
and well off grandsons.

The ones that shrug, ride the bus all day,
eat hearty meals with harsh breathing,
joke about sexism, racism, and religion
all in one instance.

The ones who show courage in the face of *******,
read the writing on sidewalks, bathroom stalls,
lipstick mirrors, between the lines
and make a big deal about it.

The ones who take pictures of the prettiest of sights,
and feed the over growing industry,
of hard feelings,
and ******* parents.

The ones that you can see the land with,
climb on the rocks,
breath heavy on the trees,
watch pebbles tumble down the hill,
and take picture, sweet soothing pictures.

The ***** is long and long and longer than all things long
we’re all dragging our thoughts up the spiral stairs
winding, swift, and lift
concentrate now,
you might miss all that makes those stairs
all that makes those stairs:



The continuous clanking nagging
gnawing of bone two-by-fours,
every step a painful pushing process

Projected eco-systems on every level

Your mink fur coat flowed majesty as we exited.
I stuck out my crucifix hand out to call a cab
and again the chill of your fashion
licked my admirable high blood pressure away in the dreamy night

I miss those nights, at the Beef-A-Roo
handling quiet food, soft and chew
in where the warmness of the world is
channeled by a single dish, of well interpreted meat
and the saddest sight to be seen
was the emptiness of our plates

people chattered around as we:
The experienced veterans feasted on the fastest food
every bite was a kiss, that you forgot to send my way
but, “that is fine” I say in my cheeseburger whispers
greasy and calm

And, eventually, our empty troughs were all that remained
and I looked fondly against your plump mustard face
“Lets leave” I say “and find a more romantic meal
one where I am the chef, and the first and last meals
are forever the finest love in the land
take my hand!
and play the most important roll in my love sandwich
tonight and forever…

Your mink fur coat flowed majesty as we stepped out
I reached out a cleaned hand to call a cab
and again the chill of your fashion
licked my admirable high blood pressure into the night.
Alone I sat in the cab, tight… against the leather

Heaven, must be one rad fast food joint

Here I lay again, for drawn curtains
and restless sleep against the smooth afternoon overcast.
Gloss and film from smoke injected eyes:
a hazy description of counting sheep
O’ what a restless sleep I have found
on an ocean of sheets tonight,
where thoughts come one at a time
filtered by starry nights slow burning tail pipe cigar.
Another ****, would open sheep filled fences
and I have surely imagined wolves
in my prairies tonight: products of the night machine

But, how does this unbelievable tossing and turning of
island factory gears knock ones course a few degrees short?
Had we been taught to sail correctly
through the crunching and clanking of the industrialized night
we might have noticed smoke in our sails,
from the moon we suspected it hails
and shines a curious ray,
that signals for workers to pack their weary souls
“It’s time to go home” they say
“and forever we shall work another day”.
And it is there, among the chaos of relocation
that my eyes become anchors
that lock me into a comfortable flotation
and as distracting clouds roll past
I come to an endless sleep

In the beginning of it all
thoughts of cleanliness and being tall
for adventure, comfort has it been
leashed, and feeding alive and scene.
Lovely as it ever was,
thoughts of lines and warm buttery hugs.
But, at the linear edge
projection extends a skinny hand
mother, father, and like minds of friends that linger
stand behind each delicate finger,
and maps are drawn,
but until the dawn
of too late and too little
you shall never lay eyes on the maps they whittle.

In the end of it all
flowers, stone, and deaths call
ravaging relatives: attentive for the will
of the will… In complete awe
still
and placed shall remain
nor kingdom of glory or tortured flame
for only reflection exists in the perishing hour
where cloaked friends, and tea time sour.
And there shall en root thoughts to show
how it was, for lines of life to grow
mirror, figments and snippets of all that pass
lag judgment on all spent on green equivalency last.

The local ***** house burned to the ground today
some insurance dispute I’m sure
the people were sad

In it’s place, the Golden Corral across the street
knew business like never before

A new ***** house was never build

To come
and go at the same time:
it’s clockwork kid
you’ll find
beneath the toys and tricks
of mankind
blind