You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
            —if we were rich
we’d stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!
It is dreams that have destroyed us.
There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.

                Well—
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
                            and—
dreams are not a bad thing.

Nowhere near completed
Nowhere near knowledge
Just a touch better than defeated
Still, like the embers of a fire
The soul doesn’t die easy
A gasping breath above the mire
The air is bittersweet
A shudder of things past and cautious hope
A gentle touch of heat
The sun on my skin
The world another hue
More vibrant than I dared to remember
As if feeling all things for the first time
I feel I'm taking flight
*Freedom is on the way

The coolest ****
Is found in all sorts of places
In the middle of nowhere
Don't know what pushed me to go there
At the bottom of a pile
Boy did that take me a while.
One color matches all
Wearing it from spring to fall
Dark and savvy round and round
Doesn’t even weigh a pound
The smaller the better I say
Though there more and more you have to pay
It feels like the extension of my body
With these you will never go faulty
Flat feet bring you closer down
Heel pain like biting hounds
What we have is a relationship
A strictly love hate regiment
It's not obsessive, recurring from the past
Small and simple is all I ask
Two, three colors it's too much
Add a pattern and I feel stuffed
Soft foam flat from all our travel
But we're proud of the mysteries we unravel
Top plastic makes us tangle tight
Sometimes you give my edges fight
I'd never trade you for the world
You’re my Flip Flops, You're my girl.

It was dark
the tear was lost
so it rolled down its path
Angels scorn it
the devils adorn it
It was a tear that tore me apart

The darkest sky
of a stormy night
when stars finish their parts
I cried for you, I craved for you
and a tear rolled down my eye
It was a tear that tore me apart

You were gone
with the moon's last glow
before the crack of dawn
Dusty shadows, washed away
by my dearest one
It was a tear that tore me apart

Many a year
loomed away
into a shadowed past
The eyes longed for you
they wished for you
and a tear rolled down my eye
It was a tear that tore me apart

My eyes dry up
when the tears freeze
in this cold autumn breeze
I think of you
and you give me warmth
and a tear rolls down my eye
It is the tear that tears me apart

Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder,
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate,
I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful,
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.

Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned,
Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse's leap,
And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and stinging,
As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous and deep.

Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging,
Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and soul,
But as its bitterness, so might have been our love's sweetness
Had it not missed the way­strange missing and sad!­to its goal.

I've always loved Alice in Wonderland
Ever since I was little.
I was never quite sure why,
but then I realized,
I was jealous.
Jealous of Alice.
I wanted a Wonderland of my own.
I wanted to have tea with the Madhatter
and my very own Un-birthday party.
I wanted to hold hand with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum,
and walk through that beautiful place,
While they showed me around.
Now that I've grown up I have different desires.
I want to smoke hookah with the Caterpillar,
and talk about life with the Cheshire Cat.
I want to dethrone the Red Queen
and free all her guards.
I want to escape my world
and go there.
I like this life, at times.
But it's just not for me.
I want to be free.
I want to follow the White Rabbit around,
to see what he does all day.
I want to paint all the red roses my very own blue, and purple.
I want to go to a place where it's always tea time.
I want to explore.
Just like Alice,
I'm a different person today,
than I was yesterday.
And the day before that,
and the day before that.
I want to go mad,
and not receive society's judgments for it.
I want to go to a place,
where I'll be accepted as I am.
Where all it takes to get there is
just a simple seemingly long fall down a rabbit hole.
Where the plants sing,
and the animals talk.
I want to go to that place,
I get scared sometimes
that I'm losing my muchness.
I get scared that my thoughts are making sense,
I don't want them to make sense.
I want to be at that place
where non-sense is accepted.
And they'll all love me for who I am.
I've come to realize what I really want is a Wonderland,
not a reality.

In the dream Ginsberg tells me I am beautiful,
he moves his stool a little closer to mine
to see me in the dull glow of the bar.
I sip at my cocktail as he takes Howl from his briefcase,
tells me Jack loves my baby-blue eyes.
Somewhere at the back of the bar
I can hear the jazz men munching sandwiches,
chatting to the girls who bring them empty beer glasses
for coins to be dropped into, for requests to fill.
The old poet with his Buddhist waistcoat
wants to change the world with his masturbatory atom bomb,
wants the President of the United States
to be silent, to be silent, to be
silent.

So Ginsberg calls the barman Moloch,
wants him to find himself in a wounded page
filled with Christmas catalogues that make the children sing.
It’s a bald-guy thing he tells the beer puller,
‘Look at the jazz boys **** the metal,
sweet sounds, Jimmy The Joe makes , sweet sounds.’
The barman wants the music to end
just long enough for him to miss the woman he loves.
‘So get your heart in a sonnet,’ Ginsy tells him
‘Get your heart in a ******* sonnet, gypsy caravan boy.’
I put my fingers to my temples, try to bring the poems together,
try to imagine the perfect microphone in the Kaddish hand.
Tell me another three line joke, Alan,
tell me the one about the Arabic love call you never heard
when your papyrus was just desert dust.
You know the one, Allen.  You know the one.

The jazz boys find their lips as Ginsberg finds his tear ducts;
I want him to chant his evolution into the mind of the sax solo.
‘It’s just us,’ he tells me, ‘we’re saving the world, Johnny Boy,
the greatest minds of my generation were ****** up the ***
so you ungrateful rhyming ******* could put colour on your book covers;
you see Lawrence throwing his spanners into the printing press?
That’s our little revolution: cherubic haiku page numbers
just waiting for the computer evolution to do something worthwhile.’
So Alan sorts his papers and gives that little attention-seeking-cough
the barman has been waiting all night for.
He pours the drinks, cuts the lime,
lets the poets supply their own anecdotes for this one-night-stand
that’s going to set every ******* pulse racing,
every heartbeat breaking for the goatee beard going grey.

In the dream Ginsberg tells me I am beautiful.
I tell him his spotlight is shining.

I can remember
smiling and laughing
though when I'm sad
its not what i think of
even if it should be
still smile when you can
and don't make yourself suffer
you can't chose how you look
so be proud you're yourself

Somehow an internet cloud
has leaked into my room, and
I can soar the skies now:

Don't know
how long this connection holds?
chat on Gmail?
am online on Skype!

Memories return on
wet wings of the slow winds.
Old photos on this computer.

Should I
be content with photos tonight?
Separation is sweeter
on misty nights.

You said you were
reading my poems last night.
what poems did you read?