I love the great outdoors,
for there,
I can make water
from tree branches,
set a snare,
trim & dress a rabbit,
even start a fire in the rain.

I can
make myself invisible,
backtrack to lose my scent,
read a map,
use a compass
& tell time by
using a plain 'ole stick.

And if I get sick,
I know about
medicinal plants,
preparing
a natural-soup,
make jerky.

Reading the stars
is a lost art,
I can do it.

I've eaten crickets,
munched on grasshoppers,
set a broken leg &
erected camouflaged shelters.

Constructing weapons
is an easy trick,
I know about fighting tactics,
hand-to-hand combat,
can practice things martial,
get found when I'm lost.

I can stay warm
in the winter
read the weather signs,
go deep underground.

I don't think much
about the Apocalypse,
but if it comes,
all I need
are the clothes on my back.

outside a car is rolling by and they're throwing big blocks of wood

that sometimes other cars run over

and it splinters

and hits pedestrians and i hear

yelling and cursing

and babies shouting
as the ambulance arrives


and performs the heimlich-


and a hellicopter in the distance is swallowed by angry clouds.


any way-

i haven't been to the grocery store in 2 months-

but i buy plenty of energy drinks at the rite aid and sometimes nougat bars and various
fruits and grains.

i walk out of there
and a woman kind of leers at me, and her dog is lunging at me and i grip my knife--

but it was my fault
because i'm ugly apparently.

then the rain comes,

and i'm stuck for 6 hours swinging my head around and looking into an eclipse

and the *******

all ride ponies while the apocalyse looms ever nearer and


the doomsday horsemen behead a man in istanbul.


the bag of coins
is shiny like fresh tin foil

in a box of mints

To erase your subtle pangs.
You become ingrained in verses.

I will not speak―
a single word to come to terms
with the unknown.

But life extracts a price.
You must become a buddha―
and leave your princess.

You will not see―
the Apocalyse giving rise
to an opus. And my child
you cannot read my book.

The voiceless dumb
bell goes on ringing to send a
call for the faithful to come
and jump into the cauldron of moon.

I boil in the guilty sun.

Take me out
There is a lot to see
If you feel alright

Know your neighbor
If he keeps guns
If the labor is down with disease

Promise your mother
You'll stay indoors
If the apocalyse comes knocking on your back door