i used to think i was "that girl"
who was destined to
live a life
that only amounted to **** buddies and
loves that i drove away
because who the hell wants to get close to a person
                                                          ­             a human
                                                           ­                            born imperfect
                                                       ­                                                         and therefore unable to promise to never leave you or never hurt you or never let you get too far into something that they know will never be capable of lasting as long as you need it to.

but here i am
                       ****** up
                       anxious
                       irritable
                       downright depressed
but ready and prepared and on the way to not being such a ******* idiot who thinks another person
                    another boy
                    another mouth is going to make me happy.

I'm already there.

I am afraid of what I've made myself.
I am a Demon, you're beliefs 'n your loves
are enemies.
I've tried so hard to leave behind the
memories of what once was so
precious: emotion, wrathe, **** and wicked
lit like wicks and taken through
Daytona dark, the strip we marched, the
palms looked like black fireworks.
The ocean sang, the handclaps rang and waned,
and Bobby talked to me for hours. But
in the end I still felt alone, fell quiet,
the handclaps rang and waned.

THE CHILD Margaret begins to write numbers on a Saturday morning, the first numbers formed under her wishing child fingers.
All the numbers come well-born, shaped in figures assertive for a frieze in a child's room.
Both 1 and 7 are straightforward, military, filled with lunge and attack, ***** in shoulder-straps.
The 6 and 9 salute as dancing sisters, elder and younger, and 2 is a trapeze actor swinging to handclaps.
All the numbers are well-born, only 3 has a **** on its back and 8 is knock-kneed.
The child Margaret kisses all once and gives two kisses to 3 and 8.
(Each number is a bran-new rag doll ... O in the wishing fingers ... millions of rag dolls, millions and millions of new rag dolls!!)

Crushing out handclaps like cigarettes
white noise whispering from each speaker
song long over but the melody lingers
codas in my mind, over the reports of car alarms
and muffled conversation
loose plastic groans of the office chair

Another clean night viewed thru slanted blinds
cold feet bare on ashy shadow carpet
smoke in the air, streetlights slit in beams
memory slips, hands type toward
a dreamlike place, some lost day

I set it straight
crippling nonsense intense
packed tight with grilled cheese and avocado
Cazadores and cranberry push back sleep
tiny cardboard boxes fill me
******* fluidity, one brown duck
among the aggressive others
that look on your face
riding a rusted bike on your birthday
your smile luminescent
around the lake and then

perhaps a beer and a hug
potential tumescence grabbed and poked
eating rusty water from an old brown glass
leave a leather letter, a leather gun in hand
garter belt memory, a trombone face
a cardboard avocado, a lost refrain

Handclaps, trapped, you are another clapped out hasbeen fading on the subtle regret of a haunted dancefloor,that echoes to a trapdoor of your reflection ,deep on a stained echo of  a fatigued stand up romance  fall at the feet of saints part time actors on shadows of downbeat sadness ,that chance meeting fall out from insight to quicksand that pours on a sinking fragrence of pitiful sadness and tide tiredness of desert slipstream and fragile happiness to upturned madness ,undressed to a ****** round of applause that maps teach us to follow to a statue frozen and silent .

THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY


YOU SEE BRIAN ALLAN WHO WAS BEING TRAPPED BY THIS TRAPPER DUDE

DECIDED HE WILL TRY AND BE A YOUNG DUDE AND GO TO THE NIGHTCLUB

AND SINK A FEW JIM BEAMs DOWN HIM, MIND YOU, EVERYONE WAS CELEBRATING

THEIR SUCCESSES AND FAILURES AWAY LIKE NOTHING FLAMING ELSE AND

BRIAN WAS SO MUCH INTO ASKING HIS MATE PAT TO GO TO THE NIGHTCLUB

WITH HIM, BUT HE WAS SO MUCH INTO GOING TO THE AUSSIE DAY BBQ, WITH HIS

FAMILY, AND WHETHER THAT WAS A LIE OR NOT, BRIAN ALLAN DIDN’T CARE, AFTER

NOT UNDERSTANDING 5 TIMES, HE FINALLY RESPECTIED PAT, CAUSE, HIM AND PAT HAD

A LOT OF FUN TOGETHER, YOU SEE WE BLASTED HEAVY METAL, LIKE TWO WILD MENS KIDS DO

AND I REMEMBER AS WE WALKED DOWN THE ROAD WITH OUR STEREOS, SINGING

ELO’S DON’T BRING ME DOWN OR TWISTED SISTER’S WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT

AND ME AND PAT WERE BLASTING THIS MUSIC TO WAKE UP THE OLD TIMERS

THEN BRIAN ALLAN WAS WALKING HOME, AND WAS A BIT WORRIED ABOUT BEING MUGGED

LIKE ALL YOUNG DUDES DO, ASKED HIS MATE PAT TO WALK WITH HIM, YA SEE IT’S NORMAL

FOR PEOPLE TO BE SCARED OF THIS, AND ESPECIALLY WHEN MY LAST 2 LIVES WERE TAKEN FROM

THE EARTH AT AGE 8, THAT IS WHY I LIED LIKE THAT, YOU CAN’T CHANGE THE PAST, SO WE PLAYED

OUR MUSIC LOUDLY, SAYING WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT, WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT

WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT, ANYMORE, YOU SEE WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO CHOOSE IT

YOU SEE WE HAVE POWER, AND THIS ARMY MAN WILL USE IT, TO SAY WHAT HE WANTS, IS THAT I DON’T BELONG

AND WE’LL HEAD OFF TO BARACK FOR THE CANBERRA RAIDERS, AND THE CANNONS, AND CHEER FOREVER

SAYING, RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP

AND THE SAME HANDCLAPS FOR THE CANNONS,

CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

AND BRIAN WAS BLASTING BRIAN’S STEREO REALLY LOUDLY, ON THE MUSI OF MOTORHEAD AND TWISTED SISTER

AND THEN BLASTED THE MUSIC OF JIMMY BARNES AND NOISEWORKS, AS WELL AS THE ROLLING STONES

EVEN ROD STEWART, GOT A MENTION TOO, JUMPING JACK FLASH IS A GAS GAS GAS

YA SEE BRIAN ALLAN HAD FUN WITH PAT, BEING SHOWN ALL OF PAT’S HEAVY METAL TASTES

YOU SEE HEAVY METAL IS REALLY REALLY COOL DUDES

AND AT THAT TIME, THE ONE THING I LIKED ABOUT HAVING PAT AS A MATE, IS HE NEVER GOT REALLY CRANKY AT MY FACE

I READ INTO A TIME HE WAS SICK OF ME, BUT HE WAS NICE ENOUGH TO KEEP HIS TEMPER DOWN, I ADMIRE THAT

I AM NOT LIKE MILHOUSE, I AM NOT WANTING TO AT LEAST LOOK GAY

NOT THAT THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY, IT’S JUST NOT ME TO BE GAY

ME AND PAT WERE TWO HEAVY METAL JUNKIES, AND NOW I AM A YOUTUBE ******

YA KNOW, I SHOW THE WORLD HOW MUCH I WANNA PARTY, I AM NOT LIKE MILLHOUSE FROM THE SIMPSONS

EVEN IF YA WANNA BE LIKE NELSON FROM THE SIMPSONS

I HEAR DEAD PEOPLE, I CAN SEE THE DEAD, I AM A BUDDHIST WHO BELIEVES IN REINCARNATION

I SEE DAD IN THE BODY OF ELIZABETH CAMPBELL,

YA SEE ME AND PAT LAUGHED AT ALL THE CRAZY PEOPLE AT OUR SCHOOL, IT WAS ****** FUN, DUDES

ME AND PAT, PARTIED, ALL THE NIGHT, GOING TO NEW YEARS PARTIES AND TO *** BLACK AMUSEMENT ARCADES

AND MANY MANY MORE, WE WERE COOL KIDS THE COOLEST KIDS AROUND THE COOLEST KIDS THAT YOU HAVE EVER SEEN

WE DRINK JIM BEAMS AND A FEW NICE COLD BEERS, AND CHUCKING METHANE ALL OVER THE DEAD

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS DEATH, EVERYONE REINCARNATES WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A COKE WITH PATRICK, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A COKE WITH PAT

WE DRINK IN MODERATION, AND WE GOT HOME AND TRIPPED OVER OUR CAT

WE DRINK IN THE TOWN AND COUNTRY, TO GET THE ATMOSPHERE SO RIGHT

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A COKE WITH PATRICK, AND PARTY INTO THE NIGHT

YEAH, BRIAN AND PAT, 2 HEAVY METAL WANNABES, FROM THE 1980’S, D U D E S

to the tune of guitars, mandolins,
bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray
Freighters crest the punk-washed waves
the sun shines out
unaware and uncaring
Our tiny animal foibles
behemoth sub-audible
military choppers
chop the air
The air, no offense, much better
on it's own
sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks
the promise of returning surf
silent acceptance by rock and sand
Again and again, we return
and it returns to greet anew the day
again the sun and
more importantly, the moon

And here, right here I am
phone calls and photographs be ******
to live, to breathe, and be free
this is the gift we share
the covenant we acquiesce to
life's contract:
Be here now
and then be gone
Good work done
and done again

to acknowledge human order
to rever and accept
to create, not destroy
despite what might have come before
or will come again after
Be ****** or choose not to
This is our secret
our secret treasure
kept right here
within earshot of the bored gods
spread out like bleached wood
our foibles, our suspicions,
our struggles
our gallant moments
in sunlight or in shade
we persevere and
look **** good doing it

Oh, the momentary glory
The ecstasy of our
reciting invincibility to one another
like religion or science
we accept it and trust it
and, therefore, it is true
if only for a moment

the laughter subsides
and what does it leave us?
the exhalation of waves
on shores unnamed

Things we hold so close, so near
clenched with inescapable fear
that this might suddenly end
lights out, curtain down
a dejected sigh, a knowing frown

This great place, this great land
Oh, the metal in my days
and in my hands
There was a time when
I would worry, I would fret
and wonder at what
each gesture meant
But now so much more I know
of the secret songs of our beloved coast

to think that somehow
we can digest all this
parse everything that befalls
such a joke, it is to laugh
in the shade of the cove
far from the mast
It is no joke, but more
to laugh, not to cry,
nor cower back

OOF! WHOO!
sunning & living & loving
just so
It is our way and all that we know
amid handclaps & footfalls
among cliff faces & sheer falls
we shine so solitary
& bright among the world
and its fashions

The thrill of standing so tall
against inhuman scale
its momentary humor
our highlights & travails

So much meat to manipulate
against surf & sail
from the privilege of the cove
friendship against the rocks
winds and darkness
Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle

The schooners schooning
the bay accepting
lucky our lives absorbing
the glory, yes
the glory, I said it
THE GLORY
of living today
like a grown-up
with a robot with its
hand up

Oh, the exertion
of simply being human!
Constructs of strobe lights
& nonesuch!
We claw, we dance,
we construct the armature
of the ridiculous!
We strive, we fall, we climb
imagined walls
What excellent detritus!

And now the chill descends
the shade the cove knows
only as a friend

I sit alone
construct these lines
wishing for lost loves
amid shade, sand & brine
sunken mermaids in my mind

I love the threat
they present
For me, ironically,
it's all in words
I share the secrets
that the tide keeps
in surf & loam

I look at technology
& I look away
that's how I know
I'm human
how I know
I'm not completely lost
not completely
without animal

All we can hope for
a pumpkin at sunset
& not being pathetic
with people that love us

Yes, it's a lot
good weather and foul
beacon of human remembrance
It's all we can ask for & should

(Oh, Dan Langton
how much you've simply
taught me
thru words, sure
but just as much through
sly looks & laughs

Portland you're all
houses and woods
and there's always ****
to do: so tender
to women "Beat me!
Oh Bob, beat me!")

& Motorhead prevails
on the Golden Gate coast
away from the campground
our shared & secret cove