fuzz

so many times it comes back to me
i look in the box, searching for the bottom
i look past it, shrug it off as-it-were

sunlight makes a memory,
overcast everydays make a memory
box cars and champagne corks
stuffed in the end of the perpetual ruck-sack
scrubbing off the glinting fuzz
has been a tiresome endeavor

poem

roads of dust in the rear view mirror
patience subsides and glows the full red color
morning sunrise, the moon sets first
cup of black, chair and hat occupied

trail

and there's resolve now
       the usurped cartel zip tied to their tractors
their painstaking slavery emancipated to (a rusted trail to next to nowhere)
             various forms of deported tears soaking into
         half-used paper rags
back to cardboard boxes. back to fence hopping
back to the american dream that all others cling to
                   in a razor blade of misfortune
back to the four walls built to keep them without, within

?

how is it the beggar is never late
                                 for fashion parade holidays
how is it that the less you become able
                                 the more stones there are for throwing
how is it the shit you kick last night
                                 becomes a misanthropic testimony at daylight
how is it that when never comes
                                 you're still in bed?

traveler

i sit on walls, watching dragon's breath color the sky
dragging a blood soaked blade along the edge of rock
i read aloud the words etched down by travelers
the circle spins slower now
i watch the day exit; stage left, single-stage-to-orbit

poem

it's no wonder how it drips onto the wall
tackling crumbles down to their greatest heights
lumber punches swifter at night time
varicose glass handles rambling their procurements
languishing in tube station holidays with verses of steel, vices of corrugation
there's a tooth robbing fruit sitting near a partially encumbered plastic wrapper
waiting and hoping in a vice grip of anticipation

;';';';';';';';';';';';

when it goes away
the stone slab fits neatly in place
the path of no return turns left
i'm still stuck here
will it ever?

fall

busted chompers. worn out tires
the fuel is getting cold and the days are staying warm
reserves are malnourished, page in, page out
electrical hums press softly on dead ears
......fall approaches steadily
page in, page out, shutdown

335642

my oversight falls flat on its face with the seeping light through
the darkened rags on the windowsill. the opening daybreak
wreaks havoc on the frontal lobe stirrings. like a knife in a blender.
while it has only been twice in happening, where does the
wrap fall, where does it exit to? i'm being presumptuous,
i'm being similarly(predictably) stubborn
but i can sit with a patented patience and watch the events localize in my favor

street

who walked these streets at night, every night,

on their search for truth? 

on their search for beauty? 

did there need to be such a trek as this?

such a lonesome hike on boulevards

not yet paved with modern stone or modern stories



original

days

down hard downtrodden,
the century rolls it's linear discourse into a fractional package
bursting at the seems with animosity towards consistency
with previously parallel lines and a buttered popcorn stain
or hail storm romances bouncing off concrete like 25 cent prizes
lights in tunnels and school buses filled with midnight cackles, dreamt up
by all the dreamers i can fit in my back pocket. howling, laughing.
swept up and around or on top of the dual beams supporting the sky.

and as beer can city topples in every direction we're all supposed
to act as interim mayor, supporting slapdash opinion or clinging to
a rock face precipice. gasping for air every blue moon, every
sidewalk holiday

world

it's time now, and i don't feel it
i feel the city crashing down
the excited scream of an
awakened populace yearning
for destruction, for entropy to
take effect
for the whole damn world
to go away when we ask it to
and we're asking really nicely
so far

poem

sip a distant midnight every once in a while
put your worry shoes on the nighstand
stab backwards with an empty bottle
and a handful of yesterdays worries
toss them out the window, slip your slippers
on and paddle upstream thinking of crispy bits
all the crisps and all the everything else
wrap it in cuddle furs and slap tomorrow silly

stuff

the earth keeps disappearing, and i can't see the stuff
the stuff was right there, where is it?
what's all that? oh jeez, can you take it?
it's finding and searching and looking and hiding it in a hole in the wall
and forgetting you put it there and never never never never
just as it disappears again you grab it. i grab it. there's a lot of grabbing involved
what's that and what's anything anymore. take it. take it and throw it off the cliff

new

as my days spent lounging come to an end
i can only appreciate that seminal output of
all my buddies that present me with party favors
glitter biscuits, rainbow stickies, glowing boxes
magic trinkets. always the cool things come first
glitter rainbow glowing magic. these are the things
that i always think of
when we get the peoples into space we should put
rainbow glitter everywhere and declare it New New Jersey

grab

being forward isn't enough,
when even the CME hides its face
when the aurora glaze fades from new york
summer rests its head, gone again
the infrastructure won't support these
trees anymore. they'll make friends with the chipper.
leaky scones, boxwood filling
finite investigations with all the trimmings
whatever patented exit wound sat down
while time slipped by like loosened rope
busted grabbers clench madly into the night
so there's one more item to savor
one more light in a cave that goes all the way down

poem

faded rediscriptions of everything that was and isn't
gonna stick around long enough to be there again
and you want to talk about your disposition, your this-is-how-i'm-feeling
the words grind themeselves to a gigantic halt on
boulevards of prognosis, waves of disturbing principles
or imposed legislature crumbling, tumbling, falling
getting up again and not knowing the why or how or the whatever
that holds you back, kicking and screaming. and i miss it all
i miss the window breezes(collections of old and new stacked up to fall over, pile on pile and it keeps going it keeps going it keeps going), piles of dirty motherfuckers
slopping around solemnly, starving for the next sip of amber
and while the pieces never fell correctly, they fell none-the-less
into a concise enough pattern that you never felt too lonely
near the end, until it was the end. until it was just a phone call
that you never heard again

sip soup

a hare-brained happenstance
like mice caught in the field
what i haven't sewn in meadows green
what i haven't harbored in the docks
naught to offer, none to savor
dried up twigs line the landscape
it's fire season, on the cusp of Fall's divisive razor
we'll draw the lines we're given, there is nothing more or less to offer
the bet comes with what you're dealt

learn to swim in coffee
roast it on a spit and watch the drippings
sizzle as they splat the concrete underbelly
hickory smoked patchouli, hints of a
floral whatever scraped from a grease coated
rainforest. patch the holes in my summer best
and never wonder why all the roses
decay when you need them most
keep swimming as the coffee heats up

poem.

all those times that were the
right times

i don't see them clearly
in fact

i don't really see them
at all

pub

communication errors frequent the pub i live in
frequently they're overheard, 404, in a repeating pattern
with syntax melodrama, frequency override
the FCC often intervenes with wax cylinder tunnel vision
hyperbolic analyzation, spectral correlation
and all other sorts of investigation. they come to the
same conclusion each time. another round, please

boring

guts can't handle this. this trail, perched on
the tree in the back that isn't blocking the view anymore
sawdust wrinkles its way up my sleeves, a kindred
warning of subterfuge hits the base station
hits the vortex. careening into another valley
the backwards run up the bluff hindered by
allegations, hearsay, blinding lights at night
back to the moon. my spacecraft sits in remission
tied to a streetlamp,
i'll sit on the curb, i'll sit in remission as winter closes in

longer

eyes open to the blinding red sun
laid out in deserts, trees, cascades
on my retina, revoking dreams

bitterness sits at the back of my throat now
cold creeps through the hole in my wall
they told me it was a window
the deception hung itself
in a mirrored contrast, cast amongst
the hay and weeds in my backyard
a split second woke up and found itself
amongst the shade of cream in coffee
only to no longer be a participant
to no longer court itself
to no longer hypothesize
no longer

poem

underwhelming confidence
the moon steers clear
it has no answers
which are pertinent to the repairs
of my spaceship
or the swaying balance, left to right
but these are things
you tell to insomniacs
to crushed ice lovers
cured homeless
waste guilty felons fighting in the soup line
porridge hoarders
brazen followers of do-wrong
          night watchmen set on the picket fence precipice
       watching as the sun sets on empires built
    with leftover despondence
out of reach, out of reach

night

the chocolate bunnies are getting aggressive. feet first

the carpet ground proved hospitable for the former nano-seconds
my grassroots reprieve aided by sweltering bouts of incommunicado
it's very well passed a time for a save-and-pick-this-up-tomorrow

fire

                and wouldn't you know it
the lamp lights light up street signs in gruesome colors
frivolous bits of locality spinning down and down and down and
once more, bite your lip: hold your tongue O'Bryan. the final gulp
                                                                                  the final...
always goes down better than the first
and your walk home never gets any less lonely

the sea the sea

raise your glasses in warship reverence

parting tides and nautical bliss

will bring us together at the next jibe

walking slower now

a colored wind blows straight down, cutting the vestigial remains
of your dormant past. grey colored night, everything's grey.
it runs deeper than that, hacking through old thoughts, new thoughts
i have to hack, chop, and clean up all of those old things i always
wanted to forget. is there another time? will the future bring the tide in,
and wash away these dreams for me? everything's grey. and it'll be grey again

crutches

front porch surrounded in a cruciform daybreak.
still the fog fog fog in the belly of summer's sweat lodge

I'll strap myself 

into my rocket couch 

for another sub-orbital 

spin around my

brain's perimeter

and in a reprise sort of way the previous nocturn mentioned in
ecumenical elation...and continued on. pick yourself up by
the furs. pick yourself up by the way. pick yourself up another new.

no stars

looking down street-lit mountains
sounds of alto from the tailgate fortress

a paper bag procession reminds me
what nice strings strung in temporary
warmth can do for a pair of ears
or a pair of feet, on a long winding path
down the first road to fall

poem

general infantry marched through my walkway
a palindrome of regurgitation, agitation, activation
propped up, slapped down by so many winter breaths
denim bike brigades, munching luxury on the backs of the destitute
carried over by a lovely lovely frost covered pint of the future

owiefdjsnvcm

dusk and dust and brigands smashing each other
this typewriter sits at the edge of a temporal hell(thegoodkind)
the flowers lining the event horizon are too inviting
for a refused offer. a negative walk-away.
transportation in the back yard, beer in the fridge
cloudy skies, cloudy minds offer a helping hand towards the future
i'm well inclined to climb aboard

saturday

ivory memory. windows open
all the flowers of yesterday brushed past
me and the wind cooled down to be my buddy
i pushed apart the pages of a book
i wasn't going to read
and looked and looked and looked
at a framed picture of a lovely world that i don't believe
and i still don't believe it, but it stares right back at me

chair

money and walls of lice do nothing to support your sit-upon framework

too many listerine sun baths scuff up my marble streets

i'm taking out a loan of infuriated infatuation, stay right here

i'll be right back

lamplight

white light and temporal trashbag decay
standing, sitting, black hole approaching
oxygen trough the boundary wall
dividing night from day with a gravity smash
dusted concrete. if you don't want to say it, don't

business

    humble mornings(mourning?) mornings
    greeted and spoke and spake caffeinated
    just in time for another question. I've got until june.
                        I've got until june.
           I've got until june. and then: exodus
      until june: stars, sprinkles, dragons, and a million little nagging nothings
    at the back of my throat
    roasting a pig on medium for eternity. basting, roasting, toasting, nothing.

green grapes

yesterdays grapes probably have all the strings attached. but all the flavor sits on the table, printed in soy based ink and handed to the ignorant passer-by. denim crotches favor the glory

green olives

yellow dot, narrow focus
message transmitted: next bridge over
potato salad with the hollowed haze of cock sauce
one more bite
all the dreams have vanished in the road

pizza

 

look at that rock

you could sit on it

and eat a whole pizza

it's made rock

it's made of sad

i wanna sit there

and look at nothing

talk to no one

except Domino's

because they deliver to the moon now

chicken wings

blue news

a thankful cajole and nod and wink and walk out the door
llama eyed awkward, pint of pint of sit-down. shut-up
one heavy handed glance around: ghost town drama
built up fences, torn down,    roasted... salted......    parallax precipice and a
                                                                          narrowed down corral car lot
           hindsight alibi, handshake peppermint
           extra saliva tongue depressor
                                                razor face shoe barrel
                                              mud spike liberty smash

calmer now. hurricane subsided

feedback

eyeballs out, in an adventurous way
    glazed over grinning at an apparition 
         marble stone sheets prop up
             liquor induced opporunities
                 back of the mind dwellings

              glass is empty

before spilling over the brim
all flames ignited, all sensations dulled

shiny

    dogs to rest, forlorn prowler
midnight- fork in the road
passing on the macaroni salad
             structured on the backs of ants
             hives of bees
the acquisition of literature leads to
full on fucking suspension of disbelief
as the bright lights of future servitude
shine in your eyes like the most horrible
of birthday cakes

south west apex

they've got boxes i'm in. top of the chart
emancipate the printer, and all could be free
but nothing is left. down the backward side
hopping in lobster bins, crashing through
philistine fences, luddite passphrases.
one more alum-sleeve down the hatch
one less worry, one less dream destroyed
screaming at the moon on a warm bench

for Garth

   beneath the tears of trees
 light through air and dust and smoke
blessings upon blessings
       the high-roller cartel cruises
       along a rusted trail to next to nowhere
    extra spaces dot my 't's and cross the whatever
    the spiritual guides of my brains manipulate
    universe thoughts, set them on a toast and pop
                                                them back into my neural oven until
 they're just greasy enough to spoon feed a church choir
and if that doesn't make sense, i don't know how to console you

upholstery 2

                        the upholstery shoegaze is a better bed than most
                       for a shit kick sunday holiday

upholstery

         so too may i have missed the mark
      so many before me seem to have been
                                          stuck in the mud
                                         flapping rudders, with shit grin gazes
                                                    the backwards confuse that i won't take
                               my dimly lit yesterdays always seem to
                           make some sort of dimpled impression

paragon blush

the warm chill with the fan off
through a portal, porthole, screen window
the jays rage, the light scatters itself
amongst the organized wreckage
cracks in the wall ponder the notion of
daylight strangers.                                 my mason mug
                                                              sits upon its thermal pedestal
                                                              and watches as the slow rising
                                                              star of the east makes its
                                                              diurnal journey to the well
                                                              charted water world

hats

backwards garbage truck
unfiltered, unloading
packing down and picking up
and dripping along the stretcher row
of another tin can funeral,
and another dimly lit patio stoop on the moon
two more days, three more weeks
fog hat construction sounds
and extraneous wreckage of a high caliber

perpetual jobs

he sits in a box with a big hat
a big hat
and he pokes and prods through papers
and finances. insert disk. press enter.

machines have their legs and they walk
but the chains of bureaucracy(i can never spell that right. write. rite. the first time)
chains of thought, trains of thought.
whole big fucking armies of thought.

get the mop and a bucket. we're gonna be
at this one all night