Thursday, October 8, 2015

Suburban Sprawl

We each had good, green lawns.

There was this bit once, I tagged myself
in a photo in front of my lawn titled,
Just mowed the lawn #housework #weekends

It was featured on my facebook page.

We each had one of those, too.
quite serious.

There was a time when I used a pseudonym
but I shouldn't misrepresent myself;
luckily facebook had me change it back.

It was the right thing to do.

We each had an online presence.
Tied to our life;
our job.

What you say or do online can impact you
in reality, it should impact how you live,
we all understand that.

It is the small price you pay for progress.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Filing Papers Away

last 10 years.
park at end of childhood street.
this morning's sunrise.

today I realized
they were the same.
today I realized they were gone.

gone and going even further gone.
gone away from me.
gone forever.

what have I done?
since then, what have I done?
where have I gone?

look back.
look forward.

today I realized they were gone.
today I realized you were gone.

today I realized I will be gone.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Parable of the park

It doesn't
require much
to be lost

to realize
that you're lost
takes even

once in
a park
I saw an

it was
crawling across
the seat of a

what's a bench
to an ant?

what's an ant
to a bench?

I sat on the
bench and the ant
crawled across

think about it

what am I to
and ant on a
leg on a bench
in a park?

were we not
all lost together?
can anyone
say for sure?

It doesn't
require much
to give an

Love sentences to the New Yorker

I haven't been able to finish a poem in the new yorker since 1979
          and I wasn't even born yet

* * *

Somebody might want to let them know that their obsession with the ampersand
          has no lasting impact on their cultural relevance

* * *

Remember when Bukowski wrote about all the tap tap tapping back and forth,
          did it occur to you then, or now, that he was talking about you?

Monday, October 5, 2015

Insects in the snow

insects in the snow crawling toward the data centers
     of the contemporary digital brain
insects in the snow were once lines in magazines
     now twitter and sulk on flat screens
insects in the snow feeding personal thoughts
     to four-wall unmanned fusion centers
the eye of the great surveillance wheel
     black and spinning like a .45

insects in the snow of dedicated bandwith methodology
     television talk show false flag causality
     youtube montage conspiracy screens
     SNL as a political platform voting machine
     jon stewart doing the viacom shill in plastic suit
insects in the snow buried in coorful personality quizzes online
     what do they say about you?
     I want to know

what do you know about insects in the snow
     like where did they come from?
     where on tumblr do they hide?
on some hallmark card line over ocean sunrise mountain top forest photoshop
     how many will share or heart or like?
how many hands are red lines of ants steady crossing data paths
like insects in the snow

Insects in the snow as the static fades out and the white light goes
     insect like black trailing pixels cast out as typed lines
insects alone in the stale silent death
    within the inimical isolation of internet space
Insects in the snow becoming clear barren
     beginning to smear and blend
becoming obfuscated reality

to remain unfinished

in 100 years there'll be pilgrimage to Junction City Kansas
all these hyper kids on I-70 walls between them and the sea
head against the windowpane watching for that famous gray exit
there'll be a line of junk and hope straight down route 1 half-moon to LA
visions on the shore of Carpinteria like Key West or Desolation peak
this will all be done via virtual reality if we're still here if necessary
when the beach as black as oil and the plains are toxic waste dumps
and I'll be long ago buried in an anonymous plastic tomb outside Camp Hill, PA

Friday, October 2, 2015

300 dollars worth of repairs

the transistors
          the lamp posts     and
my car     too
          rust out in the rain

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Hallmark Card in honour of Paul Muldoon

If your work is ever rejected by the New Yorker
     just look up the editor's poetry.

I promise     You'll feel a lot better.

Monday, September 28, 2015

Says More Than it Intends (Found Poetry)

Combat zones to boardrooms.

Early morning drills to PTA meetings.

Transitioning back into civilian life isn't easy.

The USO Transition 360 Alliance recognizes this, offering career and family
resources to answer, "What's Next?"

Saturday, September 26, 2015

the best poem written on the back inside cover of a bukowski chapbook

lite a match
use that single flame to lite the pack
suck in the sulfur exhaust
let it burn off

Arlington Bop

Rock music
from cemetery stoop--
domino rows of white sacrifice--
odd feedback
guitar strings,
tour bus buzz
announcer drawl mix
vibrations off the back wall--
turf renovation in progress--
selling the national memorial of death
     to the old
     to the current
     to the new

Cemetery Sentences

Red hydrant on the ridge     what sets you apart from death?


Candy corn barricades stacked on roadside     wait for another day


Wind blows toward the one true God     Washington, DC


on the hill     line of trees     in the sky metal streaks     blue angels


lying flat in the swamp     freedom's five-sided tombstone


No photos please     the military industrial complex is now in session

If you got the time

     Foxcroft Heights
neighborhood est. 1938
     commuter mass relocation
16G 16J 16H 16X express
     homes along the pike
Highway horizon I-395
     on Saturdays
a skeleton frame
     no money to make
no money to spend
     US-244 West
Arlington Alexandria
     around the bend
Annandale up next.

Telephone Poll C1017 HJ6

Berries grow but won't
                    be eaten

Grass grows but can't
                    be cut

10:17 am
                    the time I was born.

Friday, September 25, 2015


one day ahead of myself
     I'm one day advanced in age
one day beyond in thought
     I'm one day behind in dream

Funny little jingles hold complicated lies
     you watch them but you can skip after five seconds

five seconds is too long
     they're on television too if you're old enough to own one

one day
     half looks forward
     half looking back

never the right moment to get what you want