Wednesday, January 28, 2015


there's a rock,
heavy, tragic
chipped and chalky
brown, nestled
among the crabgrass
of suburban ameria,

I can point to it in
our past,

an indoor porch,
screen doors, screen windows.
inside, children's toys
piled high in boxes,

my memory shift

out back behind house,
chrome ladder turned
lengthwise on its side

white shingles of the
adjacent shed,
dirty old, fading
to speckled gray

that first child's recognition of death

when rock strikes brittle legs,
a confused mind
showing pain
absurd, unnecessary
due to its inhuman nature
to the laughter and malice
of innocence

to the children
running around me

I watched you die
thought I left before
the final breathe
not even looking back

I have been complicit
in your death my entire life,

still I am guilty
still I am killing you
have killed you
will kill you

everyday I am killing you
I live on

years and years
I have taken from you
buried you in them

If I could touch the past
it is in that moment
& and other cruel moments,
moments of my failure
that you are reborn

If you recall the sky that day
looking up now through years
and painted death
it was blue, so few clouds,

How many more remember you?

where are their thoughts headed?
Where have my own gone?
What have I gained from any of it?

Dentist Appt.

olive chairs
lined in a row
one two three four

I am at far end
alone, in a corner
this is purposeful,
by design

this is something sinister
here, something about the
dark finished floor boards
something in the foam green
colored walls

there's no gaps between the
wall and my feet.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

My Stories

After waves of the undertow fix
ferruginous, rotted, inchoate
fingers remote control fingers
childish yearning fingers extension
of the reeling mind fingers twitching
jonesing aching fingers turning
television channels over in the void

what's the come on, next reality put off
time is a relative circumstance
in this world one program is three in the next
what threat is prioritized in expanding number-scape
a push and incursion world collision
these tumbling time strapped pieces never the same
adrift in pre-programmed resonance
ghosts of the ideaverse
their skeletons made up of words.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Put in the Oven

Are we baking under
florescent lights?
          wasted away
to day-glo skeleton
     colorized bones
          sell me out
wake the dead police
     they zombies
          not for brains
               for order
     for order & honor & duty
I am hand shackled
     to dying trees nobody sees
                          nobody care
those concrete monoliths now
     steel framed
          invincibly framed
stare down on high
     from techno-heaven throne
where data goes
               know all
redact edit binge
the modem-brain-CPU
Casting long fiber-optic shadows
     over ruined cities
     over ruined heads
     to grow under
     artificial suns--

Sunday, January 25, 2015

fortune teller

boxes stacked upside
down from heaven facing
earth like pyramid corpse
clouds of the infinite
sinking extra-dimensionally
into blue globed linear space
time limited vision reality
speaking in splintered images
they rupture the earth:

the past can be pointed to from all sides

every photograph we have
of ourselves show faces painted on
paper film skin

the future is an endless tidal wave never to break

theme here seems to be my own paranoia

oh, america how have I gone
this far into the cold night
of darkness
locked away in my room,
watching past orange lights
and silver spiked crown
at your pentagonal heart?

Where do I go from here
slipping through your
varicose veins mucous
dripping dried up white
blood cells waiting from
recycled heavy and war torn
overblown hero stories of
imperial empire anguish?

ah, oh, I am just one flicker in
the star scarred sky,
a falling streak of light
struck by a shadow,
never was or here or going
which-way any way,
but out out Out

ah, longing for that voice
on the page, hoarse and
mumbling and calling,
I'll be patient, still as
skeletons of old dead white
bones, faded to grey dust
scattered like poems
as ashes on western wind

After All This

As heavy thoughts I am
here come to you laden
with dreams and fears
and not much else to say
standing by your bed
at the rail at the foot
in the dark dark night
I am phantom as lucid
dreams of me as sleep
paralysis thought nightmare
do I look like withered
old man horror spirit
weighed down? I feel
this image of the mirror
ticking in my vision
fire heat cold burning
vision nighttime dream
aged hands reaching out
to torture you forged beyond
our summer veil and knowing
I asked too much I silent scream
vanished oblivion obliterated
as if nothing gone remains
you are the same confused self
peering out into bedroom coal
black blurred shadows
I am nothing real after all.


seminal line

               dropped dripped streak

on thought paper spread

               crumbling fluid analysis

barbaric nomad

               emphasis on phallic features

sparing dreams 

               felt fallen erected

on sparse landscapes

               mind body endorsed 

enriched condolences 

               pouring white souls


Hit the breeze

little movement on the outside, looking down, peering down, facing down over the queue of cages on precarious angles humanity in miniature moving toward the fine end the .07 lens scratched into cave lines too thin to see what if it's ended you think it could be ended any time any time soon any time a thousand million years ago looking back you can see the crystallized civilizations on mars now red with inert dust of ages piled up or swimming in the gelatinous sea of pre-history azure gurgling waves bodies on the shore pointing toward montana-like rising clouds like big blue sky montana with clouds that dwarf man's greatest tallest invincible steel god-buildings and white capped waves crash and dinner bells all across america clang in the after war years drawing to a close just before you were born in a simpler time gentler time a time with more time than now slipping away on some open thought that rings vibrant green open golden sun falling sky on western shore horizon swinging off the primordial cliffs of pacific coast endings far from here far from whose eyes can see fleeting blear-like eyes tear like eyes falling as sheets of rain over northern roads swirling winds updraft from flat land grassy land lift up your shirt head body toss in the wavering voices of the mad lost souls you can channel them on the television reality just after the calm just before the plunge blinds rattle eyebrows stiffen lashes flicker flutter slicker in the tar night beyond the day the mask that hides the endless stars

Open Windows

Chirp, the birds on
angel street, chirping off
highway by-ways,
on route to heaven
dimensional self--
there is nothing thinking
in oneness 4-d first person
perspective of the active
mind, all mine, all floating
mine, all fucking mine,
all there floating fucking
to examine-re-examine
floating fucking floating
twisted into temporal knots
like universal truth
plugged up, swelling, feverishly
attempting escape,
protect our windows, walls
project our sigils dancing
to twilight pretzel swirls
floating fucking all mine floating
all mine all mine mine all
this is a retroactive consciousness
built into evolutionary time
this is the last solo journey
toward the end
listen as you are me I she he we

Thursday, January 22, 2015


coming on like cascade
waves of laundry detergent
smells, swells of green
viscous blue flowing phosphorescent
sludge of ages, I am looking down
feet sink to ankles now
flowing civilized pri-evolution-mordial

I am peering into the white bones of time
all bleached with facts and labels

a grating headache heartache failure

there's no launching pad on linear lines

instead, cracked and battered shells
rolled over meaningless ages
now motionless

thick to the waist
base of skull

no ones breathing anymore
hitting the water's edge
water's fall

carried by chemical flows
ripped far from shore

flailing arms, numbed feet



Wednesday, January 21, 2015


On my lunch break
I hear the ughs and
groans of those  I'll say
are worse off than me,
& those I'll say are better,
scurrying to fill that lost
tiny hour of the day
all suffering like me
suffering that pearly idea
suffering for independence
gained through slavery,

I think like, what's the difference

Why would you want it on
those green slips of sludge
rot in yer gut printed on the
carcasses of our beautiful world

Didn't Jesus overturn
the tables at the temple
of your mind body soul
for a reason? Didn't he
carry the sword to his

Buddha, know, gave up his belongings willingly

BUDDHA BLESS on the gold coin

I catch the multitude of car in
the swelling cavities of my yearning,
black window, cold windows
got going somewhere

pass that nameless man on the street
I've seen him everyday for two years,
says, god bless, even when you offer nothin'
not even a nod, goes on mumbling,
bent over walker now,
body's crumbling onto street,
just two too quick years,
leaning like broken branch now,
and the street, paved in gold
under all these bodies
goes on thinking nothing,
silent prayer to the lord on high,
skyscraper heavens,


I see the faces,
I don't see.

Search Operation

in form
they come slobbering
blistered hands
hard smell of water
mucus foot fungus
end of existence
expunging last remnants of
free thought they wait on
edge of galactic inter-internet
cybernetic waves AI inevitability
classified in the concrete walled
sepulchre of internal compu-time
there's a word operator running
funneling remaking AND it's
enemy free search expression OR
un-directed musing
finder's keepers
certified futures
in the filing cabinet mazes
of alphabetical thyme.

Pep talk

end up in the discard bin
these sentences
without words
these memory fragments
I'm trying to misplace
these barely there dreams

leave me alone
and let all this dreary
regret and drink go--

I spy the carcass on
the spinning leaves
perilous jenny
sucks the cotton
in and smash it
like my human guts
and mix with saline injections

my eyes are younger still
than my body
I've left both in the mirror for days
without daring to look.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Tax Cappuccinos to pay the national debt!

for Joe

heart shaped
in our pool of
roasted and
tanned on rivers
of cosmic white
time intrusion waves
flexing ever-outward
to the edge of
known space and
what's beyond--

a sinking velvet foam--

heat building
to eventual entropy

dry eyes

dark depths of the
void dipping

a sliding cup


to the bottom of the universe.