drives

once home i smother myself in books about shy girls forming their four
letter words
and movies starring sexy watery eyes hit by sunset lights like erlenmeyer flasks.
i hear full band film scores enrapturing triumphant guys with
unbuttoned shirts riding at the front of the line;
virgin lips rippling again in the predawn hours of busy bridges by
picturesque rivers, leading like roads to rome and all points beyond.

rain brings out the crooks on steamy
weekend weedless nights. poised, burnt, and dreamt down from the
smoldering morning.
nights, they know:
tomorrow comes and goes
like the echo of a dying man's cry.

i say bye too to my busy days
indoors morose, uninterested
blinds turned down and curtains drawn
to perfect symmetry, reading from top
to bottom:
lisa
carol
fremont
to the tune of ground loops
and feedback static

hallmarks

afternoon pages fly through my hands, and i nod off at the sentiments of
sagely predictable great men who have passed away or died beyond the ruddy glow of
memory's recall.
shame and its never ending friends fogging their glass windows again
forcefully gliding fingers over the same cheery piano refrain
and i smile slightly and tap my pencil across my cheek
until it stings a bit to let me know that i am
still awake despite the stubborn furnace blowing paces through the room
shuffling like angry senile veterans of various great industrial ages
insisting on their eternal relevance to dispassionate crowds
choking back smoke and laughter

kinds of blankets

i've got everything to be afraid of
despite reassurances to the contrary.
and guilt
for as long as i've loved.
it goes on never changing, sharing sheets
with blondes and black-haired jewish chicks
who beat the normal into us, the
busy frightened empty nests
who'll flee from them as future sons

that division of elements manifests itself in everything we see and do not see

we lack basic framework for approaching the world and differentiating

he took a breath here

what to look for and where to look for it.

a slight breeze rippled through the stiff and dry atmosphere as a door in the back cracked open and a latecomer rubbernecked to find a seat.

even upon discovering our quarry we immediately leap to conclusions based upon our past experiences

prejudices upon prejudices complex and interwoven

leapfrogging from one realization to the next our minds and mouths agape in dumb surprise

but the symbols are obscured as easily as wondering whether their images suggest themselves or simply fit our suggestions

and are lost in the process of tabulating our consciousness

vincent

i knew vincent's hands to tremble upon
the image of murder in the mirror
that intent to carve up the fresh flesh
he'd feast upon in coming weeks
easing the aching that barked in the back of his mind
and rolling groans across his stomach
with deep dreams of satisfaction and
kingly post-coital cigarette ashes spreading on
his ivory bedsheets.

he'd flatly slam the palm of his hand on
the walnut kitchencountertop when the
neighborgirl would give him lip,
looking up from cutting carrots with a chilling
smile and a voice coated in wax and ocean breezes
his idea of sexy maybe but undeniably
predatory
i'd say
i have vague notions about things he
did by the suppressed noises from the apparently
mattress-walled interior of that otherwise quiet
little one bedroom with the unkempt lawn and the beware of dog sign.
sometimes we'd hear a lot of yelling in like i guess chinese,
but then it'd get real quiet after and we just supposed his TV
didnt have auto volume adjust between channels, like ours does

dayglo

up with the bronx sun
because my stomach hurts in the
gloomy chill of hours recycled
into late single digits
and blowing smoke before alarm
clocks take off and
drag us into afternoon dances singing

Lonely would be the best way to describe us,
closely followed by Proud,
resembling bits of bygone idiots
who indulged themselves in
something to say
in self-contradiction
or petty rebellion
ejecting noise from every orifice
under
godlike quantities of metal
and steaming unglued paraphrases
in meaningless artificial wind resistant protest

i never thought of
life as just a fantasy until i
met the no one inside me
and felt her so empty:
stupid shaped sunglasses
all going on road trips
come visors down sun low while
wishing tall cups would swish melt ice
with a touch of coke syrup

divorced by definition
entails complete seperation of
ideation and intent;
willful notions of the perfect
world wherein the
sorrow is meted out
according to sin
are done away without a prayer
lost in stones carved down to resemble
faces of long gone artists identified
in the souls of higher powers

yeah so

offic. done with jersey
and
intertwining in competitive struggles for sunlight
in morning flashes birds jump from telly wires shaking raindrops off the cables
erasing piercing eyes in springfield glades laying blame for
dog park fights
come, quickly
hands clasped train rides

like beaches i don't care for,
accolades in grassy fields i didn't receive
but the sun breaking through bamboo leaves
or smoke weaving on mossy rocks midmorningtime with
leatherclad brightheads rocking blast from and to the
pizza places by burnt-down schools,
satellites ignited against grand detachment,
nutrition info on cereal boxes, bleeding lines of soggy
newsprint, and that glorious glowing tube.
i took part in dream borne myths invented (to me, at least)
every morning slipped through my fingers overwhelming my senses

she writes me sometimes with the shitty blue scrawl
of an erasable pen, sifting through routine phrases
and polaroid photo references from memories half visiting me
and i'm not so interested as i am self-destructive or something so
her taste in music is odd and she still goes to church even though we're
in our mid-20's
we're working through anxieties at the speed of cigarettes
but she and i should never meet again

heres to you kentucky blue
and afternoons exacting gallons
paid with common hands and eyes
drive round roadside graves defended by
coat black iron fences and gates
freshly painted by local brownskinned men and boys
from the bottom up in exchange for food and favors
wide and varying from fifty five bucks to a few more minutes of noise

bad news sports fans
things kicked up have died
down now
we've spread ourselves
out by the pond
for hungry ducks and
drunken swans
scrambling spit to stutter
fits of guilt from the comfort
of leather sofas and kingly wit

sunsoaked fields pitch dark in tar
so much of what frustrated us
burnt into linguistic magic tricks and
red leather contradictionaries
and new taxes pushing smoky sighs to
10 bucks a pack
gimme a break
i dont care what your man says
about that

new cities are shearing my limbs off
bending me to every rigid angle of manmade geometric harmony
plaster molded to new niceties duly carried out daily
while fat new pictures kill off my only warm memories
relegated to the comforts of sheer freedom and terror
fading like cascading rain
but when they told me about all the beautiful people
i didn't realize i'd have to talk to em

all morning rain bitches on my neck haunting
notes and jotting phrases i cant read
im still crusted with dreams
i was visited by silent girls staring straight on to the
horizon and i couldnt
get them to pay attention

today again ill endure a city of men without brides
blanking hard stone memories in the shades of dusty bridges
hiding from the horizon slide sinking below the
black river water rippling horsemen hooves
rhythm 32nd note beats

thank god we've uprooted the rest of these silken ties, they were blowing like
flies in the wind here in the clouds of my mind
now it's all anchors up for us:
i've seen the news picked out another imagined self
freshly fried and frozen for the microwave crowd
packed like sardines for breathing room and bragging rights
chasing after the inevitable growing pains
that come with life and love and madness

washed out blues come
easy with age
no more
pretending anything, or
wallowing and searching
for pity and purposes
once missed over,
once felt lost
now paid no mind
by hidden eyes or
all old comrades, come and gone

watches you read

self inflicted wisconsin riots, the worst kind;
kick up troubles exhausting softly, gravitas and climate,
arms length in rubber pockets fumbling after
westernized weapons and traumatic moments of transcendence.
all the time humming and mumbling lyrics to the dissociative melodies and self mantradictions sipping afternoon bay breezes with kiwi twists;
I.C. rolling miles why-not lined with yellow demarcation, winding ever diminishing concentrations, casting aspersions, taking granted,
holding yourself in the breeze
hands calming fluttering old wool cardigan
we'll well tire out our wheels tomorrow
but terrible time to start talking now

i cant deliver in this medium
or modernize it, make it clever, captivating like
a scorching laser bolt sewn across movie screen
flickers in a smoky theater
our drippy sullen voices
and cheerful light trills choke around the toughened
corners
and squeak our teeth they slip around our formed
exhalations bound to upset
a rapture shake a dream stir cotton mouthed and
tangled in blankets
unhealthy truth of beauty when of course seen better
lords and lands and bowls of bread dipped in honey with nicer
weather

cmon you crazy mind
shake your needles pine dripping green sticks leaping as they hit the sweet
clean gravity we live and breathe
low budget charm cant save this waste of talent time money effort

you and me had questions to toss junking soccer kicks across
dustied fields in sunset schemas torn goal nets and dented posts
but i suppose ill juggle solitaire as the dusk sweeps us aside

hidden empire

all of these worlds are hidden from me, the ones i hear
from names and objects far away, books i haven't time for
bombs have dropped on names i can't pronounce for the
life of me, goodness gracious living disconnections
the local parish redolent with confessions unloaded and slates
cleaned wipe on a daily basis, ablutions absolutions and numbness
regarded with apropos misery

people know too much about adolf hitler
and not know about edward bernays
or
leo strauss or sayyid qutb

but hey baby trippy be happy the sun
shines down on trees and plants
the grays fade on and shade with age
and new days bring new things to hate

expectations

its not right unless he looks the part
uptight and relevant realized and definite
smooth edges to a rugged shape rounded at the corners
but angled in the face determined outgoing
firm grip and all knowing would be nice
can he play the so and so does he speak in whatever
its not right unless he looks the part
keep it straight sit and make it sound smart
earning time spent wasted in the trenches
a bristol palin
squeaky clean and average
homely animosities
to pick up after one by three
feet subsidies
pleading boredom, whisking
trouble messy hands fumbling
calculated plays upsetting
damsels in array along the bleachers
rusting in the heavy rain

animals
blocked off inside and clogged
in every channel.
hurried unsung and forgotten by semblances
of assemblies theyve established
codifying outlining internal memos detailing
the wherewithal how why and when perhaps
stumbling over what exactly remains

miles

astroturf for miles:
you, of course, had your say and disagreed,
but i kept seeing the revolting earth brimming with bright blue green
stripes of white reflecting off of hard plastic bodies in the punishing glow of those
stadium lights and angry fans

libido bound masses stirring affection
relegating their hatred for the outside world
freud was right; the ego and its own sees cause for fear
and desires redesigned by rapidly blinking text
mass produced cardboard paper faces, product placements
and everybody was happy, desires eating needs
breeding cultures of worry, self-conscious diagnosis soothed by
palliative democratic processes

i will not relinquish myself to the dogs of cheap commodities
and fierce slogans enrapturing the senses and severing ties wishy washy
minded burnt out and lopsided mild and unstained

days leap past like spent trains
eyes glazed over donuts burning in store
window displays
pressed and cut vinyl decals gleaming shadows
across grim tiles alternating in color maniacally spreading from
wall to wall arranged in duly gumstained sense of duty
hands snap fingers crack the mind breaks wracking
seemingly creature comforts and 401kays

sprung

at times i see the rest of my life lined along
like a snowy lane on a cloudy day unswerving but uncertain
mixed rock salts
stuck in wheel wells and stained hubs twirling like mad around
crusts of grease clinging to the steaming breast of that
beastly machinery heaving its guts and dodging
potholes

the scents of lonely hearts whittling bits into the wind
rhyming with the whistlin' wintertime
frosts fingers and ears with bits of cold
thoughts caught in throats under murmurs
i've heard

gleam blank eyes singing lights glanced off cold retinas
steel hard and open wide despite all limits
seethe holes breathing smoke obscures empty space surrounding air
debonair golden and unblinking sloping lashes unwavering
glimpses raw and toned sliding hugging curves around the outside and meeting in the back
hands on their hips urged earned and heard of
dismissed expanded diminished and unblemished
burned thanks hands ashed and dusted off
hair smoked and crisped twisted and tied
flicks of the wrist restrained and perspired

gone by

these gently folding days quietly enclose loose ends, cut ties
smoldering holes in envelopes snuffed out and resupplied
as old faces from stained photographs show wear
and reappear to bid you well and decent health
its good its real cool
everything that comes out of us rolls the world
shape incessant mirror image, looking glass repetition
springs it on its way bouncing sun beams off its ass crack.
inquiry is vainglory shifting
spreading like a plague and drowning homes wholesale
souls stroked and swallowed by churning foams
an ocean's wave polluted grain
morning momma, howdy.
im tired of telling you about it.
yesterday you said you'd pay me back. i'm not asking again.
if you need me
ill be blurring lines like rupert murdoch
and beating people to a pulp.

what

syllogistically i am brazen bold upright citizen but w/o a home
for generations again I sold slaves and sailed the seas as
you did burned down houses lining the highway patterns
but in my absence had no say in the first wave of accusations that
tumble and knock those grocery bags out your hand
rippling your stupid metal shelves you're constantly around
handles flying and contents bouncing off down linoleum checkered tiles bishop
style fruits veggies what have you dammit
upset and dragged durm and strang i bartered souls for
another four scores in the vaulted halls of the pristine bricked church you
congregate and supplicate when we walk we lunch and spy our feet the sidewalk
melts beneath our shadows lies the street and beaches waves sand
the fluttering eyelids of a 2nd gen immigrate starry-eyed framed by beautiful tropical
backdrop palm trees and stuff etc. incensed upset not happy holding those golden reins and somehow smiling despite it all
free will and truth the devastate procure the self assuage our
magistrates pernicious representatives of a vicious salutation commencing
on that border fenced apart by guards asleep a beer in hand and dim TVs
shimmering with discolored spectacles shining fence is gateless and wandering across
that heavenly division between black and white the sky's
starry eyes glide past the acreage intended for the cream of the cash crop atop the
ivory towers that dot the landscape smelling salts and fighting tremors feeling the vapors and
holding handkerchiefs over their facial features visage obscured by years of sexy sunglasses scars and fake ass lip injections hinged fingers itching feels a millennium strong
a hand on the thigh of an assistant clown vagabond began bending over and dressing down on center stage wage slaved and processed content the hum of drowning droning
applause signs popping
my quiet ambition keeps a gun from my hand in my mouth parted teeth by the bedside stand
playful objections to insinuations perfected
gravity debunked by object lessons and case studies eurocentric free and responsible the drive of big terms encompassing collective survival
the fruit stand man with his dick in my hand mutters creative comforts and divines a grand plan
shakti in sanskrit at the tips of my fingers embroiled by the fenders of their political correctness
I stand behind the bane you've created in your resistance communities your orders abated whateverish the concepts your middle class mold abrogates intentions lovers once held burn the cinemas mend the fences and continue on reckless abandon the sense of the bashful incentive the words slow piped down smoke cleaned and devoid of sound a crushing silence miserates the participant's hand raised aloft despite the shuffling papers and that unpleasant unpleasant bell

dictate my rhythm and incorporate our prose scrutinize vocabulary downplay trivial
trivial trivial trivial things pursuits from boredom empowers our mundane idealogical suits the hands
we're dealt make mountains or waves or empty out pockets till the end of our days

riding in cars was so easy in the

1990's

my hands stretched out to meet the gas station signs, bread and soup lines,

weaving through the winds soaking suns and easy rhymes

in their notions they sail the oceans and pound impressions upon the land

they tread

they find images in the books they've read,

and smooth out wrinkles and errant hairs with a moisturized hand and

and words in the sweetest sets;

they're sexy cool and bourgeois en el mejor modo posible

concomitant expectations that exceed themselves

and feed lacunae coil, ouroboros gorging

on its industrial flesh,

pale or glimmering or

awfully incandescent,

another product of a thousand years or more

of that proud progress into the unknown oblivion we call

western civilization

ruddy brown, we sit and scrounge the slowest chairs

on our hands our asses grow

broken unsung and largely unknown,

revealing but unappealing, verisimilar but pretty boring,

whisking a new century in our anxiety

mocking self-stroking literary circles 

and attitudes towards propriety

hoard

joy be gained from the starvation
of modern living
scattered between and throughout the strewn
newspaper clippings and random specific things
that make it up and tear it down;
it's the specter of endless, cyclical self-ingestion
regurgitation
behind fat walls and easy discourse,
simple decorative patterns and
harmless fucking questions

soul be sown from the sympathy
of objects,
furniture, things
stationary and obsolete, a scattered glass,
unjingled keys,
felt separately yet sharply missed in
sequence

"pornography resembles
the end of the world"
the thickly woven dreams we shudder and clutch
between whispering white sheets
echo howls of shrieking lust


when smoke seeps out
from under my eyes
i chew the baby gray burn and blow it
out of my nostrils
it curls around the foggy glow from
telescreens and lambent op-eds
radio talk takes in its stride,
weaving swaths of wasted wheat in their wake
but damn that pursuit for truth and justice
rages on like a thirsty dog on a summer day

serenity

serenity is a blanket born from obscurity whisked in the early morning hours
and tempered in the song of the strongest arms swingin' in the wind, whistling
with every stroke that comes down on the bleary-eyed afternoon air,
breathing itself in and going down to meet the dandelions,
sifting in and out of consciousness, furious eyes alive with solemn requests and
suggestions but silent for all of their composure under blazes raging through
a breezeblown valley's golden limbs and lines, a wheat field basking in the soggy
disposition of the sky crescendos a building shriek across the bouncing hill
while dying grass uproots and traces godly loops in the aether's still

complex

inside the world an owl's eyes dart back and down the
midnight lane,
shadows stretch behind the moonshone walls
and cling to the palm of a sweaty man's hand
as he rubs himself raw in a dimly lit corner wearing
his sister's bra and whistling distant hymns that
rhyme within him;
abstract introspection:
an ear to the ground, stuffed with cotton,
it playfully hovers around his
ripped lips
only
wishes itself never spoken

depression has its hold on me;
a miserable grasp, wild and fulfilling,
shaking with anger despite itself,
tonguing the remains of my
ghostly flesh,
as the world watches something else.

poem

to capture the sensation of a stone in time
wafting without realization, unconscious yet conscious of it,
adrift in change without fear,
yet lost, excited,
confused,
ordinary and helpless, but despite that undying belief,
desperately believing that not a word of it true,
that within the exceptionally ordinary there exists
something like a universe, or something of it,
all of us creating it, contributing to one another,
and yet angry for semantics, definition in discourse,
anchors, anchors, anchors intertwining unraveling and exploding out like
smudgy little steel balls on a cheap newton's cradle:
an arduous endeavor, and yet effortless,
full of self-doubt and self-loathing,
cathartic and fulfilling, daunting, ultimately empty, signifying nothing.

forget another

don't worry about those abstractions you wrap your mind around;
you've had your whole life to look back on the
dirt pounded between candy-shell cobblestones
and words sounded out that seemed familiar except
somehow different-
and i'm tired of reminding you that
it might not perhaps be as simple as
you think it is- in fact, it might be even simpler,
and such a complex person with such a head mixed in with the
last-minute misgivings and missed whispers
in crowded airport terminals
would probably miss that if it weren't for
things like the leaves of the trees (they're so green)
and the sun's glimmer on a beetle's back.