45*21

sometimes it's supposed to
but then it doesn't
the weather is always filling in for something
you can't keep ahead of it
and it gets you down
You become Primo and his alligator
teach writing in prisons
liberate the prism
All is everything
and nothing is not a thing
Look into these things a little deeper
Stand in the puddles
and see yourself
I'm good, I can waste my money
It will make us all feel better
when we graduate from this one
and end up in the other
looking back into forever reflections
What did Jim call it.
Something that has to do with
interiors of ego

45*21

even when you are alone
ha ha
divided by never
shy
hang on to mother's skirt
she is but a moth
that the moon is my mother
laughing
into deepest candle light
ok. that's psycho
switch channels
what station is this chain-link fence
supposed to be
he wears an alligator tooth
to care and be the litigator
bashful as dumbo
grab a sandbox
to fight the republic
for which it stands

45*21

it's so disorienting being home again
a bee without a hive
has no home
so swarm
The factory windows are open
It is a matter of pride
these are walls and they don't break
easily, but sometimes they do
and when they do they let in
the swarm
it's so disorienting that we can't feel it
culturally
therefore we only know it symbolically
and that is when the breakdown begins
sometimes it is nervous
The streets run the risk of knowing
the chains on which we are linked
and sometime portioned
sometimes there is a breakdown lane
the rain falls hard and steady
and never cease being who we are

45*21

my heart, a real heart
pumping its treasure of blood
singing the inner corners of it's song
a real bloodless sky after a day
of cool wind
I'm resting on the thoughts of Senators
as they orate themselves an orange peel
oh gallant gusts of goop
a high wind covers my manhood with dead grass
and I am insoluble at last
a glass that contains it all
an envelope full of indiscretions
the radiator wheezes
I wish I was the fool
as you wish I were the fool
drawn into the dimmest of firelight
bent over forever
the glow of moon beams
eating your chocolate cake
posthaste and in time for some sunlight
to crest the ever midnight tide

45*21

for 9/18/10

I remembered his face
it was yellow with broad orange streaks
He couldn't watch silent movies
without passing into deep sleep
Then flip another card over
there is just enough time to know what time is
So then you disappear
and maybe reappear as a self without recognition
Now it is time to dream
and fall into low bed
The cat will come and say hello
but you can not stop it from purring
It will soon be time to wake
from many levels of dream
Each one you feel like you've woken from
but this time you can't wake
You got stuck between two dreams
a piece of dust on the vinyl
It is difficult to speak
and the words are not your own
You are stuck between dreams
that are laces in the patterns of forever

45*21

somewhere they are lost
where they were before
behind the door 3D glasses
we poke our heads in
and now we are lost
and there is a gaping hole
somebody has fallen in
there is a rope ladder
and they climb up out
from where they were before
watching the sand in an hour glass
poke holes in the carbon paper
where a leaf has fallen
just another oak tree with rope swing
we climb into a squirrel hole
once when there were animals
watching us as we broke a mirror
that kept all data in its confines
we did this as we fell
from one branch to the next
as if we never knew we were climbing

45*21

for 9/17/10

this one was forgotten
lost
left to sea
floating
just above water
knowing
in a not knowing way
trash
thrown out a window
delicate
light coming through
transom
think of books
power
get some reading done
morning
and very tired
sleep
wouldn't come
now
as ever it should have

45*21

for September 25th

total turmoil of thoughts boiled up
in the idea of one house
we can't sleep
the world feels a little caved in
if it cost nothing
would it still be worth it
some might ask
can you flip it
We would have to carve some bathrooms out
what a mind melt
like a cheese sandwich
wanting to drip over into my lap
but eventually we'd have to go
the ailing time of being shifted around
It is hard to know
what exactly to do
Leave the jungle alone
I guess
or you may feel its curse
breathing down the collar of you shirt
like so many late night vampires
wanting their snack

45*21

After all, we are just laminated apes
looking for some grass
We smoke the time away
and listen to records
who gives a shiny shite
When the autumn moon appears
the web is dead
leaves fall or are thrown from branch
apple ripens
mind recedes
winter approaches
the isles of hair
and the depth of mind shampoo
You know nothing
and say "sop mutt"
Now we know some limitations
big bicycles wheels
in museum windows
but the museum is fabricated reality
invented a venue
like a food court that never ends in showing us

45*21

fresh pain
& I think "fresh hay"
you say "fine"
& I think of the gerbil mind
"I'm not always thinking of youtube"
you said & I thought, not when you are watching it
some things are more odious, I know
like being enslaved for the sex industry
performing acts while hypnotized
Knowing it is for the guilty few
& all those who have no feeling left
The vampires that hang right side up
who prey upon the living soul.
I think about this knowing
I know nothing of what is called god
but that some grab onto something
to keep them from the grip of their own misdeed
a thing that always threatens to change a life
feeling free to put your feet over the fire
and acknowledge your own mythos as it happens to you

45*21

It is a relief to have the circle
in which all the voices speak
when in darkness we mount
the strange and forbidding
Say when the lamp posts leave
and there is barren waste
The total and complete lapse of indifference
Well, you can't hold the candle
at its very end
and not melt yourself with it
These are all chambers within chambers
pots that we clamber in our cells
What a relief it must be to smell the smoke
and when rearranging the furniture
it smells musty and speaks
in enchanted voices
That is when buying the farm
may be the only option
at the edge of time
where the mind separates from
the fruit of idea

45*21

I got this from Anthropology
a raccoon built my fort
Therefore, I have a coon fort
not to be mistaken for a coon's fart
which can be a detestable thing
after it eats corn
Well, the shadow we saw from the tent
the blackest of crows walking on its beak
This may be the canceling of your show.
I'm feeling the respect I don't have for others
Memory is an over-rated bed fellow
guffaws and gad flies adorn these pages
Then I won't read this one to you
since you are angry at me for your memory
or my lack of sympathy for my own lacks
We shutter with exhaustion
I hate the rank and file of being a child
My folding chair is launched down the stairs
in your dead church
where the priest is also dead
inside

45*21

I write this fuckin poem
a big black angel will lift me up
that one in the cemetery
I dream of in this solitary state
I need wings to fly out of this pasty
potty hole.
See how stupid I get when I'm beyond
the couch and onto the floor
where a little spittle might cause me to drown
In this rancid hole
a man can only drink his whiskey
and kick his boots up into the sky
How does one kid lose so much energy
thinking?
My heart goes out to the one who continually loses
Thought machine is ripe with the knottyist apples
Only a true proletariat can get off my shit list
For unbeknown to most the sand is getting quicker
The fox is less sly
The mole gets hit upon the head
and rubber stamped and sent to bed

45*21

I'm as black as your beard
and my winds are hard and cruel
Please only feed me gruel
my paradise is one of worried torture
Leave me to my cold cage
or mounted tensions will pile up
You might catch me in some closed circuit
where an image gets lost in gray smolder
These are only trains we can't ride
into night lands behind cabinets
Being so filled with hormones
and realizing your disease is time-able
The timetable is reversible
and flowers grow from a child's head
Then you might be dead
or sucking some other kind of perfume
From animal's hide
to religious drive
You wake from cold sweat dream
with the hearts of divers in your sleeve
& they call you Katy Cruel

45*21

the guile of mankind has no boundaries
we laugh with the meat hanging out of wet mouths
as we slam into the next decade
there is a traffic jam that lasts through the night
birds chirp. It is morning.
You start again & get the charity runs
Some say you have grown
a fish is simply a fish
an amphibian grows a lung
the pool ball slow on the slate
the green flesh of daydreams
why and why nots mingle in reflecting pools
turn it over and again
the master paints a slow portrait
the nose is a tangle of mangled flesh
a scoop of moon
mango sunset
building a ladder to another ladder
hinging the night to the daylight
a lounge where we sit and mingle
in a temporary light
that knows only back rooms

45*21

oh lasting alacrity
or you might say
what's the use
we are in the horn of worms
and it's your turn to ride
bear
the beefed up men in pinstriped
I jot down the time
clocks in the sky go a swoop
time to take a night stroll
in a virtual castle
or maybe cut off a finger
in utterance on nightshade
Climb the stiffening sleep cap
in a notched cider barrel
It's time for you to breathe
or escape breathing
it might be your choice
or not
but its gambling dice and saw dust

45*21

some of us
wounded by the neck up
like dying sunflowers
in the September sun
I personally just want to sleep
but then I want to wake
and feel refreshed
but somehow still feel asleep
from the neck up
making it difficult to enjoy
a September sun
go tumbling in overgrown weeds
my hair filled with thistle
I sniff my soil encrusted fingers
and boil my thoughts into a goop
This is how life is
when you are the horsey's arse
grown up for a world to see
mindless and dazed
murdered by a red rabbit
in this lake of consciousness

45*21

the ability play
is strung between the stars
I thought I saw you holding them
up, the moon is for dinner
What does it take to be one of the accepted?
this is the overwhelming question we ask
A taxi will drive us away
it will be a circle of wheels in the sky
Why, when you get so paranoid
you can't drink your tea
that was hours ago
the walls are cold and firm
you must look beyond them
and hold a court of castrated souls
the dismal twine of the divine
a city in aspic
too many shadows
and none of them a paradise lost
a man in blue cashmere
a Hopi wine song
the black vein in flight

45*21

before I sleep
in second sight
remember the happiness
that breaks through all sadness
samskara
those plumb moments of night
when the heart is a well pump
the cheese tasted like silicibin
I wonder if I'll trip
beware the dwarf in the red mack
death is a loom
we thread the clothes of life in
know the signs
as they will guide you
in their uncertainty
Nineveh numbers
that sting us along the road
of unknowns
better to know than simply be
if that is true then so are you

45*21

arranged in five symbols
the halves divided
vgama man bad time band's head
left on the mantle
We gave ourselves ten seconds to breathe
Breath is such an essential device for play
There are not lefts to divide
the more you know the less you begin
Heart wrenching
deleterious outed
You never know when that time is
what is true and what is belief
Akhenaten was with a vase figure
A city built from lost history
Aten then becomes Amen
people are stuck in a theism
that can't but get out of
the history of man
peeling away the notions
you may say you are a firm believer
but what is it that you believe?

45*21

when the thing doesn't work
it simply doesn't
this is why you should by it new
because some joker is selling junk
to you and you know it
that's what they do
it is a fighting up hill
battle time
with what you buy and what
is sold
this is a near fatal
wound to the psyche
flashback time
reorganize your thoughts
a headache on the horizon
cannibalizing jive talk
if you get on the TV show again
will it somehow change you
you are never more you then now
and that all happens in a flash
of rearrange and disappear

45*21

maybe we'll put everything
a little off kilter
watch the train come in slowly
as it crashes
a mighty winding down 'til
all is done
you become the gimp genius
in the tower
the slow loading tower
this will never get loaded
there is not enough powder in the keg
it is all coming down to this
that which is lifting and
that which has declined
all known notions of self
this small electronic device
that is decoding natural acts
until we are only the spindle
a stop motion reaction
to the fear
that bends time

45*21

Even though you are thirteen
my eye spies the baby
over on her side of the bed
really quite afraid of lightening
you are my sunshine bringer
calling in the clearest day
little dancer in the yard
aping the moon trolls
right now they are secreting away
in most layered light
onions from the moon
no ordinary night
Kind old man comes up the road
eating a bitter apple
tongue spitting out the peel
can't talk at the moment
has something to wish you
in indian gibberish
so I count
1 and see you grimace, 2 then
3 and watch you disappear behind your door

45*21

for 9/1/10

We are in hell
You tell me it is not hell
but limbo
I say "fuck you"
You say "Asshole"
We have completed an insult
There is a fire
and too much firewood
The tent is too large
It would embarrass the novice camper
I think of a "bare ass"
when I see that word
it is "no doubt" code word
for that
We begin mission "bare ass"
which involves ice skates
You say "This is no fucking joke!"
or, rather, scream it
as I smoke the rest of the joint
Now I'm lying down
in the ridiculously big tent

45*21

allowing that we know almost nothing
isn't it simple to deduce that we're mere mirages
captured in snow globes
we buy at novelty stores
We can't escape
and someone turns us over
It may be a child who shoplifts us
We are a captivated audience
and so we set ourselves on a course toward dreams
There is a blackout
and we see nothing
not even the imitation snow
We are able to pick ourselves up
and dust ourselves off
The EXIT light comes on
We are somehow back on the shelf
It is past closing time
You pull out a bottle of Makers
I remarkably have some broken light bulbs
there are ice cubes at our feet
we make a toast to being unreal

45*21

why the long face Albert?
does it take but an instant for a mountain
us on it high to fold
A mag of wine
we teeter between science and religion
only soon neither make sense
Us and you Albert
against the red wall paper
magnificent light must shine through
for you to be able to see
So they made you a saint
You may have been born a raccoon
but nobody will lie and say it's not so
inside the beveled landscapes
of a Dominican monastery
you can hear the efficiencies crackly
like teeth from a stepped on skull
and try to breathe new life
into the wings of a bird of paradise
& those lost to us hanging over the ridge
of forever

45*21

for 9/4/10

carry on in your likeness
or not
mine isn't decided
so I go forth without
as glad as the day
knows not itself
but arrives
again and again
and when it doesn't
what will this matter
as no one will will this to power
or summon it from the pile
THERE WILL BE NO PILE!
ashes to ashes
grave stone
Walter the walrus
let's call him Wally
will be our new savior
and we will never come close
but make a holy cartoon
of him

45*21

Jesus is buddha consciousness
The Buddha is jesus
as in the mystery of the light
myth as life
Take the is away
and the mastery is gone
Good!
Strongly forbidden language
the language of the hidden
language gets hidden
in between itself
and unknown to itself
builds a tower
the windows are black
and from within
We bring a branch to a flame
we see a garden
in it are horses
and we recognize as riders
the temples
we are based upon

45*21

for 9/2/2010

all along the sandbar frolic
head like hammers
steam that is human
cormorants form to fly
poor crustacean scavenger
you've known me so well
I grow in witness wide
on paths of summer's tyde
We grow to die in seasons unknown
and human song
that vibrates off the tongue
that elastic vibration
known to all life
in vast form
it creates the singing
and never dead from within
the swimming in salt
that salient brine
it pickles us in time

45*21

there is the cream
and the green vine
hanging over the window
in violet stain
upstairs, the baby cries
feet stomp hard
in grassy grown//
fly hard away from sound
the siren ladies in their gowns
what grows the sun
shine that is hot
and the steaming flowers
the man that tends them
dances with snakes
in billowing garments
on roads that lead to nowhere
on dangerous paths
with closed and shuttered windows
with darkness and cobweb inside