45*21

I will again
for light trans versatile
forms no orb
but the moon is that
and has
but one viewer
or a thousand
winter growth now
it is what calms
and later light shows
not what seems growing
all tiny caterpillar
grow
from the seed make all spring
the water eventual
caterpillar
the growth along these twig
not always twine
with all notions
and so this early early morning
moon

45*21

let little light in
fold back and rearrange that thinking
'til it becomes something of a pillow
hit it with your fist to fluff
the air gets in and causes little cracks
they burst open with laughter
causes bones to soften
the reflection is not reverse this time
it is exactly the way it is
is it way the exactly is it
time is not reverse this reflection the
bones causes to soften
with laughter they burst open
cracks and causes air in the little gets
fluff your fist hit it with
pillow of a something 'til it becomes
that thinking rearrange and back fold
in light let little
song from this comes
little light let in
thinking and fold back rearrange that

For sale: my head
you can't own it, but with it
you can walk downtown
place a beautiful bet on getting lost
in a unique garden
and yodel
unique potential
in the main office
get lost in willfulness
around the corner
and bathe in light
a wood stove sends up yellow smoke
in the city of London
lots of updates
too big to breech
& chicken soup
with swelling vegetables
but where is your heart
and they say it "divorce"
as if we had a choice
but when hope is the only thing

45*21

you are a saint in rubber boots
a doctor in a hat too big by two sizes
a Catholic without a heart
a dog without a priest
a calling card with zebra stripes
a suit with too many pleats
the sky's got too many stars tonight
it's giving me vertigo
I puked the color of Godzilla
in a fire of white flame
and rearranged the letters to spell Liza Gold
sweet Liza with breath of kumquat
how does your garden grow
I watched your breath on that silvery winter night
as the cars peeled out in jest to you
you munched french fries in the side show
and we made love like rummy clowns
in diapers made of silk
on the last day of the World's Fair
that year when ice cream was invented
a lasting toast to a misbegotten rite

45*21

I need your mind for a second
how old is the tree that grows inside
when your heart becomes glass it breaks
there are sectors within sectors
and when you pull the little string
hear the bluebird's wings as they brush the collar
I'll take a cup of tea
for a minute we stare deep into the cave
I'm not saying you're being stupid when you whisper high
and the single embers rise and dance
your mind in a need for a second
it drags on like a horn
when you figure how the pieces are put together
it will be a trick for the wilderness of candy
I haven't hypnotized you yet
yet you dazzle with imperfection
it is not your fault anymore than time
the boat is moored to the candlestick
can you see now with your fingertips
it is the no nature of crayon bricks
and they'll tell you what you've done and disappeared

45*21

the nights tingled in the harbor
it was like angelic sorbet
I looked at her lips and cursed
how could her teeth be in my soup
the shit was pure black in the early morning light
she laced my boots and slayed them gently on the caftan
I burped in a one armed manner and picked up the glass
through it you could see every star if not corrupted
notion of buy and sell delivery service
the TV goes off on its own now
there is only one station and it is universal
though people like to space believing they can telescope
some meaning between thought, lips and mouth
I got so many teeth unsure of their position
time to see a chiropractor... this dog has kennel cough
I rubbed some ointment on the leathery tongue
and watched myself removed from sanity
from the only vantage point I know
up in the old hotel
where you can ice fish from the third story window
there is a kind of yellow that makes you think of eggs
and you are not alone

45*21

Jeremy & I are in Vermont driving home after a show
he say's "Can you drive me to Upstate New York,
I want to para-sail home."
I was surprised, to say the least
"You para-sail? I thought you were afraid of heights."
"Oh no, not at all. I've been para-sailing since I was 12.
Last week, Crystal, you know Crystal? She fell asleep
up there and somehow made it home ok."
I dropped him off and we pulled a big bag out of the back
It looked like a soft cargo carrier
He smiled and waved good-bye walking off toward a plane.
I headed off to hang out with some genius rednecks
When I arrived at their shack, they were just landing
their helicopters. Their mother was out back
hanging clothes out on the line. She smiled
waved at them and waved at me.
She asked if I was staying for dinner
The boys came over. They had rocket launchers
under an arm. One of them lifted it above the trees
sent a saucer up and out in to the sunset
he laughed hard & said he was going in to watch some TV

45*21

there's an automobile, white
it exists somewhere, but not in front of the camera
in the leaving moments of time you are the child bride
tattooed to the nth degree
with intense concentration
the foremost thought drifts like snow
your leg is elderly and growing with hair
there is no doubt you will scream
but it will be from inside the dark room
who looks at you with the magnetic eye
drifting from white room to white room
desperate for the image
falling back into his chair exhausted
chugs the bud and plays the shruti
it is an event that repeats on the minute
we are taken to a different room
where they are hooked up to IVs
this seemingly random archive
of distant daydreams colliding with pharmaceutical studies
somewhere deep in Texas the man with the atom brain
rises from the hot moist grave and dances briefly

45*21

Houdini was born in the bosom
of St Germain
he could lift giant stones with his teeth
and some leather showed
It was time for the flower show, my son
automobiles purred in the Antilles
this monster of the black arts who was not only fictitious
but something of a stock broker
actually a bellhop who could peer back
through time and find the man's removable eye
but who's counting?
Then out of the mysterious lake came Lizard born
his ideas pierced the center of all thought
at that moment you were turning on the light
and you saw me in that beautiful garment
you lovely with grapes in your mouth
but why the hell is it called the rock n roll rose?
some things so beautiful are called such stupid things
when leaning backward on your couch
a rose is a rose is a rose
so rise a erase a rose

45*21

The family is a recycled mold
that goes unexplained by you
like who got the lice first
travels on to rebirth
these sequences
that prays for something other
this will repeat
with anyone knowing
again and again
from white into black into gray into color
all of which have multitudes
we reknowing
together
in the inevitable but to break
this glass means no more connection
and connection is a shelter
out of confusion
the way the mind winds itself &
stays together
in a kind of brevity
that feels like eternity

45*21

we grow in arms length
fish sail through holy temple
a clump of mountains
it rains birds with green eyes
cormorant that dances on the edge
while the men smoke and laugh in the mist
it rains plankton & we go swimming
a slimy red stone
the belt cinched and glasses pushed up
a long dive down into foam
the man on the mountain
impervious to all weather
the nuns habit points upward
maybe something to hand our hopes on to
nut, the truth is thinner than fiction
so when the brakes go
there's too much rot to not own
not enough time for guitar by the river
just the grazing alone tells us
lasting umbrella images
breaking through this broadcast

45*21

along the road of the enamored
lie the heads of many totem
left strewn for us to look at
as we cough up little change for ending days
the statue yawns wide exposing sun
as they lap the slop up with hard bread
this is the coffin talking
actually laughing
my kid said he was having anxiety
thinking about the end coming
I said. "Nobody knows what's coming"
your end may come but you may never know
coughing into the ever eternal
and what is it, some sort of reality
then you ask the waiter for the check
as the cafe explodes
nobody's left alive
that you can see
but you can't see
because the end came sooner than you thought
but the end is really at the end of thought

45*21

the moon made a broad lobe
it cloaked us in alizarin crimson and burnt sienna
the nights were like wind in a funnel
we tried for every outlet and found the first arcade
love was like a bullet to the brain
the doors made a solid click
you were a peacock with out a plume
blow me kiss and shut the door gentle on the way out
your purfume smells of the bell boy
you better play tennis for the coach
how does it feel dying in the middle of someone elses
calling card. The dudgeon wasn't only mine
but a thousand others as time wore on
you get a gilded coat and it has seven arms
and none of them can hold you
truer than the moon on an August night
I was gonna be the best girl with bright league boots
and tan the hides of all those angels who cursed my stars
and ran the plate of my jalopy
I am the priestess of my own sacred upbringing
and you are the fruit rotting in my fridge

45*21

the big pistol the old man carries
as a joke to all appearances some
unknown desires make hatefully
time passes we realize that their
dead pass as great danes in long
coats, it must be winter and the
chancellor passed by in derby a
long coat on his arm he said on
meeting me that a storm down
wind from us was about blown
into submission, don't flowers
belch in Spring and I thought
being that he has flown in to
tell me this and I coughed to
distract the waitress who was
under some covers her musty
smell was due to a closet she
opened where a ventriloquist
dummy lay slouched under a
long night's dreaming I woke
nearly hatched to find chicks

45*21

silent people walk through the museum
suddenly "You know where we can get a sandwich?"
the lingering of someone passed gas
in the room with Anselm Keifer assemblages
"We are lost, confused. Where is the place with the sandwiches"
The finger points to the stairs
it is a distant finger coming out of eyes
a warm sensation in the stomach
all the elegies to our current times marking the end
and these Keifer monstrosities are the real markers
like earth cracking, the core of reality under it
the panic begins in the stomach, no the head
it's hard to tell. I walk and feel removed
at first I didn't want to be here
the video art was making me sick
even though the images were appealing
in these videos there is an intentional disconnect
that is very much like anxiety
when you fall prone in the office and have to be taken out
on a wheeled gurney because you think it is the big one
but then you have to come back to face the real assemblages

45*21

syllables
range out
there out of range
and
we gather up
stick
of notion
until the poison
sinks deep\into purples
we travel
quiet, desperate
floating
above buildings
then crumbles away
where there's no adapter
watch electricity
across salient water
until the push on
with pack or out
of here
there's nothing

45*21

when I first met him he was pounding a nail into his nose
can I take your picture?
It's a buck to get into see and a buck for a picture of me
the rides were spinning behind his head like octopi
I used to think the voice from the center said "kill whitey"
you said no, but I said why not
when going to the subway one day I noticed the Terminal Hotel
for the first time. Windows all boarded up
and I thought that is where the end begins
I went to get my camera sweaty from hauling groceries
got back to the crib. one kid naked on the carpet
the other brushing back sweaty hair
there was sand between my toes that got there by wind
set the groceries down next to the plastic Santa
and began making dinner
the magic of the Wonder Wheel rising up in my window
the choppers muffler let out loud and flat sounds
into a now growing dark, pop the cap on a pilsner
and watch the wheel stay still for hours
hear the door knob jiggle and know it was night
later I would take the picture I would never take

45*21

men would never govern their own circumstances
unless they were women, the paternal order being dead
well then the head floats because what else is there to be
no plan is then too futile unless the considerate monkey is involved
this is a patter of characterized guilt which we manifold
into a cycle of desire that never lets us go
that's what I speak of when they talk of "the great ass"
it portends a happy or unhappy issue and suddenly in Haiti
all the rules are suspended, in fact life is
the soup thickens and then we make pyramids with cement
Marge moves the luggage with her ass, and we talk of the perfection
anything that excites there astonishment, after all
we are all part of the great bureaucracy. Ask Bader.
Never have we left ourselves long enough
precisely at those times when the State is in most peril
only to live in the shadows of ourselves
it is a shame we can't bicycle through our fears
is what we thought and then we did, but in a purloined gym
where the mind is in default
separated from controversies by hard and fast lines
only to know the numbers when they pay off

45*21

it just happened, it was the leather
sucked the life out of them
it was the street and it was raining
night fell, and he lit another
but it didn't matter his coat was on all wrong
it was a dangling participle
caught them all off guard
flitting gaily from one tree to the next
the hamburger seemed indecent
she decided to serve tea instead
which seemed to impress her guests slightly
they lit some and the moon was pale
it rained and that too seemed uncouth
so then the door was bolted from the outside
a teenager screamed something intelligible
the man with swiss cheese complexion was just there
on the other side. A bullet pierced the Tiffany
causing an all out guffaw.
I don't know, somehow they got loose
a cow was just outside the window
and what happened next no one could fathom

45*21

sometimes it's too easy to get muscle bound by life
and Art can be creepy with a receding hairline
flesh has its limits dogged again and again by age
these pillars of truth dissolve again and again
and a mirror is the result. A lampshade might work
to further the wrinkles. Man! was it a sausage factory
the devil comes in the form of many candles
a trick we've seen every barker perform
a walk along the Champ d' Elysee where the shops reflect
back what you are. You do not kill what you do not know
at least not on purpose. So they all lit another cigarette
and carved a surname into an old tree
the latter being the equivalent to all the history they'll
know unknown by the time they are known
like an automobile that is not featured anywhere
you walk down the street obscenely anonymous
even the gate keeper of your own hell disowns you
well that is a step up from having to come into this world
where all the birds chirp for some summer solice
and is it fair to say there is no time when they fly?

45*21

what's wrong with Cassavetes
the women are the ones
the men are pathetic but only in action
not in nature
and it unfolds from the idea
that life has no clues
you are just living it
and it is as real as it is scripted
so if you don't go off a script then you wander
the intellect of some ain't proved itself out
gotta wonder how many times the son wanders in to it
alright, so that makes it a masculine thing
but if it's a woman making the film then she breaks
those barriers and makes it her own
but if we live the same sort of trials
then it doesn't matter if we reverse them
only that they will seem trite
or for commercial use
a mind is a mind is moind
deep down inside a dream is remembered
or it's not

45*21

when a flower wakes from its dream
and realizes it is a flower
the gunman in a white suit behind the white
column and the man with the red suit jacket
it withers and dies on its stem
and sorrow drips from my white glove
with the black glasses who is covering a damaged eye
and he forces her to sing with the gun
and she sings with her head tilted slightly up
as he lays his finger delicately on the keys
at the back of his head, he lifts his hands
and the gangster smiles signaling his end
she will no longer be his as he is
he is the drifter with no ties to anyone
but walks in the column of white triangles
and you know he'll never die
and can't walk alone if there is a woman
by his side so he walks down the aisle alone
or be the guy who got shot in the eye
he will lay there and whistle his tune
when a flower wakes from its dream

45*21

acrimonious in nature life spilled out on the sidewalk
the butter had red hair
the banjo player pulled a handgun from the soup
his jaw all hung down for the ladies to see
Liza was pushing up her daisies
it will be three Easters from now, she thought
the doorman took a big hit off the papered bottle
a old house smelled of old grease and oven heat
a band of cops came through looking for straggling saxophonists
it's alright, says John, take off our clothes and we'll pretend
to be asleep and the cops come through the door without knocking
say, where are they, and we say, they who
and John's girlfriend's shaking her head 'cause she really was
trying to get some sleep, but John was drunk again
and was having a good time with the cops and says
I think I heard someone upstairs and the cops say
anyone live up there? and he says no
and they go rifling upstairs. John really starts to laugh
fuckin keystone cops, he says and puts his jeans back on
and goes out to listen in the hallway laughing to himself
and when they come back down he says, did you catch 'em?

45*21

I knew this guy in college who claimed he could astral project
leave his body behind and look down upon himself
from a corner of the room
he claimed he would watch himself sleeping
it would last maybe 15 minutes or there about
and then he would rejoin his body and later wake
his roommate would enter during this projection
get ready for and go to bed or perhaps sit and study
his roommate was really subdued and friendly
he would buy us large pizzas from Godfathers
and really didn't mind sharing until his allowance
ran out and then he'd complain that we were mooches
mostly me...his roommate split food with him
he didn't believe at all in astral projection
thought it was pure bullshit and the only time ever
he would bug out is when his housemate was talking
about it and I was intrigued and wondered how
to become an initiate as this little dude
handed me a copy of Hesse's "Journey To The East"
and laid the needle down on some Zappa

45*21

I hate when they are anthropomorphizing in the movies
and I hate when they try to make cartoons human too
I dislike strongly high intoning voices these characters have
and really dislike the feeling I'm being told what to think
I can't stand the human condition when we are conditioned by it
and I really can't stand when people pretend they have weight
of all impending doom on them when in fact their lives are better
than most and they speak out and say how bad salt is for you
in order to control your mind which might very well be true
I feel filthy about the fact you can catch this anywhere
and who's to blame, I mean, who do you blame and then
you get accused of playing the blame game before you get
a bad case of the drools, and then buster, it's all over
you are sent to the rerun department where all bread is stale
and the lights don't work properly
so you try to take a deep breath before you realize "no air"
that's when you get jumped from behind but all you got is 28 cents
and it's a crying shame and you are actually crying
because now life is kicking the shit out of you
and the ivy crawls all the way up this house you see
lying on the ground face down with a taste of grass on your lips

45*21

justice is so fucking blind
it doesn't see the exits in the mind
what exists as a proposed idea is only a scheme
so great it brings down the whole notion
what really happened
you look good on tv miss madame and your case reports
well make sure you know all
your deception trained you good to be the ploy
for societies game
actually what I'm saying is I hope you are wrong
let the revolution really begin
burn the whole village down if you will
get rid of the staid truth
and if you are right you still lose
because you as stupid measure in quantity
as your weight at the doctors office
when you are told you have the fatuous disease
and all you do is fart
and that gas is what kills
because we are all bored with our existence
unless we create the simple truth

45*21

who knows how lazy the moon is?
I mean gad I was from Worcester
and my mind was blown
like a tire on a burning Cadillac
nobody's gonna tell me to shut the fuck up
my name is Gregory Gregorivich & I will
tear a hole in your ceiling
now doesn't the world look beautiful from here
except it is peeling, of course now that was expected
we have fallen so far and the channels come in only
when you want them, now isn't there a tinsel
un-rested on it's branch
and aren't we the time keepers of this hell hole
these are all charred chambers of a rearranged mind set
I love that statement. It means absolutely nothing
unless you are totally tanked
you give me good laugh
and the hound eats the cat shit
& then how can we not laugh
there is nothing thick about this layer of knowing
catfish or frog you'll never turn into a prince
you are some schmo and your name is secondary

45*21

artistic wisdom and rueful pragmatism
on a teeter balanced for the most
but then there is always the rock gut panic
you can't get rid of the bleakness
it's there under the skin
and when they sewed up your suit
with mask intact you pledged to never tell the truth
this is the rotten tuber
the last chance for luck in the vamp ridden grotto
this village of severed heads
that blooms us all
she radiates flames and she is the protector
no super powers to know about
only the chance meeting & your disguise
why hide it? (applause and applesauce)
what did little Timmy get for Death Day
that's right the new holiday folks
Why always "Timmy"? you ask.
Well Timmy is the alter ego of a five cent solution
& this is while you all will be exterminated
through boredom tactics

45*21

there are beginnings and the dawning
and the end of time which only exists
so far, in the mind, out of gratitude for consciousness
now climbing this grade of rock and rubble
both being mostly made of the same thing
if you break it down, it never goes completely
away, to nothingness. I've heard argued this about spirit
Into ashes or dust or bone or lifelessness
a trace perhaps exists and for some abundant
why some believe in ghosts
or maybe just the evocative of such ghosts
it clings us to the inevitability of it happening
a passing, some say to the other side
like a revolving door you can see through
it being the only door, you go through the process
if you have no business on the other side
you revolve out
this being the essence of imagination
and ultimately the nature of belief
getting completely absorbed in it
make it the only guiding truth
but it is only maybe a moment we live

45*21

woke up heart of gunk
said I wouldn't do it again
but I did
have to watch out
maybe next time
and then the next time happens
cycle starts again
like I have a rigidity in my organs
well! I won't be doing that again
shouldn't a
now we are at the next time
and it feels like the first time all over again
what have you done?
you certainly are going to pay for it
this time I'll know not to do it next time
I'm just writing the mind
puny being that I am
hope I sleep good
I get up to turn out the lights
now it's dark
see you in the morning