Wednesday, June 30, 2010

45*21

I hear coyotes yell
just outside
and I am
the sound carries
it's all that matters
like pulp
the kitchen
super
I'll have some milk
my prayer is doused in it
give me a regular dose
the grass is growing similar
so some words get closer
the edge is neater
I allow my self some space
and grow alabaster
changed ideas today
open hardware
we are all dying
knowing
letting the freak

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

45*21

it is hard to talk about the masculine/feminine
person as we rest shaded notes
filigree under the nails.
There is a murder going and we don't know why.
A sky full of enigmas
Cancer is what they call the disease that ends so much life
This sign and the end of time
These brilliant red flowers begin to grow
The walker and the passer by
Snake together in the illusion of the great divine
We wrestle with small chords in a run
and gather up the cables that make the whole unwind
leaf whispers
granular earthquakes of morning cereal
until the disappearance of revealing light
This, which brings the smoke
It is sliding to the inevitable slide
of equivalence nature

Monday, June 28, 2010

45*21

Joe Ben was alive in my dream last night
he suffered from manic depression
unwilling to confront it, said
I'm with the program.
I woke up sad and stiff
Something allowed me to get up
And off I went to make pancakes
But not before telling BD about this dream
She said nothing about it
It was so vivid, it was so clear
His eyes were his eyes
In them, a catfish sadness
Jeremy was sitting on the couch in this dream
He might have been the one questioning Joe Ben
About his maintenance
They never knew one another
Jeremy smoked a cigarette with languorous guile
that makes even the non-smoker want to smoke
I'm supposed to marry my friends
but one of them may not be wanting that
just going along

Sunday, June 27, 2010

45*21

There's a rambling mode
we pine for in the back of our minds
but laden us with everyday woe
I jump both feet over the white picket
Am I the white rabbit or the black doctor
mosquito nets blanket the town
The elderly lady hunched over in a C
walks by me, her name is 4 Spanish words
One was rose and one was the sun, helio
We woke from deep slumber on the beach
as the fog rolled in as stiff as egg whites
Someone had started a fire and their shadows stretched
black through a sheath of white linen
I smell the brine and think of wine
A glass in the morning
I toast the sun as it burns off the fog
Walk along and look for horse crab shells
Instead, I find a woman's bra
Then take a swim in water so cold
You are something like a cadaver
The mind reaches its tentacles deep between your toes

Saturday, June 26, 2010

45*21

The hunting man and the gambling man
are in church this morning praying
as if they meant it and in their mind
thinking of a new conquest, not sure
if they are conscious of it, they open the book
it falls open weakly and there are music notes
and words of which they know very little.
In the blackness of the night room
lying awake for hours on end
not being able to rest for long
Getting up to wash his face, he sees
someone he does not recognize
the mirror is a hidden room and the man
is fishing for an answer from the specter
in a shadowy light, groping you might say
for some kind of truth.
The mind lets go. He is eating chocolates
sweating, smelling acrid and he begins to disappear
The rational man is at home with his thoughts
growing brighter by every second
lit by a notion of a corpulent industry

45*21

for 6/25/10

"Never the pig to teach us what we already know."
So says the stranger to the whore
we are all strangers on a moss island
there are little grasping breaths
at the end of each slim sideway glance
in the depths of the lacquered hallways
Fat old grandees hit hard shots of cheap liquor
The reflections fade beyond the shadowy dunes
A novelist at the end of time takes a long drag
the street cracks beneath slender feet
an awning comes loose from its anchor
fast sleek runners over hurdles
the waves break as they say, "ha!"
the reel lets loose off the sprocket
the muscle squirms loose from the rock
stitches are for people who want to heal
The decrepit doctor writes a last script
the echos slap against the tennis court hallways
A fake mustache comes away from the soup
in an ocean of ideas rotting in dead minds
of floating corpses in hall closets

Thursday, June 24, 2010

45*21

tidal waves of sound
breaking wind in a
park outside my town
I gathered some stones
in an alley way
it was very dark
illuminated by utmost nothing
we grabbed the rail
and sunk into deep nightmare
clowns grew out there
in the distant clouds
porcelain images old fantasy
it is all crazy
how we resist constants
must do with dreams
how they befuddle us
into lonely ire out
there in the tree land
we prosper in individual ointment
flies for an astray
kindergarten at the end of time

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

45*21

sometimes it's all in the sentences
we are delivered and received
corrected by examples and deceived
given to the end by past tenses
I mulled around at the antique center
couldn't find anything to my liking
so off we went into the woods to go hiking
there was a large sign that said enter
it was so deep in these dense woods
you would wonder why it was there
The moisture dampened your hair
They wondered where in this place were the goods
The map was so crumbly it was hard to read
It had lightly scribbled words at one margin
written in some kind of ancient pirate jargon
The abundant plants had all gone to seed
The children grew tired and we put them down for a nap
Some grown ups got together to have an orgy
One lady said, "Oh shut up, Georgie Porgie."
Their tongues way deep into the sap
It felt like a day had passed

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

45*21

How many pirates you know
got this same fork full of knowledge
Knowing is more of a game than most people let on
I know a lot of stuff that is completely useless
in an information age
And you got to know so much to get any credit
for anything
So here we are stumbling around with ideas
A bird squawks
I look out the window
What an unusually reddish black bird it is
It seems to be dismantling something in the grass
I go back to my writing
and the next thing I know I've fallen into deep dreams
Here I am floating in a shore less ocean
I am wearing a diaper
I am completely alone
Not a cloud in the sky
The sun is beating down
I am getting very burned
The beer in my hand is very cold

Monday, June 21, 2010

45*21

I'm that classic jerk you heard about
I'm built sideways
I love the bugger sugar
Not for real
I challenge my self daily
Knowing I'll know the stars
The sky is a painted dome
any gorilla could paint
The breathing fish at my door
I'm a knob to be twisted
A breathing apparatus
Give me a break you Spartacus
I'm a disaster on a slow ship
in a bathrobe on the mainstay
Give me those sloped thoughts
I'll build a monument to smoke
I'll be the lonely corncob at the end of the night
The electronic display that works as eyebrows
I'll carry the torch of a thousand diminished days
to a silent black out
at the gates of time

for Conrad on his 49th

Sunday, June 20, 2010

45*21

though Greg says that all the important things
are because of science and there is no God
that anything of any importance came to be invented
in the last hundred years, let's say
while that may be true from one perspective
that a technology based society eliminates
crazy notions of a bearded man in the heavens above
but I posit that in both agriculture an ancient culture
there were great inventions going back at least 4,000 years
and science has always two sides
one that brings something in to being that has been a comfort
and creating a dichotomy which leads man's hand into creating an end
though a more shamanistic approach may lead
to a more perfect understanding of how to use these tools
we take the quickest solution too much of the time
and like the person who prays to an unproven god
we settle for the results and decide to change that
which has tested to work and is ever expanding
in a field of every expandable thing
this is why personal belief systems are private
and we should always expand from the vision

Saturday, June 19, 2010

45*21

all the ailments lowered lowered from the upper level
seeped in drains that pain
the poorest of all Italian garbage workers
powdered with every skin feeling
the inner depths of world war two
what's the fun of mopping the floor with you
when time is stopping at my threshold
I'm invaded by a peal
The raccoon in the window appears to claim me
my spirit animal washing its hands
of all that is known and unreal
which is transparent, a minute
in a stillness of argued time
A perfect box containing perfect items
is my mind in the most idle state
hammer feather sponge
grasping the last notion
Don't look at me I'm hideous
in a trained thought of a monkey
behold... I ravish
the end of these lines

Friday, June 18, 2010

45*21

life is but a great globe of know dough
circling the hive
and you can find your smile
hiding in a carnival's shawl
diapers are ending in doom
the ocean is filled with the plume
giant arcades in the sky
the blue and the orange going
well I won't comb
the tomb of the very unknown
and I won't mind
the wobbling aspects of time.
The great leader of foams
who grants us the memorial tome
As death passes through our palm
light shades and memorial psalm
I grant you the life that you own
knowing that it was a loan
for gravities absence not
a grave at the end of the loam
in times of trouble I'm home

Thursday, June 17, 2010

45*21

Dan Cashman sure seems to know a hell of a lot
about everything
heard he keeps a messy room
Bravo!
I don't feel too sexy in my mind
and every kid's parent at school
thinks I'm a weirdo no doubt
strictly based on appearance
If they only knew how weird I actually think I am
Get a towel
You made it happen
RAGE!
The coat hangers look innocent in their closet
I posit a blues chord
Nobody knows what the hell I'm talking about
which is why they leave me be
More friends lost
Oh well!
Time to look in the phone book
I see them all on this thing called Facebook
which is secretly ruining people's personal lives daily

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

45*21

hard to break the slumber
your velvet legs that shine
sounds come from within
I wish I could have caught them
fish swim
the length of the pool made my breath
cool and clean, deep inside
the summer pool scene has changed
I t use to be that the high dive
laid in waiting
& remember danger
the moments are escaping
the man gets up from a nap
his wife is on an adding machine
great mandibles gnashing shadow
these are the quiet hour of accounting
splayed out for the depths
from the center of town
hear the peepers
something is adding up
and the diminishing returns

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

45*21

that one which has a kinship to mine
I miss you even when you are closer than you are
the circles that revolve around us all
hardly perceived we have this need of looking close
until it all closes in
two fish eyes and a center cord
just get the balancing trick right
and everybody is looking for the next high
I get around it by being myself again
then the drinks start pouring in
happiness is a circular motion
except, I like to look at the ocean
it flows in and it goes out
land ho ahoy matey
what's your MO
slowly we crawl from the bottom
to see some top
push open the lid
and see what you can see
three kids in the bottom of an ocean
in the perfect stillness we might call nothingness

Monday, June 14, 2010

45*21

"in the great expanse of darkness
that was my brow"
said the man to his wife
as she stretched out into a forever darkness
that was a night you could even hear the stars
airplanes flew by in complete silence
as the Sheriff awaited his assailant
The yard gnomes conversed in plaster thought
A drunk fell out of some bushes
This night was swimming with disasters
like shitty-assed kids throwing rocks through windows
we look onto the universe as if it were an escaped convict
closing in on the the truth about one's self
the lipstick containers mixed in with loose yarn
vines grew into a ladder over the houses
This gaslight village where the one celebrity
who didn't live there anymore
threw that annual Mayday party
people young and old tottering home
blasted from their sense of being
onto wrought iron beds

Sunday, June 13, 2010

45*21

when you guess
all the things go in reverse
so instead you know
but the knowing turns out guess work
agents appear
the disguises are wonderful
sleep sets in
another day
you get the subway
the F train takes you to it's end
the flea market is full of surprises
electrocuted testing a projector
there are no second guesses
the guilt has a killing vibe
blood red lava lamp
the cut him down
his eyes were so glazed
the animals are scientists
the know it all
and nothing remains to be guessed
diamonds over hearts

Saturday, June 12, 2010

45*21

the castles of Maria
when Darcey was up her last time
these frames of time that loosen
I don't want to live in Florida
but the panhandle knows my fuck
Who drank the first half
who's plans are actual
the chords are real
like cartoon play dough
I woke up in the middle
no they could all add the that
the feathering tracks pull
along the blue hay
eye floating in my beer
steer clear my beautiful bay
the cat put some harmony on my heart
so sleep came in slow clumps
I heard it clug clug in my ear
before the whiteness
and then the knowing was known
slathered in star light

Friday, June 11, 2010

45*21

when it comes down to it
we are creatures of attention
Florida is waiting
the sun also rises
When you look at it from another angle
you see it exactly the same way
some say stupid humans
the interstices of being
challenge you to a dual
crazy Arabian stallions
that becomes a funny thing to say
and then it's bed time
Kids in there "I wanna sing" hats
the relations are all messed up
I like the crystal unicorn
the phantasmal knowledge of letting go
where in lies the bed lies
candy hardened arteries
buildings lollipoping buildings
no plan of attachment
no attachment to plan

Thursday, June 10, 2010

45*21

sweet corn is lamenting Spring
the weatherman, drunk in uptown bar
crumbles bits of earth in his hand
He eats wonderful cottage cheese
Someone smiles weak corners of a mouth
teeth come together quietly
quieter than thin rain
We take this train into midnight
and follow a flow
Tall grass growing in a field
conceals a lasting conceit
Out jumps the fox
Sweet are the hours we spend
rattling boats against a pier
Sleep the silent
Grows way above the tassel
Some rough ass farmer eats hamburg
watches a storm roll in
A gingham table cloth explodes
in one gust of wind
An old clock pendulum dines
on an hour's spent time

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

45*21

rat at the table
at tat tat
where is your napkin?
just a chin
I dine alone
in a crib like mind
sated on others
in the collective limbo
the livers quiver
but a shiver is quicker
hammer ? politics
the easier slide
sits passively by
the wind on an arrows quiver
it's all too easy
to know the pop song
to say hurray
and know the black hole
from which 1st forced the baby
that we call the universe
with hair straight up on end

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

45*21

I'm my own
scruff of neck
pulled apart by
weeds of dreams.
Call my color
sunken brown dog
at leash end
all but friend
in alien times
spread open eyes
and see fools
who win tools
at fair's end.
Fair begins again
as house burns
girl in window
forever shadow singes
forever shat out
lonely never endings.
Spin dog spin
in ground rooted
spinned down in.

Monday, June 7, 2010

45*21

These last moments
I mean to say, the ones that just passed
into possible fodder for short History
I saw the e and the manikin torso
as if floating from a window
Then the swirling
Timbers floating up nostrils
also in there, the grass
Like splendid chambers of the mind
in a Spring time brocade
The sin of shame
Made man of no design
hang on to the balastrade
pointed toes, the edge of flowers
A queen's reverence
for pointed caps
On flowers so delicate
in which rivers pass
a rainy day gloss in glow
Then we sat for the moon
in blooming nighttime's hearth

Sunday, June 6, 2010

45*21

We are always telling ourselves
we have to know more
The surmounting almost makes it feel like less
It is like the car wheels with spokes
they make it look like the wheels are rolling backwards
I feel like rolling backward through time
at times, wondering if this cage I'm self imposed in
is really of my own making
Sometimes, the greatest power is that to antagonize
You get left alone with practical knowledge
when it seems everyone else is on their favorite dope.
Reading helps.
But what books?
The ones that speak volumes?
or the ones that speak volumes
I am a cloud in trousers
and the world runs over me daily
The gray bearded man that doesn't exist
in the ethereal
Is the same as the one he imagines himself to be
while pulling the trigger
one bullet left

Saturday, June 5, 2010

45*21

And nothing is not a bad thing
because things hang in beingness
like coat hangers without cloth
the spillage is somewhat noticeable
which gives it it's appeal
that is why we ground ourselves
momentarily in the falling down principle
which says that we all fall down
to pick ourselves up again
but the unconscious monkeys that we are
the reality only smacks in elevated states
that we get to by our needing to recognize
the reality in real pleasure zones
trace it back to earliest time
when we spoke without knowing
In there is an untraceable reality
fit only for the myth of majesty
that is our unconscious prophecy
to be left to something unknown
given to trance
we work it out

Friday, June 4, 2010

45*21

not so brilliant are the lights
that we confer with
on open roads
when society seems to crumble
at the edges
by juvenile nightmares
but there is the same riotousness
it happens when
Paris was burning
All roads lead to the summer gardens
wrapped in semiotic cloth
just an ordinary storm
it seems, at first, and then so bright
that even the ghastly wonder
of deepest dreams perspire
a kind of understanding
unfolds
and folds in again
a series of mirrored perplexities
a taste for candy
and prophetic odes
sang in twilight orchard

Thursday, June 3, 2010

45*21

you never know how important an I is
and until you can't use it anymore
socks wear out
little fishes swim through
will I need to become a new
the old man hates computers
and teases us all for using them
a plague of individualism
he also makes fun of yoga
Our brains take a mirror picture of emotion
"Funny Games" was hard to watch
though it was hard to keep my eyes off it
crudeness of boy mentality
kill all and take no prisoners
go from one cell to the next
leaving know loose ends
but on a whim
I was feeling really disturbed after that
couldn't keep my cool
even gardening didn't help
and now I've lost my I

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

45*21

oh, in this sub-symptom of lies
lives the half life true life
and we ask it for questions
did you say you got beaned by a leach
no, I want to wash off the sand from the beach
is the man sleeping with his maid
or is the maiden in relief
when we talk of sex we must tread lightly
or the light goes out briefly
that's okay grandpa hears that way too
did you say "he hates school"
then simpletons preach truth
I love the life lies
but they hate to be told the truth
but stories are told
all the same, we know nothing of the truth
it snaps us from behind
like some errant towel in the shower
of a high school locker room
let the pigs blood flow
and the Eight Is Enough Mother know

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

45*21

for 5/30/10

what we get hung on
when we are in
the outside world is looking out
so looking in is inside world
viewing the pages of this magazine
I step out within this other passing world
watch it get erased
it's memory passing
many rolls of masking tape
layering the paper mache bird song
If I were a kid I wouldn't be just blind
I'd hold it between the eyes and know
It is birth I'm given
The angles transpose
So now, looking at colors
supposed to know
the leaning of each phrase
the lights they turn on
each another maladaptive misgiving
just obscured by soap
the sentences know

45*21

Demons enter and sometimes take over
eating at every diner
nihilistic hedonism
not so pretty, but you know
is what not so
sat there watching
Hold onto you wallet mind
ogling the center
put off the outer
pulling and tugging at it
eating away the edges
reality keeps passing
Light keeps things interesting
it lives and within
vital energy is posed
each of us human
sacrificed by our own hand
Invigorated by steam
not always caring
used up
so there is always time to laugh


-for Dennis Hopper