45*21

assoles born everyday
but when they are babies they are heaven
they don't mean to be assholes
then they go skiing and start showing off
like moving fast and we are cross-country skiing
just s'posed to be taken it easy and checking out nature
as we go along looking at beautiful snow hanging
from over taxed pine, but of course there are the babies
they are out there, like me just chugging along
hoping the heart attack will pass
we fall several times, get up, hurt our ankles
get snow bunching up on the bottom of our skis
The Ski Patrol lady skis by and says hi
She sounds Norwegian which is appropriate
since we are Nordic skiing.
It is pretty cool until you run into these sixty-something year old
dudes scoping chicks and you think "pathetic"
Mostly it is only families and the random doctor
who bought his wife and himself some high tech gear
In the parking lot I see a ten year old kid whose mom
is gonna park her car in my space and he never looks up

45*21

little wranglers behind eyes that don't see
into a future that isn't always there
like in clouds, I see your head say "give me money"
a thousand times over
she breathes deep and I think of the ocean
funny how we are cleansed by thought
clenched between ideas and the knot
of some great undoing
the undertaker has a long frock
ye old trip to Jerusalem
where all the bikers shine a light
on castle keep
I say ally-oop and a wat we go
on narrow boat and shoe string knot
how far out in the ocean can you expect to go
never see another person
well the homeless life is this
put out to sea
and when you know sight and sound
comes natural to judge
less you be judged

45*21

Right now I was thinking of something to say
even at this moment, I wish I knew, but
don't think this ship we are on fits in the
diorama
&
Great, just great, have I
really got this right or
eaten the last clue
even though I'm not sure
right now if it is I or we.
Absolutely, that must be true
resisting all that may be false
even in the face of looking silly.
But we are all lost in this crazy charade
righting our own wrongs
of this and every thought
the ideas appear like rain
have a lick
even the eventuality of it on your tongue
reminds you of all the delight of knowing
some things are real.

45*21

no autographs
but you may touch the garment
the twins spin in unison
we are a welcome sign
Sofia
the angel of design
don't get lost in your friend's thoughts
no friend is everything
the delusion will begin in a moment
all children have wonderful nightmares
my uncle wanted to kill me
just out of reach
the African mask lay heavy on the bed
it gave us so much shelter
and when we disappear we reappear
this is very much like the melting of thoughts
when the old codger hates everything new
they dream of honey bees
flick a switch
and it's daytime again
pull a chain
and the castle rises plain

45*21

piles and piles
lies upon lies
images without image
bells without sound
liberty without justice
cake with frosting
vegetables with crunch
restaurants and bathrooms
flies and swatters
buildings are falling
people are screaming
I am hiding
you are smug
dig and find
leave and lose
live and die
eat it all
fuck it all
cry a stream
be a dear
fuck this shit

45*21

we all find our faults in the evening
the fire and that smoke smell
gets under your skin as you sleep
you feel like melting in the soil
and when you sing it is with the soil
with all your split personalities
you grow into one delightful joy
become the life of the party
it doesn't let you down
it doesn't let you go either
you to and fro from the loose tether
& you hope it's not the wolf tree
& you are some nazi kraut with the filth of home
in your mouth
it is another day
and you are the walrus
this is the part where I depart
and my departure will mean everything
and of course nothing
etc. etc. and so it goes
'til we rest with rocks

45*21

elaborate posts in the shadow lands
this is where the cat's hang in meadows stream
we are the yellow cherry girls
we infiltrate your dreams
light our Molotov cocktails and blow up your playground
you are less the Bolshevik poem
you can't argue the spindled stairs
even the Virgin Spring, white horse and dappled gray
we never allow ourselves to wander far from the playground
the shadows become splendid daydreams
in our Gothic hole
you have to leave your shelter and experience the outside
you who is always on the outside
but are you looking in?
these are the questions that spring forth
this is the ball on the Maypole
though cranberries are sour they dress the salty bride
whose hair is seaweed
she is the daughter of Capt. Pride
he's just being silly with his duck calls
everything swims if for a moment when it sinks