ACUTE MULTIPLE DRUG INTOXICATION
I like it, it speaks to me
OVERDOSE OF PRESCRIPTION AND ILLICIT DRUGS
In the wee wee hours of the morning
SOME COLLEGE BUT NO DEGREE
Dead at 40
Decedent Last Seen Alive (MM/DD/YYYY)
Still could make a case for a good looking corpse
NAME, TITLE OF CORONER/DEPUTY CORONER
Go to the well to drink once to often
CERTIFY THAT IN MY OPINION DEATH OCCURRED
Sometimes a rattlesnake swims in the water
PLACE OF DEATH
Home is where the heart is
INFORMANT’S FIRST NAME, LAST NAME AND RELATIONSHIP
some long lost estranged sister in Raleigh
EVER IN U.S. ARMED FORCES
Perhaps parents and government lay a scorned eye on sexual orientation
AKA - ALSO KNOWN AS
Club names don’t count
HOUR (24 Hours)
These are mean moments when your ass out with no hydration, and they can’t hear your calls for help
I CERTIFY THAT TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE DEATH OCCURED AT THE
In a sad October we whittle away the seconds on our branch of life
HOUR, DATE, AND PLACE STATED FROM THE CAUSES STATED.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
I Don't Know Anyone
I stand haunted
at the edge of liquid night
askew in stance
leaning out towards the open desert
upon a mound of dirt
in my backyard
staring forward
into a dry sea bed of despair
and I don't know anyone.
I search the ground for movement
a child of night and sand
you learn to eyeball creepy crawlies
and to listen for
those things that go bump in the night
my companions are shadows
and
my heart is strange
because I don't know anyone.
This has been the longest walk
down cactus hallways turning dirt bike tricks
the arid night is a dusty blow dryer
hot air shaking the hand of emptiness
inside a poisoned fear
holding a bone from an iguana's rib-cage
standing in the scorpion eclipse
and I don't know anyone.
Some day I will walk
out past the aching creosote
down through the jack rabbit skulls
that line these shallow streets like open graves
way over and beyond
the bloody threshold of tarantula fangs
the manic howls of coyotes murdering in packs
under the murky waters of the Oasis mirage
down to where the big ole' western sky
finally sinks into the ground
and here will be
a graffitied rocket ship with no fuel
an alien broom handle
ready to sweep me away
because I don't know anyone.
Hello, my name is
Shawn of the Mojave
I'm pleased to make your acquaintance . . .
because I don't know anyone.
at the edge of liquid night
askew in stance
leaning out towards the open desert
upon a mound of dirt
in my backyard
staring forward
into a dry sea bed of despair
and I don't know anyone.
I search the ground for movement
a child of night and sand
you learn to eyeball creepy crawlies
and to listen for
those things that go bump in the night
my companions are shadows
and
my heart is strange
because I don't know anyone.
This has been the longest walk
down cactus hallways turning dirt bike tricks
the arid night is a dusty blow dryer
hot air shaking the hand of emptiness
inside a poisoned fear
holding a bone from an iguana's rib-cage
standing in the scorpion eclipse
and I don't know anyone.
Some day I will walk
out past the aching creosote
down through the jack rabbit skulls
that line these shallow streets like open graves
way over and beyond
the bloody threshold of tarantula fangs
the manic howls of coyotes murdering in packs
under the murky waters of the Oasis mirage
down to where the big ole' western sky
finally sinks into the ground
and here will be
a graffitied rocket ship with no fuel
an alien broom handle
ready to sweep me away
because I don't know anyone.
Hello, my name is
Shawn of the Mojave
I'm pleased to make your acquaintance . . .
because I don't know anyone.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Tire Iron
A Mexican kid
was spinning a
tire iron
in the front
yard
across the street
(dirty white
tank top you’re a floating ghost in oil)
his girl was
looking on
but way past him
into the air
where the
silence was growing more silent
sucked through a
hole in the moment
her lips
puckered sour
she sighed
waiting for the
tire to turn
and her fate to
change.
The Mexican kid
was slowly
trying
to change that tire
his brown
muscles straining against the sun
his mind and body
in no urgent rush
knowing that
as long as the
car
wouldn’t run
she couldn’t go
anywhere.
I saw him stop
sniff the air
his nose puckered sour
she waved her
hands
as if to get something
away from her
eyes
as if to gesture, "I'm in Distress"
two tan faces looking up into
the empty sun
and I too
smelled smoke in
the air
my soul was
shriveled and stale
a victim of the
same
sun God’s cruel
joke
smoke and smog,
smoke and smog
a wild fire
raged
not to far off
somewhere in the
golden state
of California
angry flames eating trees
in the key of Eb
minor
raging in blissful discord
madder than a
masturbator with no hands
hotter than a
sun burn on the back of the Devil.
I continued to
walk
to my car
parked precariously
in my parent’s
front yard
watching the
action
from across the
street
Mexican kid with
a tire iron
Mexican girl waiting
for a ride
I fished for my
keys
in my pant
pocket
thought for a
second
(scorpions and
unicorns dancing in a mirror)
(time like a
deflated breast implant)
the Mexican
kid’s woman
wasn’t bad
not good
but not so bad
if you were getting
down to it
but I wasn’t, at that moment
thinking about
getting down to
it
so I shook the thought
from my skull
opened the car
door
inhaled the
sweet aroma
of a California
burning
put it in gear
and drove on out of there.
Friday, August 16, 2013
I Play Hard, I Rock Hard & I Need a Belt That Lasts
Jimmy looked at Randy and he said,
"I need a belt, man."
"For what, man?"
"I think I want to go into my garage and hang myself."
"Fuck, what for?"
"Because the wind howls and the sand blows and I'm bored."
"There isn't much to do out here."
"It's not even that, man, it's just that I get to thinking all the time in the silence."
"That's your problem, to much thinking! Make some noise . . ."
"I want to hang myself like they do in prison. Cause' it feels like I'm in prison. The walls are made of creosote bushes and the floors are hot sand. The mountains surround us from all directions."
"Why don't you just try and escape. Like Clint Eastwood in that old movie."
"No water to jump in to swim to safety."
"Shawshank Redemption, man! No water in that one! Well, wait. I guess he did swim through the shit sewer to get out . . . fuck!"
"You see . . . no choice man. The Joshua Trees are closing in. The coyotes howl in the distance. The smell of burnt plastic permeating the air. No girl. No ride. Not enough money. All I need is a sturdy belt. Something made out of leather like Sid Vicious would've worn. Something Punk as fuck!"
"Yeah, if your gonna hang yourself it should be punk as fuck."
"I had a friend in high school that was a punk rocker. He hung himself from a water tower. Before he did he spray painted "Punks Not Dead" on the side in dripping red letters. That was Punk as shit!"
"Punks not dead but he was."
"Ha! Guess you make a point there! Pass me another brew ..."
Jimmy went to the ice box and pulled out a tall cool one.
"I know a dude with a leather bondage belt. Want me to call him?"
"Sure."
Randy pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.
"What was that cat's name again? Lex Bangs I think. Yeah, there he is. I'll text him."
"Erotic asphyxiation, maybe that is the way to go. But I don't come back from it!"
"What is that, man? You choke to death on your own semen?"
"No. It's where you restrict the flow of oxygen to the brain to get your rocks off. But you don't hang yourself all the way."
"Fuck, who thought up that shit?!"
"I think back in the olden times when they did public hangings people saw that once a dude was hung that he got a hard-on."
"So, what your saying is that they got to see how "hung" he really was!"
"Fuckin' a right! I think the fact that other people would get that idea from watching a hanging, then go try it themselves, is nuts! We're just all sexual beasts deep down. Driven by the urge . . ."
"Didn't that dude that played the Chinese guy in that old TV Western show die from that?"
"Kung-fu. Yes."
"So how does it work?"
"Well, you restrict the oxygen gettin' to your brain then you start jerkin' your wiener."
"Jesus! I don't know if I could do two things at once like that!"
"You mean like chewing bubble gum and walking? Might be kinda hard for your dumb ass! Anyway, it's supposed to be a real rush when you blow your wad. Like doing a line of coke."
"Dude, you should totally do that instead! Use a punk as fuck belt. I can get a video on my cell phone! Did Kung-fu use a punk rock belt?"
"No. Rope I think. Your a fag dude. You just want to beat off to the video later!"
"Fuck you."
Randy's cell began to vibrate.
"Dude, it's Bangs! He just texted me. He's got the bondage belt! Want me to tell em' to bring it over?"
"Nah, maybe next weekend. Gotta think some more on it. Any more beer left?"
"There is always more beer, my brother . . ."
"I need a belt, man."
"For what, man?"
"I think I want to go into my garage and hang myself."
"Fuck, what for?"
"Because the wind howls and the sand blows and I'm bored."
"There isn't much to do out here."
"It's not even that, man, it's just that I get to thinking all the time in the silence."
"That's your problem, to much thinking! Make some noise . . ."
"I want to hang myself like they do in prison. Cause' it feels like I'm in prison. The walls are made of creosote bushes and the floors are hot sand. The mountains surround us from all directions."
"Why don't you just try and escape. Like Clint Eastwood in that old movie."
"No water to jump in to swim to safety."
"Shawshank Redemption, man! No water in that one! Well, wait. I guess he did swim through the shit sewer to get out . . . fuck!"
"You see . . . no choice man. The Joshua Trees are closing in. The coyotes howl in the distance. The smell of burnt plastic permeating the air. No girl. No ride. Not enough money. All I need is a sturdy belt. Something made out of leather like Sid Vicious would've worn. Something Punk as fuck!"
"Yeah, if your gonna hang yourself it should be punk as fuck."
"I had a friend in high school that was a punk rocker. He hung himself from a water tower. Before he did he spray painted "Punks Not Dead" on the side in dripping red letters. That was Punk as shit!"
"Punks not dead but he was."
"Ha! Guess you make a point there! Pass me another brew ..."
Jimmy went to the ice box and pulled out a tall cool one.
"I know a dude with a leather bondage belt. Want me to call him?"
"Sure."
Randy pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.
"What was that cat's name again? Lex Bangs I think. Yeah, there he is. I'll text him."
"Erotic asphyxiation, maybe that is the way to go. But I don't come back from it!"
"What is that, man? You choke to death on your own semen?"
"No. It's where you restrict the flow of oxygen to the brain to get your rocks off. But you don't hang yourself all the way."
"Fuck, who thought up that shit?!"
"I think back in the olden times when they did public hangings people saw that once a dude was hung that he got a hard-on."
"So, what your saying is that they got to see how "hung" he really was!"
"Fuckin' a right! I think the fact that other people would get that idea from watching a hanging, then go try it themselves, is nuts! We're just all sexual beasts deep down. Driven by the urge . . ."
"Didn't that dude that played the Chinese guy in that old TV Western show die from that?"
"Kung-fu. Yes."
"So how does it work?"
"Well, you restrict the oxygen gettin' to your brain then you start jerkin' your wiener."
"Jesus! I don't know if I could do two things at once like that!"
"You mean like chewing bubble gum and walking? Might be kinda hard for your dumb ass! Anyway, it's supposed to be a real rush when you blow your wad. Like doing a line of coke."
"Dude, you should totally do that instead! Use a punk as fuck belt. I can get a video on my cell phone! Did Kung-fu use a punk rock belt?"
"No. Rope I think. Your a fag dude. You just want to beat off to the video later!"
"Fuck you."
Randy's cell began to vibrate.
"Dude, it's Bangs! He just texted me. He's got the bondage belt! Want me to tell em' to bring it over?"
"Nah, maybe next weekend. Gotta think some more on it. Any more beer left?"
"There is always more beer, my brother . . ."
Thursday, August 15, 2013
The Man Was 25
Thursday, August 15, 2013
11:15 a.m.
people listening to the message were asked to
check their out-buildings and vehicles
audio awakening
someone slipped me a yellow sheet of paper
I scribbled down the phone #
eggs, cheese, sand paper
the body of Billy West
reverse 911 look out call
I hear a dogs faint howl in the bloody distance
cultural dance at Turtle island
lipstick pornography
Lady Luck stands against a screen door
with a knife in her teeth
quietly undoing the latch
the police were looking for a missing person
and, according to the official record,
he was in need of medical attention
acute methamphetamine intoxication
but noone was seriously injured
Banner, Steel, Alamo, and Starlight
John Wayne's horses
saddle up
let's ride!
Hwy. 62 is melting into the Earth
a night under the Stars provided supporters
the perfect opportunity
made to order, fresh everyday
perhaps, the man scrambled
down from a boulder
and got in a tight spot
where he could not
ascend or descend safely
it's not for me to say
out-house tiolet paper
breakfast served during breakfast hours only
let's dance, for instance
tonight the saloon is full
of bright young things
olive branches at the waterside
Piranha swimming in dust
laying more pipe then
the Hi-Desert Water District
cool hand Romeo
test-boost, flag pole, electric erection
summer extravaganza
the coroner has not yet said what
caused the Death
although he was last seen
shirtless and shoeless
wandering the sand dunes
at nightfall
with a free exclusive offer
as search and rescue workers
attached to ropes
and lowered to the ground
swarm my driveway
I peep through the blinds
learning about the problem
special coupon inside
as well as the idenitiy of the man found
dead in the open desert
that has now been released
and I dare say that my electric bill is
rather high this year
but, it's all due
to the god-damn
summer
heat.
11:15 a.m.
people listening to the message were asked to
check their out-buildings and vehicles
audio awakening
someone slipped me a yellow sheet of paper
I scribbled down the phone #
eggs, cheese, sand paper
the body of Billy West
reverse 911 look out call
I hear a dogs faint howl in the bloody distance
cultural dance at Turtle island
lipstick pornography
Lady Luck stands against a screen door
with a knife in her teeth
quietly undoing the latch
the police were looking for a missing person
and, according to the official record,
he was in need of medical attention
acute methamphetamine intoxication
but noone was seriously injured
Banner, Steel, Alamo, and Starlight
John Wayne's horses
saddle up
let's ride!
Hwy. 62 is melting into the Earth
a night under the Stars provided supporters
the perfect opportunity
made to order, fresh everyday
perhaps, the man scrambled
down from a boulder
and got in a tight spot
where he could not
ascend or descend safely
it's not for me to say
out-house tiolet paper
breakfast served during breakfast hours only
let's dance, for instance
tonight the saloon is full
of bright young things
olive branches at the waterside
Piranha swimming in dust
laying more pipe then
the Hi-Desert Water District
cool hand Romeo
test-boost, flag pole, electric erection
summer extravaganza
the coroner has not yet said what
caused the Death
although he was last seen
shirtless and shoeless
wandering the sand dunes
at nightfall
with a free exclusive offer
as search and rescue workers
attached to ropes
and lowered to the ground
swarm my driveway
I peep through the blinds
learning about the problem
special coupon inside
as well as the idenitiy of the man found
dead in the open desert
that has now been released
and I dare say that my electric bill is
rather high this year
but, it's all due
to the god-damn
summer
heat.
Chinatown
We took the turtles back to Chinatown
because our day jobs didn't allow enough funds
for food or filtration
and the old Chinaman that sold them to us
scratched his scaly head
and snorted, "make much nonsense to hand back!
Turtles good luck and wort off evil spirit! Ancestors go back thousands of year! Here, take more food . . ."
he handed us a bag of pellets that looked like rat droppings
and the girl looked at me and I looked at her
and we just laughed
reciting to him
a Sikh funeral hymn
"The sunbeam blends with sunlight and the water drop
is absorbed into water becoming saturated."
he scratched some more scales from his head
the hidden DNA code of his ancestors
taking refuge under his yellow fingernails
and he looked more confused
then when we first made the scene
henceforth we split
popping like colorful confetti cannons
spilling our crazy souls out onto N. Broadway
ducking red lanterns that burned
in the golden flames of the dragon's breathe
running wild with love
all over the streets of downtown Los Angeles
making a sensible display of obscenity
wanting heavy drink in the mid afternoon
but again,
our day jobs didn't allow us the luxury
so I stole a kiss
on the stained sidewalk
out in front of a fruit stand
where Chinese children
pushed mini apples into my pockets
and yanked my pants
for funds
but the rain didn't
come
and off in the distance
the 101 was crawling
madness in mufflers
exhaustion in engines
and the I-10 W towards Santa Monica
was a dead stop
sort of like our
lives.
because our day jobs didn't allow enough funds
for food or filtration
and the old Chinaman that sold them to us
scratched his scaly head
and snorted, "make much nonsense to hand back!
Turtles good luck and wort off evil spirit! Ancestors go back thousands of year! Here, take more food . . ."
he handed us a bag of pellets that looked like rat droppings
and the girl looked at me and I looked at her
and we just laughed
reciting to him
a Sikh funeral hymn
"The sunbeam blends with sunlight and the water drop
is absorbed into water becoming saturated."
he scratched some more scales from his head
the hidden DNA code of his ancestors
taking refuge under his yellow fingernails
and he looked more confused
then when we first made the scene
henceforth we split
popping like colorful confetti cannons
spilling our crazy souls out onto N. Broadway
ducking red lanterns that burned
in the golden flames of the dragon's breathe
running wild with love
all over the streets of downtown Los Angeles
making a sensible display of obscenity
wanting heavy drink in the mid afternoon
but again,
our day jobs didn't allow us the luxury
so I stole a kiss
on the stained sidewalk
out in front of a fruit stand
where Chinese children
pushed mini apples into my pockets
and yanked my pants
for funds
but the rain didn't
come
and off in the distance
the 101 was crawling
madness in mufflers
exhaustion in engines
and the I-10 W towards Santa Monica
was a dead stop
sort of like our
lives.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Any Given Wednesday
A large board
bed-sheet white
with black tape running
vertical
and
perpendicular
creating boxes
categories
tracking systems
this board hung on a wall
in a funeral home
at 4:07 p.m.
on any given Wednesday
a warm body in a suit and a tie
waits by the telephone
for the sure sound of ringing
a cash register cha-ching
this person is faceless
soul painted with the dark strokes
of a casual indifference
a vampire bat sitting up right
hanging on to the inevitable hope
that Death is out there
thinning the heard
every single day
Death doesn't take a day off
nor does the mortician
because he knows the probabilites
he plays a mean waitng game
hanging in there
like a tortoise holding his water
in the middle of the Mojave desert
so,
back to this white board
hanging on a wall
in a mortuary
upon this board
are hand written
names
in dry erase marker
pretty colors
and if your name
is on this board
you're dead
Jack!
hate to break it to you
but that's just
the way the bubble bursts.
bed-sheet white
with black tape running
vertical
and
perpendicular
creating boxes
categories
tracking systems
this board hung on a wall
in a funeral home
at 4:07 p.m.
on any given Wednesday
a warm body in a suit and a tie
waits by the telephone
for the sure sound of ringing
a cash register cha-ching
this person is faceless
soul painted with the dark strokes
of a casual indifference
a vampire bat sitting up right
hanging on to the inevitable hope
that Death is out there
thinning the heard
every single day
Death doesn't take a day off
nor does the mortician
because he knows the probabilites
he plays a mean waitng game
hanging in there
like a tortoise holding his water
in the middle of the Mojave desert
so,
back to this white board
hanging on a wall
in a mortuary
upon this board
are hand written
names
in dry erase marker
pretty colors
and if your name
is on this board
you're dead
Jack!
hate to break it to you
but that's just
the way the bubble bursts.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
It Happens Like This Sometimes
Sometimes
the hammer hits the nail
the nail travels straight through the wood
the picture gets hung
all is right with the world
and it happens like this
sometimes.
Sometimes
the hammer hits the nail
the nail fires in crooked
and the hammerie makes a grimaced face
hammers again, only to tag his thumb
dropping the picture to the floor
it happens this way
other times.
Sometimes
the claw thingy lifts the prize
circles the stuffed animal abyss
and drops it in the hole
I have seen it happen this way
sometimes.
Most of the time
the claw doesn't pick up
shit.
I've hammered some nails
and I've operated some claws
many times in my life
the outcomes predictable
but I always seem to pretend to myself
that I'm surprised
and I know it is not sanity leading this horse
to the supposition waters.
Sometimes
I wonder about the many years I have
prayed at the altar of bland predictability
the altar of romantic love
the altar of time clock wages
inhaled heavy the alienation of consumer greed
all the many times I have knelled down to sip some truth
from the alcoholic ponds
only to become temporarily blind
the outcome always the same
it happens this way
almost all of the time.
This morning I woke up
got out of bed
remained naked
took a hammer
and pounded a massive hole in the wall
I took a framed photograph
of someone, something, sometime
from the past
and dropped it in the hole
I wrote with a permanent marker on a piece of paper
THERE IS A PICTURE IN A HOLE BEHIND THIS
and tacked it on the wall
covering the damage.
I got dressed and had some coffee
loaded two shells in the shotgun
put some quarters in my pocket
got in the car
and headed in the direction of the nearest Denny's
having decided that
with some gentle persuasions
the Claw machine could be made
to drop the prize
all the time.
the hammer hits the nail
the nail travels straight through the wood
the picture gets hung
all is right with the world
and it happens like this
sometimes.
Sometimes
the hammer hits the nail
the nail fires in crooked
and the hammerie makes a grimaced face
hammers again, only to tag his thumb
dropping the picture to the floor
it happens this way
other times.
Sometimes
the claw thingy lifts the prize
circles the stuffed animal abyss
and drops it in the hole
I have seen it happen this way
sometimes.
Most of the time
the claw doesn't pick up
shit.
I've hammered some nails
and I've operated some claws
many times in my life
the outcomes predictable
but I always seem to pretend to myself
that I'm surprised
and I know it is not sanity leading this horse
to the supposition waters.
Sometimes
I wonder about the many years I have
prayed at the altar of bland predictability
the altar of romantic love
the altar of time clock wages
inhaled heavy the alienation of consumer greed
all the many times I have knelled down to sip some truth
from the alcoholic ponds
only to become temporarily blind
the outcome always the same
it happens this way
almost all of the time.
This morning I woke up
got out of bed
remained naked
took a hammer
and pounded a massive hole in the wall
I took a framed photograph
of someone, something, sometime
from the past
and dropped it in the hole
I wrote with a permanent marker on a piece of paper
THERE IS A PICTURE IN A HOLE BEHIND THIS
and tacked it on the wall
covering the damage.
I got dressed and had some coffee
loaded two shells in the shotgun
put some quarters in my pocket
got in the car
and headed in the direction of the nearest Denny's
having decided that
with some gentle persuasions
the Claw machine could be made
to drop the prize
all the time.
Play Us Your Song
Heated spa
neon HBO
worst Western
$59.95
rock, paper, scissors
pull out bed
ring for service
cold coffee intercontinentaly
flea bag
motel
carry a bag
don't tell
get out on that
ROAD
son
jack your kerouac
mount that cassidy
make a million kid
make five, six, or seven
shit, hit the jackpot
shit, have it all and the cake to
not to mention the pie and the salad
(tossed preferably)
royalties galore
road soda
by the dozen
mercy without salvation
in the arms of the adoring public
the lonely stare of an audience indifferent
the redemptive roar of an audience in sync
the badge of courage
laundry service
fresh towels
and fresh dope
hangers on
and hangers in
rage, rage, rage
down the asphalt lane
a thousand miles
then a thousand and one more,
rinse and repeat,
candy cane sheets
and cigarette burns in the sky
peal the stickers off your guitar case
three day stubble on the face
this is all you ever wanted
all you've ever dreamed
all you've ever schemed
the nights all groupie wet
syringe sedation
never ending vacation
you can have it all
capital A my dreamy child
if you just believe
believe
believe!
and all you gotta do is
play us your
song.
neon HBO
worst Western
$59.95
rock, paper, scissors
pull out bed
ring for service
cold coffee intercontinentaly
flea bag
motel
carry a bag
don't tell
get out on that
ROAD
son
jack your kerouac
mount that cassidy
make a million kid
make five, six, or seven
shit, hit the jackpot
shit, have it all and the cake to
not to mention the pie and the salad
(tossed preferably)
royalties galore
road soda
by the dozen
mercy without salvation
in the arms of the adoring public
the lonely stare of an audience indifferent
the redemptive roar of an audience in sync
the badge of courage
laundry service
fresh towels
and fresh dope
hangers on
and hangers in
rage, rage, rage
down the asphalt lane
a thousand miles
then a thousand and one more,
rinse and repeat,
candy cane sheets
and cigarette burns in the sky
peal the stickers off your guitar case
three day stubble on the face
this is all you ever wanted
all you've ever dreamed
all you've ever schemed
the nights all groupie wet
syringe sedation
never ending vacation
you can have it all
capital A my dreamy child
if you just believe
believe
believe!
and all you gotta do is
play us your
song.
Friday, August 9, 2013
We Sit Like Urinals in the Sun
The sabbath is crawling to the tongue
words longing for rest
a major defeat for the literates and the aslyumites
my voice is collecting in monetary tones
bumming a nickel with inflections
so tamed and tapered that a negative G rating
need only apply
drawing out a wounded nap
the pickle soaked in whiskey
the tree growing legs and running
the hills are the eyelashes of the meteorite
I lay panting with my hooves in the sand
lapping at the dust
seeing images:
a torn dress
a spray painted turtle
a forgotten female lubricant
a major league baseball team in drag
a chicken on fire
a funeral home doorway
it's a sad vertigo
the hammered lives we live
into
out of
doorways revolving and evolving
a master of disguise
a midget with a sword
a bad mother on pills
a hang-glider in the wind
dangerous going over
to scared to cross
we recoil like cold snakes
and wait to strike at
whoever our vengeance sees fit to hit
and it is like this with everyone
always . . .
I see an image:
a blueberry penny
a muted toilet
a trumpet in the mud
a Spanish bull covered in blood
my aging face in the mirror.
words longing for rest
a major defeat for the literates and the aslyumites
my voice is collecting in monetary tones
bumming a nickel with inflections
so tamed and tapered that a negative G rating
need only apply
drawing out a wounded nap
the pickle soaked in whiskey
the tree growing legs and running
the hills are the eyelashes of the meteorite
I lay panting with my hooves in the sand
lapping at the dust
seeing images:
a torn dress
a spray painted turtle
a forgotten female lubricant
a major league baseball team in drag
a chicken on fire
a funeral home doorway
it's a sad vertigo
the hammered lives we live
into
out of
doorways revolving and evolving
a master of disguise
a midget with a sword
a bad mother on pills
a hang-glider in the wind
dangerous going over
to scared to cross
we recoil like cold snakes
and wait to strike at
whoever our vengeance sees fit to hit
and it is like this with everyone
always . . .
I see an image:
a blueberry penny
a muted toilet
a trumpet in the mud
a Spanish bull covered in blood
my aging face in the mirror.
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