something else

the fading elopment cracked open
an untitled renewal that hid behind the sun
wake~up… whispered the wings of grass
we are flying in wonderland
but misfortune’s tied to the bed
with dark shades
and pink ropes climb themselves
into nirvana
bar and grill
those ethereal labels peeling
like skin losing its hold
on the hand of the last orangutan
a piano replaced the earth
with a spirit that had no portrait
dragonfly
seedlings
inside the saki
bottle
are lit with the breath of primeval
appetites
so we turn
and turn
in the soup of
something else

#2039 20090519

Yowling and pacing
    at the front door
Possessed by the
    forces drawing
    him outside
To the lush quiet
    Dewy meadow;
The earlier Winkie.

ad lib

i have to ad lib today
i am trying to look passably like myself
my list of excuses includes rabies
my buddy the squirrel wants an audition
at the mandatory all staff meeting
and says it is all one song
anyway
good morning mister sisyphus!
it is overcast and raining
indoors and out
in an outward manifestion
of my interior
which is packed with sardine~people
who are missing a few zeros
swimming in olive oil
humility forbids me to list my many skills
my portfolio could pay for one large pizza
in a vacant empty land
thanks for the dark ages
i won't write lyrics about it
there is nothing i don't already have
that i want
i like the peach blossoms
a half full soda bottle that is fizzless
i love that feeling of being trapped
in a bar
and to slip out one of the side doors
in my sailboat...
didn't hit land until the next morning
which is now
the human world
the masks
the coffee
the smoke
*
(A collaborative effort with James Eaise... we hacked up some emails... a short time before his business meeting... mandatory and without sleep!)

four is not four

four is not the number
thirteen is not the number
fourty six is also
not the number
in the middle of everything
a clock carries you across the water
control saves us from infamy sometimes
and sometimes not
one inside one is the number
the sum
the errata
the forked tongue and the genitalia
o those velvet bullets that play with our puppets!

a ton of salt

lets talk about shopping
a sugar coating mixed with chili
cinnamon and a ton of salt
let's be young
& spicy
in an expensive musical bus packed with scattered holidays...
the right monster for ancient violence
the fairy tale with innumerable faces
ever before...
ever after...
every second of it
is a lament under a mask that smiles
that dogs our
unimaginable acolytes...
waltz them into the twenty first century in eternity
that challenge
that untouchable irony
now…
talking dust to dust:
there are seas between you and you
other than being a good human being...
that dispute... that compromise... that lengthy trial...
at five o clock in the afternoon...

peach blossoms

the morning is here without knocking
it heaps me with blankness
and turns breakfast to mush
this is my signature
a rose in a bottle
of blood
a heart inside a suit
a poem in a stone
the weather is gray again
but i am full of tulips
and peach blossoms
and little by little
i begin to dance
alone

everything

everything echoes
i like to listen
to the mixture of emotion and color crawling over rock
the seas sound like one voice and the world is always eye to eye
opium of the stoned hole
returning
you will climb the shifting part of the present aggregate's
disruption
before the war and
the leap ahead
when originals feel
whipped
solos in tangerine
a passion
that is flawed with a deadline for
beating the odds