Demon in Dallas

Kerouac attack
Aface the fact
Raw law knowledge
Down to my last dollar
Cause I’ve been working blue collar
What’s the winning resolution
Regal royal restitution
The empire center
A little midwest careful
I said I wanna move
But I don’t really wanna move
Cause Dallas fucking Texas
Is my mother fucking hood
Black moon rising
As I enter da stage
Cruising high through the city
Is all the fucking rage
Trade a cig for a story
Some silver city glory
My partner hit me to the game
To catch a bit of change
Shining shoes at the club
Wanta get in swallow some drugs
Wednesday night street fight
Run me off the road
Pull over at the peak mark
Then off I go
Manure fumes from semi exhaust
That’s a nice way to put it
Cause the south side of Dallas
Really smells like shit
Hampton Road turns to take me north
Deadlock gridlock in the middle of the ghetto
My head’s a swellin
O’Campo’s fix me up
But it ain’t no use
Cause I can never get enough
Singleton bridge is popping perp walking
Safer from crime protected by the coppers
You gotta know what it’s like
To come into the city
That green BOA building is truly fucking pretty
Whip n’ weave, whip n’ weave
Watch out while you drive
Cause people lose attention
All the fucking time
Be the mule that you gotta be1
Always punch it over 70
Sam Rayburn south to 635
I can see clear across the sky
The foggy skyline of downtown night time
Ripe as hell just within my eyesight
Low creeping planes land up ahead
Makes me glad I’m not in bed

When I was four years old
Told my mama “I see ghosts”
Those shadows on the wall in the hall
Were they even there at all?

[1] Queens of the Stone Age. "Give the Mule What He Wants." Queens of the Stone Age. Roadrunner Records, 1998. MP3.

Violent Sausages

Just got home from work
It's morning
Precisely six AM

Eggs on the stove
Sausage of course
With a side of toasted bread

Fill up my cup with extra pulp
Turn off the coffee pot

Tend the frying pan
Spatula in right hand
Monday has come and gone

Turning the links and the knob for the heat
The pig meat sizzles and cracks

Rolling off balance
Flopping in the skillet
It's skin growing charcoaled black

The heat from the burner
Warms up the bottom
Shaking the atoms in place

Exciting a case
Of molecular conduction
Inside of a sausage link

Now they're all cooked
I sit down to eat
Enjoying my breakfast and juice

And after I'm done
I rince off my plate
And pull close the blinds from the sun

I brush my teeth
Wash my face
And change into comfortable pants

While the rest of the world wakes up for the day
I'm headed off to bed

Gone, Gone, Gone

A hole in my shirt
A rip in my jeans
The soles of my shoes torn apart at the seams.
Can you help me sister savior?
Audible laugher (a sinister roar)
She points and yells,
"Kick that fucker out the door!"1
An outcast on the island,
Indicted for bad behavior,
Sentenced to death
After twenty years of hard labor.
To have or have not,
The musings of us all.
Do I take the road to Damascus
And follow like Paul?
Either way realizing
We are more or less the same,
Differing in genes and occasionally by name.
Yeah apartheid precedes us,
But it still lingers in the air -
Prejudice and persecution weren't stymied,
So beware.
We cling with our claws to a meaningless heritage
Passport bonfire, denying our brotherhood.
Yet from ashes we have risen
And to dust we will return.
Bearing a contemptuous smile,
Mother Earth opens her urn.

[1] The Rapture. "Killing." Echoes. Strummer Recordings, 2003. MP3.


Here I stand alone,
                upon the precipice.

A solemn scowl so sweetly worn,
when you know you can't go home.
Towering tall and sucking in -


Putting pressure on the pulmonary pump
in a thinner realm of atmosphere.
Tough Tex's extradited traitor
left on high to turn the idle prater.

That chatter is only noise.
That chatter is only racket.
That chatter is the only proof of your existence.

A putrid scent tumbles in the wind,
spinning in a languid current,
receding out then reeled back in.
A proud stench so familiar to me.
I know that smell from somewhere,
the smell of no reprieve.
A canister containing the fetor of pretense,
dispersed on called occasion with no thought of consequence.
The heart of alienation lies in bed with past mistrust,
whom coddles her so fondly until she's had enough.
We think we're all apart -
when really we're a part.
Sleight of hand proves useless
when forced by life to pony up.

I say this all in hindsight.
I say this all to warn.
I say this all to those who'll listen.
I say this in self-scorn.
For the precipice is lonely,
and fraught with fear and hate.
I apprise all ye who enter here
to have a little faith.

Born Above, Die Below

Lithe tendrils blow lazily in a light sea breeze, rising and falling to the baleful tweedle of the helmsman. An iridescent mirage shifts slowly about the surface of the water.

Suddenly -
A gale swoops in, catching the ship close-hauled (deep at heel). Rushing to the pit, he makes a desperate beam reach. He fails miserably. The halyard snaps, the head sail crumples. He is thrown into the sea.

Sinking swiftly toward the bottom
caught in an eddie.
With an outstretched arm
for oxygen relief.

Rimbaud Blues

It is strange where life has taken me.
Twenty-five days ago, I was living the allegory of the cave.
The patterns on the wall in Lawrence
Were just the black shadows of reality.

Bitch-slapped by forms, on first sight of sunlight,
This all occurred to me while watching the storm roll in.
Wafting on by, wistful and grey,
Tickling the balcony, tapping fiddler on the roof.

Sounds a thunderous boom, followed by a crackled shriek of lightning.
A floating froth of air that’s not entirely there.

Cloudy gas illusions.
Delusions -
Just delusions.

Hard Lookin' Blues

Waheguru, Waheguru,
where are you, where are you?
Practice the practice
for higher awareness,
mind open and alert.
Constantly conscious.
But Samadhi, I never reach it.
Samadhi, I never get it.
Is it worthless
or is it worth it
to shovel up the shit?
Float along flowbot-floater,
the craze of the crazed.
    “Where did I go wrong?”
On and on, I moan my song.
On and on…
On and on…


Her eyes,
saw through the glass.
She mumbled to me,
"Could this be it?"

A contorted hand propped beneath her heavy head,
her chin.
Silence worse than any sound,
like an all consuming vacuum.
Where questions mouthed fall from the lips
evaporating in the quiet abyss.
Invisible tears dripping from cheek to floor
when comfort no longer comforts anymore.

A Strumpet! A Trull! A Punk!

Stuck in this world,
flirt with people on the corner.
I ain't looking for a handout.
I ain't looking for a donor.
I don't want your charity.
I don't want your pro-bono.
I earn the paper in my pocket
I'll spend it how I want to.
Lay off me man -
Damn, give me a break.
You got enough girls on your roll,
do you really need my take?
Yeah -
That's right, I'm calling you out.
You're not the only one that knows how to use your mouth.
Look -
I hear what you're saying
and it all sounds really great,
but frankly, if I'm honest,
you're just another broken tape.
That's the trick though, apathy?
Watering it down with regulation and policy.
Waking up at seven.
Back to the crib by ten.
Spinning endlessly on Foucault's pendulum.
Well -
Fuck the pendulum, and go fly a kite.
Fuck your contrived lies, I get by just fine.

The Symbols of Man

A dream cannot create a definitive thought.
Beneath the folds of consciousness,
individuality discovers meaning.
In a discord, seamless plot.
Behold the scene where symbols unfold!
As you rest your weary eyes,
cued by the sun's daily demise.
The night is pulled from the unknown.
Sleep's captor you become,
lying down to melt into the web that time has spun.
Making something outta nothing
clears the convoluted image.
Lingering at dawn,
not shaken from memory.
Weighing in on an idea as it seeps into being...
                  A forest so lovely
                  imbued with autumn's fresh breath.
                  A hunt of wildcats.
                  A hunt to the death.
                  On bent bow and sharp arrow,
                  you fully rely.
                  With the dark crawling in,
                  the night drawing nigh.
                  Each in your party,
                  claimed a cat of their own.
                  Commending your comrades,
                  leaves you no less alone.
                  At one with it all
                  to see all is at one.
                  Time halts to a stop.
                  Losing all value.
                  As you wade through a river
                  sheepish in flow.
                  Peering through brush,
                  no trouble in sight.
                  You center your mind
                  for the upcoming fight.
                  There! It happens.
                  All so damn fast.
                  But witness you are
                  time unfrozen, at last.
                  A beautiful cat,
                  words cannot describe.
                  In this moment,
                  you've never felt so alive.
                  No bloodshed forthcoming.
                  Not strange nor misplaced.
                  Her coat cut from her bones
                  and wrapped tight to your waist.
                  But back at the river,
                  a new strengthened flow.
                  Once a trickling stream,
                  now forms a treacherous roar.
                  Rapids billow and churn,
                  crashing into the rocks.
                  The temperature within
                  has sufficiently dropped.
                  Fear, oh no fear!
                  Swept swiftly downstream.
                  Cold laps at your body
                  in a baptismal cleansing.
                  Snow falls to the ground
                  from a cinereous cloud,
                  as the fresh winter water
                  infiltrates your mouth.
Gasping and choking, you awake from the dream.
Reality isn't quite as it seems.
What does it all mean?
The answer is within.
Coursing through your blood, pulsating beneath your skin.
A magnified view, a microscopic look -
proves changing the weather was all that it took.

Ze Slov

Of each character sewn together
Of each syllable bound and tethered
Of each sentence run-on and weathered
Of each sentence terse and severed
Of each seasoned play so clever
Of each line someone wrote better
Of each noun found in existence
Of each adjective description
Of each verb performed before
Of each substantive thought in metaphor
Of each entangled principle
Of each past and present participle
Of each conjunction binding clause
Of each prepositional pause
Of each comma forming list
Of each Oxford omittance
Of each question marked and asked
Of each idea preserved from past
Of each manuscript destroyed by war
Of each document filed in-store
Of each surreal scene portrayed
Of each read and dog-eared page
Of each printed book in time
Of each term left undefined
Of each concoction of the mind
Of each light, well-spoken rhyme
Of each fair law thus transcribed
Of each groundbreaking change supplied
Of each story that's been told
Of each story yet to unfold
Of each dream detailed in pen
Of each feeling left unsaid
Of each writer come and gone
Of each singer who sang a song
Of all the ways that we communicate
Of all the ways that we relate
Of all the ways that we attempt to dictate
Words pervade and words relay
Yet still some things words cannot say

Great Ball of Fire

"I am angry today," he said apathetically. The grey light of a dreary day poured in through the window where he stood looking out. Turning his head, he stared at her across the room. She sat in a chair at the helm of a wooden table eating her breakfast. 

"I am angry today," he repeated mechanically. Then he fixed his gaze on the street down below, barking and buzzing with metal boxes, all flashing red, excreting fumes. It disconcerted him to think his happiness was contingent on a hot ball of gas floating in space 93 million miles away. His body ached for the warmth. His skin tingled in anticipation of the light. On black out days, he holed up like an addict itching for a fix. 

"I crave the sun," he said incredulously. The chair scratched the floor as she stood up, delivering an offhand remark, "Stranger things have affected me." 

Milked to the Bone

In a three-inch blue box.
Light it up,
Smoke that shit down.
Paying over the counter for them to kill me
Like an obsequious little sucker,
One whom can't control her needs.
I'm fucking overwhelmed!
Holding it in my hand gives me purpose
I feel less awkward
A reality soldier.
Solids are mostly empty space.
Sooooo cliché, I'm sorry.
They told me what to say.
Words are mostly empty space.
Somewhat better, but what's the use?
Someone, somewhere, sometime before
Said it more succinctly
But said it all the same.
Just rearranging words through time
But never changing anything.

A Few Words from Mr. Buttermaker

"Those damn kids next door are always causing racket and stirring up trouble! Aw-hell, I must've called the police on em four times last month. You're damn right disturbing the peace! My peace and quiet. The moments at night away from factory gears - I need that silence. Do I feel guilty? No. I just want to be left alone." 

Atrocity Exhibition

Atrocity Exhibition
In a dim lit alley off of bowery...
        She chokes
        He snorts
        They look both ways
        No one's coming
        Take a Quaalude
        Take a knee
        The things we do when no one's watching
        The speaker bass
        Bumps Joy Division
        A dirty song to kill the kids
        Ruthless people run these streets
        But ain't that the allure?
        Living on the edge
        To know how far you'll go
        Everyone has limits
        You gotta learn when not to push
        The heavy drag burns the eyes
        You can't see anything until you realize
        Energy! Energy!
        The hand that feeds
        Expel it at need
        Conserve it wisely
        This is the way, step inside1
        Who knows what may happen
        When the music stops playing -
        For now,
        A wooden echo moans from crazy Pete
        As he haunts the corner where the alley meets
        Shuffling along, pushing his cart.
        Crazy Pete could be anybody
        Controlled chaos is the key
        Before days are gone.

[1] Joy Division. "Atrocity Exhibition." Closer. Factory, 1980. MP3.

The Unfurling

A midwest native -
      Where home will always be.
Part of me pulls away
The other part never leaves.
Home isn't where the heart is.
Home is about comfortability
It's draining to feel out of place constantly
That's why it's fun to visit
But we grow uneasy after a eek.
Do I wish I had been born somewhere else?
That's unfair to say.
How would I know if I'd enjoy elsewhere day to day?
Take what you get
And make the most of it.
Best advice I've ever gotten
And I learned it in the midwest.

City Sewage Blues

Swampy sewage,
vomit green,
pungent piss of city people!
Carried down the spillway
to the water treatment plant.
Then sent back to sink faucets
in households everywhere.
It trickles into glasses
and out of shower heads –
Fecal matter cleansing
another endless process.
Pretty, pearl porcelain,
cheeks pressed against the lid.
All the go in betweens
are sweaty and sticky,
face in a bowl of shit.
for the good ol Texas-Samadhi you’ve been picturing?
You silly old rabbit,
tricks are for kids.

Down the Hall

Hollow walls sound with a murmur:
All I see are ceiling dimples
Illuminated by the lava green glow in the dark.
The voices elevate
As I lie there still, unmoving.
Everything will be wonderful someday.
The corner rumbles low and forceful.
A dim light catches my eye
As the door slowly opens.
Scared and creeping in,
Small and sallow-chinned,
One foot following the other.
Twisting circles with her thumbs.
I motion in the dark.

All we see are ceiling dimples
Illuminated by the lava green glow in the dark.
Everything will be wonderful someday.

She warms my shoulder,
Nuzzled in,
Faintly sobbing (wetting my skin).
The house shakes and screams,
Bricks sliding from the foundation.
We close our eyes,
Don't want to see anything at all.
It's okay.
It's all okay.
Everything will be wonderful someday.

No-Euclid Blues

Lost in a litany of badinage
Ah, the physical uni(one) universe
All the time encompassing us
The centuries gone
The decades, years, and months
The weeks, days, hours, minutes
Seconds: centi-, milli-, micro-, nano-, pico-, femto-
Fucking femto!
But, oh…
It don’t stop there
Wait a tick-tock...
It gets better

       atta baby

       zipta 10-21 seconds

       yagotta be kiddin me

What’s left to count x-cept Planck time?
Planck time too tiny to fathom with tiny mind…
Words true then in December,
Words true now in present time.
Light through the vacuum zooms along at 10-43
Like a whipflash of lightning
Faster than a blink
Quicker ‘den a winky-wink

(I stop for a moment and close the blinds above the sink.
The sun peeping through the window at that angle wadn’t flattering.
Now I feel better, now I can think)

Where was I?
Ah yes – GRAVITY
Quantum relativity
G to the h to the C
Constant – Constant – Constant
Time, Time, Time, Time...
The dimensionless quality when
                Tpt > 1
Mechanics and gravity simultaneously flowing
These are the circumstances
This is our understanding -
Uncomputational experience
All things unpredictable
Unknown distances!
In the mouth of darkness live the qualms of our existence

The ultimate uncertainty principle
The contradictions of substance in the universe
Stuck at a standard deviation of the form
Nothing can be specified precisely
Just a shaking hand, it’s dicey
Who be born a gamblin man?
I be born a ramblin ma’am
Ain’t it the same in that sorta sense?
Sometimes I look in the mirror and say, “Eh, who da fuck cayers!”
And I believe myself right then and thayer
Man, what a sucker I am
Falling for my fearless grin
Staring at that faulty face
My belly boiling at my waist
But what’s a kid to do -
I’m a subject to change in this vacuum metric tensor
In a nonlinear reality
I’m a mass-energy entity
Dressed up in a gravitational field,
A carrier coat of potential energy
The answer dormant in my genes
I’m my own source, but how can that be?
Nothing can’t make something into reality
But that’s the way it works, ya see?

Writing words in air,
With a fleshly-tissue pen,
Scribe them onto paper in a self-invoked trance
Lost in waves screaming songs of the skylark
The inner-me Man
The better-me Man
The interpretive-me Man
The unabashed-me Man
The Brittany-me Man
Spittin shit on the chaos of space-time fluctuations
Phase coherence of light,
It’s all fucking theoretical
Ain’t no experimental data
For spacey behavior at such small intervals
A desolation-in-the-world kinda perspective
How can anything ever end?

The Go Inbetweens

You've got a way
You know the trick
To steal the world.
The line erased
Crossed long ago.
So off with my head
Come on,
Pull the thread.
Unwind me 'til the end
Bunch me in your pocket
Carry me unravelled
To the place that you said -
The place that you said
Would bring me gratification.
My wandering the cause of your dissatisfaction.
On point to kill everything in an earshot
You nail my side with a bullet soft shock
Broken but alive,
It brings me to my knees.
A rope dangles from above,
Taunting and teasing.
Trussing me up,
Whispering reassurance.

If you break my legs before the race,
                                Does it still count?

All over the place -
You've been fucked with too.
I need a release of some sort.
Because you distort my notion of love.
One moment to free me.
I'll come back, don't worry.
I love you to each edge of the meaning
with every last ounce of my being.
Such a beautiful emotion
Still it causes so much grief.
Just the every day mess of all the go inbetweens.

The Spirit of Whoredom

The insatiable fury of lust burns the view
Slow down the heart to have it removed
Let it speed up - uncontrollably amok
To end up in bed with a dangerous fuck
The light up above plays the part of cruel foe
Projecting lines on her body as the clothes hit the floor
Put on your coat
Walk out the door
Before she places her lips upon yours
Too late to turn toe
Resistance is futile
With only one look the beguiling woman beguiles
Stuck in standstill
Gone in her gaze
Carnal impulse casts the worries away
Waking life in a dream of tousled sheets and soft skin
God it feels good to give into sin

That First Garden

Stop it mother
We have both swallowed a snake
You me and I
-- Viola Fischerová

You made it
Now abort it
You bore it
Now drown it
You keep it
Now resent it
And here it is
Where does a circle begin?
Merely line perpetuation through your manipulation.
This will never end.
This will never stop.
Call a ceasefire (it's only temporary)
Build a dam (until the levee breaks)
Invoke my fears (to dry my tears)
Fresh out the womb with stockholm syndrome.
A product of malfeasance,
A dirty bitch.
Still the world keeps spinning,
Still it keeps spinning.
Still we love,
Even if love has no meaning.


No one ever said they did.
These words derive from air pushing thoughts into your head.
But they're in there, and you believe them.
For no other reason other than


Everyone is out to get you
So duly watch your back.
Those closest always cut the deepest
So keep an eye on that defiant brat.
That ungrateful little shit,
Whom took the world for granted.
Everything that she was handed.
Reprimand that dog and send her far away.
To Dogville -
Where wily dogs go to learn their place.
Roll over
Swat her nose with a paper when she does not want to listen.
Scratch her belly
Pat her head
Throw the ball for her to fetch.
The no-color master winning love
By petting her ego and gaining false trust.

Fuck the Cause

They all want to change it.
It changes with time.
Locally bred to be flushed full of nationality.
The saga of the shadow here to fuck the cause.
I need nothing but to live.
Dew on the window of the coldest room in town,
Rolling right on down,
Straight flow towards the floor.
Where the feet of normalcy grip tight with bare toes.
A plan, plant a tree.
It takes awhile to grow, but it's long lasting.
Clean air - say we don't need it.
Say it doesn't matter.
Say we don't have an effect.

Dominate the record,
The only thing we can spin.
For the world spins on its axis,
Completely out of our hands.

Who-kill? Kill-who? 

The yard atonal and buzzing
Shut it up...
    Shut it up...
        Shut it up...
Across the doorstep
Listen to the bass
Bounce with the voice
Beat the drum
Shake your face
Oh that's it
Act like you know
Flailing arms and furling knees
While the ghosts wail on the gong
Rip apart all that's wrong
A trance in rain city
The golden age of wisdom
Crying and dancing like a sick, love dog
Hollering and howling halfway home
A radio in water groaning a staticky tune
There is a freedom in violence
That we don't understand
And like we've never felt before1

[1] Tune-Yards. "Riotriot." W H O K I L L. 4AD, 2011. MP3.

The Dawn of the Swan

Coke can floating down the curbside river,
A poisoned world doused in litter.
Slanted rain illusion
Still it is beautiful.
Love and disgust are close enough.
Suck me dry -
Too late
I'm empty
Haunted by a silence void of reciprocity.
But it's all good cause I'm cool,
Can blow smoke rings and impress a crowd.
It's who you know, let's face it.
Three degrees decreased from once six,
Facebook to Twitter to text messages.
So close yet so far.
For all alone, I am watching the coke can.

On Death and Dying

Came into the room last night
Saw you lying there last night
Dying on the floor last night
Drowning in your blood last night
Kissed you on the mouth one last time
Wrapped you in a sheet as I cried
Everybody’s gotta die sometime
Are we better off dead or alive?

Try to define the beginning
Before I arrive at the ending
But the world, it keeps on turning
Perpetual death and dying
Death and dying-dying

Then the coroner came to take you
And I broke down without you
What’s a poor girl to do?
When she can’t start over new
Just a woman in a shoe
All alone without you
What’s a poor girl to do?
With a heart that’s bruised and blue

Doesn’t matter who you are
Our bodies formed from stars
From the ashes we all rose
And to the dirt nap we all go

Eight Feet Under Odin

He plucks the feathers one by one.
Animalistic pleasure in destruction.
All without reason,
He can't see it.
Not seemingly far apart.
A lifeless monster
With detachable parts -
Only one or the other
With the flick of a spark.
The course of action by his hand
He can't understand.
With custom concern
There are no boundaries.
He sways with the wind
Based on opportunity.
Leaving questions in the wake
Of the life that he leads.
The answers written in a language
He can't read.
If seeing is believing,
He closes his eyes.
Some things aren't meant to be realized.
Through the hours in time
He goes and he goes.
Ticking methodically from beginning
Toward the final repose.
To the beat of his heart -
The bestial clock.
Modulating the terms
And the pace of his walk.
Dubbed by the heat
In the realm of his womb,
Bred and left dead
In two separate tombs.
Until he collides
With the white of the horse,
Dimension of age
He can't and won't know.

The Matter of Constriction

Sometimes solvent extraction is the only solution when you've become one under many moods.
It starts with butane filled through a tube, seeping into your lungs, crystallizing you.
In a bubble, like resin, stuck to the air.
Fragile and delicate at -1 degrees Celsius.
Volatile, I slowly float away.
The resin on the glass the only thing that remains.
A vacuum purges the bulb, sucking up bits of skin.
Released from the back of my brain via suction.
Here again with divisible parts, morphing from situation to situation.
This is good, it feels right.
I don't second guess it.
I know all about constrictions.
I took my chance and danced my way out of them.
Free your mind and your ass will follow.1

[1] Funkadelic. "Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow." Free Your Mind...and Your Ass Will Follow. Westbound, 1970. MP3.


They cook and feed their lies to me
I eat and eat until my plate is clean
They sit and shit out lies for me
I lick my plate until it’s clean
Good ole’ American gluttony

They stitch and sew their lies for me
I wear the clothing constantly
They brick and mortar lies for me
I live inside my house guilt free
Good ole’ American dream

The illusory free state society
Extreme legal impropriety
My obsequious complacency
Sucking off down on my knees
Good ole’ American democracy

Holy the Lone Juggernaut

Lord, kick me to my knees
       help me free my fears.
Lord, show me wonders
       open my weary eyes.
Lord, see my troubles
       hanging out on the line.
Lord, know me better
       than I know myself.
Lord, clean up my act
       I'm spoiling my health.
Lord, take me away
       to some place with a smile.
Lord, please hear my prayers
       even though it's been awhile.
Lord, hush my lips
       tell me I was wrong.
Lord, light the path
       this girl's a long way from home.
Lord, hear my mind
       read the beating of my heart.
Lord, tame my shattered soul
       let me learn pure worth.
Lord, when will it be
       the day to end all days?
Lord, make the world good
       and say it's all okay.

The Human Hangnail Horizon

From the mouth of madness,
       this cruel world unravels, the same as before, and with a spit in the eye it's got me blinded by lies.

The sun is turned off, but the lights are awake, a glow in the mist through a tunnel of vision - that's beauty.

Imagine what our forefathers would think. What it was and what it is now. Even so, what's the difference?

The change and creeping hand make it sublime to feel small.

We want what we want and think but don't see - how can we when we don't understand the context of our own existence.

So saying I want you is meaningless because I can't see the big picture. The better living through chemistry.

Temporary isn't a big deal, besides, what is really real?

Hanging nails on the horizon,
       The human hangnail horizon.

Where we have been and where we are going, I'm afraid of what we might become. And all with good reason. Sometimes I am smothered, a million hands cover my mouth, and my lungs collapse from inside out.

A little more today than yesterday makes a little less of me now than then.

When alone I remember that we are all alone. We are just being and nothing. A walking contradiction of opposites, when will we calm down?

I am you and you are me, and she is he and he is she.

Always just the other guy - we all live and we all die. Rubbing shoulders start to finish, all the while, fear the hand feeding us.

Life's funny that way,
       turning in on itself to keep it interesting.

Hey, what did Ginsberg say?

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy!
The soul is holy!
The skin is holy!
The tongue,
    And cock,
       And hand,
         And asshole holy!
Everything is holy!
Everybody holy!1

Life's funny like that,
       you never know where the book will fall open.

[1] Ginsberg, Allen. Howl and Other Poems. San Francisco: City Lights, 1956. Print.

Plano Blues

Dallas darlin, I'm coming home.
I'll drive that seven hours and meet you at the front door.
The distance weighs on me like the mass of six billion suns.
Looking back, I don't know what I was running from.
Three years gone by with the flicker of a flame.
I'm coming home, but I ain't the same.
Leaving in the morning, I won't hesitate,
riding 35 on down through Okie State.
Straight shot, I'll cross that ol red river as the sun begins to fade.
Many miles to get there, but I don't mind.
Cause anywhere's just anywhere
For it sure as hell ain't home.
Amidst the open plains, hanging on that blue backdrop,
the lone-star shimmers in all its glory, as I watch it from my car.
When I step foot upon the ground, I'll dig my toes into the clay,
And redden my feet with bloodshed of years and years of history.
I welcome the wind as it blows through my hair.
God how I've missed that good ol Texas air.
Safe from destruction in the ghost and gobland.
The past is the past and I'm a new fucking woman.
Let it be!
Let it be!
Cause Dallas darlin', I'm finally home.
Wound up for round two, ready to do what's to be done.

$300 and Two Court Dates  

Roadside pulled over
Blueman's looking for trouble
Rapping at my window
Barking, "Roll it down, woman"
Writes my name and address
Yes, that's where I live
A smile as he hands me the ticket
Going 63 in a 60
The Blueman usurpation of liberty
Another ego on a power trip
C'est la vie, C'est la vie!

Flame Child

Don’t act like a dick
It’ll come back to get you
Living in a world
Where everyone’s connected

Think for yourself
Don’t sell out
Ignore the yakkers
They’re just jealous

I can’t help it
Running all around
The moments are shorter
Things are different now

Hung up my cleats
Finally letting go
The game won’t miss me
It recruited fifty more




What do we know?
We don’t know nothing.
This ain’t no revelation.
We knew that all along.

My Name is F-U-C-K

An urge that kicks like a mule
An itch that can’t be subdued
A hundred unsatisfied needs
Nothing’s good enough for me

Idle hands lead to risk
The devil lurks in grey areas
Needed a dad, not a father
Luck of the draw – I got neither

But it don’t matter
The resilient adolescent
Did it then quit it
Always got away with it

A priceless demise
Don’t hate the experience
Sometimes real complaints
Prove you aren’t delirious

Like a copperhead maw
Gnashing at the wind
Sucking in air
Spitting out venom

People poisoned with inauthenticity
Only accidently
The next moment was coming
Couldn’t wait on anything

Full-time power shaker
A seventy-foot queenie
Rising and falling with
Erratic spurts of intensity

The ruthless charmer
Suppurating beneath the surface
Get gone girl
Before the wounds crust.

Strictly Reserved for You

I can barely think about anything but you
Your mellifluous voice keeps the beat in my ear
Lonely eyes close to a dark and empty room
In the corner, sitting, within a beeline view
On two metal stools hung in sweet suspension
A sight to slay my tongue wielding the power to transfix
Well-spoken, steady, calm – even then with sensual swagger
Your tone never condemning, you knew exactly why I did it
But that doesn’t change the reality of what happened
Playing the game only hurts both players in the end

Two tenured aces, we knew just what we were doing
A failed attempt to win became my miserable mistake
The fool who had his catch and tossed it back into the sea
A choice of power struggle over the art of holding hands
The disappointment in your eyes more than words could ever stand
No courage to say sorry in my doleful den of forfeit
Behold the dwelling of iniquity – the arrogant ass strikes again

I – the egotistical prick
You – the ethereal chick
I, stewing in the kettle of my self-serving prophecy
You, swinging the sickle sword to guard your hidden modesty
State line osmosis
Never saying goodbye
Shit happened so fast
The side effects of life

Straight gunnin, cocked and loaded, aimed to shoot down a sure thing
On reverse-replay, it was good for me
Draw the line in the sand and watch me watch across it
I’m the soldier and the Navajo code talker
Veni, vidi, vici – Look at where that got me
Regret is like a hangnail bound to snag on a loose thread
You soak up all my sense

I know
         You know
I care

Come on kid,
         Call that my penultimate chance
C’mere kid,
         Take a look again

The ghost of self-indulgence finally made it home to roost
Please try and understand why I never understood
What’s honesty to the untrusting?
You unlocked me.
You were the key.
Should I have snuffed your bluff?
Why didn’t you say something?
A bone, just one bone –
Did I miss all of the signs?
The quotidian pop of Klonopin warped my weakened mind.
Fear never warrants treating people badly
Stick your finger in my head all through the empty blackness

What’s honesty to the untrusting?
Honesty is proof
Honesty is action aligning with the words
From far away, I try, to do all that I can
A quiet conscience sleeps through thunder and sports a clear complexion
Turn the wheel, wind down the gate, cross the moat in consummation
Grab a hold of the sparking cables that have always linked us
Which of us is positive?
Which of us is negative?

What it was, what it was, what it was I’ll never know
But I think, that I don’t think, I ever want to know
Spin me right around,
I crave the eyes that choke my throat
Sure it’s masochistic,
But hey – aren’t we all?

Just like I always do
A little bloodletting is not so bad for you
Stopping shy of an infection builds up scar tissue
But callused skin’s not doomed; I’ve seen what vitamin E can do
Part of you gets off by tugging on my strings
Your supple hand inside of me –
My puppet master
My queen
This is different.
This isn’t malicious.
You don’t inflate my ego just to tear it down intentionally
A fucked up situation with a barrel roll of the edge,
With no reciprocation of dual due respect

History tells it like it is –
I drained the giving tree
I don’t deserve shit
But I’m the anvil that fears no blow
Holy rolling on the floor in the romance of redemption
Those that excuse themselves only accuse themselves
Fuck it - I’m over timid living in this world
You’re the rarest of women
Everyone pales in comparison
You’re a gem, and you know it
That’s why I’m still stuck staring
I refuse to let this go,
Take my fingers
Take my toes
I’ll give it all to be called ‘yours’

Summer of the Sesshead

My apartment is an ecosystem.
Spiderwebs packed with pillbugs in the corners of the floor.
While the warm air through the window coaxes my plants to grow.
Helluvah change from the snowy winter weather.
The days are hot, spent by the pool.
The nights are cool, we wear jeans to the bar.
Jazz Haus on Tuesday.
Replay on the weekend.
Everybody knows everybody in a town fulla townies.
Danger flew south for the summer, sayonara.
Leaving us to push the edge to the limit.
Drunken debauchery + THC = A bitchin good time
Don't cha see?
Disc golf at the park
Toking it up in the brush
Running shirtless toward the creek bridge.
Will this feeling follow my fleeting youth?
They say you find joy in other things,
I believe them,
But I must admit I'm sad I'll mature out of this freedom.
Will I think differently and lose all my girlish wonder?
Will I lose all those late night talks around the table?
When we would make believe economic markets where our memory was currency.
Will I lose awareness all around me?
Living in the past where forever can't be.
I gotta get up,
      get out,
            and get something.
But I'll miss it nonetheless.
To let go is always best.
Losing yourself, but not being gone.
Transformations of energy in a complicated world.
I became a rat's ass, didn't give a fuck about jail.
Thanks to my parents for cushioning that.
It is and was, by all means, a privilege.
I will always see sight of that.
An opportunity unsquandered.
Won't waste it cause I ain't selfish.
So think what you want,
two-headed parent beast in the swamp,
But the drowning mother-dad makes me miss it no less.
The freedom of the summer.
The call from the edge.
So I'll contain the screams,
Confine them to my head.
Lock and save key,
Then delete them in ink.

Blind Spot

Another little nothing…
            (Just keep on driving)
It looks suspicious…
            (Just keep on driving)
None of my business…
            (Just keep on driving)
Don’t know them…
            (Just keep on driving)
Someone may be hurt…
            (Just keep on driving)
Late for work…
            (Just keep on driving)
Wonder what happened…
            (Just keep on driving)
Could go back…
            (Just keep on driving)
Late for work…
            (Just keep on driving)
Can’t stop for everyone…
            (Just keep on driving)
Hence paid policeman…
            (Just keep on driving)
Can’t help everybody…
            (Just keep on driving)
Or can I?
            ----- Break lights.

Back Road Blues


Lone star lake -
     (Lone star state,
          could it be Texas?)

Just Douglas County road number one
Where church brethren descendants live
Bumping and grinding
On a non-stop fucking spree
Since 1918
"Yeehaw" I yell
The engine neighs
Cowboy at heart
Hollering, "Home, home on the range"
Balls on that jazz
I'm leering at the leaning tree
Branches sticking everywhere
Curbside roots dug deep in history
Alone and unbothered by memories
I envy nature's forgetfulness
Oh that-which-passes-through-everything
Down the way
A little lamb chop
Standing on a farm straw bale

He's the king of square barrel
He's the zool of hay hill
He's the mighty jehneci of the Wakarusa Valley
He's the sultan kharouf of the holy-shit-right-here-right-now-in-fronta-me

Beside elongated rays
Stretching the distance to the bridge
The sun slipping into sky holster
Sinking deeper down hip horizon


Road 2050 -
     (Country crawlin,
          back alley equivalent?)

Crosscuts it
And the antipodal river route
Rollin nexta ironic "chinaman" train tracks.
(Dude, that's not the preferred nomenclature)1
And here's me smoking parallel
Over hills of luscious green grass
Ah historic little LeCompton
Bald eagle in bleeding Kansas
The lynch tree and free state
Only eighteen miles difference
But here it is
With its yellow-jacket welcome signs
And lone-rope tire swing
Thursday community dinners
At the church next to the post office
Unknown little LeCompton
Union leader of the midwest
I tip my hat to Kansas
All apologies for underestimating you


African sahara sunsets -
     (Secret ones
          only I know about)

No other eyes can see
Nobody stares into the burning ball except me
But my get ain't better than your get
I'm just super quirky
(A weirdo if you will)
Drinking another kinda ecstasy
Living another kinda lonely
The sun may be another shade of red
But it rises and sets on same side of sky everywhere
All laced up
Lathered in day and night
Until the end meets the end
And we all are untied


Swishy pink twilight -
     (Lost in it,
          now and forever?)

Corn into fat strawberry smells
The air in north Lawrence
Yum, yum, yum
Absolutely unbelievable
Sniff so hard my knobby nose gush flows
A glorious nosebleed
As I rip down some shitass dirt road
Presumably a private one
But then two deer
(Majestically graceful)
With whisper hooves of all that is holy and gorgeous
Dance a lithe little prance across my path
Then dash through fields of pale, hay yellow
Full of end of day fuchsia reflections
And it is all worth it
Repeat endlessly
Repeat infinity


Flew far without noticing -
     (Or caring,
          aren't they synonyms?)

Pay attention
I remind myself again
And again
And again
And again
Leaving on east 40
Like a rat in a maze
My headlights flick on
And I am right back where I started


I'm me, but somehow not -
     (Because my sum
          is more than my parts)

Can my jabber lips
Can't keep my trapper shut
I'm just a ragger roaming streets
Haunted by past tragedy
Corrosive, infantile
'Reign of Brit'
The dick, the duke of Plano
With yack-yack-yackin yapper
After peep
After peep
After peep
Now I want ice cream
Get some cold, green mint down on Mass Street
Just like summer nights as a kid
Except now I'm 24
What's the difference?
Just the same ol curious dirt digger
Pal'n around the neighborhood.
The whole world is my merry-go-round
Up-and-down school playground

I drive down Learnard
Past Old Bull Balloon's crib
It charms me to know he chose to spend
His final dying alone days in Lawrence
That story ended in 1999
Not too great a gap in time
Ya know?
Town sentiment is still the same
The culture (counter-culture) in full tact
I gotta pretty keen hunch-kick
Why Bull set up camp here
I see it in the high school seniors crowding the corner of Mass and 7th
I see it in the close-faced patio talks
I see it in the first-kiss summer romances
The no nonsense windy oxygen
Fills my lungs and says
"Simmer down that flitterbug heart and enjoy yourself"
Love it
Let it go
Set it free
Quit worrying
It'll come back again
You know it always does
Now -
Shut up
Ice cream

[1] The Big Lebowski. Dir. Joel and Ethan Coen. Universal Studios Home Entertainment. 2005. DVD.

It's Official, Will is Addicted to White Out

not the smell.
He ain't no bonehead.
By the way kids,
drugs are bad.
Be verwwy, verwwy afraid.
Off the record -
he ain't perfect.
He just likes the page to look pretty.
Mistake von mess up -
covered and coated.
Yeah, that big milky blob
really blots out the error.

When you lock up Kālī storm,
       rain reaves all the glory.
No storm, no rain -
No rain, no glory.
Vie for option C,
and by-pass all.
Then dive into the font
of holy, holy water.
Holy! Holy!
Draining from the head,
circling right around
in lively little spirals.
White out the world.
Wipe out this verse.
Erase wrong turn.
Pretend it never happened.

Querulous Blues

la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

I’m a Riot.
doya hear the way I sing?
it sounds like a Scream
it hits the Roof and rings
the Clouds reverberating
Master Birds circling
Planes slyly mocking
Angels peer through Windows looking
Fingers poised on Lips all shushing
gracey Fists shaking so angry
“shut up and quit wailing,”
flappy open-Wing meaning
though when you’re awkward it’s so easy
to not care
and sing on elsewhere
still stuck Eyeballs stare down the Sky
still stuck Eyeballs wonder why
still stuck Eyeballs start to cry
still stuck Eyeballs close and die
still the Angels shush my whines

Bouville Blues

Lifeless Lily Pads
float like sad, stoic Zen Masters
with little Frogs
that hop on Head
Zapping Flies out of the Air
with Zipper Laser Tongues
beneath Flower protection
during warm, sunny seasonal
then comes deep Sleep Winter
Roots tucked into Floorbed Mud Pile
until next perennial Awakening
not heretofore bask atop the Water,
calmly and serenely,
like French Summer on the Seine
in a Monet Mouth Painting –
passing Wisdom through the Past,
unfulfilling in the Present
“unwilling, weary, reticent...”
says Sartre crossing Bouville Bridge
make-believing La Havre Realities
Maritime Port of lost Lily Actualities
Lilies blowing Blues in the wispy, Widget Wind
suffocating Loss of Oxygen
see ya bloom next Year, again
see ya bloom next Year,
and then –

The Blue Behind the Clouds

The sign read:
        "Religion is death's placebo"
A harmless pill to ease our mental misery?
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
Religion is the killer.
Religion is the culprit.
Religion is the drug that numbs us.

Yeah, yeah, yeah -
I got an attitude.
Call it bluster
Call it braggadocio
Call it whatever you please
I ain't another talking head
Just jeering at the camera.
I've thought this through extensively.
Don't gotta have eyes to witness the power of belief,
An end that justifies the means.
Rolling thunder!
Crashing rocks!
Pages burned from history books.
Sensitivity galore!
Bitchy little knaves in office,
'Tude from the top trickles down
Permeating each inch of society.
But in reality,
WE allow it to happen.
WE like acting this way.
To dominate
To win
The glory
The sin
That adrenaline
That jouissance
That sensation of schadenfreude
From beating someone else.
A dirty little frisson of excitement.
All of it.
We stick it in a box,
Wrap it up,
Call it politics.
Fashion a fatuous pink polka-dot bow atop it.
Baubles, bright baubles!
y = goal x
Getting what's ours at anyone's expense.

Stop it.
Not another word.
Calming down
Now to explain myself.
A negative focus,
A vent (if you will),
Cracks the cannon
Snaps the whip
Shoots the mojo into my head.
Makes me start moving.
Bluntly - it inspires me.
And all n' all,
I try to see the glass half full.
Sting said it
(but Blueprint told me)
So now's my turn to relay the message.

We all eat.
We all sleep.
We all piss, shit, and fart.
We all have parents, siblings, and grandparents.
We all share the same ancestors.
The point -
We all need somebody.
You's be dead if ya didn't.
How else didja think ya got here?
That scalawag stork?
That all seeing eye?
That macher up there in the sky?
Whom put us here to be sacrificed,
Immolated in the name of -----------------
Well, pick one of many
Hah! See!
Things like that,
A slippery play on words to keep it grounded.

Or how about -
The ironic similarity of spontaneous prose and glossolalia.
Or better yet -
The hypocritical ranting of religious criticism.

I am amongst the bubbles of contradiction!
I am the trials and tribulations of man's existence!
        Oh, man!
        Oh, man!
Compiled stories of men's lives,
The mythopoeic book of life.
The power of experience.
What it is to know something.
Got a group
(call it a church)
Got a god
(call it a scapegoat)
Demanding through the years
Propitiations from the people.

Heaven or hell?
Wadda kangaroo court.
Good or evil?
Wadda joke.

Give it some thought
Just for a bit.
Don't fall complacent,
Re-examine, re-examine.
Can you draw new conclusions?
Religion soiled all the good book stands for.
Abuse is abuse.
Enough is enough.
The book wasn't meant for business purposes.

Aye, but ye first man took taste.
Ichor surged through his veins.
The dine o' Dionysia,
He was never the same.

All's well that ends well!
Bu-dum bum tshh!
All's well and good!
Drops mic on stage.
A smile -
A laugh -
The silver lining.
The blue behind the clouds.

Balcony Blues

The intricacies of salary caps in professional sports
Is the discussion of talk on our patio.
Me, Bmac, and George

Shadow leaves dance on the wall
A seductive, shaky, wind fandango.
I don’t know what to make of it.
Which scares me half to death.
Squinting my eyes to concentrate,
Roping my way out of the head hole.
Spooky, little late night chants
Underneath a numbing humidity
Electricity in the air
pulls arm hairs up on end.
Dizzy feelings make me senseless.
But focus in –
And reality begins to coagulate again.
Bringing me back from my silly dreams
And amorphic, nonlinear thinking.

The intricacies of salary caps in professional sports
Is the discussion of talk on our patio.
Me, Bmac, and George.


Rusty blue horizon
West to the northbound.
This is free fallen.
Live and die
At same time?
That's insane.
Being and nothing
Who would believe it?
        (head be quiet)
Red glow
Break light
Rear view mirror
        (head be quiet)
Do it
With protection
        (head be quiet)
At some point
the work speaks
for itself
        (head be quiet)
Damn it all to hell.
Fuck it sideways.
I've seen it,
I think so,
I'm pretty sure.
Fuck it sideways.

Quickly come
then quickly gone.
t's all good
But it's all wrong.
"Kook! Kook!" -
Sounds my swan song.
Bad temperament, be gone!
Nay - I demand thee!

O' rusty blue horizon
Tail end saves the day,
Until the next time
My girlish heart sways.

Vulcanized Visage

And I lie there basking in the sun
Like the loner starfish of the sea
The numbed will to move left me outstretched on the beach


Vitruvian man in the sand
Sprawled out for all to bear witness

Back home
I hit the stash
Roll a J
Clean my apartment
Fill up the Keurig K-cup with coffee
The machine hisses
Folgers runs from tube to mug
I stare into the black liquid for ten minutes
Thick and gloppy
Weighed down by recondite notions
Where to draw the line

To feel?
Or a thought?
Is feeling ineffable?

At present
I think so
But oh
How the neurons doth fire
Logically my opinion will morph
As it always does
When experiences conflate

I am a madman-épatering menace
I find self-loathing behavior totally invigorating

It serves a purpose
Rely on yourself
Myself alone
If tomorrow disappeared
And everyone was gone
Aching a million times over
But still my feet in motion
I’d do what needed to be done
Self-sufficiency imprinted on my mind’s eye
Blenching only momentarily

Driving back down Mass Street
A grandfather
A stroller
Two wobbly pugs
Strung up on a leash


There’s been a change
In my thought process
With more motile exigency
Patterns come lickity-split
No kiddin’ neither
Got vim and a snap in my step now
This ain’t sarcasm
Don’t matter what that shit sniffing schnook said
That soporific N-I-R-V-A-N-A.
That castor of worthless spells
Can’t ignore the stifling social gestures
It comes and it goes as it pleases
It ain’t waiting on
        Stop lights, sick kids, stupid mistakes, bombs, birthdays, placed bets, unpaid debt, work tomorrow, for the bell to ring, or one more day to study

You either get it or you don’t –
The devil lurks in grey areas

Me & Your Ghost

I am ledsled schlepping through the mud
I'll never get out
It's like quicksand (as the saying goes)
"The more you wiggle, the more you sink"
But I don't panic like the past me
Cause panic makes us forget
Instinct with the head
Not the feet
Forgetful panic sounds familiar
Government tactics become so transparent
Big business in a small town

  • Lawrence Paper Company
  • Westar Energy
  • K-Mart Distribution Center

          Fobbing off most everybody

Old, brick storm shelter
     mossy vined, amazonian

Old, wrinkled ranch hand
     bendie-kneed, scrubbing pony feet

Old, broken, bummy, busted
     '65 Ford pickup truck...

It is dead
I am dying
It ignites
As I pass by it
Just driving deeper
Into darkness

Ledsled older than before
Sled needs ol speedometer
Like heart needs ol pacemaker
Rock face, half pipe structure -
As age grows it gets tougher
Ol sled rusts by passing oxygen -
Time, the weathered debt collector


The huddle
A hurdle
Hurdle the huddle
Beefy and chewy
Sticks to roof of mouth
Wedged between molars
Limited sight distance

       Do you really think this world is yours?

Circle the Earth in 90-minutes
15 sunrises
15 sunsets
One 24-hour period
The final frontier
The unstakeable claim
Money can't by everything
Time owns us all
Whether we like it or not
Can't raise interest rates
And expect surplus forever
Can't cut taxes
And expect to save everybody
It'll tank either way
Too many
Too many
Too many factors

Orphans of the Earth
     Who crawled out of the sea

The sun set fire to our genes
The eastern rise of creativity
The birth of writing
The hub of innovation
The gestation stage
The white blossoms of a callery pear
     Wafting a hint of rotting fish (with a dash of semen)
The bitter irony
Somebody please stop me
Put down the pen
But I can't
I have more to say
The ubiquitous street liners of Suburbia, USA
What's in a name?
I've made my point

Yield Effects

Noise, I can hear it
Noise, I can feel it
Noise, rubs my eardrums
Noise, is my spirit

Killing with fire
Burning in flames
Choking on carbon
Igniting my brain

Covered in ashes
Smothered by heat
Hung in hell's kitchen -
Infrared rotisserie

The blind lead the blind
Down into the ditch
Break habits of mind
Blink twice to reset

Let me be happy
Let me be peaceful
Let all creatures be happy
Let all creatures be peaceful

Kiss my hand
Then smack the ceiling
Speed on yellow
Feeling lucky

Love and kindness
Reap what you sow
Spontaneous afflatus
Divine intervention

Set me free! Set me free!
In flippant times like now
Talk is cheap -
Sparks furrowed brow

Policy is price
(abusive regulation)
Hard knock standards
(class segregation)

Double chargin' bastards
Non-refundable fee
Accumulated wealth
In the top 1% tier

"Beware all the weirdos who say fuck the system; rotten, scummy, scoundrels all looking for handouts"

Don't believe everything
Written in print
We all skew the story
Despite our intent

Sick, sweet, surreal life
Nature day con city night
I'm okay, I'm alright
Juxtaposition lit the wick in my mind

Holy Unencumbered Cunt

oh, that-which-passes-through-everything
         sing to me of midwest lovelies
of towns and people all down to kick it
oh, hazy african wetland scene
         sun through clouds of dusty particles
thick air full of heavy humidity
God made all of it for me to see
God -
or whatever wonderful energy created all this beauty
if there's one thing we can all agree on
it's that the world is kick ass
full of undriven roads
of who even knows what
I love everything so fucking much
I'll never be able to articulate the feeling
         the nuances & idiosyncrasies
& no matter what I do
I can't break it into parts,
cause every where I look at it
I see the world connected
there is no finish
         never was no start...
so let's quite blowing each other up

Sad Bastard Blues

Sunday afternoon.
My fortune read
“You need not worry about your future.”
But that don’t mean
“Try less, expect success.”
So here I am,
apothic focus turned on,
when suddenly I realize –
that’s the problem
Suppression of emotion.
Careful is as careful does.
Fuck all that.
I’m already over it.
In the haste of the move,
I forgot to pack myself.
I only just arrived in town this very moment!
Twenty-three days overdue.

How's it going, Texas?
What it do?
What it do?

Vibrating Seasons

My good ol friend, The End,
Is just the beginning born again.
My-my, oh-me, oh-my –
What a whirlwind the week has been.
From Lawrence last Monday
To Texas this fine Tuesday evening.

It’s all happening!

I say this while watching a neighborly kickball game.
A few families playing on the grassy ground between buildings.
Three and hundred feet away from me,
Me, just watching from the balcony
Because this is where I live now.
And it all feels so swell and sublime,
Wish I could stop time.
Just for a bit to revel in the moment.
Riding the self-sufficiency train to heaven –

Hide in heaven forever?
All the better.

But that-which-passes-through-everything
Comes and goes as it pleases
So take the here-n’-no
With light treading and easy breathing
Bounce back on the fall from season to season
Cause the reason to live is rebirth come the spring.
Something to look forward to
But something you can’t keep.
Gots to flow with the wind
And keep it breezy on vibrations.

Black Hole Blues

ASTRONAUT 1: “Nothing’s really real anyway."
ASTRONAUT 2: “I’m in orbit. Going around and around. Suspended by gravity. An Earth-moon function. While the proclivities of our fantastic solar system envelope me. Brilliant God of the physical universe, that bore me my mentality, what do I do with all this energy? Lest I collapse inward, like a black hole birth, sucking in all that falls across my event horizon. The point of no return…my mass compression…where no one can escape me.”

ASTRONAUT 1: “The Schwarzschild-radius, or rather, the childish collapse.”
ASTRONAUT 2: “The one solution for a stellar remnant.”

ASTRONAUT 1: “Is not blackness but the absence of light?”
ASTRONAUT 2: “Slightly often overlooked, cause how can you see what’s not really there?”

ASTRONAUT 1: “Only mirror-piece goggles shine existence on them.”
ASTRONAUT 2: “But eh – lack the tools? Fuck it, you’re screwed.”

ASTRONAUT 1: “Clever ingenuity uncloaks the mysteries of the invisible.”
ASTRONAUT 2: “The blind, eye-ball problems of everything all around us.

ASTRONAUT 1: “And the beauty too, more so than the former.”
ASTRONAUT 2: “By George, yes! The fuckall beauty! How could I – “

…and they tripped on the Sun and imploded on the spot.
“Sigh,” the Black Hole said, then he gobbled the scene up.

Krvácení z nosu

Burn drive at dusk,
on the 458.
The rhythm moves my thoughts into place.
We see radiant irradiation –
Yes, yes,
since time immemorial we have dreamt of skin.
The bone
The body
The Christ baked bread.
whom longed,
to look upon his face.
embracer of grace.
Obsession with the beat,
the movement of my feet.
It’s calm when you’re there.
It’s unspoken.
It’s serene.
It’s everything.
It’s nothing.
It’s wonderfully disconnected.
It’s a lucid flood of symbols.
It’s translucent word representation.
Trigger-smile a lingerin’
Trigger-secret God grin

A grey, blue morning gobbles Lawrence;
it feels like everywhere and nowhere allatonce.

Pardon me! Pardon me!
Ladies and Gentleman,
may I please have your attention.
I’m good n’ greased up
to slide in perfectly.
Cutting the curves like a screw
Yes, it’s true –
I eschewed my name for the moniker,
Might as well call me shaky, too.
I’m just a flimsy little girl
trippin’ up on the new.
The intangibility of uncertainty,
I just can’t keep still
among all the vibrations.
A perfect circle seems closed
unless you’re open to suggestion.

A ringing cup holder,
I see that it’s my mother.
I pick up the phone,
and absolutely regret doing so.
Cause now it’s forty-five minutes later.
Time disintegrated with a whimper.
As I sat there,
just binge-eating crappy crackers.
No, not for satisfaction,
just binge-eating to keep my mouth shut.
My holy moment stopped mid-sentiment.
My mother, the relentless exhibitionist.
She is the return to calamity.
She is the farce we call existence.
It’s harsh when I re-read it,
but I said it cause I feel it.
Still I steer the ship,
searching for pattern and prediction.

The captain of solitude;
the endless play of contradictions.

Being and nothing.
Having the courage to live transparently –
that’s what Ginsberg said Buddhism is.
Or more succinctly,
‘Stop being scared shitless.’
Que sera sera,
Nothing really matters.
We live convinced of our convictions,
built on layers and layers of personal perception.
No answers to the questions.
Cause it’s all relative.
Cause it’s all ourselves.
packed sediment
chalked full a’minerals
Decaying remnants of organisms.

Chain smoking cigarettes;
wondering how many acres of fertile farmland is cultivated to kill us?

The coming flood
will drown the land,
and cover up the grid.
And man will be swept off his feet,
sucked down by shifty currents.
We’ve been living artificially.
What’s another body
dumped on top the foundation?
Latrine hogwash
Swashbucklin’ profit

It happens then –
(When passing another indistinguishable apartment complex,
another can’t-tell-the-difference building)
I see how strange life is.
Weird things happen
and change is brought about,
by people we will never even know existed.

Self preservation is instinctual;
we just do it wirelessly now.

And through all the shit,
I still think love fuels us.
Some procreate
Some draw
Some write
Ask me if there’s a difference,
I’ll say, “Hell no there’s not.”
Maybe I’m just telling myself
what I wanna hear.
But don’t we leave behind pieces
to keep the future from forgetting?
Thriving in chaos
compels us to push forward.
Else it’s
“Sayonara sucker!”
Left to choke on your own shit.
Electric fence or gas inhalation,
other viable options.

Personally, I’d choose the sniff n’ bump;
Dripping red, the glorious nosebleed.

But I never forget that silver lining –
I see an obese woman riding her bike,
peddling everywhere to take back her life.
The man who leaves his cheating wife,
refusing to make his happiness a sacrifice.
Still the silver lining
is no less confusing.

The moveable
The immovable
The giddy who get gutted.
The pushovers
The impertinent
The go-getters who get going.

Two well-dressed men,
pants clipped up with suspenders,
hopping in a truck,
leaving the parking lot of Perkins.
Who are they?
Where they headed?
It doesn’t even matter.
I don’t know.
I am alone.
A black spot sitting on the sun.
Burning up with emotion,
shining down shitty rhetoric.
Not much left to say of novelty.
Nothing hangs around long enough to appreciate.

News flash! -
Newness is an illusion;
we’ve just altered and adjusted our platforms.

Take the Googlepoem phenomenon,
it’s a swell example.
Art created by a search engine
driven by people using the internet.
The world wide web.
Humanities’ collective unconscious.
formed from formless archetypes.
Etched into our framework.
Slowly throughout time,
embedded in our genes,
an unfathomable number of neurons firing.
Long before the industrial age.
Long before the millennial rise of technology.

There was a land devoid of handy devices;
where convenience didn’t deem demise.

But come full circle round the silver lining,
I see the beauty in destruction.
The broad view of a blinking wordbar
bleeds poems in a drop down fashion.
Two words followed by four lines, dripping.

Things like:

I am
        I am second
        I am number four
        I am legend
        I am the walrus

My life is
        My life is average
        My life is in your hands
        My life is boring
        My life is in you lord

A righteous man
        A righteous man falls
        A righteous man availeth much
        A righteous man leaves his inheritance
        A righteous man has many troubles

I swear I’m not making these up…

The opinion of
        The opinion of the court
        The opinion of others
        The opinion of sheep
        The opinion of one quote

The world is
        The world is too much with us
        The world is flat
        The world is not enough
        The world is your oyster

When love
        When love takes over
        When love is kind
        When love is not enough
        When love comes to town

Random rhyme spat from repetition;
the tapping, fiddle-fingers of men and women.

What else can be said about the world –
or anything for that matter?
Just gotta love it all
for what it’s worth.

The Day I Drive and Die

Am I alone in this?
I see it in your eyes.
The glint that you can’t hide.
Try and squeeze them tight,
Try and close those bashful lids,
Doesn’t matter darlin,
Cause I got x-ray vision.
My puppy pupils beam straight through them.
So get it together and unbuckle the seat belt.
That fastened safety clutch for planned, controlled accidents.
You’ll still be looking out the window.
You’ll still be riding down the road.
I’ll be your driver.
I’ll be your passenger.
I’ll strap on a harness and tow the car if I have to.
And if we crash,
I’ll crash with you.
Let go of the dash.
Let go of the wheel.
I’ll hold your hand right on through the wall.
What’s the worst that could happen?
An uncontrolled accident?
Shit happens.

Even then.
We’ll live.
Even then.
We’ll know it was the worth trip.
Even then.
We’ll enjoy the thrill.
Even then girl,
Even then.


Polka-Hop Blues


The maundering Buddha boy
                        is met with derision at daybreak.

Buddha boy
More a cheap moniker
to mask an autotelic nature
Peel back the layers
That’s where the ol bluesy bastard lives.
Rolling the dice
with the wind
and them vermin,


(his foot)
To the pop of each die
against a brick wall.


You pick-pickin
                    Pick-pickin fool!
Driving easilazily around the curves.
And them pals down in Texas,
Them buddy-buds back home,
Are ring a’ ding-dingin procession bells

Ring-a’ ling!
Ring-a’ ling!
Body on a bier.
Brio? Brio? Brio?


"This pen works well enough."
        Feedback -
        Ear speaks.

"This thing on?"
        Distant chuckles -
        Slippery grins.

"Oh, hardy-har-har."
        Soliloquy says -

"Ready now."
        Lights -

"Tile, square tile, on a chartreuse checkered floor."
        Anddddd -
        Roll camera...


Just ol bedandler bog bent foggy Brit Y1
Skip-toeing to the polka on that beat up humming buzzard.
(a thrice time veteran of the kick boot & scoot em, Elden gave that Sony the bare foot defenestration)
Thrice times is three points -
Three points form a circle.
The wall clock clicks,
{{End Scene}}


Morning forecast reads, 'scattered showers'
Alexa, little Lexi, turned seventeen.
I cannot believe it.
Hot dog, diggity damn,
I wish I was there with her.
Planol' bad.
But I'm in Lawrence.
Ugh, a thousand times fuck.
Distress of sister distance,
weighs on my heart.
Spread the bond o'er state lines,
elasticity of eternity.
Stretch back time,
and it keeps going.

[1] Kerouac, Jack. Desolation Angels. New York: Riverhead Books, 1995. Print.


Polar drag from left and right
Terrifying dream in mind
Evil energy in the night
Ripping arm out of the socket
The light from goodness hanging offset
I see it happen in fast-forward

Nothing can stop it
Nothing can stop it

Polar drag from left and right
Terrifying dream in mind
The feeling comes a'scheming
Environmental dreaming
Transcendental tingling
I hear the rapid ringing

Heed the warning
Heed the warning

Polar drag from left and right
Terrifying dream in mind

Oracular Summer

In the cool summer breeze,
         Find the answers that you seek.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fit the sweater to your body.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fill the void with memories.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Feel the ache commiserating.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fight the ugly, tripping need.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fire the shot and watch it bleed.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Flee the sickly, swelling scene.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fear the coming world decrees.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Filter feeling with discovery.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fidget until it’s done correctly.

In the cool summer breeze.
         Flip the switch in secrecy.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Freight the thought across the sea.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Fickle words don’t mean a thing.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Furrow through to understanding

In the cool summer breeze,
         Flail about the locking reason.

In the cool summer breeze,
         Free the mind and sigh with ease.

Dizzy Dallas

Suddenly -
I feel compelled to see the skyline.
So I get in my car and drive,
Down 75.
Burning rubber and plant paper,
Spinning Envoy tires.
Living in the city makes me feel alive.
The church of incarnation passes on my right.
Just before good ol gay Oak Lawn street line.
Iconic Bank of America building in full sight.
Third tallest in Texas,
Stands first in my eyes -
Just something about that green on night sky.
Turning around to head north once again,
In a hazy miasma hanging over rooftops
Reflecting street light back down upon us.
Illuminating patches of 635 congestion,
Cutting west to hit 35 uptown, not an option.
So I zip to the front of the exit lane,
Pissing off one chick
(Who just envied my maneuver)
I'm a bit edgy on the highway.
Gotta be a little pushy or you won't get anywhere.
Sitting there stuck like a chump forever.
I'm never rude about it,
But I always know just what I'm doing.
So slyly moving warrants no pardon.
Too many people in the world
Not to dip and dodge through traffic.
Doing it the right way,
The nice way.
Real playful - Like dancing.
With a smile and wave,
Nothing malicious.
Even if you catch it,
No need to throw it back.
Keep on going with the fluid motion.
Less friction is diction.
No need to be hating for a silly reason.
It's a busy beehive enigma out there.
A prosperous geometric dwelling.
The whole city talking.
The closeness of SO MANY PEOPLE.
It's got a pace and a flow.
The swirling exhaustion of energy.
It spins me like a quarter,
Keeping me going,
Keeping me from toppling over.
Finally I fall, and return to my apartment.

Anhad Naad

Some days are strange no matter how you go about it
I awake at 4AM to the soft pitter-patter
Of rain on the rooftops and metal parking covers
Just outside my open bedroom windows
Half awake, I crawl slackly out of bed
Grab my handheld recorder
And upward flick the on switch
Place it on top of me textbooks
In the crate next to the white wood sill
A crackle clap echoes through the dark morning world
Carrying the rumble into the far dismal distance
Lying in bed trying to fall back to sleep
But I gotta be up come two hours at 6:30
“It’s useless,” I say unfortunately.
Tossing and turning,
Just wondering and then some
Letting my mind gain momentum
Staring up at the bleak, black ceiling,
Racing away on hidden energy
Anhad Naad – my inner symphony
The silent sounds of my soul being

Beatbox Blues

Well darlin this has gone on long enough
You got your hands around my throat
Of the better man who walks alone
Every night when I go to bed
I fear your face inside my head
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes I do
Cause those nightmare dreams always come true
At dawn when sunrise hits the sky
I throw my hands on up and cry,
“Oh God, oh God
What’s the use in trying?”

Serenity sleep is just a lie
The curves cut sharper on that side
But still I steer my favorite drive
A thousand burds caught in my grill
But a thousand burds will never fill
The appetite of sleeping search
It comes alone across the water
You like all are someone’s daughter
Careful is as careful does it
Drained empty alcoholic bottle
Fever of a lifetime lived
From bluesy rifts of devilish grins
And though it never is enough
Girl, you got the best of my love1
I come apart with everything
And drift on growls of painful screams
Oh little girl you got that swing
It draws me underneath your wing
Betcha that's what makes you happy
To see me twist, to see me twirl
Around in circles for your thrill

I bet that’s what it is
                (She likes to watch me dance)
I bet that’s what it is
                (She likes to watch me drop my pants)

Still I flutter in my dumb trance
Wave shaky hands like a damned madman
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes I do
Cause those nightmare dreams always come true

[1] Heymoonshaker. "Best of My Love." Noir. Dify Records, 2015. MP3.

Deus Absconditus

Oh, how I needed it.
Water, drown, cleanse
Felt the irrational logic
Pulling me toward sin.
Mere morsel of faith
Compared to Abraham’s.
Rain pours upside down,
River dunk from sky to ground
Shies away them old hell hounds.

Wheezing splash,
A drenched, wet woman.
“Sister, sister why don’t ya listen?
Won’t ya hush for the wind and trust with your gut instinct?”

Wheezing splash,
A drenched, wet woman.
“Sister, sister why don’t ya see?
Won’t ya watch the ways of right and trust with your two eyes?”


Satan's darts of doubt
Give way to fleshly solutions
Circles of acquaintances
Form a global interlocking pattern
Things like this happen -
Like Issac means laughter
Network structure
Oscillator synchronization
Hell, what am I even saying?
Robot recitation
Electrical resuscitation
Golden ash
Fellaheen nation

Rude Boy of House

Acetate, hot dubplate
Electroform magnetic tape
Sample, sequence, synthesize
On and on the beat don't stop
Midwest industrial slums
Rude boy of house spins deaf tones
Hi-hat, kick drum, 4 x 4
Coated in black-nitro lacquer
Acid stains the underground
Roll and squelch in old Chicago
Raving, clubbing, hooligans
Bloodied back onto the bass
Melodic mode of ethno-trance
All they ever do is dance
Four on the floor in rhythmic patterns
Gearshifts uniformly accented
Ron-H rocking Muzic Box
Ten City tracks of night time love
Asphodel Meadows or heaven above?
The sweet death of deep house drugs
Everyone scoots along on soles
Music is the key to my salvation1
Stop searching forever shows that you care
Days like today make everything clear
Cause we got more than our fair share
The mockery of misery in residual memory
Dreams in tune bring us substance release

[1] Ralphi Rosario. "Take Me Up (Gotta Get Up)." Rise, 1998. MP3.

Torch Song

            It’s placey.
Seemingly like something
I can't put my finger on
We slouch to sit
Against the back left tire
She fires up a joint mid-morning
Flared paper roll maniputwirling
We accept the love we think we deserve1
The voice of my Helen
Riding waves to my ears
Cross air words are unaccepting
Damn, ironic tragic settings
Cause I come alive for her
But she’s after something different
Looking through the looking glass
Furrowing further down the hole
Gnawing on a gnarly-haired carrot stick
Hollerin what’s up, Doc?
Whaddya know – Whaddya say?
Turn born to and fro
Enlist in the great game
Through various sperm-egg combinations
Time immemorial random permutations


Jerking off new copies of you and I
To play our parts underneath eternal skies
Ask me to explain away that feeling?
With not the slightest sense of certainty -
It surfaces beyond the power of my control
It emerges from a depth I never knew existed
Picked up the pen to impress her
(Of course that’s how it started)
Quickly turning therapeutic
Finally ending in catharsis
But it began with Helen
In that extraordinary connection
In that genuine affection
Love in the purest sense I can imagine
Which means to really feel it
In a deep duel understanding
In an ethereal state of interaction
Matching mind movements with eye contact
Cooking up coy balcony glances
Timely testing out my pupils
Serving me her Side-Scheme Special
Just the shotgun way I dig it
Smartly, simply shooting
A look of sensual seduction
The trembling in my stomachMakes me gumby-green like chlorophyll
Absorbing up the blue and red
So easily together in my head
Click the wheel a spoke and turn
Away from arbitrary judgments
Of ME-mental discrimination
Have I succumbed to the aforementioned?
Flowing on a fool's pipe dream
A real cabrón for fantasy?
Letting internal images manifest as reality
Figments stir nighttime remembering
We’re alive?
We’re people?
Invisible trigger of not-a-thing neurons

Notional – mythic – make believe
My Helen sweetens everything
Just like milk and honey

But my romantic slurp spilt and splashed
Sucking on the straw too fast
… And we all know what happens next
The reddening addiction
Sour taste on both my lips
The spicy kick just like I like it
Strong enough to wet the eye ducts
The ultimate aphrodisiac
In a sensation of tearing passion
My beguiling woman, Helen

Exceptional! There she is! Like Durrell’s Justine!
Off dating my namesake somewhere mysteriously
Slipping me an inch
Then slacking back ¼
Dangling from her mountain mind
Nowhere near the sparkling summit
Having trouble breathing
Hopeful gasping for those tugs
Gripping to her rope so tightly
Holding on for love –

Who doesn’t wish that were enough?

Sighs, exasperation –
         Chilly exaltations
The Dreamer recognizing reality tis the red reaper.

[1] Chbosky, Stephen. The Perks of Being A Wallflower. New York City: Pocket Books, 1999. Print.

Push Down & Turn

Two-AM Texas highway drives
East on 114 into tang orange city lights
Steering the wheel
Of restless imbalance
Nocturnal human dance
Pop the knuckles,
Stay awake
I’ll sleep
I’ll sleep
Another day
Legs that cramp
Legs that ache
Eyes that twitch
Eyes that shake
All my muscles agitate
Drive friendly,
And remember
To keep a safe distance
Follow the landfill lumps into Lewisville
Big trashy tit bumps
(Our overstuffed dumpster)
Just another landmark
Of flat dimensionless Texas
From 121 I can see
All the way clear to Dallas
On that three mile stretch
Just before the business exit
Or when hitting the ass end
Of that 3040 cross bridge
Drawn into the darkness
Attracted to the hopeless rift
Stuck on everything
That hates to want to finish
Expansion mirrors destruction
Combustion fuels construction
Roof, coated chemical dustland
Must burn down to rise up
Milky white millennial vibes
Spill uncondensed across the sky
Electrically determined life
Sparks alive and multiplies
Ferlingering flow of time
Temporal impulses in the mind
Entanglement of quantum size
Dizzy head
Much loss of oxygen
Forget to breathe
The worst disease
So untouchable, I know!
It’s that misty milk miasma

Changing Days

Power Washing

The white van parked in the far left corner space. A group of workers are painting my apartment building. All the kids run home from school, 7 out of 8 are black. The 8th, Hispanic. The charm in living here - racial diversity. I don't want to be around the same kind of people. That is boring. And to think I spent the last three years in Lawrence where most folks are white mid-westerners.

Quite a difference from little Lewisville, Texas.
Everything changes.
"Sound and fury signifying nothing."