all contents subject to copyright by me, of me, for me.

Thursday, March 31

no damping

oranges as big as they get
grown on trees as big as they get
gnashed by teeth as flossed as they get
get me to the sleepy bye impules
like a cat out of water
or a honey bee out of air
the smiles of yesterday shift to my eyes of tomorororrorrow
sitting cross-leggedly on the hard floor, having
to give up my seat to perfect, no imperfect, strangers
in my own home
like a bat out of hell
like an angel out of heaven
or like a seal out of ice
like a gelatin out of hoof

Monday, March 28

coalition of the prepared

I'm ready
got like four of five bucks
in my back pocket
in my back yard
got like four or five guns
I'm ready

the gold is gone
from the
ooze of oklahomy
and pennsylvany
the water tastes like gasoline
we drink it like real americans
who bleed fire

yeahmantotallyawesome

clear the lanes
cut the lights
bud lites lit up
like christmas trees
in the night

a mediterranean vacation for us
a subterranean vacation for them

Sunday, March 27

the march of the penguins

its cold.
there is snow.
a wing howls in the wind.
the water chops.
the trees bud.
the spiders emerge.
its an emergency.

Thursday, March 24

america beautiful

is fear a state
or a concept
? in either case
baseball is derived
of both
elastionontherise
chords lifting orange
stripe staccato fussing
fusion synonyms blushing
across the sky in a
nitride casket
puck in the bedroom
prevails over tunafish in water
sweltering me in my sleep and only
my sleep

the dirty version
is the one you usually
keep I kinda with
I was in florida with
dolphin fin soup swimming
around me, spinning down
the drain between my fat
red feet.

walnuts wait in a bowl
till till the mice eat
at dinner time

Tuesday, March 22

nails in the wall

snow falls too big
and bursts

blue sky has a thirst
that cant cure

my back hurts

Sunday, March 20

putting out the fire with gasoline

on an airplane sommewhere:

a table is in the sun, antique
luis fourteen sheen, flowing plastically
with its own aged weight.


on a golfcourse somewhere:

a plaid bag is damp in the dew
precious plastic balls bouncing in a zippered
up bag.


on a bowling alley somewhere:

a dog stupidly looks for water and chases
alien finger pointers from room to room
thinking thoughts not its own.

Saturday, March 19

1993 closeness

sputtered moon,
not gold not silver
not wool,
of chrome etch wafer sits
so big so round ubove froze stones
a lonely home for some
dust stuff

and ruthless electric waves
crown around
the spiderweb sphere
isenthalpic resonance pro ject ion in polar
bear space
arresting water in its place,

bbc nws pdt

al qaida
all at a kmart
catering a party tonight

they buy sausage and onions and pickles and buns
they sigh and stoop to pick up the poop
of all the puppy dogs they tote along.

at the checkout,
they checkout.

Friday, March 18

booger brains booger brains
where are you?
what is your name and what do you do?
do you sit in the shop of horrors
selling boron out the window?

in the wind, the finer things lift up
and send themselves out of the frame
all the same, to me its just another way
of being a piece of pie

Tuesday, March 15

sayonara,,,,,, sucker

steroids mutating the growing pains
away , once what looked brilliant as
the sun on earth, down for tea,
has turned out to be less than finesse,
foiling domes with light speed
when godzilla grabs the reigns

Monday, March 14

smoke and fears

burnt haze exposes the way to realize
that the shingles opposite from over the pavement
are a curious shade of true shit,
not unlike a rooster caught in a tractors nuts,
goggleing and softening up in a pan of butter,
but you better believe it.
the whole world is seething and fed up;
a national disaster thrashing in the shallow end,
a shark of teeth gnashing at the little knees and their shins,
. an what we dont need, we never knew
cause we had it all saved up before it blew
and since the candles got forgot
we can not remember how to make them again.

a curious summize in an age of quality better than
the basement metal cuts, but cut from collective conscious
as soon as the dam busts./

try not to make a fuss

Sunday, March 13

Egypt : See Slipped

They tell me of a pie up in the sky
waiting for me when I die
but between the day your born and when you die
they may not even hear you try
to brush your teeth.

its a huge pyramid scheme.
a pie scheme, a slice of the theater, front
row center, pleading with the ibis usher, with
a papyrus menu, pointing to
all the different lemon harangue pie filling
the spans of the page, of ancient technology,
electric lamps powered with baghdad batteries
charged with lead and acid and a little
plutonium/uranium, or some other planet extract,
some god from a place that didnt invent god
so that light and freedom can be brought into some godless
point in america.
amen brother, amen.

amend sister, amend
the constitution, amend that liver document.

Saturday, March 12

one of these things is not like the other

have you heard the latest
latest news in town
about the little bollweavil
thats been coming around
not longer little
little bit mutated
little bit of a monster
much more massive than
a single family tax-payer can accomplish
with F-23s and B-55s and missile chisels and the
like.
so out in the ocean
an eruption,
GODZILLA
on the GOLFCOURSE
with bankers from GOLDMAN SACHS,
eating ice cream
seeing birds fly this way and that from alligator hazard to
alligator hazard and all the alligators are
waiting for the ants to cross the universe.

999 mile island

west of wellesley island
east of eden,
south of sweden
north off the coast of jamaica
about three thousand miles

and stinking and stanking and like a skunk banking
on the navier-stokes equation

Egypt See : Crypt

at the bog a quarter mile wide
smiling humans long ago dead
still dead and like a raisin in the shade
unpoppable unstoppable
the old hydrant unprobable and propped up no more
so the snow is slopped up and
they dont even care that this disgust is here.
they dont even care about us over in america
they dont even care about us over in canada

egypt is so damn selfish sometimes.
one hundred thousand years of history and they think
that they have a book.

well, to that I say, we have
one hundred million ears of corn,
which is exactly what Marc Antony asked for
when history was being written, so in that way
we are there.

one last closing remark;
inst it better to not be history?
as godzilla would say:
sayonara, suckrs

Wednesday, March 9

down along boulevard

honk if you are jesus
or riding with jesus
but only if jesus is
wearing jeans

Tuesday, March 8

ninja star

style tiered and true
fruit cake glue smeered on the floor
waiting to stick you in a stack of newspaper print
printed so small to appear as
rice flecks flies in the eyes.
tired of being the same old child,
thus rearing up and down the wild side of the block,
black and grey and kind of made of cosine lines and
hypobolic cholera climate signs, global warning,
sea level riles and expands the moon into a word a
hard of hearing par for the coarse,.

Sunshines on Canada

and the Moonshines on
Kentucky ;
an afterthought though
in comparison, epecially, to what
sin the swamps there is an anaconda snakes
of wellesley island,
not naked with feathers of fur,
clearly could be, but isnt bur covered,
adapted to sit it out under or above the ice and mud,
indifferent than a garden but less like a frog and more like
a juggernaut.

and it swims after us, thinking itself concealed
among the striken bullrushes at the bottom
but the jungle patterns dont serve cake here
and I sever the tip of that tail with the wooden paddle.

evolution of texture,
revolution of refractive index.
so we wait for part deaux

Monday, March 7

subterfuge and centrifuge

separate parts congealed in a safeway
in a deposit box of extraordinary sedition,
alien acts with hands and backpacks stacked to the top
with explosive commitment and frog shackles
designed to the teeth to bring death to the heat
drafts of drafts piling up in corners, a day of a minute later
spread into the center, taking orders sent from stars
far far away in a galaxy that does not exist any more
and sand plants growing golden blinds to make them feel more rich
mired more in happiness, generally, than sandwich.

Friday, March 4

window into the anachronym

in plane harmonics
stock trading with honest amish
plow horses, heading up the road
in a cloud of dust and old crow
calls calling out names of far away places
and futures and pasts and mineral wealth to be halved