mind in chains

juggling ice with
buttered hands
it’s how we
it’s what we do
because

in traffic, I
rode behind one slow
lamming through the
gnats like silent dull bangs
his tail to my
nose as he drives too slow

i lay back smoking it
and I forget for a second, the
rats and race and cracked dead
slate turtle shells and drift
away into the whisps of mallowls seed
and
the one beind me makes me push.
rear view and double yellow left
and isn’t that how we
do isn’t that what we are
are?
Just hate and push the one
in front of us and hate and block
the one in back of us who would
but for some peering tasteless gas
lay waste and cancel
the one in front

and isn’t that just what we do?
juggling butter in
frozen marshland
hands in wasteland
mind in chains
the continuing host for
the evolution of the viruses

juggling ice-brain waste caves
in spent sharp rigs, and birthday cake cans
and cigarettes.
hypodermic boulevard and the
late
late
shock./ the
setting sequined supper of
the sixth great extinction.

standing behind me; some thing
pushes me to push the
thing in front of me
and that is what a
human does to life.
what we do, we are.

Are.

“one faint scream, or hush in vain”

i rub my eyes
release some sand
replace the glass

the colors whoosh
without my hands
to help me now

fingers fumble
words write wrong and
someone

back and forth like
rollercoaster
wooden, splintered on the
side where love is
jammed

jagged in the
corners
cold when the
night
falls

i write want
so fevered and hard
try not forget

one wrinkled eye
line one faint scream
or hush in vain

twenty five years
the hand has scribbled
since half awake
beneath that pillowed head
fourteen
and writing the text
before me in my dream’s sky
cartoon scroll I followed

wish now to not
a frame leave out
misplace a drop

not one sample
not one dragon
not one fenced cop

freezing sun

freezing sun
days mulch square meals in
antic disarray
mountainous and
fervor.
words color form to
magnificent dragon
whilst sea bird picks
at sea shore trash
degenerate.

cupid and
stupid sound
the same
because
they were
made for
each other made
together.

ice burns blue
the in between days,
makes me young again,
like in the fall.
leaves, squirrels, smoke and
sweaters…

frozen sun on
peeled blue sky shirt.

dextro meth orphan

there was a light

over a left shoulder
as a head and
cupped hand dipped
right and down
to light the
half cigarette
and
rising
a click, an exhale;
ancient knowledge my
tree moans to me as
a couple of vines tighten;
and that light
on my cheek
then second squinted glance
as eyes pass
head spins ‘round
past highway noise
and fox and mole
as squint slowly
to open eye,
home now in the
darkened and shadow.
now more smoke is
taken and gave
and gaze is open
and blue,
shark-cold.

-i threw the end
of it to a low spot
where it will lay
until I walk to
collect them all,
returning now
the end of the world…

come!
;
as I walk you through
this dream of me
borne of
dextromethorphan
and children’s
public
broadcasting:


“i will take you
In other time”
the dream told me
to tell you…

-the point is not
in there

it was just
confusion

after magic show

the end of the
world
-allusion to grey walls
substance and
sparkling lights of
many colors.

(i awoke
and choked the
cinnamon and sugar
down
and then to the
machine to tell you,
but interrupted by
the day’s news
of three sisters
in India;
seven
nine
eleven;
raped and brutally slain
and tossed in a village well,
and the message of
the merging
of another friend
with everything.

tired is my highway

i was sleeping outside myself again
and I saw my favorite sweater
and I grabbed my favorite jeans
and I could see it all
full color
from the viewer in my dreams

i’m tired I told me, and go home I said
-for me it’s always been more than
easy to fit whatever seams,
mend what is torn after blood is cleaned

i slept into the blue again
i slept into the sand
i cut myself on old, smooth green
and cobalt rolled sea glass
i left the vacation. stop.
i twisted one more knot in my rope
and they cut off the other last one
and they paid me after I already left
and they claimed it was on Tuesday
and I asked…stopped myself and
i said to me that how is it
you let him do it- why won’t you
just let it be…why don’t you
just drive away hard –set up a
hot dog stand, sell single malt scotch
at eleven a.m. to all your builder friends?
and laughing back, hell yeah I said and
turned to me again…you don’t see
the me I see – you don’t know the one who is me
i’m true the one who throws away
and I’m the one who smokes all day and
i hold on for your pussy ass when
you think it’s good to hold on-
and I’m the one who holds me up
when you push my tired legs around
and make responsible promises to those you love
whenever you’re turned on, or your eyes get turned around

i’m the one- the one that you asked for
when the way became too hard
and this bitch of a world took off her face
and bit into your back –
took away your student i.d. card
i’m the one; laughing again and saying
i’m the one in me that’s me
and you’re the me in me for them
and you go to work when I tell you
not to, and then I get it done
you’re the one with the bank account
that i always fuck up
and I’m the one who won’t let you run

and hell yeah, hotdogs and single malt scotch
but first things first my son
and it’s pay off the ones that you promised
the moon –and blast off for the sun
we’ll drink more of milky life
when the seasons all are one
i am you for me, it’s true but
tired is my highway
blood on pavement has made
me cautious…but
only for a little while.

I woke up from sleeping outside
and I saw me in a smile,
a cat’s eye…
a fence.

The Dawn of the Day of the Meek

This is just a test printing, playing with formats...still learning, five years later...i'm old

did this image compell any of you to click? please post a comment or something to let me know. thanks :)

First; you have to be aware of the problem.

I'm working on a "theme" about it all.

Right now the maturation of the voting, governing and actionable populous, or more specifically the lack thereof and especially the noted correlation between the ease with which the American morph of the human animal now functions as juxtaposed with specimens from cultures of generations past; is a very interesting chain of sociopsychological events to me.

I don't know much. ..but this is a multifaceted jewel of S.

Imagine life for a 16 year old in 1900, 1920, 1940, 1960, 1980, 2000....and on and on.

Think of the challenges, realities, responsibilities, roles within family and society, rights, knowledge, exposure and technology.

It's no wonder now that both a honey boo boo and her mother can be at the same time paid by a television network to simply act like Walmart Americans while also both being at the same reading and maturity level.

AND THEY ARE NOT THE EXCEPTIONS !!!!!

WAKE THE FUCK UP PEOPLE! !!!