September 6, 2010
September 5, 2010
September 3, 2010
Tried many things:
Read Styron. Walked through the woods,
stopped at the river, watched the fish swim
in circles. Climbed halfway up a mountain,
got tired and climbed back down. Tied
a string around a tree branch, tied a worm
to the string and cast it out into the steely
gray water. The fish weren’t biting,
not even a nibble. Drove back to town
and walked the dusky streets until
they filled up with fog and my feet hurt
and my head ached from a lack of coffee.
Went home, made coffee, smoked two
cigarettes in a row and stood staring
at the blank page.
Read the Spring issue of some
literary journal, thought about writing,
waited for the inspiration to come, but
what, with the cigarettes and the coffee
the only thing to come from within me
Four nights a week
from dusk until dawn
I followed the railroad tracks
the two miles to the plastic factory
where I sat on hard stools
and tied knots
for twelve hours
until my fingers bled
The old lady with the bad perm
came by with a stopwatch
making sure I could tie thirty knots
per minute. I could.
She left me alone after a week or so,
alone to dream about Russia,
until there was nothing left
to dream about.
When the sun came in through the windows
and the smell of coffee lingered
we knew it was time to punch out, go home
Every now and again
one of the men would offer me a drive home,
and I would decline
telling them that I didn’t mind the walk
that the walk was good for the body
and for the soul.
I wish I did take them up
on their offer
because my feet were heavy
and it was always a long walk home
left to dream about.
September 2, 2010
special k kreates
and personally inflicted blood bath-like
when you do that first or those after
one too big a shot.
careful, kids and adult old women and men
transvestite and transsexual
psychonaut curious in your chair at home or with good folks risk taker journeying learning
old hippie or "the receptors are there"
might as well
thinkers world and beyond
this is some powerful shit.
thank allah for cigarettes!!!
with fool’s gold
just to inform
you dreaming would be
immigrants – or shit help us you terroristas
if youse is still
got the notion paid the smugglers
to get you illegally or hell, legally,
into this fine
always been always will be
nation - and people –
as the social philosopher types
tenured or not
or actually read a book
and finished it
person you are
just put a little
in your gas/ass
and keep looking
and things still
in the end and on the way
not be alright
nor ever near so
because you lie
as you have been told, no forced,
the truth or what then or now or future past
and was in turn
passed on to
as the whom you think is the fake and spurious real
you, of you.
help! dingos, ah...no...
-- vaporous gas raped my daughter!!!
the virgin mary
joe told the detectives.
until they believed.
September 1, 2010
My husband is jealous of you,
Because I make him read your
He likes some of them.
He squeals like a pig and calls
You farm boy,
Apparently you have sex with lots
Of lonely housewives in Iowa,
And you have lots of adventures
With down on their luck
People that hang out
In bars and greasy diners,
Also in Iowa,
I have to admit,
Some of your poems
Are a little hard to believe,
Like The day you met the Indian
Chief and he turned out
To be your grandfather,
and he told you
your sacred animal
was the Beaver
and a silent
tear fell from your
face and settled
and we did’nt.
only thing really worth
and those twilight zone episodes
given the conditions
of the day, year, moment or hour,
are always ripe for
spontaneous suicide!!! yikes!
no panic bar.
the panic attack bar & grill
and the rasta roost restaurant.©
learn to live with this
that is the whole of the law.
in the here, now, present, past
and future (continuous?)
which just may not too exactly
or whom you shoul or should have been or will be
though again maybe
nor not you?
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