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Long morning peepshow

Gnat glow

Crossing of the monarch

Glutting up cold vibrations

Between headphone mediums and big wheel ramblings

-you mope

Smoke

Top cob

Web bit tonguing

Toothache convolutions

And a monarch in the city bus window

Like

To say

Something

About oh

How crisp these structures

Skyline impossibility

Definitions of elastic limping ladies

And gentlemanly faces puffed and twisted

For this walk

Up off the ledge

Old man

Swinging those suited arms so far

To strides of Beck in perfect time

As the angle of his ancient hat

And the blowing wind

To part this place

Here where each successive ledge becomes less suitable by rising

Some stupid piece of art

And a federal building

And Orange

East west rock whatever behind

And cars like fronds

Empty welcome mats lining this street

Orange in literal indecipherable

Orange municipal graffiti

To be seen only from above and covered by asphalt

And a sabered advertisement rattling Uncle Sam’s hummer

And a sore thumb trolley for a city that paved its tracks

And a bike bumming sidecar carriage hooked and crooked like Hong Kong markets

And a fashionable kind of passing

And all the kids earbuds

And three dollar energy

And book bag pharmacy

And a plane cracked page

And odd gut pain

And just when I thought to look again

The sight of the monarch sharing roadside lilacs with a working bumblebee

Sept 20

Swore off sleep last night

solely- for suspension
______for -my friend
shit warmed over, I'm sure
This morning-
three items of note

Number one- A monarch
Number two- Glass faced
dashflag
girl from Peru

The third?
that kind of faceless ass -we all- could get behind

ctrl+alt+delerium

all i have to offer is my five hundred and something fonts
i have them in all shapes and sizes
someday i'll make my own
someday i'll go digital

for now i'll just keep typing these same shapes in monochrome
tap, tapping away on all these funny little buttons
living on the cutting edge in a wireless sort of way
blinking like a waiting cursor
so i don't lose my place
and have to restart.

The way to the lake and Sleeping Giant

Have you ever seen the way
How trees push up the ground
To make the dirt look growing

On nature walks on foot cut hills
Marked by watchful pastel squares
They angle off the earth beside as hairs
or plumage off some rocky flank, suspiciously

Have you ever seen when green and trees struggle very easily
Up through in laid asphalt and concrete slabbing scabs

Where the road goes on to gone
And the only thing on either side
is green like spider webs or rippled pebble gestures

A nose

Staring out a million windows
From the bottom of a pile
Blanketing
An air conditioned room


Still and feels like summer’s on the shingles
Smells of humid air
Vestigial, like
Déjà vu through my childhood appendix


Sand bars
Heat wave excavations
Ferry
Tall tales from the girl in Santorini

Museum case

Modern life casts the shadow of doubt on insanity

A 30 something man, arms bare, sunglasses looped in his belt,

Stands alone and wild in the Plexiglas museum of a bus stop

He speaks to his reflection

Maybe, to blue teeth

His arms fret and fingers point and press his hands and smudge

And pick his nose

Either he’s one crazy mother fucker

Or he’s on the phone

Voicemail

Time stop ticking
nose still dripping
towers slowly tipping
waiters in my mind

fall away
now
words worth
i'll be taking no calls this evening.

Bald

The bald eagle circles stationary prey

Banking to his right

To swoop among the teepee pines

And feast upon his pickings

Powerful wings hold lightning bolts

Thrown down to scare the easy meats

To scatter others from the carrion

Or talon up some brazen rodent

The bald eagle falling

From the center of the high noon sun

Is indistinguishable from any other pair of wings

With dinner on the mind

Balls

Beleive it or not, I wrote this one while waiting for the bus... go figure.
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Buses are by no means a science
they are sitting on a curb and constantly staring over your shoulder
drinking petrol fumes and smoking cigarettes
and starting to every sound like deisal

Time is kept in the uneven beatings
of perchance sedans popping the manhole
sometimes its a matter of directions
asked by a tidy looking man for a moment of excitement

It is the tease of its counterpart
whoring down the road from where you want to go
every blunt fat face with two headlights
for a second is your ride
showing themselves down far between a row of trees and two parked cars
just for a second

Staring down the curb like a pellet gun
appears longer than the street
sitting till your balls are sweaty
cause you missed the fucking bus
or cause it came too early

Oh, here it is
seriously

Stone cut man

So below for you today are a couple recent ones, the last being written this morning. Still drying.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He squatted happily with little to think about

And started hammering a tiny little cheek bone out of stone

That still looked to him as nothing more than stone

And to the tool

Nothing but a surface to dull upon

He chipped out the hollows of a chin

And a dip like neck but still just less stone then what was

Until he made the most unhappy realization

That he was no longer just holding stone and breaking it

Form scratched at the inside and claw marks sounded hollow thunder

About the confines of the stone which the primitive man handled

Awe unannounced

as at the sight of a god who did not exist and told him so

Consumed where he squatted the sun and moon were broken

Down as he worked far past into the evening

Scratching away an ancestor rock

With no name and lost eventually to sand

Time and a student on a glorified trip

Who just found a little stone cut man

Speaking of LCDs

Driver side opened

and the man in white stepped out

His left leg lifted and body curled

like the 70s

or a graceful beat

To a black man bored

and looking kind of worn

who sank an apple core for two points

and spun around a circle

gentlemanly, to hold the door

for a large woman who didn’t thank

and he didn’t blink

entering with graceful beating

Summer folk

streets like open air markets or LCD bizarres

rolling down windows

for the sake of Friday spirits

anticipating some energy

and giving themselves up to a chance parking spot

And encounters

with a long lost friend, perhaps

sometimes pretty women

or just the bottles, guaranteed

By night, by god

this music is god damn good

pop stomping

sanded symbols

word snake chords

It crosses my heart to see someone made it

Thus Far

Like any good story it began with a girl

In the way a stone is cast into a shimmering body

And breaks the surface and ties the splash

Of sinking innards as long winded letters

Bound to a dumb brick

The first slaving nights were nothing more than therapy

An attempt to digest an impregnation of eyes and finger

Foolishness

To be cured with a kiss or so told

By the gut of an ever polishing stone

Among these damp nights resurfaced a memory of homework

Assigned in 7^th grade to write ten pages of poetry

Half plagiarized or run through words for rhymes

Silly, yes, but oh what it was

An awesome demolition of the LCD display

A removal of the virginity of time

Transplantation to a virgin playground

-There I played till the second black book came

With a lovely introduction like I love you

To be filled with words of angels carved by motion and heat

In the whitest snow where boots had yet to tread

And the polishing stone became my rocks off-

Bird shot hipshot everything

To the air of my green mountain homestead

And the loss of mind to sex and tissue tundra

And loss of time without anywhere at all X3

Lost and gained and left and gained and lost again

And loss of time without that monument creation

Lost and gained and lost again

Turns out the pen was left in the room of an old friend

After all his door ajar and walled in note cards

And caffeine till dawn

DC for inspiration

And someone to forget your name

A cruel addiction to think you’ve got something going

And lots of thinking

X3

But that was long ago

Or so it seems from thus far

Today, an orange recap

I think “all comes roundly as all goes”

And I can see my work looming on the horizon

Summoning a bittersweet taste like the back of my tongue

In time to write a proper story

September 1st

Nod to the familiar
tang of glass on glass

be it champagne salutes
or pint or pipe on the surface of the coffee table

so see through
to some shitty paint job
or accumulated clutter in preparation for coming nights

though it turns your stomach
always to tang and smile