Archive for February, 2012


Playground (Photo credit: phalinn)

a piece of rubbish i wrote when i first moved to California:

bubonic playground

at the dawn of the beginning
of what never ends,
going ’round, bringing out the dead,
shall we feast upon the corpses
of those we’ve hated and loved?
or laugh and lament over their withering bones?

on the bubonic playground that we share,
don’t shed a tear for oilspills or bloodspills.

let’s all scream our heads together
for the love that’s been spilled
like empty seed on barren ground.

let’s all scream our faces in the mirror
until we melt together
and just for once leave hate and discontent behind.





mother teresa is pushing
a shopping cart filled with
potatoes and toaster ovens
along the alley ways
of a ghetto on the outskirts
of the shining city

while saddam sits in council
with seven virgins lying naked,
their skin gleaning energy
from the Son,
beside the swimming lagoon
in a sleepy suburb,
gleaming towers in their view.

love radiates from the Center
directed outwards,
the devotion of Love’s children
directs it inwards.

the heart of the city beats
like a drummer’s orgasmic solo,
the rhythm is there
can you feel the beat?

you can’t beat the feel
of the Creator’s will
etched upon the footprints
in the wheelhouse of your mind.

Heaven is but a breath away,
do you dare to draw it in?

if i could

Male and female legs

Image via Wikipedia

one of my cheesier poems from the book “Space Christals”

If I Could

if i could stand on my tippy toes
on the edge of my universe to touch


that hollow place inside you where
only you feel alone.

what’s the point?

if i could i would tell you that
it’s alright to feel alone inside your head.
alone inside the vastness you were meant to be.
what’s the point?

so that you could stand on your tippy toes
on the edge of your universe to touch


that hollow place inside me that
only you can fill.

Program Wobbly

i was in a mood when i wrote this thinking of shit and computer programming…

Program Wobbly

111 feeling a bit wobbly-wobbly ‘(?)’
112 gotta lay off the hallucinogenic poetry for a while
113 this hell of laughter mirth and merriment is making me dizzy
114 how do you get /off/ this thang ‘(?)’
115 when do you get /off/ ‘(?)’
121 wanna come over and smoke some cigs eat cheese and drink some whiskey til we puke ‘(?)’
122 i m getting me-sick
123 i m getting home-sick
124 i m getting poem-sick
125 somebody call my mama cause i need a new set of snow tires for the minivan
132 how do y all do this without fist-fucking the computer ‘(?)’
133 my mouse my mouse my mouse is on a wire ‘(!)’
134 for the love of Hitler will you please tell me where the /off/ button is ‘(?)’
135 wipe that shit-eating grin off your face if you re not gonna share ‘(!)’
141 i ve come to a decision
142 i like you ‘(!)’
143 that s why i m going to shut the fuck up ‘(!)’
144 feeling a bit wobbly-wobbly ‘(!)’
145 END

a valentine massacre

a valentine poem written for the love of my life

a valentine massacre

meet me if you dare
in the cartage company
where i can line you up
against a bare cement wall
and spray you with
toasted strawberry kiss gunfire

and spray your blood
against my wishes
against my ecstasies
against my desires

you won’t suspect a thing
when i show up
in my uniform existence
that i carted out of a violin case
holding a sub-machine gun heart

against your will?
against all hope?
against all odds!

ah, go quietly dove
it won’t hurt a bit
and the papers will say
i did it all for love

sal(i)vation bell

i’ve been wanting to ring the bell at christmas for the Salvation Army for years.  this is a poem about rejection by them.

sal(i)vation bell

going to the walmart to cash my inability check
on a winter’s day
i stop like one of pavlov’s dogs by the sal(i)vation bell

yeah i saw their ads on television
where i could extract the lucre
it’s for a good cause and ringing the bell
for an hour in the cold
would do me good or so i thought

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

he says his manager will be back in twenty minutes
i can ask him
so i go inside to extract the lucre
from my inability check
and maybe feed a little bit to the sal(i)vation bell people.

my head is humming
at the thought of all the cold hard cash
pouring in the pot
as i stand in line at the service bay
thinking about ringing the bell

it’s for a good cause and
ringing the bell for an hour in the cold
would do me good

so i collect my lucre and go outside
to ask the man
and when i get to the sal(i)vation bell
the manager is emptying the pot

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

and he says:
“you’ll have to go downtown and fill out an application”

what do i look like? look at me
one of pavlov’s hungry dogs
who wants just once to ring the bell
and they want me to fill out an application
to stand out in the cold
ringing the sal(i)vation bell
and i look like the guy who ate the receipts
but i’m not
and i thank the man and drop a jackson into the bucket
and wonder what has become of me

odd ramblings in the middle of the night

tuesday, 02.07.20..12

bragadocio a dosie doh and here we go.  spent a week partying my ass off and i’m exhausted…  i’m running on fumes.  Saturday night, i found out while watching CNN and the Nevada Caucus results that i was married to the new female commentator in a parallel universe.  more of the TV saying one thing and my mind hearing something completely different.

only sold 3 copies of my new book, “Space Christals” and i’m not sure how to proceed in promoting it.  i’m thinking of leaving some copies lying around in coffee shops and maybe even outside the library here in town.  don’t know what good it will do.  everybody seems to be so busy smartphoning that no one has time to try to figure out my poetry.

i’m quitting the Space Program
i’m not even in the Space Program
you can tell by the way i like to breathe atmosphere
and we all go home with smiles on our faces

what’s really tragic is that you’re reading this
maybe nobody is reading this
maybe i’m not writing this
maybe i’m just imagining i’m writing this

my head is a big ball of mush right now

wait a  minute…  now i remember!  i’m supposed to be engaging the reader!  but actually i have no time for that… there’s nonsense to discuss, one thing that there seems to be a steady supply of.

speaking of nonsense, this is an election year and i’ve been watching a lot of CNN…  i think i’m addicted.  the debates are better than any reality shows out there for entertainment.  i’m glad there are still 4 candidates.  can’t wait for the next shoe to drop.  the top two spend more time explaining themselves than talking about the issues.  i probably won’t even vote… i’ve moved 3 times in 7 months…  once across the country.   yeah, so i probably won’t vote.  i’d vote Green anyway so probably not gonna do them much good this year.

now i’ll close with a poem from my new book:


Riding the main road into Zion,
Of the Pope
Taking off his miter
And jacking off to a picture
Of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas
Doing it on a divan,

Sweat dripping from my mustache,
It tastes like your sex

And I’m thinking of you,
Far away in Zion,
Lying in bed
With a dyke named Hal
Eating Malomars and smoking Pall Malls,
Malomar crumbs on your saggy, brown belly.

I’ll be in Zion in 12 and a half hours
If I push the Dodge the rest of the ride
And don’t get stopped for speeding.

Can I have coffee with you in the morning?
Will you let me tell you dirty stories
While I make you scream?

Tell Hal to put your key under the mat
When she leaves.

I have a trunk full of Malomars.

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