an irregular jesus

Security camera at London (Heathrow) Airport. ...

Security camera at London (Heathrow) Airport. Taken by Adrian Pingstone in August 2004 and released to the public domain. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

an irregular Jesus

an irregular Jesus
who likes to take vacations in the asylum
walks into Ace hardware for some glass cleaner
and gets lost

he finds himself in line with a bottle of pneumonia
when the lady in front of him has her credit declined
and walks away empty handed

he yallers, “Hey! i got a GOLD tooth.”
but she disapppears

he forgets his first miracle for a moment
and the pain in his chest nearly drops him to the floor

he laughs and waves at the security camera
remembering to wander
to the corner to clean a few windows for the Man


people that came from nowhere

people that came from nowhere

when you look up at the sky
which stars whisper your name?

there are a people of whom i have heard
that when they look up at the sky
no stars whisper to them

wandering over the skies
they only look down
no stars whisper their names

the fact that time moves at such a pace
that stars will constellate for us
is a miracle in itself

the hunter has been whispering my name
i have a place to go
i think

in the blink of an eye

urr 03.23.20..12

hard as a chisel, a fool inside

Saguaro and teddy bear cholla with mountains i...

Saguaro and teddy bear cholla with mountains in background (Photo credit: Martin LaBar)

hard as a chisel, a fool inside

music, memories
being packed away
like yesterday’s news

it’s contrary to my nature

to be so forthcoming

pieces of two lives, more
the hunter marks the trail

twelve to a pack and loaded for bears
wipe away tomorrow’s tears
a sunny spring day to walk on mother earth

an extra thumb in somebody else’s book

lost again for the third or forth time today
led on by the lies the senses tell you

next you’ll be telling me
i’m making all this up
well someone has too

Fragment of a Sub(urban) Daydream

12 blue rubbish bins arranged in a circle.

Image via Wikipedia

Fragment of a Sub(URBAN) Daydream


Nirvana is a short NAP
in a BROOKlined cemetery…

there are memory bank rob(BERRIES) in progress
for the POOR concentration CAMPERS.
Everywhere the CLEAN streets are
lined with litter bins collecting DUST
particles along the BACK
of their Alley Ca(r)t-wheels…

can you spare A. Diamond
For a CUP of laughter in the park
as Shake-The-Speare wiggles a toe in the SAND?

put the RUBY on Thursday’s pulse
This TIME out
so you can meet at BO(o)TH ends
in the Middle sometimes
If oHIo calls again,

ears prick up your arse in UNI(S)ON
As you SURF the radio WAVES
for pent-up or strangled melodies…

Wait for it! just wait… remember, Milton,
your services have ALREADY been rendered
in your HOLIDAY pants
and SMILING is only your favorite Opt-i(o)n.


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

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