Friday, July 03, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
For John
Johnny pushes like he means it
and he does
As do I
Between us
it's like a swing set
this way and that, yet always back
to center:
wine, meat, art,
a passion for women
and life,
everyone's lives
Bemused looks pass
like greasy napkins
clumsily mopping at the spilled
and spilling wine
His parents' living room--
beyond his mother's Disneyalia--
a war museum & one-table gun show
of Johnny's odds and ends
Yet I feel welcome and safe:
the good chair,
a tray full of steak & potatoes
waiting just for me
The swing set saves us
this way and that it goes
and back again to center
our shared median
We hop
swerving from the apparatus
We hug and smile
Our greasy napkins
dark,
heavy and red
and he does
As do I
Between us
it's like a swing set
this way and that, yet always back
to center:
wine, meat, art,
a passion for women
and life,
everyone's lives
Bemused looks pass
like greasy napkins
clumsily mopping at the spilled
and spilling wine
His parents' living room--
beyond his mother's Disneyalia--
a war museum & one-table gun show
of Johnny's odds and ends
Yet I feel welcome and safe:
the good chair,
a tray full of steak & potatoes
waiting just for me
The swing set saves us
this way and that it goes
and back again to center
our shared median
We hop
swerving from the apparatus
We hug and smile
Our greasy napkins
dark,
heavy and red
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
On the Train
Some nights it's a smorgasbord
of bristling young energy:
clear, hopeful,
glistening like crystal
flooded with dew-drops and sunlight
smelling like grape candy
impatient when not moving
sugar covered hummingbirds
freshly awake, new and alive
and in plain view of wolves
and aging fading vultures
of bristling young energy:
clear, hopeful,
glistening like crystal
flooded with dew-drops and sunlight
smelling like grape candy
impatient when not moving
sugar covered hummingbirds
freshly awake, new and alive
and in plain view of wolves
and aging fading vultures
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
An Ode to Walnut Creek
Walnut Creek
where a certain type of human gathers
sucks the life out of things
and is filled with a sad, hardened
type of vampirism
People with no desires
beyond their blindly digested,
media-served opinions
morality culled from years of video games
and the bland world of television
For fun they manipulate one another
through ego-driven dead-end trips
strokes and flirts
drunken fucks
performed in temporary locations
promises never uttered to each other
and not kept, even to themselves
Walnut Creek
amazingly picturesque valley
an ancient abattoir
glutted with half-grown souls
sticking to one another
like wet shit in bog mud
only miles from the coast
where a certain type of human gathers
sucks the life out of things
and is filled with a sad, hardened
type of vampirism
People with no desires
beyond their blindly digested,
media-served opinions
morality culled from years of video games
and the bland world of television
For fun they manipulate one another
through ego-driven dead-end trips
strokes and flirts
drunken fucks
performed in temporary locations
promises never uttered to each other
and not kept, even to themselves
Walnut Creek
amazingly picturesque valley
an ancient abattoir
glutted with half-grown souls
sticking to one another
like wet shit in bog mud
only miles from the coast
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Random Noodle for Kit & Caboodle [v04]
It's like fingers of wind
running over your scalp
and down the roots
of your hair, I say
on the brown leather couch
with your simpering dogs,
after specks of sunshine,
a bottle of red wine,
green Tobiko,
blurring smiles,
and your slow kisses
running over your scalp
and down the roots
of your hair, I say
on the brown leather couch
with your simpering dogs,
after specks of sunshine,
a bottle of red wine,
green Tobiko,
blurring smiles,
and your slow kisses
Monday, March 23, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Random Noodle for Kit & Caboodle [v01]
"It's like the fingers
of the wind," I said
like a cloud
sailing the invisible
currents of sky,
"running their tips
over your scalp
and through the roots
of your hair"
on the couch with your dogs
after a bottle of Italian wine
spackles of sunshine
green tobiko, spicy tuna and
slow easy kisses
of the wind," I said
like a cloud
sailing the invisible
currents of sky,
"running their tips
over your scalp
and through the roots
of your hair"
on the couch with your dogs
after a bottle of Italian wine
spackles of sunshine
green tobiko, spicy tuna and
slow easy kisses
For Shane
And now it's March second,
my only brother's birthday
He's 36 now and married
a new father, loving
every minute, every
second, of it
And now I'm an uncle:
A man with a tenuous,
thread-thin connection
to an infant child
Responsibility transferred,
instructions whispered like a late-night story,
as she is first handed to me
My hands together
covering nearly all
of her tiny body
And now her eyes are closed
her face intense and focused
unraveling the entire universe
in silence,
burning stronger and brighter
than this man who made her--
made her with the woman
who loves him most--
He has crossed
another threshold
reaching a man's hand
imperceptibly nearer
to another
Golden Door
my only brother's birthday
He's 36 now and married
a new father, loving
every minute, every
second, of it
And now I'm an uncle:
A man with a tenuous,
thread-thin connection
to an infant child
Responsibility transferred,
instructions whispered like a late-night story,
as she is first handed to me
My hands together
covering nearly all
of her tiny body
And now her eyes are closed
her face intense and focused
unraveling the entire universe
in silence,
burning stronger and brighter
than this man who made her--
made her with the woman
who loves him most--
He has crossed
another threshold
reaching a man's hand
imperceptibly nearer
to another
Golden Door
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
February
Getting the wrong idea right
is still getting the wrong idea
it takes practice to do
so much practice, hours of practice
Hours and hours
of repetition
Too many times,
too many times to count
on the shattered tips
of broken teeth
is still getting the wrong idea
it takes practice to do
so much practice, hours of practice
Hours and hours
of repetition
Too many times,
too many times to count
on the shattered tips
of broken teeth
Made from the Transmissions of Alan Moore
Words are the combining of
the gods
into shapes and sounds
that inform the tide of human
energy
echoing back, resonating
against the fabricated village
we live within and under,
coating us like water
filling the gaps between
perceptions
a million flittering moths
shrinking down to the size
of particle mist, illuminating
and lubricating the gaps between
islands of ideas
and cities of constructs, blinding us,
accepted as reality
the gods
into shapes and sounds
that inform the tide of human
energy
echoing back, resonating
against the fabricated village
we live within and under,
coating us like water
filling the gaps between
perceptions
a million flittering moths
shrinking down to the size
of particle mist, illuminating
and lubricating the gaps between
islands of ideas
and cities of constructs, blinding us,
accepted as reality
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
From a Letter to Reba
Okay
so I'm dying of stress
and lack of cash
and lack of meaningful ass,
while getting too much asshole
around my house,
too much dust and too many piles of stuff
and wanted and unwanted crap,
clutter
and frustration
and creeping desperation,
but at least I have
cool, articulate,
kind-hearted friends
like you
I think of that
and exhale
and smile to myself
and my stomach stops twirling so fast
and I feel glad
Still glad
Still okay
and still so glad
so I'm dying of stress
and lack of cash
and lack of meaningful ass,
while getting too much asshole
around my house,
too much dust and too many piles of stuff
and wanted and unwanted crap,
clutter
and frustration
and creeping desperation,
but at least I have
cool, articulate,
kind-hearted friends
like you
I think of that
and exhale
and smile to myself
and my stomach stops twirling so fast
and I feel glad
Still glad
Still okay
and still so glad
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Written While Driving Toward Roseville on Christmas Eve
Magick
is Time
Defiance
"You don't
like it, but
Hell's home"
A defined
resistance,
Reliance
is Time
Defiance
"You don't
like it, but
Hell's home"
A defined
resistance,
Reliance










