Tuesday, January 31, 2006

the elephants
of a new era- still
all going home to die
with trunks curled aroun tails

ya see
angels two-steppin on pin heads
never ponder the weight of flesh
and what i wouldn't do
for a sunrise halo
and a flaming sword

years ago

there was a rabid bearded drunk
on a couch passing out pamphlets
and a silent girl hand feeding me fruit

eyes like sink drains
memories, whole seas

but now
afternoon lighting of this place
craving curtains
that aint there

the way shadows crawl inside
eyelids and fingernails
and the sound of the wind

the codein rockabilly and the barroom

sweated out this hawian shirt hangover
sunstruck again in montana
with a madness

another asphalt daydream
poppin the stitches
cranked out rhinocerus by the dozen all afternoon

and then with the frenzied hip movement
and his charicature smile
like bank robber and the drum beat duldrum

damn the electric cello godhead
again with the chocolate ripple tingles
out on a johny rotten tatoo bender

its a toes up undoing
gone with sunburn catastrophe raccoons
undertaking the halo untangling

long road

asphalt bleets starving in the night
would be archangel at the roadside
tolls for the soul in exact change only
out here
all the truckers have halos
all their diesel beasts have horns
only holy tumbleweed have aquired
what these spirits chase
rain drops across windshields and hat brims
the penance of icy fingertips
a cigarette's purgatory
as it freezes in the air
and the rear view window
Budha behind the aviators and jump suit
of every gas jockie

remorse

there will be no forgiveness for myself or the remainder of the Big Five for our transgressions. the gods of this finely ordered universe will have no pity on us. it is one thing for individuals to bask in absurdity on their own, however, it is unforgivable to bring the unwitting with. even satanism and paganism speak to an established system within the confines of a logical cosmos, but we, the Big Five, year after year, have drug countless lost souls into the darkness of Pensylvania's belly to psychologically and spiritually tortured at the hands of all of the demons of madness, and then we've deserted them just after they've been broken by these animistic forces. for you, the most you have to fear is six more weeks of winter, but for myself and the rest of the Big Five, that is only where our troubles begin.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Mondays are great
Full of ideas
and doing nothing

Hoboken

Kicking over open bottles
ready for throat-torn melody
closing doors and listening

Sing for those who drink
their own dreamed prayers
seams fraying, threads untangling

Sing for sawdust on wooden floors
turning red under carelessly
dropped from lips cigarette

Sing for those in full body lust
looking for true moments
tasting frozen seconds like water

If nothing else, sing for me
because my head is spinning
and I"m dying to dance

plate-tectonics

the silhouette of a hill
a river hugging his waist
snow on his shoulders
falling down to her banks

subtle and grand is he
soft and unaware
that the right movements
make great mountains

she is movement
ever flowing
cool and calm
patient at his feet

hills will roll over
and rivers run on
she forever feeds
his roots to grow strong

from gray
rain falls
and washes away
hard remnants
left on shoes
from mud stepped in
while searching for a way
home through the dark

Sainthood

rock-hard jaw
easy eyed smile
a pout
and a contagious laugh
spun off a barstool
into a sly steady strut
in all that worn well leather
hand-me-downs and dreams
with a "fuck it I just live" kind of attitude
arm around the world
a truly beautiful soul
real
in every way

Sunday, January 29, 2006

the refuge if the damned "stick out your tongue"

chewing gum uproots from intended final resting place
to join the traveling circus
getting all too often trampled underfoot as it were
i'm better, he agrees, when i work alone
twist offs and sly cork
divides to conquer lifes little issues
and i'm stone or silhouettes when the rain licks the nape of the neck
curious still passing time reminds
that i'm a victim
just trying not to feel the chains
cold steel and all its empty threats
i could chew through this wrist if need be
just need the vessel to carry me to him
he waits on golden bridge to welcome me home
the wharf and linseed oil
some cobble stones on steepest hills
i'm still running but this chewing gum
a bear trap
turn me loose

Westbound on Route 70, 31 December 2005 10pm

"this road reminds me of leaving my mom..."

Crack addicts in shell stations.
An army of automobiles all turning right
So an empty city can watch the "small" ball drop.
Walking in to an ice age of eyes
Like a movie about a bad party
Or a bad dream
Gaudy white christmas tree and ecstacy
All that's missing is shrimp cocktail and party hats...
nope, got them too

"reminds me of leaving my mom..."

More crack addicts from shell stations hitching rides to Cinnaminson
To meet italian boyfriends with dope
More shrimp cocktail, noise makers
Old men lighting off rockets in the middle of a downtown city block
Just to watch the "small" ball drop
Just because they survived another Three Hundred Sixty Five

"Reminds me of leaving my mom..."

Off The Top of My Head


I stood on the shore and listened to the water splash gently against the broken pieces of concrete that had been placed there by hands that were not my own.
I looked out across a vast landscape of liquid and clouds and thought of all the things that didn't belong to me.
Things that were borrowed or bought, second hand, in an attempt to find an era; a place in time that was not now.
I looked down, through the brackish water and saw pebbles brought down stream with the current.
Where the river meets the bay, that's where you can find me. Locked away in a lonesome floating cottage, child and pen in hand.
Humming a tune that has been stolen from another place in time, a house borrowed, second hand, from an era that is not mine.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

beautiful pieces

cancerous crustations
that require a special comb
glass bottles and the feeling you've offended some one new today
all this sinks so vaguely reminiscent of a time i all but lost
i want to find it in you
then i'll feel again some comfort
just move the first two past the third and the last four i can handle with a bit of this and that, but don't forget the other thing and toronto smells like hockey

string bean casserole
i'll never even paint your picket fence
1954 and the bomb shelter instead of the swimming pool

Easter

thinned by starvation
eyes hollowed
he can taste his ancestors on his teeth
not knowing this is a different world from theirs
from the background
enormous stone heads
haunt the present
his tanned arms
bring down the last tree
the world goes flat

Friday, January 27, 2006

Maladies Of A Mechanical Bull

around the kidneys
side splitting pains
trying to catch a breath
under the weight of your own chest
coughing and seizing
black and blue and burn
head thrown back
like the logic left at home
hold tight to that hat girl
do what you came here for
empty that glass
pull up your feet
ride
and remember to stretch
next time

bottle in brown paper
bag, one more smoke
and I can burn a
hole through this five
dollar bill because
the green is starting
to seem dull under
these lights

just a place to kick the
dust off my boots and
someone's
pockets i can warm my
hands in, to keep the frost from
biting with it's powder
white teeth

Thursday, January 26, 2006

ugly is in the bones

we've got beauty in a bottle for 13.95
apply directly to the skin and hope you come out alive
(you see) we needed a way to dispose of some semi-toxic nuclear waste so we squeezed it into bottles of your precious anti-wrinkle paste

now isn't technology remarkable isn't our company great
isn't technology remarkably raising the cancer rate

so run to your local drug store
you'l find us in aisles 3 or 4
then run to your doctor screaming "how it burns" and "i need more"

now isn't technology remarkable isn't our company great
isn't technology remarkably raising the cancer rate

so if vanitys your weakness then your on our mailing list
we'll send you loads of free samples
just simply scratch and sniff

now isn't technology remarkable isn't our comapny great
there isn't a wallet or bank account that we wouldn't think to rape

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

What do you think.......

"It's all about getting yourself off."

Beautiful Fingers

with her face to the falling rain
to grasp hold of the fleeting truth in his voice
this longing
no words
just play
beautiful fingers
play where your heart belongs
sing to your soul
don’t let the past cloud your skies
don’t let it fall on you
fall with the rain
beautiful fingers
cause you can only get so wet
before you freeze to death
and these hands hold warmth still
he’s so good
and she’s too drunk
beautiful fingers
wrapped around wine
she screams
"I’m trying real hard
not to fall in love with you"
without a lie in her breath
she breaths
and coughs
and falls to her knees
beautiful fingers
are all she sees

burning embers flying
out of car windows
and somehow
fire bouncing
off pavement
brittle
as crumbling bricks

you wanted words

some air dried
fluke of a wall hang
static electric frightening
feet turned blue as
warm seas
you can't sail without
drunken, praying masthead
casting lots for guidance
it's a post-war Chevy
drinking boxcar perspiration
some planks seem steadier than others
grasping gravity off wild love
tell him he's my hero
you son of a bitch

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

full of piss and vinegar

strap me to the hood of your most expensive car
drive like sunlight's running you down
show me your anguish and make me pay dearly for wanting the closeness i sought
gentle on the breaks i want this to last a while
stear clear of semi trucks and make your way home
without

The Voice

The voice started out as a simple tone
Then it ravished into an amazing sound
When the gift finally came
The Voice began to grow
Where it will stop nobody knows
It fell on a man who hangs on the low side of things
Through dark alleys it walks as it began to sing
Then the angels appered in order of importance
Brought to lead the voice and all of its followings
The intrepretation of a universal sound
Some think its crazy
This voice from the ground

tonight
I feel like distance is a sacred word
put on a sweater
lit a cigarette in the cold
and walked out to the street
stared at the tellow lines and telephone poles
till they melted together
up ahead
I thought about all four directions
and Saint Christopher

In the night
remembering where we are
is rock bottom for a shooting star

Monday, January 23, 2006

you wouldn't listen when I tried to help you drive

lost was the day
in dropping off and locking up
the time between closed eyes
and the still of waking up

so we drove
like we knew the roads
just staring straight ahead
the further we got
the farther we were
from where it all began

daydream clouds cause accidents
plowed from left to right
dissecting all the truthful bits
from the mess we made last night

driving on
the way misleads
the moss on trees
tends to deceive
and all those street signs
are cryptic whores

so plug in night-vision
while fleeing from direction
through heart break and back aches
flood water and earthquakes

just drive
forget about fondling insignificance
like the time we crashed the car
recall we nearly killed that officer of law
consider the angel was really his
not ours

Sunday, January 22, 2006

push

tendrils of infected warmth and affliction
knitting my lungs
eyes tired, shoes untied
the eight ball of a game
I attempted to swallow
lodged in the back of my throat

losing face during rush hour
and repetition
I wanted to end it all
but there’s other parties
too deeply involved
to let go
just yet

sifting though names
I came across hers
I had forgotten how good it feels
to remember a friend
who knows

I thank you for the woody flick
no I didn’t go home
cause I often take the long road
so the bottoms of my feet
grow their own
strapless leather shoes

Saturday, January 21, 2006

oh the horror

i keep waking up
oh woe is me
damn this day and all others
wha

Don't be a fool. Stay away.

so studies say
mental illness and love
are one in the same
something about the level of serotonin
love-heavy blood contains
and passion
a disorder
funk on the brain
and that
explains alot

Shakespeare would hate this place

who threw all this mod over Michaleangleo
while royal enghishmen spit wine and espresso at eachother
like wicked children fighting over the bigger stick
queer corpses
living the life of men that make lots of money
and spend it
everyone’s obsessive compulsive when sober
marinating love in the rain
becoming a disorder
and as the dew settles in on the morning
jersey landfills look beautiful through the right sunrise
what a silly thing
left in the night

Friday, January 20, 2006

Can you speak to the west bound wind?
playing gypsy games
forgetting towns with beautiful names

a girl on a front porch
out in the somewheres of America
she tosses stones
traces lines from one star to another
with a straight finger in the air
the breeze catching her scent and her hair

I felt like supermarket music
she was pure headlights
stepping alone into the streets
dramatic lighting of a january 7:00

I wake to the sound of
wind forcing rain unwillingly against glass
cracks of daylight and house settling
rolled over again

her tungsten eyes
in my celefane dreaming
this moon some cowboy
shot in the sky

I've searched thrift store
after thrift store
for a warn in leather hat

tattooed/hands/running/through/hair/
then/stealing/from/wishing/wells/
not/for/the/change/but/for/the/dreams/
drowning/
there

Thursday, January 19, 2006

more words for the hungry to digest and misrepeat
i'm the necktie made of syphilus and the torn skin beneith your feet
just a tactfull reminder that you're all behind these bars
waiting hopeful for the girl who'll let you fuck her in your car
and the springboard to perfection probobly lies when it comes calling
still you pirk your ears despite the nature of the inverse crawling
and i swallow poison daily so i can vomit in your hair
be it ever so humble
home is so damn far from here

3 dollar whore slammed my penis in the door

looking in reflective sheets of ornate glass with perfect frames
i am in love with trying to destroy you
please stop bringing your face around here
we haven't seen eye to eye yet
and it been years of cautious approaching the one you hurt the most
not envy malice peace of mind or fear
could bind our soul
i'm sick of itching and flaking off i'm sick of your control
i know your breath and subtleties i've seen them days on end
you always have the last word between what you call friends
and i'm coming to the apex of this summit in the rain
to deliver you this message don't come near this place again

they're closing my Wawa in 25 days

cocksuckers

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

I collapsed into a pile
of Kennedy half-dollars
and everyones voice sounded like tv
show about the building of Babylon
and the rest of the wasteland
that is long island
and I listened intently
to the shape of the vowels
knew that I'd never get
that beer open
with that spoon
and someone tapped a rhythm
on my belt and I wished I could dance
wait!
don't dry that spill
we may die of thirst

blah blah black sheep holding down the farm

she told me
"don't go in there"
and i listen like a child
wandering deaf through pig and pen to find another out here
but virginia isn't sweet enough
and bourbon kills the pain
i'm lying on the street corner and to myself again
when i say "everythings in order and i'm happy" its in vain
that's when you ought to expect vicious torrents of rain
but the balding eagle tires and the navel piercing soul and the bulls that infest china shops and rugs too thick to roll
there's a place for all us broken
and they check coats at the door
and when I find that little corner
i'll be sure i've got somewhere else to be
and i'll be wearing lengthy coat tails should you want to follow me

Street Sweeper

there’s something so frail in tonight
like a semi-severed fingertip
held on
by a thin layer of skin
or rain under the streetlight
these teeth
they will never feel the same
the artificial fix
only brought more pain
the air is too warm
uneasy and strange
as phantoms pass
through minds
silent, deranged
then a roar
and a rush of wind
as hearts explode
and heads cave in
there’s a lump in your throat
though you know
it’s not cancer
sometimes you dream
that it’d be the answer
you wonder
why it’s hard to think
with a head full of booze
cause you’re drowning
in all
you’ve been trying to lose
washing
dirt floating down
waking, picking up
broken bones from the ground

pick any of 3 directions

my coat's soaked with
the smells and sights of Jersey
and as I lean where a chain link
fence used to be, I notice everyone
who slithers by closes their eyes for a second
breathes a little deeper than usual
and cell phones go silent
and magazine picture designer eye glasses fog up
and Brazilian Eel boots all lose
a little bit of their sheen
so I carve a map in the sidewalk
then fill the lines with sand
and wistle old prison songs
in between keys

still frame, soaked hair still dripping
feeding cats and counting rosery beads
making sure all the mysteries were still there
no motion but electricity crackling across her face
sparks flying off like she was made to explode

i'm open to taking whatever pills you
have in your pocket right now
because that's a gorgeous smile
and I really do wanna think maybe
it was all in my head

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

waking up

sunlight paints itself across the room
in thin strips through the blind
making the wallpaper dance
a brass turtle weight grandfather
picks up the harp
and plays with the sounds
of his children’s children

poetry is the vicks vapo rub of the literary commune

days spent kicking dirt in wonder
polishing bottles off
i don't see every stop sign
or any that say go
we're living in a one room shack now
with bodies built for sound
no dishes no television
just an airmattress we found
he hands me all i ask for and i give him just the same
we've fired all the hired hands
and began excepting blame
through sexless information
and the ticking of the clock
we must have misconstrued the time frame
bewildered by the one called pops
if we all fucked the same way
could there be rationale
the fire fighters long since gone to bed
and the lovers went to hell
portabella and a stingray
an alchemist named charles right
will try their best now to convince you
its okay to sleep at night
but i can't be sure of your faces
when the sun is full of shit
so the moon it true convincing me
that there's more out there that fit

Itch

decaf coffee
burnt almonds
sandpaper on the soul

electric gods stumble over the smoking ruble of a barroom mythos, poking it for any sparks left of life. the parasitic cannibals hiding fast in the larger remnants of their flesh based world. strange noises echo out from the smoking bowels of the desicated earth, perhaps a death rattle. the dawn comming on slower in these later days as if hope itself had died. shockwaves and mortat fire reverberate in the abscence of morning dew. the smaller children finally realize that their bed sheets won't successfully protect them from all the evils that don't exist.

bandsticker collage

kill your idols
cuz they're worthless
here at the casino royale
you know its a one way road
as yer just cultivating your own grave
last week
we were shooting casanovacaine
to each his own, i guess
and then Sheila, the divine
out of no where
its a mighty purple soul sauce
they're serving at the lawn bar
with a holy backhand
into the big sky
with clever hands
we were bloodshot
all at random
with the symptoms

stupid freeway lotto numbers

i've killed more than i can eat
and the ground opens up to accept me
bob holds knowledge that few men can
and he whispers gently to the inner ear
so i've forced myself to sleep here
just to wake up in your world
and i'm tired darling tired of leaving
there's a door way in the back where a hammock is displayed
the guitars are always somber and the music lets me play
but i'm growing awful weary of this lonesome bitter feeling
can you spare your sullen neighbor some blood
the ice is overwhelming and i'm dehydrated from telling
all the boys that i love the place
so go to sleep ye powerful abundant lip-readering fools
its a far better fate to be nightmared awake
than to spend your whole life in borrowed r.e.m.

i sing when i piss

Hey man, oh leave me alone you know
Hey man, oh Henry, get off the phone, I gotta
Hey man, I gotta straighten my face
This mellow thighed chick just put my spine out of place
Hey man, my schooldays insane
Hey man, my work's down the drain
Hey man, well she's a total blam-blam
She said she had to squeeze it but she... then she...
(CHORUS)
Oh don't lean on me man, cause you can't afford the ticket
I'm back on Suffragette City
Oh don't lean on me man
Cause you ain't got time to check it
You know my Suffragette City
Is outta sight...she's all right
Hey man, Henry, don't be unkind, go away
Hey man, I can't take you this time, no way
Hey man, droogie don't crash here
There's only room for one and here she comes, here she comes
CHORUS
Oh hit me!
CHORUS
A Suffragette City, a Suffragette City
I'm back on Suffragette City, I'm back on Suffragette City
Ooo, Sufraggete city, ooo, Suffragette City
Oooh-how, Sufragette City, oooh-how, Sufragette City, oooh-how
Sufragette
Ohhh, Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am!
A Suffragette City, a Suffragette City
Quite all right
A Suffragette City
Too fine
A Suffragette City, ooh, a Sufragette City
Oh, my Sufragette City, oh my Suffragette City
Oh, Suffragette
Suffragette!

Monday, January 16, 2006

i don't know you but your dress would fit me

picture.....

black backdrop and caustic white ceilings
dripping life from the bowels of misinformation
step back to find the pile of children's shoes all marked ked
and find a man playing a piano constructed of bones and veins and skin flakes
the wires are fine silk
and from the hallway to the fire place you can watch them force a dance from the entangled
i don't want it
i don't need it
but if we both know that our words shrink wrapped in subtleties
hold more than an ounce of truth
then imagination is no longer alone
and if in assumption i've crossed the wrong wires then
cut all but the blue one of the whole place could blow

from the desk of the Break competition

a letter of accomplishment
a musical abomination
we created
this aggression will not stand
i don't belong on your radio
it's dials all move seamless from one cold refrain to the next
i'm glad you have your standards
but we bleed through bandages marked standard


"Hey Dustin,I'm writing to let you know that it's still a no on the upcoming Break competition. As much as I really enjoyed your songs and your set you guys really are just too different and I feel it would be unfair for you guys to perform to rather "modern" biased judges. Keep it up, you guys are good....it's just not what we're looking for.Thank you for your interest and we hope to see you there anyway!-Dan"

lipstick is ugly

what a beautiful explosion
its not true i don't hate all of this
just the part where all the peices should've fit
but i don't mind the company on those days where all is nothing and i just keep digging
for a scrap of i could be wrong
but the reverie of bar rooms past
casts a glow across the flawless night
and if i never swallowed all that glass
we would have missed the point

the seconds we spent

your face darling dear
is losing it’s clear
mark on my mind
and fragments of photos
can’t hold your beauty still

silly in thought
and immature want
distracting this time
wilting neoteric names into antiques
not making the call

flip fucking the day
in an old-fashion way
wanting to chime
like the bell around your neck
that I’m stuck on

can I stay this way for you
would you expect me to
should I keep drinking our red wine
or neglect a good idea
and let it fade away

living clay
hungry from birth RNA

open to climb to starlight
breathe 1's and 0's
digital gaslight
knead your melted heroes

Sunday, January 15, 2006

stained glass smiles and the women who lovet hem

when was the last time you fell to the ground in agony
your ear to the tracks in hope of a rattle
the truth is you must leave to find yourself
be it hip deep in snow or waste deep in love it finds you creeping along the side of the free-way interchange, wasting daylight with a thumb in the air and a bag on your back
she stopped a 4:30 on a saturday..the cold was astounding
she loved me for hours
roadside atrraction through fog filled windows, her name was...beautiful i'm sure
the flat tire abandonment and i must be going theres a place over looking the bay i must get to
thanks for the sympathy the love and the burbon i'm wondering should i have called you again.

after the film on exorcism
and consulting the I Ching
I think,
"if yer out there
thanx fer beauty
be it ever so strange
it couldn't be any other way"
and then I remeber the bright eyed girl
passing the glass pipe across the room
smoke rising in little wisps

hands trembling against the wheel
from mysticalHawian coffee beans
I see the ghosts
that the snow and wind leave
to wander the roads
in all their yellow glow

tonight the snow played cricket violin

over-stuffed situations
crazy cats
and misinterpretations
energy absorption
spreading thin
weak with wine
Smiths and red heads
tabbing
on Saturday night's time

portraits of
introductions rung
over
and over
ears of grade school ghosts
glad
glad she left
with bitch on her tongue

co-working
music men
sulking in loss
afraid of committing
to the kids
and their costs

rock stars and ravens and rain men and rot
walking straight into the beat of free thought
framework and wellness and friends free of want
all in need of a soul they can taunt

it’s good for us both
that we stay where we are
cause the chaos we’d bring
would travel too far
and as frogs we will leap
from glass to glass jar
fucking eachother
in a game under par

i don't recognize this place
the walls have all been painted or moved
the pictures hanging don't hold a sentimental secret
no memories of happiness here
just a tired old shell that protects the skeletal structure
and i'm finding it harder than usual to turn my head and cough

Saturday, January 14, 2006

lightning storms
in january
friday the 13th
bourbon and birthday cake

think i better knock
on wood

lalalalala
old time reunion in the vestibule of ignorance
lets try this time to be honest when we suffocate
I hadn't the time to
find what became of
this old fashioned chamber of the mindfucking mouthful

lets all build glass houses
and stand naked protected
in the knowledge that all of the boulders
have been thrown
and technical lovers who learned from a handbook
will dying knowing not what I feel

and she said....

procedure,
ritual, want lust and heat love,
chemical equations,
spell check the flawless fakes
if I can’t use it there
I might as well make it work otherwise

there’s too much alcohol in all of this
my face is a mess and my arms long for bliss
I can’t even feel the best friend on my lap
and we’re sad when we kiss
and we cry after sex
or for the thought of it

I fell chest first into these needles
and slight of mind
not noticing your fragile hand within mine
and I’ll weep on your shoulder
and we’ll pretend
that we’re nothing more
than just two drunk friends

the enlightenment of a back seat

Haggard and pointless in the grand scheme of love she's a loud kind who hides behind pretty words
have you seen the latest, I'm bitter and angry but the teeth marks all prove that its working
take a hammer to the glass coffins and the steel that keeps us all reserved
I'm another poor kid with the wrong kind of career to elicit the throb and the thrust of that one

Friday, January 13, 2006

neil young owns llamas

Foraging for berries i found a note attached to a hand that use top hold the children of its previous owner. she was beautiful, i can tell by the nail polish...lets have a drink...make love in the grass and i'll tell you where i found the rest of her

friends don't let friends watch friends

i know...
don't you ?
oh no?
wouldn't you like to?
come on...
it's easier than you think...
why not?
so then don't...
you could...
i don't care...
what he said to you before...
tonight is growing many legs...
forget?
not a chance...
just given this new...
oh, you do?
well it's been nice...
talking to myself...
but now i'd better...
yeah,
you too...
lat..

Squalid

Rebound above life
For two years he sliced his brain
He was pretty so she picked him
Party crashers
Punk thrashers
Wrist slashers
Pull-out couch commitment signed in bourbon
The bottle brought the problem but he's the wild turkey
Everyone promised a green rugby shirt salvation
Redemption
Servile spit minglers grovel at black feet
Stick out your chin and grab your crotch
Succulent Muscle shows heat the bathroom porcelain
Prude little communist Disney prick kills the porch light
The bulb with his head

The pigs

The pigs wash thier suits in thier food
we live for our last moment
trying to live without thumbs
calling everyone on thier bluff
taking attention away from ours
in our flashy cars
smoking pricey cigars
when we were kids we wanted to be rock stars
now we're just trying to look best in bars
trying to call equals slaves and better ones worms
trying to pull diamonds from ground chuck
trying to die in glamour with the most populated funeral
glow sticks
slow chicks
pull the pick-up lines from the last decade
we're phantoms with no chains to rattle
we're urban myths that no one believes
celebrity cardboard cut-outs
now a mirror holds you and your devilish smile.
Who else will?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

unfulfilled

all those times we passed in the night
like missed high fives
all those times we thought, "next time"
like cats with nine lives

but tonight in the sunset
of a holiday season
you were there in the diner
with stop light hair
and the ink crawling up your arm

and way back then
the people we were
would hold a stare
but never whisper thoughts

wondering what we'd look like
with your olive skin and my long hair
tangled in bed sheets asleep

Staten Island
shakes itself alive
in a damp morning fog
cars with noisy brakes
rolling down the streets
of tightly packed houses

sometimes fog at night
settling over traffic lights
before setting in totally
the rouge on the sky
making it seem like heaven
or some other place
starts so close

in mornings
i'm stained glass,
fracturing

seeing myself in bleery eyed
reflections on storefronts
up and down empty streets

stunning on Christmas eve
in the booth next to me
wearing that floppy skullcap
and when I told her what I thought
-lucky enough to have seen those eyes

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Before all the structure
Whole souls were split in two
Then there’s searching and space-fillers
And a tiny amount of time
A few well maintained drinks
Sipped casually
On the crest of life

jack horner self love in the corner jackoff the musical

don't touch that dial
she said with a smile
the action starts
the moment you look away
theres nothing to see
beneath the eye lids
so waste your time sleeping in
i'm just destroying everything i've grown to love
ruins stand beyond the the ignorance personified
the time to burn you favorite bridges has come
and in the end if you see an old friend
you'll be wise enough to throw yourself under the wheels
baby baby why can't we set fire to the land stretched out ahead
theres no sense in trying if you know that you can't breathe
but swallowing charcoal kind of helps with this disease....i don't know why
i never see it coming
but i'm partial to drinking gasoline
that might explain it
just the other day i can't remember but i think that it was
oh yeah the silhouette is shouting ambivalence in the corners of the mouth
collecting the folly of us all

and i found some driftwood and an old box of matches to start the ball a rolling home...

Monday, January 09, 2006

early a.m. freeway recollection

Drive across the towns that separate memories from experience
wondering where thoughts are hidden
its been two long years without food or water
not so much as a crust of bread
but I'm finally beautiful again
and as the remnants of this terrible body crumble away
revealing magazine perfection the one consistent thought
I'll look damn good at my wake
this sequence of numbers arranged by location and memorized by the understanding and appreciative
souls don't stir unless provoked
and you've been jabbing a stick in my cage for sometime now
the bathroom lunatics all line up for special favors but I've never enjoyed the touch of cold porcelain
tie me to a railroad track I'll rescue myself
let down my golden hair
and spin straw into gold if you can guess the name
then Bo Peep gets her sheep back
I'll be walking shallow beaches waiting for the call

nesting in an aviary
bathing with the crows and pheasants
mastering the art of flight
controlled within your presence

its better to know I'm almost sure of it now
but I can't read binary nor do I understand the complexities of Morse code
so I'll be here waiting for engraved invitations
to the land of comprehension in the suburb of explanation
(fuck a ryhmme scheme, i'm a poet...you dick)

there’s an addicted head banging reverend with worlds in his pockets in one ear
a sudo mountain moving lsd enlisted sword wielding samurai in the other
and a tiny naked white bird barely hovering over the dark water in-between
trying to hold it together with a wet piece of dental floss

like the taste of a sick carnival
rainclouds bored with belligerence
frantic black beauty housewives
in need of relieving disgorge

Sunday, January 08, 2006

peace love lust and madness

i've got too much disease
i think
as the afternoon sets in
if the world keeps turning this way
then i think i may turn in
for a night without the tourment
and the bitter wreched taste
and i've broken every mirror
having memorized my face

so the tank is always full if there's a syphin in your mind
to soak up till the overflow starts touching other lives
and the fragrent personalities all strangling the bored
promoting golden copulations in the streets and on the floors

come again and call my name and i'll be wrestling the breeze
theres a bold new way to fuck yourself
but its terror on the knees
and now the barriers are cracking
and its time to vomit life
and no amount of sullen fingers could begin to plug the dykes...

peace love lust and madness
taking to the streets
a carnival on ever corner
and a new world at your feet
we watch the tides all turn and we're reaping
what you've sewn
but tommorrow the old world is being crushed
to build new home

new hope letters

how do you feel
after all the ink and paper you ate
the blue dripping from the corners of your lips
running down your chin
pooling

how many letters will it take
all the time spent upset about the rain
the shine in your eyes was traded in for a
black tar fall and
glaze

how people often ask
where you are and if you’re well
I just stand there with a broken smile
and for you I
lie

how long is this hurt
memories are hard to burn
and all the ashes make such a mess
of distant dust and
rust

how I hold onto hope
that you will find your way
the long lost face of a friend I had
before the brainwashing
war

Yellow Light- Stop

For so so long these eyes have been burning -engraved on her back.
Every smile, every frown, every detail without fail.
The long perfect haul of nothing that was ever simple.
She wrote it in the sand hoping not just anyone would find.
And the days go by without this release she's known so well through the years
Hysteria is in full throttle, insanity in closer.
The tears roll faster than she had expected-damn this addiction-damn your eyes
Night had come and she had left the day........ drowning .

Saturday, January 07, 2006

magnetic energy flowing between
the realities they've sold you
and the world of your dreams

newspaper poncho
four star cardboard
dumpster debutante
handing out cash awards

i'm on neptune reading the post
drinking sewage and surrendering to caustic blush and love

today is the first day of the rest of the weekend

There's a witch doctor handing out information on viargra and a beautiful orgy of thought and madness culminating under the burnt auburn night sky i don't wanna be here anymore, well stay a little while till the drugs kick in and then magic baby, magic

the tides change so irrevocably and the days grow short leaving way for nights subtle and lasting embrace...the photographer meets you for still framed enlightenment out under the willow tree that weeps for you sullen

fresh picked prostitution in the produce isle of your lonesome heart her name was happiness, she cost a bundle, but for that time old adages were useless...

tip toe dance feet naked nest tomorrow sway the electricity in the air is like humping the big bang till your technicolor climax paints the inside of your levis to be displayed and scratch and sniffed for generations to cum.

utilize a little of this

there's a tempting spoon
drizziling traces of coffee
over curled up orange peels
like dirt stains on old maps
I'm tracing a path out of town
with the chewed off nail
on my index finger

you can't reproduce that with
a handed down atlas
it won't have the same choice of roads
and some of those bridges were burnt
a long time ago

runway lights that snake their way
through untamed cajun swamp
getting hidden in the fog
candle lights or traffic lights
the only lights
that cut through those blinds
onto faded, stripped, hardwood floor
and those shoes resting gently on mine

when theres next low tide
and all the tourist boats are stranded
lets light fireworks at them
lets see if "women and children first"
still applies after Golfers Quarterly
picked those bones clean

old men smile if you have
the right facial hair
they remember what scars
can be hidden underneath
they go back to chewing dominoes
till they're spitting blood again
and we toast with them in Spanish
"to aficion"

red sky at morning

I wonder if there’s
enough tension left
in this worn out guitar string

I wonder how tired
de-caffeine can make you

I wonder if clocks
in the southern hemisphere
move counter clockwise

I wonder if I'll ever
learn the right way
to drink rum again

I wonder if catapults
might be efficient forms
of mass transportation

spoken like a true weatherman
when he said “fuck precipitation
you ain’t gonna melt”

Friday, January 06, 2006

so i had a feeling

velvet sidewalks, and i can finally sleep again
along side the east river with my boots on

borrowed beer and too cool evening
the sun will take the taste buds from your ever wagging tongue

freight rust and ruin
the dead skin reminds me
there's so many things i can't share with you

i just had an enema
the tooth paste like ky made way for an interview of televised proportions

can i lay here tonight and be warm on my own

i use to belong to myself as it were

just take this hand
its covered in blood and asking everyone to dance
i wanna feel your bite in my eyelids

my one phone call

there’s a stain on my hand
and a ring on every finger
a sad serpent
under eye-liner love
pregnant minds reading
red bottled time
with static gypsies
and a voice rose high above it all
we put ourselves in places like this
in the key of "e"
minor
just a bail of hay my friends
and a ball of chicken wire
for your hand on my back
to shut up a dancing fool
she laid out my cards
"court dates and cavities"
near future
darling

Solipsism

putrid Singapore
best dressed vanity
i'm a secret bag of explosive shoes

tell me i'm pretty
touch my luscious eyebrow the land before you lays barren and the wind

oh did i tell you that i have too many teeth
its not as uncommon as you would think
i just know that i chew my own lips when i'm making a point

a dream i thought i had until i fell asleep

feel the thunder from my throat
taste the passion on my lips and know that i am eviscerated
shreds can be found down 1-95 for states to come

just wipe your feet when you enter any of the many cars that have no doubt picked up at the very least my scent

i, like you, use to be too callous
but I found a loophole

i don't breath or sleep or bathe or eat, just smoke and swallow.
what?
its really up to you

Thursday, January 05, 2006

spitting distance

why does your face get more burnt
those lines getting deeper
every time you slip into
that leather seat
El Camino
you're wasting away
to bones and malboros
while the glint of that cars
ferocious paint job
seems to drown out all other light
leaving the rest of us
just constelations hidden
in noon-day sky

She cried, "Jesus save me!" but he obviously didn't
And everything was locked together in one
Perfect
Direct
Awful moment
No guns or knives or brutal threats swam in the pool where this vicious danger hit so many faces at once
Some colonel tracked her steps
Lead his men to her stomping ground
Laid the bait
She tickled the street with her long 1970's retro steps
Grabbed some torn newspaper clippings in her fists
Stumbling now
Mumbling now
Crumbling down Patterson ballcourts for lock jaw flesh flashes
This was new ground for a lost little woman wizard
A precious dirty royalty
A secret vagrant miracle
Pungent lust fumes capture her neon senses
Pidgeon wing backbeats tamper the symphony relentless
The colonel tires of waiting
The men mask mutiny in brilliant optimistic break dance
We fall to glass ridden roadways to collect pocket fodder
We dial numbers in our heads for the second to second last chance
We reach to frail branches called fashion for a high step itinerary
We all collapse

restless traveler weary mind

every time the wood swells
i think of the sunset i missed
the genuine article escaped my line of sight when nature called to me
the mountain side and beautiful
i can't regret a thing
to sleep under stars in perfect arms the world could fall victim to me not giving a damn

volcanic ash
the time well spent digging for the answers
brooks was here and so was red

busy living busy dying
some get colder
some paroled

rehabilitated
sonny
i don't even know what that means

i know what you think it means

the sisters and andy danced countless regretful
the bull and his china shop a portable hell

Zihuatanejo

i hope

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Camera Obscura

I'm no saint.
It kills me to find
what your old comrades truly are

the insecure
the wench
the bastard
the whore
the ignorant
the complacent

young eyes obscure the truth.
rings around your eyes count the lost ones...
marking the skewed conjurings...
the burnt out relics.

there is something...
something you forgot to tell me.
I try to find it in my heart...
try to find it in you

You give me nothing to work with.
I search for my happiness...
searching my existence...
I see it relies on all of you

kiss me ginsberg with feeling

rabbit is that you?
they've come for us all.
one by one in rows of 10 they'll find you.
frittering away, working countless hours towards what?
15 cents and a christmas bonus that'll really keep you slaving away.
poor towns folk, no need for the mammals in the automated assembly line.
you know what they make in there?
soldiers and body bags, one of each for each of you who disagree.

have you ever seen the place where doubt is an unwelcome fiend that burns desires from man?
its just past that podium where they hand you your walking papers.
exchange paper hat for helmet and nylon gown for m-16

survivors not accepted here.
the weak are the easiest puddy to form fire and glaze.
no air bubbles showing shoddy craftsmanship, just a uniform design and a stamp
"made in america, by subcontractors outside Guatemala"

so much blood and motor oil
turns the wheels of war machines
this factory produces corpses at a rate not yet defined.

america inc.

your products always sold much better when made in taiwan

miniature flags hand woven from burlap and sycamore
the glue that keeps us running in circles after the dream you televised was promised as achievable and dolled up before greenscreen to look desirable

a mass grave america, i'm not sure i belong
the factory stench of old friends and loved ones
my sinus infection blocks none of the fumes

are you listening, do you hear the flesh boil, the bones snap?
can i borrow a cup of sugar before the late show reveals the first bit of real truth in days?
napalm and new clear visions of a world without flesh

tell of your plans to rid the world of obsolete pieces of a burnt out puzzle, like life liberty and the pursuit of happiness

the stroller was melted to the sidewalk, just an infant
another with one eye now and still able to see what we all miss behind thinly veiled slight of hand

america inc., your only problem is a lack of solutions, but the world is getting crowded

take the rivers and lakes and mountains
take the grass and melt it down
every sapling is another potential reminder of a brighter yesterday

now under the desks children, Formica was designed by nasa to withstand a nuclear holocaust
don't be frightened there will be others to take your place

i miss the smell of soil and cigarette smoke, the dust flaking off my tattered clothes as i wander through freight yards in search of a cure for this cancer
america inc. the gay ole carcinogen
fly your flag of misery
at half mast
your fathers dream was buried alive

incisor

the cold hands of 4 am straphangers
bang gentle against iced glass
one eye bloodshot
waits for silence
before accepting your minds hallucinations
i fear nothing in my paranoia
just anticipation of the spine snapping
or the heart attack strap-on
sneaking extra sauce behind all of our collective backs

The Perfect Solution

Mirror Mirror on the wall
Who is the most perfect of all

In order to find the perfect solution
Look in the mirror









To find perfection
Is to provide perfection for thee

the 16 in us all

you smell like booze and an awkward morning after omelette
throw me the Choxie and unmentionable phone conversations
the flirt stops here!
there's a greater papillon than the one you know
waiting to land on you untamed hand
sixty two years demand kisses with mulders in speedos
and all those files marked 'X'
your band name's horrific but I'll tell you it's terrific
because you're my friend and you buy me camouflage trench coats

dusk rides

I would like to ride this train
just a while longer
to get to know your pain
stealing glances at your gothic absurdity
through reflected window stains

there's an old man
not afraid
to ask you for a pen
but your lined eyes
they are
so afraid of him

vous vampire
L'aide font une différence

As mothers shuffle their children by
with protective haste
in fear that you may snatch away
their undeniable grace

It's beautiful how effrayé
is the human race

The Perfect Heart

The perfect heart
Is perfectly real
It might not be what it seems

To seek perfection
Is to seek for yourself
And tuck it away in your heart
To carry it around
Where ever you go
Collecting perfection with every breathe
You'll find it all over
That perfect for you
It'll never be perfect for me

People are different
No matter what you think
Tomato, tomato, hazel and green
You'll never find harmony
You'll never find love
You'll never find that perfect for me

Bluebirds and bluejeans
The Devil in Red
The God that's perfect for me
Quazars and quackers
Queens in the street
Questions that poeple ask me
Through the window
The scattering light
The show that is put on for me
Special assignments
Spectacular shows
Sure beats the hell out of me
Peanut butter passion
Plenty of sun
Pleads that i hear in my sleep
Eighty Eight Miles
Evenly acroos
Ending when ever I please
Riding the wave
Right out of town
Really seems good for me
Finding that someone
Feeling that need
Falls short of what I want for me
Ever searching
Enter the earth
Exit with good thoughts of me
Cautiously warning
Clowns on the corner
Can anyone understand me
Through secret I speak
To all who will lesten
The first time you ever meet me
I might not be perfect
Except to myself
I'm made of whats perfect for me
Over the hills
And into my arms
Comes everything I want to be

The Perfect Crime

Perfection is illusion
Perfection is real
Perfection is in the eye of the beholder

No one is perfect
Everyone is perfect
Everyone wants someone that is perfect

Perfection is in sight
Perfection is in mind
Perfection is in heart

If I'm not perfect
If you're not perfect
How do we know what is perfect

Elvis ain't gonna catch up to me this year

midnight with the cats and blackened skylights
then sharing war stories with
angry old colonels showing off their scars
what can be done with a 3 ft. wrecking bar

reveling in whatever's sticking me
to that floor
between layers of ash and tar
and auld lang signs across the bar
no resolutions made
none broken

everyone is waiting for a new dealer
and a fresh cut of the deck
I can't hear myself think
over sound of thin, wild Mercury
I'm either dancing or stumbling
either way, please catch me

having trouble with doors, hinges
and there's no better sight
than the flames of sun up
drowned in cold Comfort
and Nowhere in the distance

thinks he's got it all up on me
because he listened to Tom Waits
while they tatooed his neck
with colors designed to fade in a week

wants to beat up a retarted kid,
fuck the fat chick from Hot Topic,
use words he stole from
adjacent table almost like
it was his native tounge

I've heard it all before
and better men than you
have shat in my coffee

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

opium is coffee in rewind

oh fuck
what kind of place is this you created
the walls actually bleed
there's wax building in the eve of the ceiling and the rotten wood smell reminds me of my last encounter with the television

the words that i have here
they wont come to account for me
when i sit calm and translucent behind bars
i got a finger on the pulse of the next times

feeling that low is really the high point
for those who couldn't handle the idea of death as an art form
you know the soft hearted who save the last bite of everything to cherish later in the taxi towards the tunnel

bite hard
those teeth are amazing
and i still can't feel all of my finger tip baby
stomach churns and turns the world an ugly purple hue
i miss the old times that haven't really aged
just sort of shuffled off with out

time to make the doughnuts
slaughter your innocent before the bed time story
its so much more dramatic to read the new harry beanbag book to a house full of recurring nightmares that your parents had stuffed behind the tv stand

opium is coffee in rewind

none of the usual retoric will do

i spent a few hours cleaning up
before killing a book that i will morn the death of
alone in a place i can't identify with
and its too damn cold for the rain season

high paced and manical was the only way to make it home
from the middle of the woods with no protection from the elements
at least as far as my windsheild was concerned

at eleven pm in a town full of past prime sinatraites
there were few who dared brave these caustic highways

the oncoming lights danced electric on the rain soaked glass
like so much glitter strewn about the floor the morning after

Monday, January 02, 2006

one fat tuesday

"yo preacher man"
"yo sinner"
and in the dark
tits were flashed
and bricks were thrown
and the someday long haired rocker
explained to the prophet
all the saving graces
of lust

these are NOT my words, but thery're just too good.....

Birds make great sky- Circles of thier freedom.

How do they learn that?

They fall, and in falling, they are given wings.

i'm biting nails...they're not my own

we're shooting down familiar roads
to fast to sleep in this damp fog
i'm out loud wondering where we've been and going
and they all trust me with their shoes

don't fall asleep resume control
these mountains hold a secret baby
tell me again in that faint indigenous whisper how the sky made us and we it then

feed me roadside attractions while i'm on my scabbed knees
in filthy rags that stink of paradise

there's a hole we haven't traversed yet
and a forrest of decay at every off ramp
i've eaten crow in many states
but this one has a funny aftertaste of soul food in the evening dew

i'm not coming home
i'm leaving you
to ruin and abysmal calm
but the way the papers screw things up
it was always your intention

now in misery the best days of my life are underway
there's too much to see and we only have two eyes
like a sad sadistic trick played out through fallible love and conception of us little ones
amazed at first at the vibrant colors on the clorox bleach bottle
and then in the years to come not being sure what to take in first or last or during mid meal snacks just before the filling station has run out of things to promise you
there it is a trail of tears
i put my tongue to the ground to taste the native salt
and weep a little as the surrounding inhabitants never seem to notice
that sloppy bit of blood on their hands

dear friend i missed your latest departure and i can't remember what you said the last time we made love

there’s a girl
missin a boy
who belongs to music and Memphis
and he’s leavin her for parts of New York

sorrow and bitter winds
in the distance between
and a sad song
on the tip of her tongue

he’ll learn
and play to the world
with a voice that throws away dooming clouds
fingering strings that make angels cry sweet canola oil

she wants to think about making him home
about a butterfly that hangs up it’s wings
how her heart will break for him
and the underlying voodoo living in those Memphis walls

he loves the pins in her pockets
her reckless class and the color of her hair
she loves his music meditation
neck ties and fairy tales

she’ll wait around
for him to leave
and if he’s smart
he will

she can only wish for a wisper
in the back of his mind
years from now
backstage
after the after party

sometimes I remember

last night
with the beer and wine glasses
splade out like game pieces
and all these cameos
from memories and photo albums

I thought about Kristen
and her freckles and the way
she listened to Van Morrison on the floor
how mad I was for her
all that pot I smoked
before we made out in the sand
and the one sunrise

state of things

coffee stains and christmas cards
I'm dreaming of highways
running away with me
women's eyes and all the things they make me think about
sex and car crashes
windows fog over and over in a mans life

the great american novel
and the human condition
play dominos and drink strong black coffee
to these same slow songs with drawn out words

Sunday, January 01, 2006

New Year's like Reincarnation

John: Why are you wearing all black?
Steve: I'm morning the old year.

notes from Colombia

montserre looming in the background

all the writers I enjoy
with the flavors and scents of travel
in their sentences

Bogotta spilling out
run on sentence to the horizon

on calle 15 there's a bearded man
and the stray dog company he keeps

olive complexions and dark hair

the squealing of the pulleys
on the rising cablecars

latic churches
and clay roof tiles
white plaster

Bogota, altitude sickness, beers again, guard dogs, glass cemented to the tops of walls, the color of these girls skin, leather and wicker, reflections in airport bathrooms, coffee

the concern with appearance
in these girls cheeks
a child tries to sell
me something on the street
following and mumbling spanish
quickly

the awkwardness
of a Dunkin Donuts coffee
in my hands
down calle 84

I expected another Lima
and horror story fear
but the high rises
and malls and designer
jeans had more of
New Yoek to whisper

in Bogota
the mountains
are to the East

the train,
then following Jesus' suffering
to the summit

behind the alter
a powerful sculpture
Jesus half nailed
you could make out
the deep cuts
left by the flail

Latin Americans
place huge
monuments to faith
on their mountains
enough to compel belief
in moments

a white plaster church
above Bogota
a room of thank yous
for practical miracles
like operations and visas

courting another piece of the Pan American highway
taking it under the Devil's Nose

and there we were
drunk in a Columbia
and cousins or sisters
drinking beers
marked with bulls or eagles
eating half cooked
hamburgers
dancing salsa
and I never even
saw the stars
but I did dance
and speak spanish
and dream at night

bedside minutes
in between
collecting bits of my head
with the South American morning
whirling around me
and the aroma of coffee and rolled r's

on the back of the one thousand peso bill
Jorge claiming,
"I am not a man, I am a town"
and I guess we all are

my sister
the phrase so strange
in long slow besos
with a latin man
techno and salsa
agua diente and cigarillos

traveling
and the way it resurrects
a memory of all five senses

getting lost somewhere over the world
paradise islands
out windows
and no way of knowing
any way back
the pilot reassuring
he'll try to find "smooth air"

with my hand in the curve
of a creme skinned woman's torso
swaying to merengue

strange beauty
the wonder and awe
and the wide eyes

strange
I still taste
the revolutions and gold
in my cigarette inhales

swarming street vendors
the way they stop and stare
at gringos
or my hair
automatic weapons
offers of cocaine
the dust
and the horse drawn wagons
the way Bogotta
stretches out
spilled water in the night

their spanish-
so rapid
their movements-
so calm

a war between the social classes new years eve '05

jack daniels
and hardwood floors
drums that seem to defy gravity
the tribal dancing of the last true hero
as thunder roared from the fingers of a madman
there are many punishments not to be taken lightly
the list goes in order of severity
death
dismemberment
and seven hours in the snakepit for lying

a cigarette burn in the shirt sleeve of your mothers new best friend
i'm tying one on
and i'm bleeding again
just smile wide for the camera
and open the way
for the man who shot the man who shot
jfk