sir william of frisco

walks through haight to pawn his dream
and steal another week
handful of cash to get him back
to chinease food and motel sleep
former days of poverty preparing for the road
in search of ash and diamond he goes sleeveless summer cold

Like Clockwork

Drowning out sounds of broker small talk
same AM radio speach
warming beer perspires
warming neck sweats
scratching at it
dead skin under fingernails
"Those kids don't belong here!
They're breaking windows,
Slithering up beer slick tile...
This place ain't the back of a Chevy"

Stradling half-life
soaking up sunrise temperment
earning their keep running mezo-American fairy tales
they sing of La Chupacabra
they've got revolution in those boots

searchlight reflection off a thousand compact surfaces
slow slow slow progression
somehow there's a dance
and someone falls out of step
that moment is captured in pixels
before the floor gives way
before gravity
but after the last important steps

waking up to roses
guess I slept outside again
The dirt smells like thumb prints
not usually seen by the naked eye
blanket of earth covers me up to my waist
fills my shoes
gets between my toes
leaves me with wiggle room

miles of bridges to burn before i sleep

pure idiocy
stop all that thinking
let the blood flow proper
so many damn words for sympathy
call him frank or geena or little dave
get me outta this train car
heading north for the holidays
think i need a breath of fresh air
bathrobe clad and i'm spoiled from time
every motherfucker has an artistic side
wanna see mine
it's drunk and wandering empty steets with a paper bag over my dick and a chrismas hat on
fucking a light post till i bleed from the anus
wana see more
i got pages and pages i use the best ones to soak up the urine under my chair
staple that to your weekend drive through the way the other half lives
wanna see more
look closer
take a deep breathe and i'll expose him the leper you won't invite in
he lives in my overcoat well under it anyway
you know who i am
where i came from
his name is
still can't look away from the car wreck
your infatuated you wanna see more you wanna see more vultures all of you get the fuck out of this world you don't belong just dropped in for a peek at the underbelly of the boar, covered with scales and skin tags a blister here a callous there
smell the air down here
rabid foam pours and i can't wait for your wife to develop the pictures to make kodak slides and prove to the world that you were really there
in home movie format with the in-laws crashing on the leftover sofa
wanna see more

babble

madness or meloncholy
well lit and old newspaper yellow
grinding teeth and a chalky taste
the way fingers run themselves
over worried knuckles
the empty sound
vibrating at the end of a question
that inhale the sky takes before a sunrise
what disaster that night
and in what sense can the past exist
lunch served on that certain white only dishes possess
all the shapes and textures
which glass seems to take
how smell triggers memories
out of nowhere in a thought stream
not remembering the print on the last page
a car door shuts somewhere outside
neckties and needing a shave

a barroom moment

he was wearing all black again
with some obscure seventies rocker t-shirt
complete with deep eye liner and long hair
so everyone naturally had their preconcieved notions
when he stepped in front of the karaoke screen
the 56 year old lush with her big hair and heavy blush
the young guido in his striped collared shirt
the girls who think to much of themselves and their jobs
the latina bartender
were prepared to ignore
3 to 4 minutes of loud screaming
off key
but all that went haywire
faded as a smile does
when the intro to Prince's "Kiss"
cued up
and in came his unexpected falsetto
and I saw a dark skinned woman begin to dance
and later people got laid in hotel rooms
and beers cracked open in the dark
and the heavens know what happens
in barroom moments

peace

termites keep me company
the last good frineds I've got
we share a meal of splintered oak
and speak of plans to travel

anticipating great disaster

a birds eye view of the world in ruins.stop.i couldn't be happier.stop.
above this little crater that you've built your world around.stop.have you found it yet?stop.that little somthing that makes this worth while?stop.the love the lust the pain and such.stop.oh joy the day is coming where the tumors will all fester to a boil and the truth will be exposed.stop.and i in my recliner.stop.sipping whiskey from an old brown boot.stop. and thinking, hey, this could be the best day of my life.stop.as i put the barrell in my mouth.stop.and hunger for the taste of my own mind.stop.

two images and something about the lighting

pelicans and their shadows
hauntingly like the ghosts of magnets
with the way they trace the surface
as it flexes and bulges
all that gliding
so little distance
a kiss that doesn't happen

naked female lines
an arm obscuring nipples
just enough flesh behind something or other
the framing
of a girl in a doorway
thoughts of entanglement