same same
goes the weary nerve twirler
the brokedown reader
at the side of the road with no tale to make go
the old bonemobile
shimmy shimmy shiv
what up as you tumble dopily down the mountains?
i make a lot of noise
to scare off the silence
which works in stints
spurts
but the silence always comes back with more to say
my soul screams uncle
but doesn’t mean family
i drink i can
i build a kingdom on quicksand
i set myself up to fail
because it is easy and inevitable
sopping slurry
tomorrow is some day i have already pawned off
rock up
guillotine shave
souvenirs plump with pain
meaning to say scratch
tumble back into me
rose of jericho
kidless
kidding still
theres a flower around here somewhere
take a part
rebuild
if god wanted it done differently
hed have unleashed something else
diddling
and
doodling
noodling
and
self-canoodling
in the paperback garage
slob monster from the slabland
single me out
ruffian around the edges
pork barrel shotgun
to the hungry munchkins chin chin
give it all
the sky is falling on a planet falling through
some kids D-graded diorama
cutting coupons in the garden of eden
somebody once told me that the key to happiness
is a skeleton key
and that the door opens on the room you just came from
but they were trying
and they wrote on off-brand spanish flypaper
say say see see
the missus-try
galavants in happenstance
fornicates in discount forgery
but then again
reincarnates as squealing spam
poetricious
upstop
catatonic midday sun
winks at loaf
my fingers glaze over
temper
find the core and
life no ferris wheel
says those that don’t have exit ticket
try before you bye
skim the rim of the whim
the greasy reaper steels itself for
another fuckfeast
productivity is the key to happiness
said the epileptic storm effrontery
peel off pee stained pants
and roll in sand catching hermit crabs
said the stars i read in the horoscalp.
no matter how hard i try
i cant take it easy
fleeceburger with blue cheese
cue cool music
and make it all make sense
to the uncouth
there is no fix
to immortalize
a goddamned thing
what is forgotten was forgettable
save or slave
you cant ride every wave
i write for a posthumous audience
not because im misunderstood up
but because i can't write and pimp
ahhh
excuses are like assholes
they have outs too
i lied
i write for a very exclusive audience
an audience of one
me?
no.
for god who likes to see me dance my finger jig
on this here keyboard dance floor
the pinchpenny don’t show much in what be gratitude or dinero
but does throw me a middle finger salute
when he wants i pick up the tempo
at least he aint fooled us about who is who
small consolation while you’re still stuck in the micro
pump more booze in me
like quarters a jukebox
that exhaled a premature sigh at last call
but then got rocked by the afterhours staff
needing a little after hours shower
wring me out good and bone dry
because marrow makes a mighty butter
and then throw my bones to the dogs
make paper airplanes from my poems
and kamikaze them into a fireplace
if they are worthy of the paper they are printed on
then they will drift up to their reckless maker
i have gone and said me writer
so long
i have believed it
and must live it
as this scoundrel identity
is now second skin
hell breaks loose
when i say go fetch fuck all
to my bed and instead
bed with my dreams
whet yourself
or wet your dreams
it is everything everywhere
hare yada
and so i give off
here there and don't forget beyond the yonder
armed to the gnashing ganesh
a plethora of hare plushna pallbearing
nayfaring piratical sintillating
rintin djinns
you gettin this yet?
good. me neither.
just because i dont work when i write
dont mean you shouldnt work when you read me
salaciousness slithers off to start family
sheds itself into a shed
and weds
and ne se découche plus jamais
paltry pantry gives us skeletal remains
of a spiderweb long picked clean
at a loss but to use web as floss
my fuckyous are always a sit-and-spin-in
children die in droves
and i go on spittling
floorlength tittlings
complaining till the sun face sets on me
im a timeless wrioter
of foregone di-clusions
here’s an off ramp…
see the ellipsis?
not too late…
i’ve learned so little
and wallow in it as though
i were a babylonian king
in a fully stocked bordello
if i could phd
maybe heav’n could find meh.
if i could make myself heard or herd
id…id…id…
maybe i don't want readers
because company is filthy
maybe it has nothing to do with nothing else
or maybe im soloing
until my guitar snaps its strings
and raps me on the wrists
self-shouldering
and sticking it to the heart
it is just hard to be
at all times
and this is why
il n’y a pas de versant sans adversité
i am a why man
sometimes a what or who man
seldom a when man
and never a how man
here’s something else
i will never bother to reread
although the past holds as much weight as the future
look either direction
can you really lose?
im growing tired
but the bullets flung lovingly
at my fingertips tell
of a night
not yet consummated
coitus reservatus
so i ply about the keyboard one eye open
wishing some horrid -gasm cometh
i drink everything in the house
until i go to bed
and stay there
i dont know no more
what more or less looks like
the equations
(beyond the big guy dysfunction)
all look equivalent to me
no matter how many hip thrusts i pump at the spokes
of samsara
no matter how much of a non-naughty boy ive been
i will never be naught
a cut cord dont change the kin
i drink deep
and moby dick around
until i have the gold doubloon or drown
i protest or detest
and stick sticky hands to my own poems
waiting for the cops and press
to give me some pathetic redress
tantamount to a dismount
of well humped dreams
the crowd goes huh?
i only live to find new ways to transvestir
my complaints as rhapsody
another cigarette goes out
and more wait to be sent to the front lines
the hour is getting late
my booze well is turning into
an inverted tower
my me is getting gonesome
and yet i blather on in
old world torturer fashion
delay it forward
until the church bells beckon me
until the better left untold tolls for me
nomansland
because those with some semblance of good sense
have packed it in,
found fairer shores…
but i get going on like an amelia
with a tank full of stupid
over inhospitable seas
last call from a friendly radio tower
hales me down.
as reply,
i drop them a message in a bottle
filled with piss
so i may land my single engine
on a friendly sunspot
it aint like i fling lies
based on their believability
but because when the tongue flaps
i stay airborne
id sleep off my next life
if it meant i could give this poem what it needs to warm me
like i need
still. fuel gauge is looking despondent
maybe i shouldve air-refueled with
the piss bottle ive loosened on the groundfolk
regrets are like assholes
theres only one means of egress
where am i going to land this thing?
on a cloud?
on another plane?
or on some other big bird?
on a cachalot?
self-kamikaze?
say. i havent minded this long.
why start now?
may there be a landingstrip
in my name
no matter where i end up
jump plane?
but what about the copilot?
speaking of which…
as long as im longwinded
im still airborne
okay. i see island.
it looks like there may be
some cannibalistic tribe down yonder
liable to be put off by my high blood alcohol content
to consume me straight away
here stops nothing.