Monthly Archive: March 2016


my main source of starch these days
are tamales dipped in yeast
and then in garlic flakes

the world’s kinking in at a faster pace
with the brothers out there jousting
to be the master race

i’ve given up all those breads and cakes
still resisting all the blisses
of the sweeter shakes

yet a voice inside, for goodness sake
keeps reminding me that struggle
isn’t all it takes

my tongue licks up the aftertaste
and the protein keep me going
in these times of waste

we still must deal with all we make
and surrender to those feelings
that we haven’t faced

so i submit my most secret aches
to the spirit who will hear it
being wide awake

and i’ll find out through different ways
how the questions of digestion
get the answers raised

long assed free verse (where do all the hyphens go?)

“Og, like fire! Grog, like fire?”

“Some nice boiled millet and pickles, is it, Mr. Bigelow?”

“You’ll be sorry, Nicanor — To my dying day, I can promise you that!”

“I surrender my self to you, Great Spirit.”

different voices from different times and places
all connected
unbeknownst to themselves

except for one

his name is Ebenezer Freeing
and he writes verse by the truckloads
for a lady he doesn’t know

if these fragments of our being
are the only ones we’re seeing
then the remnants of my me-ing
may indeed be disagreeing

it didn’t matter to him what kind

free verse was of course his favorite
but he had a soft spot
for both limericks and sonnets

haikus he wove out of thin air

he threw off couplets
like dirty laundry into a hamper

he shot epistles off like pistoles
and uttered doggerel while he dreamed
and his villanelles
were never all that they had seemed

his ghazals were like puzzles
and his rondeaus had refrains
holding multiple responses and a number of quatrains

he had only one great weakness:
that’s his tendency towards bleakness
but it lead to great completeness
through a stagnant rhyming thesis

he did “be knownst” of the others
those who fueled his ‘verse
unbeknownst to themselves
for him it made things worse

his connection with them/as them
rang up and down his spine
with such a painful clarity
(since he couldn’t versify more by charity)
all he could do was shine

yet life in any once time
is not what suits his whim
it’s ever been the same as
the verse that transmutes him

he never would much please her
poor ol’ Ebenezer

vaulting through connected me’s
shedding different memories

Mr. Freeing
all you’re being
helps us through our lives

thank you
though we won’t remember
your verses
out beyond December
will keep our soul alive

shelter in place

my dogs are tired
and i’m out of beer
and a hell of a storm is headed straight here

my wife got drunk
and she left me dry
she didn’t even bother to tell me why

my country’s suddenly
all full of hate
and don’t get me talking about my state

my tires are flat
and i broke my truck
but i don’t really give one fuck

stay in place
the radios say
they call it shelter, just today

i can see it coming
that black funnel cloud
the swirl of its churning is pretty damn loud

if this be the time
of my last day on earth
i can tell you right now what it’s been worth

the one thing i’ve learned
most certainly
is that you can’t be full if you can’t be free

and the very last thing
that’ll ever cross your face
is the smell of surrender as you shelter in place


a new meme flashes the net
with record abandon

animated mustard/scarlet cephalopods
bouncing eight gloved fists together in unison
four by two, four by two, four by two
singing extremely low-pitched harmonies:

“roll your own,
me hardies,
roll them thick
and roll them thin
smoke them deep
and smoke them through
and roll and roll and roll again”

the parents remembered parties
wily riley ones
while the children watched their devices
and felt something stirring
in the very back of their brain stems

“roll them true
roll them deep
roll them always over you”

the worst were the fears
they glued the parents in place
ouroboros lack
ouroboros want
always not now

the children hardly smiled
as the fears rolled away

“ouroboros roll along
tail in mouth
fight in song

rolling, rolling, rolling

when there was almost nothing left
the parents were about to gasp
but the humping kept them set in their place

the humping stuck them through

the children listened

“humping, humping hum along
roll them hard
and roll them sweet
roll through all your chill and heat”

the last thing the parents saw
was the rolling along
of the red, red realm

rolling along and along
almost as far as they could remember
and rolling still
even further than that

“roll beyond,
me hardies,
roll your time
and roll your space
shine them through
and shine them deep
and roll and roll and roll again”

the heart of the world

the Fed disintegrates
as we all watch on TV
on the internet
all across the world

the word “reverberate”
echoes through our skulls
like waves of nows
probabilities piled upon probabilities
versions of worlds
mysteriously interchanging parts and paths
and then breaking down again before our very eyes

the global financial system
continues to eat a hole
in the heart of the world

it’s a tricky choice
devour the chewy, delicious center
or vomit forth irretrievable depression
for all of mankind

we can taste the ravenous chewing ourselves
and the stench of the digestive juices
burning though the backs of our throats
make our sense of being start to throb

tables giving a breakdown of the facts
based on the evidence of nearly two thousand years
give no insight, no relief

central bank
these are just words
words cannot help us now

nobody really understands
despite what they say

it is the hardest of all things to do
to realize that what really made the world go round
had nothing to do with gain
had nothing to do with pain
had nothing to do with killing

praise the diaper

we were young enough once
that i thank the water
when i’m washing my hands
the air
when i breathe into my lungs
the taste of being
when i eat amongst the living
thank you
for your instruction

yet we’re old enough now
as i live and learn
that i think the water
didn’t much matter
the air
wasn’t a huge loss
the taste of being
didn’t risk that much

when i ate
amongst the living
the old methods
actually worked
the smell lingered
the heat dissipated

my new attempts fail
though i didn’t think they would
so i just ordered another
trying a brand new method
to thank later for being
so instructive

praise the diaper
it actually works

back when thinking was a thing

my poem tonight will be a very straaange one indeed
i remember thinking
back when thinking was a thing
was it coconut juice or coconut water i’d been drinking
back then when i’d been thinking

it’s a sort of cross between bumper cars and pinball
only in practice it’s so circumstantial
that car bumpers turning into carbuncles
turning into powered solenoids
become nutty and salty polaroids
with the smell of cauliflower and cucumbers
drifting in the air
but up till now, I haven’t dared

“this entire probable cloud
is purposed maximally towards
of ALL things”

this may seem to put a damper on the party
since things and me were once thick as hens
or at least back then

there were things of mine for which i cared
and some other things back behind me over there
the things i remember
the things i carry
the important things i wouldn’t bury
and there were more things unfolding out in front of me
probable paths where i’d probably cling
following other sorts of probable things

it turns out those things are now
or have been, or will be
once i actually know that i can indeed let them go
rendering me
to the Void

surrendering all things
so i won’t be sorry
my eyes become suddenly starry
as the Void
becomes the life of the party

being served up all night by all of the hotties
the Void becomes the life of the party
raise my glass, the last of the toddies
the Void becomes the life of the party!

so drop it all over me

buckwheat groats

it spoke with a rusty thwang from a robotic proboscis
in a kind of singsong mixed with heavy metal:

“buckwheat groats
will change your notes”

the calculus had not yet been discovered
so the accelerations of its machinations
were not charted or predictable
with any certainty

i listened softly
i could hear a geary, grinding turn
with hints of linseed oil and moccasins
breadcrumbs and sugar babies

visions danced with my head
neck swaying back and forth instinctively
soothing all worry from my brow

memories of the past few minutes
began to dissolve at both ends

it repeated/altered its clarion call

“buckwheat groats
will change your boats”

but i’m not even sure what a groat is
and i can’t help but imagine fields of grain growing
stretching across the horizon
plants with immense square-shaped jade stalks
swaying in the breeze like rows of slothful kites
under two fading yellow moons

“buckwheat groats
will change your votes”

backstage bar

willie and the rest would play
a seething wash to soothe the mind
a trickle of tequila thickens her throat
with that green rough smoky smell
almond eyes tricked out with citrus perfume
she gazes at him across the room

what sort of thing is nature’s way
once spring has sprung and hormones flow
and he meets her scent and backs himself
with all his gear and hope and fears
into a corner by the bar
and heaves a sigh out his cigar

this very well may be the day
that joy will lead the night astray
she strides the floor with feline grace
uncertain love comes push to shove
each one she passes fades a bit
but in his heart he feels “submit”

there’s nothing left they need to say
he meets her stride onto the floor
the band is warming up to play
she drops her eyes, her belly sighs
to permeate each other’s parts
they need to open up their hearts

the band might find another way
taboos as such are not allowed
with long-neck beers and a sluggish crowd
they must address sheer happiness
if parts collide without that bliss
it may reset the moment’s kiss

but all goes well as it well may
the night is young but hearts are strong
the band will lead the crowd along
close to his lips he holds her hips
you know their names both near and far
you’ll find them at the backstage bar

in the yard

some days are rough
some days are hard
they have you working in the yard

there’s blocks of brick and mortar too
you work and work and struggle through
the grime eeks its way up your nose
your sweat drips down through all your clothes

and at the end of your hard day
the naked grace that is your pay
is creeping in your vacant hold
and traded for some other gold

the terms have changed, I shit you not
you cannot reach what can’t be got
pursue your vat of happiness
as you live a life of quiet duress

a life of leisure’s not for all
for most it’s just a clarion call
to pare our struggles down to size
and keep us set on that which dies