I Saw A Man Playing Spoons

I saw a man playing spoons

on a street in Columbia, South 

Carolina, on a corner. I don’t

remember why I was there at

that exact moment, not far from 

my house. A magician of a minor

chord…it wasn’t just the spoons…

it was him he was playing…that’s

why the Blues are real.  Anyway,

he played those spoons like bones.

His music was as real as the tears 

on my momma’s face….it happened

on the street, in my heart, in his voice, 

in this world. That's what the old world

was like.

Toothless In Tepoztlan

A bull that cannot charge

a cobra with no venom

a carnivore with no hunger.

Have I lost the will to live?

I think I’ve lost the will

not to die.

Let’s face it, like all the

toothless lions, supported

on each side by lionesses.

They know. Why don’t we?

Send old folks to processing

homes so someone doesn’t

have to see? That may not

be bad…more productive life

without the burden of knowing,

seeing one’s own fate.

I think sending me out onto the

ice, when I can’t chew the blubber

is really the best way.

Don’t put me in a home.

Let’s have a party in the

middle of winter. I’ll go out

then, into the cold with a

bottle of the best. That’s the

way a poet or an Eskimo

should go.

Whirl World Of Fun

Even amidst the apocalypse.

That’s why the darkness doesn’t

destroy the light, nor the light 

obliterate the darkness…nothing

gained, nothing lost. A sense of

humor is your Baedeker to every

strange world…even the one 

you’re in.

Fragments Of A Bone Mirror (For Captain Beefheart)

I just love that (deleted) title.

Yeah, I need the challenge

of putting the puzzle together

from a few pizza crusts….

I just thought I had to do

something, then, I realized

It was already done.

When you are in the playpen,

things happen very quickly.

But, still, you have to change

your diapers…we think we’re

free between young and old…

dear me.

I’d rather explode, go out bold,

not wrinkled, withering, the way

I entered the stage, which is also

part of the question of “to be or not

to be.”  Well, at least, I don’t need

to look for a fight to fight for…if

I decide to go out that way.

Checking In With The NSA

Are you checking in with me?
Does your demographic define
me as a terrorist yet?  Well,
let me help you here..make it clear,
so you don't have to waste more
of my money trying to figure me out.

To you, yes, I am a terrorist, because,
a terrorist to you is just a gook that
doesn't fit into the parameters you've
been told are real.....ok? It goes back
so long...Vietnam is what I'm familiar
with...the dehumanizing there....

But, so, now, that Posse Comitatus and
Habeas Corpus no longer apply,  even
ordinary American Citizens are also gooks.
Aren't we?

This an editorial from a poet, of whom we
could say  has already given his life to his
county.

Black Kraken Shoes

My C.P.A., before he

dropped dead in King 

Soopers during tax season,

looked at my baby, and said,

“Ragnarok!” He wasn’t from

Iceland, but, he might as well

could have been. When I used

to see him about taxes (he used

to be an auditor for the Canadian

Government) we would just look

at each other, laugh a lot, I’d sign

some paper, give him a hug, 

and leave.

White Noise (for Jack Bruce)

The T.V.’s on, and

nobody’s looking…

at least, it drowns

out the thoughts

cheaper than prozac.

Pizza is part of it too…

putting those adverts 

into action is so satisfying….

the fat on a four hundred

pounder is comprised of

white noise and sugar…

a different meaning to:

“and the word became flesh….” 

d’ya think?

Heavy Blue Poem

Sad?

My ball bag’s been dragging

ever since my voice changed.

Ever since my mother asked 

me if we were in trouble, I 

knew I was.

How Long? goes the title of the

Blues song…not how long ‘till 

something, just, how long?

The sky is also blue, the color

we see through the clouds of

our sadness.

Blood red…heart blue…

funny, not code red, not

code blue…it is a code,

isn’t it? It’s where the 

sun splits in two.  

When The Bullet Goes Through Your Head

What were you thinking?

This could be a koan…but, no

I got more to go on.

What’ya got?

Unless it’s unbearable

physical pain, you got

nothing…..no, really.

The last thing a bug sees

is it’s ass as it hits a windshield.

There are many things going through

your head already…you only fixate

because of attraction.

What is that?

Ever wonder about that?

That’s rhetorical….

the bullet isn’t.

Coma

Don’t wake me from my coma

I’ve got it where I want it to be.

I’ve lived your so called life, tinsel, 

fireworks, chupacabres, romances, 

trances. There’s nothing left except

life itself that captivates me.

To be or not to be is the question.

What did Romeo chose? Innate tragedy

(if you have an emotional P.O.V)

never has an happy ending. 

No, I am awake. The coma is 

what surrounds me.

Soul Traveler

I go from soul to soul

traveling where I got to go.

Nobody knows me…I show

up when when I have to.

I went down to the station

to leave myself behind.

I took the train…

lost my name…

made one up in Kansas City.

I’m the person you meet in

the street that dispels the 

clouds in front of you.

I’m the person you meet 

in the street that slaps you 

in the face for no reason.

I’m the person you see in

the street that steals you blind.

Everything is a tell.

All My Friends Are Going Down

G., T., A., J., H., me, my friends and I are 

going down and what a blessing to be

being going down together, seeing the

end game, waiting for Godot, in a way,

but with each of us as loving  mirrors

to the process of seeing that no matter

what you take away, what’s left is life

and love.

Occupational Hazards

Discovered `I lost my visa today…

a car crashed in front of me while

I was sitting on the steps of the

coffee house…no driver…one

wheel on the side walk….

I destroyed a computer

by spilling a drink. That’s three.

Maybe I’m at the end of a rope…

I don’t envision much more slack.

It’s been a good run…nine years

in Tepoztlan without major trauma,

lots of writing done to the point I

could consider myself a writer…

just taking stock before the next

glitch in the Matrix.

Maybe the agents are after me…

agents of old age, agents of

decrepitude. My body was a corvette,

and, I drove it hard…I’m hard on 

machines. ’S’bout time for things

to start falling off.

I try to be more careful, watch every

step.  For good or ill, I can’t stem my

slapstick nature, even when it’s no joke.

I’ve been so lucky…fell out of trees like

ripe fruit when I was a kid…only once 

a concussion. Maybe now the joke’s 

on me. Not sure how to end this poem…

maybe circumstances will do it for me.

Yes, It Is Better (for Karl Dorinson)

Woke up woozy after

a night with my Polish

friend  fiend…..had a hit

of hair of the dog, and

yes it is better, my head

is not hanging over me

like a basilisk in a

hurricane….it’s ok to talk 

about this because I’m not

In AA, and I have no where

to turn…for what? (he asked,

quizzically) except back to

square one.

Odessa The Nth Moment

As you watch it comes to you

washing all away…

Yesterday, in the kiosk, the

pipe burning with reason, 

coffee black as the night of day.

The old men didn’t move then.

Smoke occasionally puffed up.

As they watched the flame 

approach from the West, one 

man said…”Ah, here they are 

again, to take us over and 

capture nothing,”

Reality Is A Tell

Sometimes people listen…
a few times, maybe,
in their lives.

Thousands look at
a Van Gogh, sometimes
someone sees it.

This is the magic that
the world is full of.

Sometimes someone
doesn’t take the plane
and avoids disaster.

Sometimes you open to
a stranger, and, you don’t
know why…you end up
marrying them.

It happens everywhere all the
time..the road less traveled
always in front of you.

It’s all in the clues….the play is
the thing in which the truth is revealed…
reality is a tell.

Just A Storm (for Dave)

A cumulonimbus

growing in gigantic whiteness

emanates a few grey stratus

as messengers announcing

it’s forthcoming. The wind blows,

I close some windows.

I love the storm, el tormenta.

Still see some blue behind the

accumulating clouds…I put the

hot water on for my shower….

listening to lounge jazz…

“and we’ll banish the pain 

and the sorrow…”

The clouds are playing

light and dark. I doubt they

know the mood I’m in.

A gap of blue, as if the storm

can’t make up it’s mind.

I don’t know which way 

the storm is coming…from

behind me, but, there’s blue

in front of me….sneaky storm.

Nice wind. Maybe we could

party together sometime. 

Rat Race

Death is the finish line,

time to reboot the P.C..

All that glitters is not the goal.

It’s a case of sera sera.

All Time And Space (For Robin Williams)

That’s what you have

to look at it…you need 

look at it that way.

Take time….look at just

the Twentieth Century….

all the changes…we know

now what mistakes were

made and are still being

made. It doesn’t take a 

brain surgeon.

Take all time, all space…

because why limit yourself?

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon

to show you your life…it’s

your mind, after all.

I don’t see any problem 

being stuck on a tractor

in an Iowa cornfield.

Shooting smak in a N.Y.

cold water flat.

Geting a P.H.D. at Harvard

and running some kind of

company.

Your choice, Baby,

Your choice…..

Just…..don’t let it

bog you down.

Jurrassic Compartment

There’s this place in my brain

that remembers all the stuff

that went before, but, mainly

the feelings that make me 

want to eat. 

Everything was eating everything

back then…they were just

constantly shaking their heads

getting over the pre-Cambrian

hangover….trying to differentiate

their otherwise simple impulses.

When your digestive tract thinks

more than your brain….you might

be a Redneck. Git ‘er done!

Motherfucker

I just felt like saying that.

You understand.

I've yelled it in the night

at the meditation center

'till the director asked me

"What for?" so, I stopped 

for a while...'til I figured out

why, which only took a year.

I liked being drunk.

Motherfucker.

Yeah, still feels good while

I can still feel...I can be bad 

now because the spirit is willing

but the salsa is weak.

I'm enjoying the fuck out of

this...haven't a clue about you.

OK, you're my muse now,

booze brother, we have been 

branded so much a Brand it

looks toward heaven for me.

(Or, was that a T.V.show?)

Motherfucker

One word. How does it feel?

How do any other of the words

feel? Have you noticed anything

in your mother fucking life?

Sorry to give away a clue.

Why would I bother to try to

tell you?

Monster Truck drivers,

The repetition of examples

boggles even the imagination.

Drunk is not the only way out anymore.

We only have a few examples

of ways to slow down that work.

If you're going down a hill in

a semi....someone knows what

to do when the brakes go out.

Shakespeare Reference

Shakespeare is the one that said

"The clothes make the man"

Sure, in his times...now, I would say...

"Whose clothes do you think you are wearing?"

Aphorism

Timing waits for no one.

The `Greatest Poem Ever Written

…would be like that Monty Python

skit of the funniest joke that caused

everyone that heard it to die laughing.

So, what effect would the greatest 

poem have?  It would stop bullshit

in its tracks,…whomever heard it 

would quit the army, drop out of 

politics, business, start enjoying

life, start helping others, slow down

and relax, open the eyes and start

to look at the world for real, find 

something to do that brings joy....

unfortunately, it hasn’t been written.

Early Spontaneous Out Of The Night

Off the cuff in the coffee house
bar home brew contentment in
the middle of the night, or, what
seems to be that, I find myself
once again at the key board that
splays it's provocative potential
at me so familiar, as if it was my
family. So, why not do this now?
What? The particular is not the
point...it's the course it takes...just
ask Wallace Stevens. So, of course,
a course is a course, of
course, and nobody can talk to a
course of course, unless that course
is the famous course, known as Mr.
Head.  So,  since there are only two
things, i.e. what's next and what's left,
I'm left with a particular course of
course. She left me a note...
"Mandelbrot"...that's all she wrote.
"Anyone for Dada?"
You can't get here from anywhere,
but, now that you got here, relax,
and take in the exposure. No, this is
not the end of this....even if it was,
it would just start over somewhere
else. Maybe I'm experiencing true
Mexican surrealism right now...I
think that because it seems to be true,
(sorry for the paltry explanation)
But, only in media res of the night
does the light go on in the toilet
window, as eecummings wrote.
I'm beginning to think of writing as
work, because I seem to do it a lot,
and...I dunno...it's all I got...there
was something more there, but, it's
gone.  No...not a good enough
punchline. I have to continue as if
I'm talking to myself everyone.
That comes with a drink.

Civilization is a yoyo...up and down.
If you have a human mind you can
figure out what and where you are.

(No...that was too clear)

Nuclear

How many documents have we signed
that made us feel that something was
finally real?

At this moment, no matter where I am,
I feel like I'm in an empty cafeteria.

You want a piece of me?

deChirico

Chicago has a particular flavor which
could be either burnt almonds or
cyanide...it's all because of the El.

I saw a sawdust bar blind black blues
man beneath the El, up on a Northern
part of the line. I remember the music
like a scar.

This is all happening in the middle of
a night of an old man now....

Don't wait for your life to flash before
your eyes.

The truth hurts because it's necessary
like the sun.

Elderberry Wine

The trees turn now

the vines get long

we’ve taken the grapes 

nature takes its turn.

We take what we got 

and make something

out of it…wine this time.

OMG…how good this

natural thing we found

that plays within our mind!

What do you want to sing for?

What do you hope to find?

No More

I’m listening to music

looking out the window

It’s beautiful out there,

green, flowers, clouds.

No more in here…

no more putting my nose

to the rutstone

going nowhere fast.

Now, I go everywhere slow,

or, not at all. It may happen,

but, no longer is it up to me.

It’s up to serendipity.

Imagine an old yogi, sitting

on the bank of a river in India,

eating fish guts. That’s not me.

But, it might as well could be.