Arturo

Big guy

big man

nice man

nice heart

good heart

big hands

strong guy

strong man

good legs

strong heart

kind body

earth man

space man

kind man

a kind of...man.

Add to his ingredients

and he is soft

perky

mischievous

teasing

goopy.

Handyman

nice to have around man

nice to run into on the

streets of Tepoztlan...

brave heart

big guy heart

nice to have around heart...

Why am I weeping?

Rare man.

Letting The Days Go By

"The Titanic isn't going down...

it's just adjusting to the situation."

Hearing about the Democratic Convention

makes me want to shit a book on how to puke.

"White Is Black!  Hot Is Cold! Bad Is Good"

(oops...we really meant the last one...)

“No one in this world, so far as I know — and I 

have searched the records for years, and employed 

agents to help me — has ever lost money by 

underestimating the intelligence of the great 

masses of the plain people. Nor has anyone 

ever lost public office thereby.” H.L. Mencken

“All progress has resulted from people who took 
unpopular positions.” - Adlai E. Stevenson

“When facism comes to America it will be wrapped 
in the flag and carrying a cross.” - Sinclair Lewis

“People never leave a sinking ship until they see the lights of 

another ship approaching.” - Buckminster Fuller

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny exercised for the good of 

its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better 

to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral 

busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes 

sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but 

those who torment us for our own good will torment 

us without end, for they do so with the approval of 

their consciences.” - C.S. Lewis

“If you don’t read the newspaper you are uninformed; if you do 
read the newspaper you are misinformed.” - Mark Twain

“Nationalism is an infantile disease. It is the measels of mankind. 
Never do anything against conscience — even if the state demands it.” -
 Albert Einstein

“The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will 
hate those that speak it.” - George Orwell

“When a well-packaged web of lies has been sold gradually to 
the masses over generations, the truth will seem utterly preposterous 
and its speaker a raving lunatic.” - Dresden James

Poem For Mario

Cunning linguist,

nice little doggies,

all survived the trip

to Gringolandia.

Transmission trouble

of car and body better 

now..."how many more 

miles can I put on this 

sucker?"

Sixteen in spirit, a good

coming of age, back to

childhood, one way or

another.

I wish I knew all the 

languages you do so I 

could curse in them;

"Paltoquet! Etourdi!"

my French teacher in

high school wouldn't tell

me any good ones.

i want to curse the world,

not that I don't love it, but

it seems, now, humanity

could use a good tongue

lashing.

Mi amigo, my Master debater,

we are in Tepoztlan, lucky us,

the front row of the theatre of 

the world, eating popcorn while

we watch the absurd tamasha

of monkeys running amok....

Salud!

Koanoisseur Of Chaos

Watching "Magic Trip" movie of

Kesey's pilgrimage across America

is so familiar I was there in my own

moments of enforced letting go at

that time most of us were at the end

really of belief in American Dream

and that end was that that dream 

could have been real if everyone

would just wake up as we tried to do

and succeeded in as much as we'll 

never forget the ecstasies and 

freak-outs that branded us as outlaws

forever from perfection and a dead

order of existence unnatural and

foreign to the human spirit even as

now we try to get back to the

garden in so many ways and means

at our disposal ancient ones mostly

that planted humans in the now and

danced the humans to joy of life which

will always be revived each generation

no matter how strong the forces against it.

Cicatrix

You, my nymph,

gestating gestures

'til you burst to life,

brief life, or, so it seems,

so fierce and present

there is no thought of

a past, there is no doubt

in which direction you fly,

only marvel, even as

you rest, still bursting

inside, on a leaf, 'til the

next moment takes you

like the wind, into the

rest of your life.

"The sleeper has awakened"

The sleeper has awakened...

the thinker has deserted...

music plays by itself...

love happens naturally,

without need for confirmation...

here, not here, 

always where   ever

in the space of continuously

arising...

always neither here nor there

in the space of

"who's counting?"

Still, a starting point, the body,

with all it's gadgets and

thing-a-ma-jigs 

to negotiate the currents 

of phenomena, the ocean

of which it is but a mere drop,

not separate from.

Don't try to swim in 

fathomlessness...a life jacket

is no help either.

Floating is best, and not being

concerned about going up or down.

Ode To Sylvia Plath (for M.M.)

"Her blacks cackle and drag..."

Head in the oven,

did you hesitate for a second,

wondering if that 

was all you had to say?

Or, had you said: "enough already!"

the mind too much to

handle anymore, 

the life too demonized

to be redeemed?

Your words get through 

to the rest of us,

don't worry anymore...

you did your job,

your thankless job,

for those of us for whom

it's hard to feel anything.

Tamasha

The Republican convention. In Tepoztlan, no one,

except for the odd gringo, seems to know or care.

Just sitting in the zocalo, a balloon man making

great Tiggers, the usual display, outfit, of Mexicana

in this sleepy town. Feeling great today... my 

consciousness must have raised a notch 

accidentally....like an accidental orgasm.  Much not

to do about anything....the news from outside the

closet...ain't going in there again...I didn't lose 

anything in there...too dark for bright folks.

If you don't like reality, just wait for as long as 

necessary, but try to open your eyes once in a
while. It helps. You might forget about yourself
for a moment and notice a flower, a kid with a
balloon, a nice doggy. Many times for brief
moments and sooner or later you'll meet the
Buddha in person. How do I know this?

No, I won't tell you...you have to follow the
bread  crumbs by yourself. One pill makes you
larger and one pill makes you small. Most don't
do anything at all.

The monkeys don't even know they're caged,
and the frogs are starting to feel the boil. No
importe aqui. The continuing revolution of Mexico...
the people just gave up  and let the cartels run
everything. A good question is; is it more expensive
than having a real government? A

look Norde doesn't provide a positive answer.

No English newspaper here anymore....used to be 

the Herald, then, the Daily took over for a while. Now,

no pleasure of crossword or reading Dilbert. Of course,

it's all on computer...along with everything else.

The Germans and English didn't conquer this part of 

the New World...(any echoes of "New Age" there?),

the Spanish did. No wonder everything leaks, won't

hold water. The Germans and English did it right

el Norde, with the help of Irish, Italians, and, of 

course, slaves. They were as sure of themselves

as cancer, which it seems it has become...once you 

start killing, where do you stop? Evidently, not yet.

In Mexico, the Spanish had children with the 

indigenous people...a cause of great confusion for

the descendants, because they were also killing them

at the same time. Yet, the older culture was never 

really lost. I'd say that means hope for the future, if

anything really does.

Poem For S.

Can't really be a love poem,

could be a poem about love...

why not, no investment that way...

just love of just being real, genuine,

with someone, no matter how long,

an hour, or even less...

good enough to last a long time,

an oasis in the desert of superficiality...

you an unforgettable mystery, mirage,

splendid vision of what I wish everyone

could be...

Mango's

I'm here, but, technically,

the place is still empty.

A hot dog will manifest

and disappear.

Taste will happen.

The Blues will echo

in the empty room.

Don't call me a wiener,

'cause I got nothing to lose.

Coup Du Jour

Might as well...

turkey soup,

with a faint flavor

of fusel oil

and naphtha,

100 proof...

if it doesn't sate your appetites,

just wait for just deserts.

Latah

I copy everyone's movements,

which is difficult in a crowd;

I become a flailing puppet.

A cafe is a better venue;

there only my hands and mouth

are always moving.

I mirror others because I have no

idea who I am or how to be.

You wave in my direction,

I wave back. 

* (see comment)

Anyone Can Be Brainwashed

"She had no intent"

She wiped her servers.

She lied about how many

servers she had.

She lied about how many

e mails she turned in.

She lied about no

classified e mails.

If you don't recognize

Hillary is a career criminal.

congratulations!

You've been brainwashed!

One can be highly intelligent,

and still be brainwashed.

Even Einstein believed in God.

"A chicken in every pot...a Buick in every garage...a punchline for every poem." (for M.M.)

I want to grab you with words,

shake you awake with images

that lift and drop a question on

your plate.

Art is every language; whisper,

cry and scream. You're not

supposed to understand...you're

supposed to be infused, so that

your bags of clear water become

like delicious tea....

so that you become sensate

perfume...what better thing to

do with yourself?

Boy, wait 'til they get a whiff of me!

"Let me be! Love me! Any candies?" Monica Manolachi

Cigarettes, at least, and coffee to fetch my

soul back into focus.

I gave the troubadour fifty pesos to go away,

his music interrupted our conversation.

Falling in love is like falling off a log, as easy

and as painful. It doesn't matter if you're

paying attention.

Words can be candy, or, any other word. I have

a great sense of humor, I just can't prove it.

I surprise myself that I have anything to write at

all....thing is, I don't think that when I'm writing.

So, somebody else must be doing it...somebody

else must be in charge...probably no one,

but something takes over and I forget myself for

that moment, at least, praise Buddha.

What a  relief it would be, not to be there at all,

and still see like a fly on the wall.

A lot of people think that's what God is busy

doing, or, Santa Claus..."He knows when you 

are sleeping...." 

It would be nice if someone was looking after

us, tucking us in at night. 

Too bad we still feel there's someone to be

tucked in...and that we still make a distinction

between dream and awake.

"A way of smiling over your shoulder to the shadow you've become" Monica Manolachi

Looking back never worked...

except when it ignited humor.

Lucky if shadow is all that's left, 

all that's left of what is still there.

Nothing solid remains, that's good.

It was too much to put up with anyway.

Now, no one is sure you're there,

yourself included in delicious uncertainty.

A mystery, infuriatingly not pinned down,

a distraction to all those that still believe.

Years, Tears

It's my computer....

Y and T next to each other,

years become tears 'til I edit.

Sometimes tears is more appropriate

than years...or else, my computer is

trying to tell me something. 

Years of tears...so many...

tears turn into years..again, so many.

So connected.

Time enough for love.

Time enough for loss.

Misspellings probably led to wars.

One telegram changed history.

A peace became appease,

and suddenly everyone got huffy.

It's a big problem with e mails.

language being the most inefficient

form of communication. 

I said "Pie glue!"

and suddenly, I was married.

It's a good argument for 

surrealism,

psychedelics, 

expressionism,

dada,

drunkenness...

at least, those ways,

you can't be so certain

what's happening, 

and must stay on your toes,

in your senses....

to include the body 

in the discussion.

Not For Sale

Even Bob Dylan sold out...

did a commercial....

then, he sang Sinatra tunes.

He gets a pass, however,

because of his prior genius,

and timely messages.

eecummings dedicated his book

of poems, "No Thanks", to all the

publishers that turned it down...

it was quite a list.

I never tried to get published,

but a book appeared,

printed by an angel.

I wouldn't mind selling out

like Caitlyn, grabbing the dough,

then changing my mind.

They say she wants to change 

back to a man. If so, she shouldn't,

because if she wants to change,

it proves she's a woman, or, so goes

the sexist lore...her Catch-22.

I pretend I'm not for sale,

keeping my integrity because 

I have no choice...taking the 

high road...no one's buying...

maybe nobody's reading

anymore...or, it's obvious.

No poet was ever

on a box of Wheaties.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot,
Maya Angelou,
I want to punch her in the nose.

How Does Art Happen?

A composer hears a

whistle in the wind.

A sculptor sees

beneath the surface

of marble.

The painter catches

something in the corner

of his eye.

The novelist has a dream.

The poet falls in love

with a word. 

Reading Monica, Listening To Schpongle

Feels like walking and chewing gum

at the same time....complicated for

an old man like me. 

I try, I tire....flat; luckily, nothing to 

change...just get out of the car,

leave it by the side of the road,

look at the bougainvillea out my

window....wait for the rain.

Cabbage Head

There's an insult you don't hear

much anymore.

These days insults are more direct,

because less social niceties,

politeness,

tender hooks...no...

no time or concern for that now,

except for the politically correct,

who want to reduce language

to have no meaning whatsoever, 

as if we didn't have enough trouble 

understanding each other already

about what the cabbage is going on!

It's hard to get ahead these days,

trying to do the best with what is there. 

And, even if you get a lot of places,

they aren't as good as they were before. 

Heads or tails is not good enough...black

or white. The coin has to land on it's edge

for us to believe the flip was fair. Even

then, is anybody sure? YeaaaaaaaaaNO!

Grey the only "color' our de-over-sensitized

selves can stand. Lack of reference point

of simple green...we used to know that's

the way things grow. Might as well be plastic

now...everything seems to be.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsL6mKxtOlQ

Portrait #4

He looked like his face

had been smashed with a shovel,

flat, his mouth always open, eyes

like they could fall out of his skull

at any moment.

He wasn't that bright either, which

made him a complete package. He

could be useful, holding your place 

in line, or, as a doorstop. He wouldn't

have even made good cannon fodder.

That must be why he survived his youth.

But even he was human, somehow,

even he had a heart. He would feed 

birds, for one thing. They seemed to

appreciate this.

He died one day, sitting on the sidewalk,

leaning against a wall. Nobody noticed

for a couple of days. A few people 

remarked he was looking rather well,

at peace. 

That part of life, at least, for him, 

was easy. 

Supermarket

How come we have supermarket

and only dream of Superman?

Everything you want and more, 

and it never runs out of anything,

yet no one to stop that runaway train.

Humanity has set it's priorities, and 

we have a paradise of what we want,

not what we need.

Nothing Is Lost

Sometimes we lose our glasses

on our foreheads.

That should tell you something.

As for the people that died,

situations that fell apart, or,

were abandoned,

knowledge we can't remember,

loves that walked out the door

and never came back,

our lovely car towed 

away after the accident,

let alone the bleeding,

Clara-bell saying "Goodbye, kids!"

on the last Howdy Doody show,

the only words he ever uttered,

the odd space shuttle explosion,

the goodness of Twain, Will Rogers,

all the poets, Ashoka and his edicts,

Buddha, that dreamer Christ, JFK...

I just remembered all this right now.

That should tell you something

Signs In The Dark

A noise in the woods

the moon behind a cloud

hiss of tree leaves in the wind

intensity of rain on the roof

waxes and wanes...

...the mind is alone

comes up with dreams

even before sleep...

...only the touch of sheets

offers reassurance..and, 

if lucky enough, the sound and 

movement of one beside you.

Seeking Position

Fallen angel. perfectly corrupted,

knows the ropes,

for assignation or rental for any

or all that seek freedom from, but,

not limited to;

bondage of: 

artificial imperative,

fixed view,

dogma,

programming,

brainwashing,

conflicting emotions,

primitive beliefs,

paranoia,

hopelessness,

hope,

impossible dreams,

unrealistic goals,

unsatisfiable wants,

vague dis-ease.

Dissatisfaction guaranteed, or,

your problems refunded.

Portrait #3

Slumped over her i phone,

eyebrows raised in disdain 

of what...body withered,

desiccated.

She laughs on the phone

with a flavor of imperial

arrogance, without the 

trappings to back up her

position in the mirage of

one upmanship.

Chuck

Chuck

I had a plumbing company in Boulder

for about four years with a fellow Buddhist

plumber. Our accountant's name was Chuck.

Chuck was Canadian, but had lived in the 

States for quite a few years. Chuck had 

worked for the Canadian government as an

auditor, so he was a sharpie. My partner and

I would meet with him in his office once a

year. We never really discussed our finances

much with Chuck...just laughed a lot. He'd 

shrug his shoulders and we'd just start laughing.

We never had any taxes to pay during those 

years. One year during tax time, Chuck fell dead

in King Soopers from too many cigarettes, too

much coffee and too much deadline. I got the

accountant of a friend to do the books, but no

one could cook them like Chuck. After a while,

we got audited by the IRS. My partner took in 

boxes and boxes of receipts, all mashed 

together, and we thought the little weasel would 

be discouraged and give us a break. Not so. 

That little bastard spent six months sorting it all

out, collecting his salary, and we each ended up 

owing some thousands of dollars. I put off

dealing with mine for years...by which time the

amount I owed had doubled. Clinton did a kind 

of amnesty for tax dodgers like me. My dad said 

he'd help me, and my faux wife at the time did

all the paper work...so, I can actually say I had

one marriage I came out on top. I wound up 

paying something like three cents on the dollar,

so, I can raise my middle finger to the IRS with

glee....

Ultimate Question

Did Prufrock know it,

or did he merely dissemble?

And, what would he do

with the answer?

My guess is this: if you have

no more questions, that is

the answer...the questioning

itself is the problem to solve.

If we were completely awake.

reality would be transparent...

the flowers beautiful, the poop

smelling bad, no need for 

further clues.

What is the meaning of life,

what is existence, would be

irrelevant in the light of clarity.

When you're already bitten by

a snake, no need to wonder

where the egg was hatched.

Prufrok's questions were measured

out in coffee spoons, "Do I dare?"

He was afraid, as if he'd asked God:

"Well?"

and God responded,

"Well what?" 

as if nothing had happened.