Falling Into Place

I love it when a plan comes together

by itself 

organically.

Well, that’s the poem….now what?

The spontaneous

naturally occurring mandala

is never arranged, but always complete…

it all depends on how you look at it,

if you can see it that way.

Imagine Buster Keaton…

sight gags with trains…

that’s what’s always happening.

When it’s pointed out, 

it’s funny and amazing.

When you consider it,

resistance is futile.

It’s got a good beat

you can dance to it.

“the dust blows forward and the dust blows back”

Doomsday in reverse….birthday…it happens,

it all does.

Glad all over

letting go

into the music

into the action

into the shape of things to come.

The point is the nonexistence 

we’re trying to get back to

confused by seeming solidity

into believing in ourselves.

What do you mean “what could be”?

What if I told you it already is, 

was, will be?

Shape shifting reality,

who needs sci-fi?

Desperate Man Blues

Alone at the crossroads, in plain view...

whatever direction, nothing to lose...

had my Baby, thought I had a life,

who knew

the aliens would take her

she'd run away with the milkman

she'd join Greenpeace

cancer would take her

the marines would take her

she'd join the circus and become a clown

she'd learn to walk through walls

talk to dolls

troll the malls

like a hurricane?

I knew!  I knew all along!

At least, I was right as I sing this song!

Now, I'll just  type this while I stand on this chair,

put this rope around my neck,

and do a little dan

Plumber's Koan

Apprentice:  "Why do you do it that way?"

Journeyman:  "Because it works."

The Engine Of The Buddhist Path

The engine of the Buddhist path is letting go.

The engine of samsara is holding on.

First,

let go of thoughts,

come back to the breath.

Second, let go of emotions, desires, plans,

back to a sense of being.

Rest in non-doing.

Third,

let go of life itself,

the thought of it, 

that something needs to be maintained.

Attain the state of:

"even my sadness perhaps has changed,

as if I were not my own....forgotten,

even by me."   (Quasimodo)

Composite Blond

Silky sissy creepy sneaky perfumed

barnyard gossip flirty flutter mutter

bottled framed poured into a dress

cheap inchoate charisma stamped 

“made in USA”.

Waiting For Godotzilla

A bit more than existential angst,

you’re not alone in your aloneness…

monsters from the Id.

Ladies Home Guillotine

Morning glory debauchery

afternoon delights

compelling colors crawling

crawling like a fraudulent drunk

drunk with Fauvism

our latest issue spews forth

the truth, or, close enough,

like horseshoes, 

to attract a reader.

You won’t catch us 

making the mistake

of mistaking what we write

for the truth.

Our only interest is to convey what

we wish you to believe is true so you

can become what we want you to be.

Our lies fit your profile,

which is what you believe 

about yourself, so, you believe 

them too. 

A little mind trap,

a little mind meld…

you’re so gullible.

Esoterrorist

Esoterrorist, aesthetic assassin, 

intellectualaerealist, machosurrealist,

automagician, psycoconoclast,

third man, mythtery, open secret,

third mind, chiaroscuro bete noir,

manifest determinism likely story

gain the world and lose your soul

win the game and lose your marbles

surfing the crest of marvelous view

always danger of wipe out

never a dull moment just dull people

“life is like getting on a boat 

you know will sink.”  (Suzuki Roshi)
"'Why then, I'll fit you.'
Heronimo's mad again" (Thomas Kydd)

Mystery Meat

gems absently crunch out of habit

no wonder off hand gesture radiates

infinitely outward plasma in all directions

decadence ideal culture to grow boredom

you can only rollercoaster

so many times in row…

so many bloody periods in history

proving the feminine principle…

lazy enforcer witless with wilted guns

leans out the tenement window a cigarette

dripping from his lips

in dank skankness 

defiant in general principle

ready for the rent to come due

gleam of a raindrop or a nickel plated .45

off balance at the train station

needing to take the trip

but not willing to get onboard

but then, what isn’t a mystery?

what do you think you know?

how did you manage to get here?

is there really a punchline?

Morphia (for Gilbert)

Open secret enchanted realm co-existing

with laws regulating the speed of change

mirror within a mirror you see before you

no wonder everything feels out of phase

deja vu-double take-trompe l’oeil-mirage

waking dream surreal in extreme montage

endgame…last tape…coda…memoir

Proteus proletarian protoanarcoaerialists

a policeman unholsters a banana

a Coke machine releases a stick of dynamite

a wolf bursts into flame.

Composing On The Way Down

Ah, the wind in my sails,

as if it was the wind and not 

the rush of air as the earth 

draws closer…

preciousness of the moment

heightened by the knowledge

of its brevity…

“Good morning, Dear.“

“Read the letter in front of you.”

“Can I have coffee first?

I think I’ll have that Chesterfield now.”