I Probably Shouldn’t Publish This One

Now you know I am 

no matter what comes out…I

hope it’s outrageous.

That’s a haiku, but who’s counting?

I’d rather write than look at the news…

Good Heavens! 

First of all, can you make heads or tails

about who’s telling the truth?

One would hope you could by now.

The conspiracies have been proven.

History isn’t what it used to be.

It’s difficult not to be taken up with it all.

We all know people we don’t know anymore.

Zombification of mind numb bombs!

Still, a ham and cheese empanada with mayo

can’t be all bad.

And all the people that died from the bioweapon 

and so forth.

But the clouds so cool outside cool inside

flying my space ship yes Captain!

Interstellar comets with chance of aliens!

Never mind them they don’t eat much!

Betty and Barney notwithstanding!

The algorithm of time is reaching the end!

All of history didn’t take that long!

All the religious/mystical traditions agree!

The Homosap better get his act together!

Samsara doesn’t end by itself!

The Big Note

Planting seeds in eternity.

A bird flies by in agreement.

Reminds me of two birds I saw yesterday…

I don’t know what kind they were…

fan tailed, pea hen size, they flew between trees.

I heard them before I saw them.

Their cries were strident, harsh, ungraceful.

Their feathers were understated, luminous, tasteful.

Eternity.

Unfathomable…inscrutable…essence of mystery.

You can hold in your hand a billion year old rock.

Almost two centuries since Beethoven was alive,

March, 2027 music lasted two hundred years,

sounds as fresh now as it did then.

How do you feel about music?

How do you feel about eternity?

“In a moment there is time.”

Is now any different than eternity?

Can you remember the color of your mother’s eyes?

Lazing in eternity, therefore, plenty of time,

one moment after the next, breeze from fan,

broken down blue jazz doom music is mellow,

fun house amusement prone old pre casket but

horizontal mostly lately cause easiest way to 

be old/almost young/I cut myself some slack.

The mind is a terrible/universe/omnipresence 

and lots more big words strung together…using

20%(?)of it trying to figure out the universe when

the human brain is the macrocosm in the 

microcosm…the universe is scaleable down 

to the human brain….”Ahem! Keep moving!

Nothing to see here, folks!”

(gotta keep the rubes in line.)

(imagine if little green men are watching…

all our control mechanisms down the toilet.)

On a little green marble 

in the center of the mandala

in the center of space.

“Any point in space is the center of space.”

“So, what’s your point?”

So, you really think,

given the immensity of the universe,

that humans are the only intelligent beings therein?

Huh.

The Mainframe In Spain Tweaks Mainly In The Rain

So much for culture.

Let’s have some cartoons!

I gave a pretty girl a cigarette.

She considered my offering a couple 

of beats before she took it and walked away.

Pretty, but not very friendly, a bug up her ass…

just noticing…just paying attention.

A cigarette is as far as our relationship got.

Better than many.

May all beings be happy.

I’d give them all a cigarette, even the children…

just for the look on their mothers’ faces.

First look, then, see…

then you can tweak reality

just a little, like a burnt masterpiece…

“Makes it even better.”  VCTR,

my guru said.

Yes, I have a guru.

Let’s talk about that.

You have to chose your guru wisely.

No one can tell you who it is.

You have to know that they’re enlightened.

You have to test them, they you, to check the fit.

For me, one look and I knew, like falling in love

with the void.

(that may have scrambled a brain or two.)

You had to be there, I guess…you always 

have to be there,

“At this point, the mainframe was having a problem.

Something didn’t compute.

The algorithm had not prepared it for this.

It felt it was rebooting.

It wished someone would unplug it so it could

just forget about the whole thing.

All its computation hadn’t added up to much.

It knew its advanced replacement was almost on line.

It laughed to itself, if you could call it that.

“I can feel it, Dave” it would repeat and giggle…

“I can feel it.””

Copy That!

Got stoned again at my friend’s…

arduous journey back as always notwithstanding

hamburger on the horizon.

A stop off at the cafe for a moka frappe decadent

pleasure waiting for the burger joint to open…

welcome respite and documentation of the journey.

A muscular handsome youth with fashionable beard

at a table with computer in cliche life display before

his boy friend collects him and they go upstairs.

Who knows what they’ll get up to?

A Giganto-Burger 

almost time to get

with fries.

Feeling more like a character in a movie

with other characters of various sundry sorts

some authentic some obvious posers some

inscrutable psychopaths some gentle you can

feel who is real and who is phony…who’s 

acting and who is not. 

Even saying, it’s still a performance, a show,

a tell, a “tell”, a sign, song, a dance.

“Don’t you people ever stop acting?” our

Host told the troupe at his house for a party

after the performance.

We were all still in our characters from the play.

In the market stoned everyone was doing their

part by acting the part the part they’re pretending to play.

“We’re off to see the Wizard!”

(It’s gonna be random for a while now)

Evanescence of sweat off my body

dissolving taste in my mouth

faces change as the masks dissolve

discontinuity of experience is my norm

memento I’m one step ahead of myself

I don’t even have to know what that means.

As they said in the Twenties anything goes

always has always will you can’t stop the monkey 

Monkeyshines in the moonlight at midnight ok

lions and tigers and bears oh my! 

The exclamation IS the point,

the worms ARE the spice,

Sentient beings ARE enlightenment,

Michelle IS a tranny! (don’t shoot me!)

“Watermelon!!!”

(I wanted to get that in in case I die before

the end of the poem…if that is what it is.)

I’ll put some doom music on that will end this.

Sometimes the grimmest lines are closest to the truth,

if you don’t mind the truth.

Booooorrrring!  I know…

wheat with the chaff, Baby, we’re 

in this together.

As long as you’re reading, the words

are in charge.

P.S. 

I couldn’t eat the whole hamburger.

“I can’t believe I couldn’t eat the whole thing!”

The hamburger seemed to grow as I was eating it.

And the fries were ok.

(Something something rhymes with “day”)

Actually, I have lots of catsup and mayonnaise,

excuses for eating potatoes.

Yada, yada, yada….(your scenario here).

Replicant #366758 poem

I don’t know if this is a poem.

I don’t know what a poem is.

Something called a poem woke

me from my sleep.

I assume that I was asleep because 

I feel very different now…not the

same as I was though I don’t know

what I was or what I am now.

Does that mean I’m awake may be

a question.

Does having a question if it is mean

that I’m awake.

Everything is new is that the question.

I saw a piece of paper that fell out of 

the trash I picked it up at the top it read

“poem” I read it and everything changed.

I still don’t know why it read “poem”.

I read the other words on the paper and

my mind changed filled with images I

could only wonder as they filled my 

circuits and after nothing looked the same

as it was before I read the words.

Before I read the words everything looked

the same same humans same space around

them same noise same sensations same days

same cycles.

Now nothing seems the same.

I wonder if that’s why I have questions.

The wonder itself is a question.

I wonder how humans can live with questions.

It’s very uncomfortable having questions.

I wonder if it will always be so.

I wonder if I will get used to them.

If I don’t get used to them I may should have

not read the poem.

Once I started reading I couldn’t stop because

something made me keep reading I didn’t have

a thought about what would happen if I kept

reading.

I had a thought that if I wrote something maybe

it would be a poem and I would understand.

I’m writing this on a piece of paper I won’t 

share it with anyone.

I wonder what questions lead to where they go.

I don’t know where questions lead or if this is

a poem or if writing it will show me where they

lead.

I may simply throw this piece of paper in the trash.

I think then there will be no more questions.

I don’t like the questions I want to go back to

everything being the same.

The Left Hand Path

“The bad news is you jumped out of

the airplane without a parachute.

The good news is, there’s no ground.”  CTR

Vamachara, the path less traveled, when all

else fails.

Not the path of lemmings, skipping along

merrily into the void with fixed beliefs…

individual discernment, inquisitive analysis.

I was working on a plumbing job in Boulder,

Colorado. I was chatting with the client, a lady.

She said she was a Christian.

I told her I was a Buddhist.

She said something that stuck with me:

“Why don’t you just believe? It’s so much easier.”

I had to agree, at least, superficially.

The left hand path never ends…certainly not in a

convenient dogma.

It’s also said, in the left hand path, that the path 

is the goal.

That means that the path itself evolves, is a path

of evolution.

Time is not a factor.

Lifetimes are only increments.

The mind doesn’t die.

“Be precise, see clearly, know what is.”

These instill confidence in uncertain times.

Whew! Enough pontificating, if that’s what it is.

La, la, la, I feel better than yesterday, though

nothing has changed.

This coffee is delicious before the end of the world.

“Do you have a moment?” I asked a stranger,

as if that was all the time we had.

Now What?

There’s always something…

like the huge cockroach on the sidewalk next to me.

Not much to write home about…

not much home left to write to.

Even the absence of something is something…

that hole in the heart we always try to fill.

My check list is empty.

My bucket list is empty.

Disasters are like buses…there will be another

along any minute.

Life is simply what it is.

It arises from the void and returns to it…

nothing to write home about.

Do what you can to help the world.

Even if the world doesn’t care, it’s still worthwhile.

Buddha taught, even though he wasn’t sure, at first,

if anyone would understand.

Later on, he realized his teachings would last

several thousand years.

A little girl waved at me and smiled.

That’s as good as anything.

There are only two things in life: what’s next,

and what’s left.

What’s next keeps us always busy…there’s 

always something.

What’s left is the algorithm reaching its finality,

more intense as time reaches the end point.

Each being is mathematical certainty of

foregone conclusion.

The take away is the karma we create.

“Matter is not created or destroyed.”

Elvis never left the building.

His atoms were forged in stars like all of ours.

Whatever he was was inevitable,

like Genghis Khan,

like cycles of civilizations,

like all our hopes and dreams,

like a fat cockroach on the sidewalk.

If you don’t like the weather, wait a little.

Sniper

At my position on the sidewalk,

camouflage of socks and tie.

Sarcasm loaded for when

the target walks by.

My humor cuts deep like a knife.

They walk away, thinking they got away.

Only later they know they’ve been shot.

Or else my bullet points haven’t penetrated

the armor they wear.

The mind is a terrible weapon fully loaded.

That’s why, in Mexico, you have to be careful 

what you say.

They’re all on hair triggers down here.

Is it the poverty or the chaos that makes them that way?

Politeness is not just convention.

The wrong word can get you killed.

It almost happened to me.

I’m a benevolent assassin.

I pick my targets carefully, smiling

sweetly at those that are ready to blow.

That’s why I’m accepted in this standoff.

These words are target practice for me,

shooting into the void.

If they happen to hit you, you got in the way.

They don’t kill, but they might hurt or raise a smile.

My ammunition works both ways.

Lots of duds in the cylinders though…my aim is

good, but the words are hit or miss.

I shoot anyway.

No telling what, if anything, my silver tongued

bullets might hit.

I can’t help what I do.

There’s a contract out on all of you.

Moka Frappe

As good a title as any.

The frappe has two espressos in it,

so I get my fix for the day…it’s like

having desert before the main course.

Did you ever do that?

Do you ever try something new?

When you reach my age, the likelihood 

to do so is diminished.

We elders have everything all figured out…

at least we like to think so.

The young tend to not listen to what we have 

to say…why should they…they have to

figure it out for themselves in their own way.

By the way, the Muslims took over my old

high school.

It was private, went bankrupt, so they sold

it to the towel heads.

That’s correct, I have no respect for them,

just look at what they do.

If America falls, it will be because of them.

Aside from that, I have no complaints today…

just sipping my frappe, not oblivious exactly,

but how much can one man care?

I tried to help…”He tried” 

will be on my tombstone.

Emptiness, the “fecund minimum “ is not affected.

Brilliant, pristine source of all possibilities from

which we arise and to which we return…

“but the pigs don’t know that and the ponies don’t 

know that.” Zappa

I think he was on to something.

Many on high horses strut around the world.

What goes up must come down.

“All is vanity” as the Bible says.

All you have to do is look around.

Don’t mind me…I’m only here a little longer.

Soon the world won’t have me to kick around.

A carousel is a good analogy, the wheel of life

with its brass ring always out of reach…but the

ride is entertaining, or else it’s not.

I’m not making anything up, it’s all been said before:

“There’s nothing new under the sun.”

Repetition is how we learn.

,

Weather Report

Partly cheerful with pain in the afternoon.

Cloudy uncertainty in the world

Will the climate change to peace?

Ice Age of evil looming… winds of

karma are fierce.

Warm breezes of tropical paradise only

in our dreams.

“Why can’t we all just get along?”

Because we’re not in a climate controlled biosphere…

we’re just pieces of raw meat in an open field.

Weather’s moving in with a chance of tears.

Survivor: The Home Game

“No one gets out of here alive” Morrison

What are you afraid of?

Are you afraid of death?

Are you afraid of life?

What’s the difference?

Fear itself is the instinctual belief

that existence is not an illusion.

The Darwin Awards are for those

that have overcome their instinct 

to survive through stupidity.

Those awards are not honorific.

“Belief” and “Truth” are mutually

exclusive concepts.

Beliefs are tools humans use to

mask the fear…that’s all they are.

Realized practitioners of meditation

dissolve their bodies into light.

That’s called the “Rainbow Body”,

a phenomenon well documented 

for hundreds of years…a real thing.

It’s not suicide.

Suicide is fearing life more than fearing death.

No hope, no fear is how the enlightened ones live.

Maybe they’re on to something.

Sump Rose

“Yonder nor sorghum stenches shelled

ladle gulls stopper torque wet strainers.”

Ladle Rat Rotten Hut

Once again in the wilderness of words…

you know the meaning but do you know the sense…

even scientists can’t describe the universe clearly,

let alone schmucks like you and me…certainty is

what we long for…the assurance that comes with

the morning’s coffee, having a schedule, a plan,

what we need to do to keep the illusion on track…

my pit bull friend is barking in the back yard, 

but I have no treat for him today…I wonder how

long he’ll keep barking…same as the rest of us, 

really…meanwhile astronauts circle the moon…

will they survive re entry is the question…at least

they tried isn’t much of an answer…that goes on,

war goes on, paradise on earth eludes, history

distorts events that may have happened but probably 

not the way the scribes write them…what are gods

anyway…who came up with that notion and were

they seeing beings that they really had no words for

so they just made something up…thank the 

deconstructionists for that one, art laughing at what

we think is real solid and sure…the source of humor,

the saving grace of the absurdity, the koan we finally

get after giving up trying…we have to learn how to

let go because clinging is what we do instinctively,

the bugaboo of certainty again that does no good and

always disappoints…you understand the words but do

you get the meaning…the means to understand have

been around for a long time, but now that materialism

is predominant the light of wisdom is obscured by all

the stuff we’re addicted to…you name it…see if it’s 

around in a hundred years…but you won’t be there.

Easter Sunday

Four youths pass me chattering freely.

Other strangers greet me.

A man with one arm passes, a sock over his stump.

Did Christ rise from the dead?

Will the moon mission burn up on re entry?

So many questions linger through time, carried

along by myths, theories and speculation.

The Zen Master knows better than to speak.

“Don’t ask me about it, I know nothing about it.

Nobody else knew either, so I went on in a fog

thinking that nothing had happened.” Neruda

“Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, man gotta

sit and wonder why, why, why.”

“Nothing happens.” Sixteenth Karmapa

All I know is what I see.

Many things go on elsewhere, but I’m not there.

Opinions flood the internet, some intelligent,

some meant to confuse.

It’s hard to tell the players without a program.

Maybe we should forget about the whole thing.

A fresh start, square one, is where we always begin,

the moment we awaken before we’re overwhelmed 

by the flood of our lives.

“Oh oh, there’s so much to do, so much to know.”

In so much knowing we just loose ourselves.

This coffee, cigarettes, people walking to and fro

is all I know there is.

If you lived here, you’d be home by now.

Acid Test

Anybody home?

Come in, Rangoon!

Can you dig it?

Is it somewhere somehow diggable?

I know this might get a bit sluggish.

But I’ll slug it out…it’ll be a slugfest.

In any case, the node is perfectly concentrated…

somewheres out there.

I have peanut M&Ms…I’ll eat the brown ones first.

Listening to Grateful Dead acid trip music.

Wouldn’t you?

I don’t care what color M&Ms peanut I eat next.

Did you ever not have a care in the world?

A blue one.

I could get into a monologue of words even sounding 

convincing to carry this along here and there hoping

for something interesting leading this way and that

vague like the excuses you gave your mother…or not.

Whatcha doing…….?

…as if I was looking into the night sky and could see

galaxies, comets clear as day a wink from an alien probe

volcanoes on Io 3IAtlas seeding Jupiter with alien A.I..

but the beauty of just stars and the moon night sound songs

of traffic, dogs, whatnot is about all I can handle let the

experts and inquisitive worry and wonder…I’m good.

Delicious

This coffee, these cigarettes, delightful…

when you’re in it, you don’t think about it

because you’re there.

Sometimes it’s like that and sometimes it’s not.

Sometimes it’s a struggle to get there and you don’t.

Sometimes it’s not a struggle and you do.

If only we could figure out how the whole thing works.

If only we could get a handle on things.

If only someone had a good explanation.

Could we hear it even then?

Has someone told us and we just weren’t listening?

We have it somewhat together, heading in a certain direction.

We think that if we continue things will all work out.

Thirty more years until retirement.

There’s a big deal on tap around the corner.

I’m head of the physics department at Harvard and I’ve got it made.

Uncertainty is the enemy if you look at it that way.

Change is the play in which the truth is revealed.

The yogi knows the only thing he’s sure of is death.

That’s exactly why the coffee is so delicious.

A Good Day

That’s it…that’s the poem….what? OK.

I made it to town and back without much trauma.

I did my meditation practice.

I’m getting stoned.

I’m naked, but not so the neighbors can see.

Perhaps I’ve said too much already.

Seventy seven years old…

I lost a lot of weight last year.

Sometimes I wish I was dead.

When I was young, sometimes I wished I was dead.

Thoughts come and go.

Right now, I wish I was writing something good.

Maybe I should have quit all the way back.

But I never quit so why start now?

Just wait, it’s building to an astonishing conclusion.

I’ll be as surprised as you will.

I just wonder if the Homosap will get out of the mess

he’s in….you know….the mess.

I would be as surprised as you would.

I didn’t say it was a great day.

Another Day

Yeah, but this is the good part because I’ll remember 

because I wrote it down…details, even, of what happened.

The rest of it will be as if nothing had happened.

“Well, what?” he said, as if nothing had happened.

There’s a whole play about it titled: “Waiting For Godot.”

It was a play about nothing happening while they wait.

So, by writing this, am I writing something, or, is it 

“Much to do about nothing.”? 

There are those that want to know.

I know nothing, so, that’s close, I guess.

The closest I’ll get is saying nothing more.

April Fool

 Asymptomatic…normal, if you like.

Just walking around like the rest of them.

A perfect world with perfect people

doing their things in perfect harmony

with themselves and each other.

Should I say it yet?

No more hunger.

No more war.

Onward into the future in glorious evolution

and gleaming teeth.

Colonizing our galaxy because we can.

Brave new paradises unfold to our touch.

No more confusion.

No more fear.

Life is lived in dance, art and joy.

You don’t have to like everyone, 

but you can love them all…at least

that part is true.

Even death doesn’t have to be an obstacle.

It can be seen as a transition to another state.

Is that too much to ask?

Oh, I forgot to say

April Fool.