Where I Have Been

I just wanted to let everyone know that I am writing three seperate blogs now and I wanted to pass on the addresses just in case anyone wanted to keep reading what I am putting out there. Here are the addresses and a brief description of what is on each:

reknowltoniii.blogstream.com/ - this is where all of my new poetry can be found. I have been blogging on BlogStream as long as I have here on Blogger and have come to enjoy the 'community' there as well as the interaction process.

richardknowlton.blogstream.com/ - this is where I am writing prose and essays. All posts with a 'bonus' designation in the title are prose and all others are essays on society and politics. I have kept this 99.9% prose lately and have a few short stories up that alot of people have enjoyed.

simplyybr.blogstream.com/ - this is my fun 'bloggy' blog. I have been posting video clips, music, and pictures and over-all just sharing and having a good time with it.

I hope you all get a chance to check out what I have been doing and I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has read my work or commented in the past - THANK YOU!

Be well and smile.

Godspeed.

R.E. Knowlton III

Appologies to Dawn

to listen into
each morning
while it gets ready for the day
to gaze into
the respect
of night that day must have

And I could not write any further beyond that, in that mode of code and so on and so forth; something still shines on

onto better mornings before the night lets go ...

to take and not get back

and all of the fury
drips down
like shutter paint
on sills that
New England mornings
won't take inside the womb
and make comfortable
with slippers
tall scotches
packed pipes
dog pants of
obedience and
floppy, floopy ears
Rockwell paintings gone awry
I have lived them
you say 'no'
you think they do not exist
not in minds
not in kinds
not in paintings hung high
not in me
not with me
New Enlgand mornings
complete with greyed out
mornings of Rockport dismal
the days of black out
the days of Bearskin Neck
Hannah Jumper coaxes
necks to be hung and cut
but no one does
they buy you more drinks
and no one seems any wiser
except on the days of spouse birthdays

what is LA all about?

trebuchet my love
whip it back
and call me a name
that no other could
and all the while
the match stick men
collide and collaborate
in my den
with pipes a flared
and book spines groped
as if in Never Land
and the ranch is only miles away
yet the ones that figure out
what could go down
are only left in lawsuits
that seek no fruition
and only a simple gesture
of what the Laugh Factory could
encompus as the 'N' word
and what that might mean to us all
if we only stopped to wonder
what a word meant
if we only meant them at all
or took the time
the pure simple time
to write them down
and caress them like children
babes in cloth
sweet times of innocense and simple thought
easy interpretation
and awfully awful days
need be to us all
yes, need be indeed

talk with a girl preacher; a simple, satisfying talk

sterile the thought
simple the day
little known from
where it once was
and there are the days
littered in lingering sunshine
and thoughts of forlorn forefathers
and all of the such
that make young boys cry
and weep for better saxophone solos
that make leaves fall from trees
and make horse shit
pick itself up
from parkways
and driveways
and all the other ways
in which we travel
little girls squeel
and hold tight each other
at the thought
the simplest thought
of too many candles
too much wax
too much fire
contained in the heart
of a man that shook His hand
and took it for what it is
through all of the days
all of the nights
and any time in between
anything once known
all welcome and read through out
John,
John the Baptist
I can hear the notes
and the paper waivers
and shakes about
in a breeze that was never meant to be there
not even in the typing

what happens to snowmen that never become men?

surly white snow
and all of it's fixin's
gathered in flakes
and drifts and the banks
with salty dirt piss stains
of brown, yellow fancy
like the rottened out teeth
of stinking bar whores
with their menthol 120's
and angry little drinks
containing nothing but booze
the ether escapes
from twixt the gaps
and 'tween the gum holes
like reverse vacuums
of reality's shortcomings
anouncing to the world
that reality's limp
a little smidgen of post
that doesn't last long
but likes to pull hair
and obscenely scream out
making the neighbors
bang on the walls
the pounding
the pushing
the screaming and yelling
and that's just the neighbors
fighting the sounds
and found down and out
outside the room
is a yellowed out snow bank
seeking to melt
wishing to crawl quick
into the bedroom
and gaze ever so briefly
at violent love

full range regret

warming back up to quick thoughts
like a mesquite cowboy
with well worn leather chaps
covering dungarees
before they were jeans
holding nothing but a stick
to stoke the embers bright
for the pot of beans
that will never reach tasteful
and only be consumed
out of need to ride the night
into dawns filled with sage
like dresses so dirty
they should not be worn
by the girls in the towns
so far away
from the burning black cauldron
of quick thought beans
and how they might taste

hidden infatuation

salty marimbas
that don't amount to much
on the shelves of bossa novas
that never happened
not even in the imagination
of Isaac Azimov
or any of his thoughtless thoughts
the ones he never wrote of
the ones he hid under his bed
and only pulled out
when the day was done
the side burns just so
the slacks hung so
prim and proper by the bed
on a hanger that wishes
it was not just Azimov
but rather the thoughts
he never thought
and the words never used to express them

sideshow afternoon

foliage of another time
garden walks wind up in filth
the dirt of the day
caressing molestations
in the grass, in the bush
days forgotten
days remembered
blended and shredded all at once
a Cuisinart of emotion
a flury fury
a simple gesture
from a jestor
makes one explode
with the grime and grit
the gorged glutton
explosions for all to see
you need only pay a nickle
and no one yet has seen the buffalo

swimming lessons

eyes burnt out
with hot metal fury
hot medal fury
fury indeed
never a need to hear again
nor the need to see
shut it all down and cry
cry tear drops from your mouth
disguised as drool
so no one knows
no one at all
keep that mouth moving
open, shut
open again
hold your nose tight
dive into the pool
don't breathe
can't see
stop and smell the underwater flowers
all the while they wonder
'what does he know?'

involuntary yoga

with the air
escaping from your head
a swish, a swoosh
and no amount of breathing
can replenish
what now is lost
never had, never will
in
out
exhale
inhale
the air keeps escaping
escaping from your head

wake up

dance shaken scared
by the eyes you can't see
the ones that teeter and twitter
behind the minds that bind them
strut castrated days
too much to take in
and still the minds find flaw
not enough there
to walk about slowly
with nothing but pennance deep in your heart
something so sudden
without caustic cause
doesn't seem so sudden when rubbed out like sleep
doesn't seem so sudden when rubbed out like sleep

born with no direction

standing atop the cobblestone curb
the straight line of the bridge
greened over by the age of the waters below
the smell of long forgotten clean sheets
the days of purpose long gone
no more water than cobblestone
straight lines
straight lines
straight lines
and then the rain falls down like children
from drunken storks with slippery beaks

questions from a diner counter

mornings with Spaulding Grey
nights with Klaus Nomi
luncheons that only occur in your mind
simple thoughts kept at bay
simple thoughts released throughout
mid-day hunger can drive one mad, insane
was this a tea party meaning
was this a flatulent thought
if only I were to eat lunch it might just go away

nuptials

shards of black evil
shatter out
into the night
where they disappear
into like
mirrored spinning blades
of light's absense
while the charcoal
flies
no veil
no train
no gown
but rather an end
to what could have been

dinnner at moms

put my brain under the pillow
hope the fairy comes in the night
gives me one more peek
at visions gone
like lolipop licked luster
forever slathered away in one
fell swoop of a tongue
long gone
cast aside
pushed away
until the lesbian revolution
when
it will come into play
once again
and and only then
will this tongue make it's mark
sticking out straight
and long
in a jesture
of jester's past
the strongest muscle baby,
the strongest one

mea culpa

Walk me down to MacArthur Park
Stroll me down through Washington Square
See the lights and sing out the passion
of never was
of couldn't be there
in a day and age when children screamed louder
for things they should not have
take away the cell phone
take away the baited breath
make them breathe again
take out the rubber nipple force the real on in
make them know the maker
is not a sperm donor
somewhere in Jersey
praying that genetics don't make him
responsible
because his
kids
aren't

Insicor

Know that I speak of pain
of fury
of anger
of hurt
of degradation and disregard
of granted taken far beyond the bounds
know that I know
even when I do not look like I do
I get it
It makes sense to me
when it doesn't maybe I'l shut up
but until then
you better keep your hands in your pockets
your arms folded
your legs crossed
and
your mouth shut
it will back fire
I will tak out a large chunk
in one
big
bite

Buy Me

The slow delve into the deep throat
lower that voice
seem intimidating
seem angry
seem serious
know that the world hurts
hurts like a Stone's song
that never was played
through the headphones
of a kid
mkaing faces as at my man hood
while I buy a bag of chips

The slow delve into the deep throat
lower that voice
seem intimidating
seem angry
seem serious
know that the world hurts
hurts like a Stone's song
that never was played
through the headphones
of a kid
mkaing faces as at my man hood
while I buy a bag of chips

outer space rooster

take my soul
chew it up
rolli t across your tongue
slaiva bath
left deep
inside you soul
an orifice
that does not smile
does not laugh
never says come hither
only licks up one side
down the other
and then I grin
and know where the hen house is
roosters
cocks
find 'em
hunt 'em down
we need more hens
cock to base
we need more hens

farm

Where could you be
in a night so cold
and hot in the day
left aside an dmade to fear
all the other days around it
do the shoes not match
or the socks either
makes sense
throat is sore
neck hurts
and yet the turkeys gobble on

love note

The confusion
of hit here
beat there
bruise me again
and again and again
break a bone to say
I love you
why?
when?
how?
feminism?
angry men?
social castration?
no excuse from either side
no time for time
don't be mad
I just want to talk
just not to you

when I grow up ...

It hurts man
hurts real bad
makes the paint peel
makes children cry
hurts us all
it is eating from whence it came
take it away
like a calgon request
wash this shit right out of my life
the commercials rock on
my beard is grey
my hair is thin
my gut is bigger than Texas
and there are not stars bright enough
to shed light on what has gone down
or why you made it so
cast that ashtray in clay
take away the supper I made
give it to the can
make me smile next time around
it is so much easier
for all of us

Hallmark Card

can someone make it make it
close it close it
slow it down just enough
where we don't need to repeat
I know you are watching
seeing every slash of the alphabet
taking notes
to use against me
not in the library of where
on might find me in in years
years from now
years from when our grand kids will live
but yours all already here
and you watch
casting your judgement
with you chlorine tears
bleaching what should now be clear
but isn't and won't ever be
because
simply put
your a bitch

Iagniappe

Old friend's
back again
gone for so long that salt collects in the memories
back again
ah, old friend's
dance to the spinning of albums left aside
for younger types
wishing you had returned
earlier and sooner and swifter
come back
and you have
to hugs and smiles and cheers
I rejoice with the others lost
without your words
thank you

drum major

drag those sticks
across the skins
and do so with your loving touch
in rhythem
without rhyme
but known to all the love caress
take it in
beat by beat
and make the children dance
shake it here
shake it there
never two will win
just stop shaking and buy the vinyl love
make it shine and know
sticks are just sticks
beats are in the breath

pajama mansion

capsized hearts
mastabatory rage
rip that god damned thing right off
throw it down
make em smile
earn what you got you tiny little man
know that it all comes slow
and only success
can be held within a caloused hand

Make the shuddered shiver
Make the cankerous cry
Take in the lost forgotten whispers
of molesters in the night

I am none of those sins
I know where I stand
Don't be part of that
hold me while I cry and say that you love me

pumpkin night

time to put the sea shells down
time to talk to men of might
time to hem the skirts all wrong
time to dance on through the night
with anger and foot stomps
I do not dance so well
but when the tears come crowding in
the room it clears so very swift
with no mention of the mid night sound
of princes knocking on the door
while sisters gather around the gossip tree
and wonder why I am gone
be glad that I do not see
what has gone on for now
and ever more
the voices shrill like chalk dust tea
and we part ways just the same
each with our own smiles

the beast of blues

not so good these days
much better at
pulsating personality
much better at my rants
rave on and hope for no flashbacks
take me tight in the mother's arms
hope I don't cry
look up
above
avoid the curse of
wash and disrobe
while I am carried high
hoping to be quiet
I know I can't stop
talk on and on
talk until
still no one shuts me up
evil is as evil does
pentacostal fear of scream
I don't even like Frasier Crane

manhattan garden

travel deep through the deserts
dry nights that make you cough
stand tall and know
speak clear and breathe deep your water
drink it down
in the dawns you shun
do not take it all in
take ti with a dose of pride
do not explode
do not make the men cry
the collared men
as you babble long
and
tall
and
proud
and small
with no more
love found within the walls of
primal scream
possesion and Yoko Ono
are not so different

shim sham
rim the scam
and make the eyes wide
while the garden still makes flowers grow

alliteration

bus benches
bother boys
berated by Breslin
before bothersome
boredom by bretherins
bought
bore
berated
berated
berated
bi-coastally
bought

beware bestial betweens before breakfast

I'm into bedtime now

kill me
done
dead
wrapped in a sheet
if they read this; what would they know
done
kill me
dead
and then we read into
what we do not know more than we could want to see
dead
done
kill me
and the music plays on with blonds who cry
red heads too
and brunettes just shudder

they know what happened
they know so
they do not cry

they spit with the ferosity of young men in green clothes with guns

who's palace

pillows
to silent
me
when
nothing but the soft
of pillows mean Vegas
as the dice roll
the cards fall like
whores in bedroom
romps
forgotten by cards
that trace the play
and hope that I
that we
in velvet
come back to say
jackpot
nice fuckin' pillow

an alley

silly little man
put aside
for other times
of other fascination
take no one on
in other lights
where tones shudder deep
and water
refuses to ripple
in the steadfast beliefs
of a solitary
night
when all is dead
not just the moon
whose puckered, pickled
smile
is nothing more than a drunk man
in an alley
who smiles from ear to ear
offering only what he has
nothing

rebirth

make the night
go away
into the night from where it came
make street lights
dance into silence
as the dawn fears it's own birth
the moon should
shun itself back to it's night
where skirts tear
words dance
in eratic gyrations
that leave one drooling
others mystified
left with words dancing
in the front of their tongues
that go on pilgramage from exchange
mothers shun
fathers hide
sisters died
brothers fled
and all said and done
the box and the womb are neither made of pine.

plant me deep in moonlight

sweat
tears of salt
make the men fall down
sweat
like women of disregard
while they cry
for children
tossed aside by the men
where
no one
will make a claim or call
but you are too big to cry
but the salt cleanses
all with a sting
a sting that can only
come from within
as the readings
read on and
the sweat of the children crying
wet shirt backs
as lilacs bloom
and roses bloom
in gardens of secrets
in the peat moss of night

Berlin with a Taste of Birmingham

Too fake
Too wrong
Too much delusion
and only thank you
to Casio can be achieved
Ahhhh
the wonders of tape editing
I only wonder
where
when
how
why
the men
the women
cry
at keyboards that flicker in the night

Possesion

Ok
scandels abound
maps can be wrong
no holiday for me
dance me up in David Lee Roth's
furry boots
spin me neither here or there
but make me know
that when
boys are boys
and
girls are girls
that children are what they are
hold no fury
towards the sun
make no preconceptions of where they go
know that only the sun
only the moon
only anything above us
better than us
have faith and hope in
a child's smile
that makes a man cry
real tears
in the cold of nights where
priests won't even walk
goodnight to the silent children of master's abuse

Bering Straight

call out the soul
in languages that hold no rhythem
that take no prisoners
that make men cry and
make women laugh
like that of warlords
that have killed in battle
the cackles
fray the day and the moment
and hold high the souls of men
who die into the youth
of children's pillows
the demons fly
through the night
on the radio waves
that lay chalk on the ground
as the wake of family
make waves that can not ever be touched
rogue I think they call them

two minutes in the pan handle

the salt ...

come on now ... the salt

let it weep down
like lines of Patsy and of Hank
make the salt flow

From Willie to Graham ...

Like I know what I mean
Like I know what I feel

take me into the sheppard's cloth
take me into the harp strumin' Angel's tears

Southern heart's make their way
they make me cry
sob and try to be me

Gators bite
men hate
God loves

I never knew
I am no better than anyone, but I understand now ...

parson's

burn me alive
let me overdose
and let me thrive
in the shade of the Joshua Tree
let the hotel know
that room keys
fly with the burritos
sing like an angel
of Jesus
make me weep
in the color of men who
do not know
even if they are aware
let the singing
of ladies past
reflect on kin
that can never, ever, be secure in the blankets
of night with the cool breezes blowing
blow on
breathe in and out
with the cool drafts
that need the editing of a drink
be good
be three
be one with what you deny
know that you are meant to cry and
it is nearly forgotton
pick the cotton
and speak ...

night spent worrying about dawn

only the men cry
in huts and shadows that hold the tight
in pages that no one reads
in songs no one hears
in clay molded just for them
hold on dear
sweet prince
of the night
and the darkness
with no script to read
your silken exterior
your flesh like silk
the eyes that say
fuck off
the mind that says
mine
the body that exclaims
dirty
you dirty bastard
with all of the
looks claiming civility
and this is what it has become
nights of no return
and
shadows of what once was
so simple
it was called
US

death's glove

I have written
too many history's
of men
that cringe and shudder
at the thought of my
typing madness
dance the skirts my way
you befuddled son of a bitch
dance my way
and dance so loud
to make the Devil's dance
cloven hoofed boogie
dance, dance, dance
and only the dawn's light will make you see
the waves in the sea
all salty
and sultry
and such
with crystaline
visages of what once was
and what could be
in the refrection
of a pupil's
reaction
I need no more ...

Saint Peter

I am crying oil
for my little girl
take me down and roll me in tar
the tar made of oil
make me dance under
sparkled light
beneath the globe
the polyester's oil
fill my tank and spank me twice
make 'em know that I am wrong
spread my right to left
cast me in a cancer mold
of cankerous folds
strip me down to what I was
and make me picnic with enemies
I want no
day
hour
minute
or phase
of ten million blinks
within the graze of
two hundred men
screaming that
I suck
I am better than that
all I want is the gaze of my seed
with splendor found
in night's darkness

the upinishad's revelry

scrape a knee
wound the flesh
dance about in ridicule
how do you measure up?
do you smell?
I mean have a scent,
These are a few of my many smells
and the Milkmen dance
Is word association a talent?
Is it a curse of intellect?
It is something to cast aside
like a commercial
being pompous in it's velvet flavor
tasting the grit and grind and grade
of sharp particles
waiting to be the pearl
move on
glide on
glisten glide
know that I am gone
I don't want the pearl
life is much more precious than
that
me
or
you
it is more than we know

The Keatons

Slap that Muppet bitch
shake that furry ass
weeble and wobble
through the fur
and dance like the horny bitch you are
all the Muppets revel in your ass shaking glory
hole
up inside
the demons that arise
in the dead of night
the visage of one shadow
held tight against
a chest
in fear of not knowing what one will do if it
claims tears as rivers
and
fears as lakes
of intrepid existance swayed through out the field
across the pond
and the tears still fall
but support is needed
even if just the cup of crotch
I need no grail
Arthur beware
unless you are of PBS nature
and the little girls cry
if your books don't sell

tale of a fisherman

Bring home a sack of burgers
dripping beef with cheese
know that I mean
thank you
as the grease drips down my chin
making you shake your head
and not know why
I am who I am
cast that bitch aside
with the whip of a bull or bear
Clark's hold on.
A drive in the day and then on
beyond that
tailgate pic-nic
in the anals of Osipee
by the lake with paternal arrest
ice fishing sucks
it does more
for the fisherman
and less for the fisherman
someone tell Les Claypool
that he makes sense
give that
son of a bitch
a hug
make him smile as he makes us
...

bathroom

I caught it
It hurt
I now know
no more bathroom drunks
sham the moment
disregard the action
piss in a milk jug if you have to
don't zip again
stand tall with that zipper down
scream
yell
cause a whole lot of hell
grab it tight
know that
if you don't the world will

Rythem and Rhyme

Hold me down
make me cry
cry through a day
when men don't cry
tears play
hopscotch down
hills and valleys covered in rain
little girls in skirts
flirt and flit
or is it
flit and flirt
make the punctuation matter
all the while
saute tables dance with
more passion
and
dance with girls
who politely
say
"arragato"
lay me down to bed
hold me tight
and know that I mean
"I love you"

A.M.

Two times
two times baby
lay me down
in my beard
to pray and hold me tight
as others want me
they want to take me away
from you and our nights
of simple pleasures
and rites of passage
yet to play out in the sun
and the sparkling daylight
that never once found us
in the panic of dreams
with the sperm of nature
and the seman of moonlight
the night time laughter can only sustain

rides to an airport that hurts

Seventies cars
thought in a dream
where everyhtings faded
not just the paint
bridges that glisten
in the light of a sun rise
and hospitals don't matter
for bandages hurt
all of the girls
and the nights
and the booze
with the drugs
and the pleasure
that could never be found
comprable to any day
that has a light
so bright
and makes cars
look like faded matchbox dreams
rolling over a bridge
to be fallen upon my passage
in the morning
sun glistening down
like drops of ice tea
that no one will drink
becasue there is beer in the trunk

JFK

Don't tell me the secret
the bath water won't
smile
it won't
even hear
the Dylan that plays
plays on through the hatred
of dawn's early light
as seperation dances
waltzes through
Canadian whiskeys pour spout
in the parking lot
of amputions sake
with the cold breathing in
as the breath breathing out
cold as fog in a child's mind
and the cars all became something of dreams
with the planes taking off
and one more swig from the can
in a world that was not understanding
of what would be left
at the doorsteps of all our goodbyes

whore house motel

take my hand and let my
big ol' bear claw hold
your pretty little prissy hand
tight with it's feminine nails
your polish been lacking
just natural nails
that scrape at my palms
and hold me tight
in the darkness of Beelzebub's belch
as your nails dig deep
deep into my back
and you are inside me and I cry out
for more of the thrusting
and pushing of my childlike cries
as you make me your whore
and we hold hands even tighter
in the glory of breakfast
breakfast in bed
with tossed over sheets
and stinks that defy smelling
when all the maids ask
"what the hell happened here"

appology needed

you hate me
you hate me when I drink
you hate the trips to the store
you hate my stumble into the john
you hate when I ask if you are all right
you hate when I ask what did I do wrong
you hate when i stand the way I do
when I drink
you hate all the rants
you hate all the raves
you hate when I tell you it's my choice
you hate when I tell you I love you
you hate when I get excited about benders
I love when you say I love you
I am sorry

hold me

Tie me down to the rantings of yore
make me smell funny
more foul than I do
but smile all the same
with that lustfull grin
of wanting me so much
you don't know what to do
with me and yourself
and the sweat inbetween
they don't make incense that strong
they don't let us lube up the way that we want
but it is ok
because the sun
will rise in the morning
and we know it gone in the night
all things are ok except
shards of glass inbedded in palms that drunkenly fell

cup of coffee anyone?

No greetings here
you fat son of a bitch
just sit right down
and die in front
of the queen
in front
of my lady
your tears
crystaline only through night
cast away argues
cast away sun
throw away all that could ever be done
and fly to the glory
of lonliness peak
and stay there all lonely
without any voices
of friendship and comfort
and the pain of the loss
take them with you to bed
in the dusk
under your pillow
underneath your grease head
the pillow is stained
the moment is dead
and the lights will not glow
in a night with out light
but that is ok
you'll all be gone
in a song
in a poem
in a thought of attempt
gone in the day I hide from the light

Liz Phair and Mick Jagger have Lunch

Time dances hard
in shoe shuffle time
holding onto things
that make now not
too many changes
too much to be sick about
and the galley screams
in dissatisfaction
no white shirts needed
no cigarettes smoked
except round my neck
except in my mouth
except in a sun rise
where there is only one son
and never a daughter
but only the light
shot through the breakfast of children who cry

first date done

hold me tight
make sweat pour
flick your flushed lips
out into the night
make me cry
make me cringe
make my soul
do backflips
I care not what you wear
I care not how you walk
I do not care when it all goes down
but all I know
is that if you
don't hold me now
I could escape
like a sigh from crimson lips

Road to Turmoil

into shrouds
of celestine vision
and wrapped up tight
in gowns of where life once was
and now it is here again
flaming this way and that
not knowing why
or when
or how
but tipping my glass in the direction
of girls who play
so soft
and silly
in sunlight's glare
in pastel dresses
barrets pulled up hair
not even one of simple cares
ahhhhhthe little girls that make men
grit their teeth
comb their hair wrong
and smoke their pipes backwards
in the confusion
of a dream
found in the head of
Bing Crosby

Whiskey or Scotch anyone?
It's time to beat the kids

Russian Revolutions: Rasputin

Write it
write it all day long
press on, until those fingers bleed
and drop blood upon
keys of insatiable value
numeric
alpha transference
tic tac
tac tic
again and again
the strings glide on and timpanis shutter
the world of one
trying so hard to grab it
by the strings
of high note splendor
with the mustaches of Greek women in the night
filled with their Orthodox stuffing
catered to by rice
as the harpsichord plucks it's way
into fields with no dampers
no one wants that shit now
not even the orthodox soldiers
finding joy in the grip
of a different calender
time is something
we should
revel in
not
fight

tony stanza

Cry
like little bitches
find a nitsch

Die
like saints abound
with silken wings

Sigh
in what is jotted down
a scribble of non

Fry
to death the nobel
laureate's name

Lie
when oppossed
just like that

Death is a syrup poured over cakes of lime and mahogony and buffed out, polished brass, sunk so deep into the soul of Earth that we all vomit

newport blvd

Small hands grasp
what may or may not be
in pearlescient drops
of reality's drool
like ski jumps of
demise
found on old men's chins
like stubble
but wet and in dire
need of girls to laugh
at what he is
but boys travel about
and in front
of walls
simply labeled
hate
that sums it up.

Tuesday's with the Reagans

child like cries from a world
found in the minds
of men
left on shores looking for ships
ships that never come
men that never come
and cigarette holders
that make the children sick
when they lick them
thinking of candy
and sweets that are not there
in a bowl of hatred
found on grandma's table
waxed for pristine glisten
in a day
when the children
only want their
God damned candy

Obsessed Teen 'Zine

Waves
nauesious plaids
not the simple cute ones
the gaudy ass
make no sense plaids
that hurt someones eyes
melt their mind
and tear their souls
but what do I know about fashion
I am not Joan Rivers
or maybe I should be
lips all crazy
barely holding in those teeth
waiting to gallop away
with her daughter's teeth as well
back to the horses' that bred them
that is a horse back mission
that I would love to take

I may not know alot about fashion
but I know more about comedy than
Joan knows of style,
House that is,

Cindy Crawford in the House

Hinduism

Look on over here
closer
closer, closer, closer
not that close
I know the song is all about me
Five dollar bill
and
an overcoat too
uh huh!
Well then the people gather round
two step shuffle
three card monty
not me
I'll pass
this chance
and I know that myabe it won't be my last
chance

21st Century Proverb

Ok where is it that we really all go to?
Where?
Come on tell us ...
Fill us in,
come on man,
please,
please ... please ... please
Where do we go now?
Where?
Do we go?
Now?
Where do we go now?
Axel says the Jungle.

And that's alright by me.

retarded fairy tale

tobacco weaved curtains
of nicotine lace
and lungs so cluttered
left piqued was the face
wrinkles and etchings and ages of life
found mapped in the countenance
of long wanton whores
dance away from such
tyrants
dictators
and more
go now to the place
where succinct are the visions
coated in wonder
bathed long in lust
lay down your head in
honey reflections
where dream dancers dance
in the shadows of night

Zo

the buzzing never stops
it's like a military barber's
charade
pout and pucker such perfection
but buzz about it does
the bees to a bonnet
done smoothed
out and stream lined
give those lips a kiss
salute
stand tall
and do not smile
buzz buzz buzz
kiss kiss kiss
and a couple of
tra la la's
...

Ettiquette

rubber hand
and
granual soul
never a clock will make
never cast a line
spit casually
or piss in spite
into an oncoming wind

It makes for a poor impression at funerals of men who have nicer slacks.

addictions

Ok
never again
once more
again
and never to be
seen or heard
again, again, again
They stood, they spoke,
they said
never plant a plaintaff foot
before the food is fed
never to be seen or heard
again, again, again

never to be seen or heard
again, again, again

crew cut

Stand tall
thump your chest hard
harder as the
ribs crack and try to escape
the fracture of your
breath of depth
Shake your head as if
sweat drops were
on rides from a carnival of countenance
flying this way and that
know who you are
and push it hard
into all of you
and your reality
live it
but always know when to cry
as you roll up the things you hoist
cry,
then cry even harder

hello 24-7

Is it too fast for you?
Shall we slow it down?
Make it easy to see
much more clearly.
Able to listen without
metalic glisten
of angry angels
broken wings of
which the solder grinds.
To a halt of where it once could be
and only little men running around
in between their exotic dancing
all the while screming,
"You Can't Bring Me Down"
...
the glitter came in 50 gallon drums

Sometime far Away

Burlesque sideshows
twenty five and one dollar sir
and maybe the man
with the T.V. head
will talk to you
near Mann's Chinese
Maybe not
the lights will fade into
that soapy array of ashtray
strays of stop
and go
in merry go round
candy cane
barber shop splendor
directing it all
There is no more Audience Participation

note packed in my lunch

silver concrete
wet metal
men who cry
but can't
anger of one million men
in every one of them
and I only anticipate
my silence
my redemption
of times to come
of being able to
have a coffee
and laugh about
it all
and know
that all is good
and good is all right by me

Falcon's Frown

fleeting fury
found forlornely
fornicating fondly
for furious
fundamental fervor
from forboding
fermentations
of finitely fractured
facilitation
for fun
fun

Saxophone

wave that banner high
wide and proud
and yell
loud
louder than any Mother
giving birth
to children led
astray by
thoughts
of yesterday
and what once
could be
all wrapped slim
in what once was
simple enough to yell
louder than any
time that could
have inhaled that deep
descent
and done
exhale

Salutations

Smoke filled rooms
of splendor and sacrimonious
addiction
all are fine in there own rights
the girls so slim
sing their crooners demands
with such subtelty
only found in the soft horns
and pillow plumping drum beats
only the eye glazed wonders
of men who will leave alone know what
they mean
they feel like
as our worlds turn
and the rampant rejection of too many
form who we all are
and how we simply say
hello

Society

Create what can not be
tackle the world
sing high the notes you can not
only light a cigarette when you need to
cast all those who can not get it aside
unless what they have
is something good to say
hold tight your sisters
protect your brothers
then know in a flight to las vegas
you can change that
speak in french when it is trivial
do not speak when it is important
cry when it does not matter that you are crying
drink when it hurts
smoke when things are ok
twidle your thumbs when you are bored
instead of the other avocations
know that the beatles did do something
know that zappa did that and a little more
breathe
smile
and know that children WILL smile with you
speak japanese when you are serious
and when you don't want to be
dance to their music
never under estimate the force of a whisper
for they are whispering all around you
and they always will

Dance Party

It is funny how we all dance
to tunes no one hears
as if what we hear is different than what they hear
wrap me up in ribbons
and all sorts of colored wrap
dropped in a pool of colored prisms
make me smile
toss me aside
make me grimace
hit the high hat
and for once make me dance like everyone else
statues will smile
bobs and marys will
shutter at the thought
of finger snapping splendor
watch it work me
for I know no better
lock me up
and only take me out at parties
that make girls cry
'cause Johnny is not there
and I will wear my party mask proud
as I cut a rug
and light up the floor
with my egnimatic splendor
HOT CHA
toss away that key God damn you
toss it away

Dreams

Screaming in Japanese
are men who interrupt the ones in pleasure
screaming and cackling
in the act of lust
found with no rhyme or reason
but rather the sense of pride
in a hot wet sweaty
'screw found
in dandelion's breath
and without the
lilly's breast
yellow fear of white dancing splendor
wrapped in a candy wrapper of
never knowing
anyone's name
for they only offer the existance
they wish to persue

Lunch

Cigars lit
and burn
to the eyes
of those
who see light
and those
who do not
see only
the ash
that falls
so sad and a pity is found on those that wait the tables of our lives

Secrets

Speak to me in tongues
as if love was forever lost
never to be found
in the dusts of earth
never to be uncovered by
men in funny hats
by women who dig to make up
for the men who don't
the children dig deep
I am a Matador
swing it to and fro
I bring up from
the graves of both
Hemmingway and Gardner
dance in a tango
found to hold beat on a
cobblestone street
where children run across to door ways
and hit each other with sticks
where does that leave me
alone in a room
calous of existence
and all the rhymes it plays on life
and the life found between
the meter

Miracle

Toss me aside
in my undewear
left out on the street screaming
yelling at buildings that can not answer
tossing my anger at the clouds
not ever knowing if
letting me back in would ever be an option
And that is ok by me
pissing in the street
crapping in a can
farting for the warmth of my brethren
holding strong for all of those
who cry into
black pillows in the nights
that are blacker than any sack of feathers
holding strong for those who shun me
toss me aside into the depths
of rudimentary functions
all contained within existance past
I cry because
I do not have a black pillow
and no one holds
strong for me
except me
and the woman I hold tight at night against
pillows so white they would make a blind man see

Maxi Pad

Take it strand by strand
like sand or hair
caught between the fingers
of hot damn
and saliva runs thick
like syrup in the jaws of death
Why?
Why?
Why?
I ask that of grey haired pontiffs pontificating on reefs
found only out there by surf tamers rides
not knowing when the drums stop
harrassing the brain
beating their pulse into my cortex
telling me what is wrong or right
should I march to a different message
or let little strands of hair refract the light
letting me in on a secret only to be known
by men who walk away
and women who rub their shoulders
and let them both know that
all is ok
always

Group

Five billion fingers
looking for fun
and all the while the palm sits morose
under the shade of turkish bars
of candy cars
driving in circles in Italy's past
mmmmmm
one can only wonder why and where
the bum bum bum bum's
come into play
in their playful way
with candy coated
"it's ok" 's
all of those little fingers wiggle and waggle
about the frame of reference not
seen in certain circles
of men and women
caught up in back room
avocations of identity crisis
smiling as they leave the room
not knowing what the fingers will do next

Mourning Preperation

Brush your hair hard like mother would
while looking for biscuits with tea
fine bone china and silver the same
whincing while the tears bevel one's eyelid
will she ever stop to drink
maybe and
just maybe you can hold back the tears
but all is lost in five brush strokes
much like the painter
taking on canvass
not knowing where the brush will
lead him
into oblivion in a day of too much certainty
and mother laughs
as the tears flow
the brush drags
and all the while
a stroke is wished for in the most evil of ways
no brush needed there

Suffocation

Breathe deep
sigh
and inhale
one more time
for the boy
for the girl
who awaits the over reaching entanglements
nothing else in the air
razor cutting quiet
in
and
out
breathe
with sultry fervor
and lustfull heaving
hurt no one
but those
smelling the breath
of someone in the dark
breathing too hard to
breath yourself

Confessions Point

do not ask little boys questions as they weep from malnutritioned existance in a cage of emotionally wrapped fervor that can only escalate in the grips of ones own reality
damn them
damn them all to hell
and smile while you do so

McGruff

Cut your teeth
hard
with the facts
that sting one's eyes
do maracas really
shake shake shimmy
along the edge
like you once did
do city streets bother
you as much as you gripe
or do the grapes do that better for you
I guess they probably do
or don't
but we will never know
as you sit and cry
with chipped teeth
from taking a bite out of crime
was it worth it
I didn't think so

Confessions of a Redundant Man

Sycophant rumblings on the vibro phone
and women dance
to the beats of vibrant jiggling
as buzzes hum and
wiggles win all in the name of
SEXUALITY
dance bitch
dance you sexy bastard
let it all hang out
like Mr. Rogers in a world
where there is no video
but only reality
intertwined with the impulse
of music under the shadow
of a willow that has never weeped
for the man typing these pieces
with the visage of a lonely man
and the guise of one far less lonely

Beautifull Arches

waves so intense
they make Elephant ears
sway back and forth
moving blood
making chills run
up and down
the spines of little men
with spears
who know not
of the Pizzicato Five yet
I dance and cleopatra
doesn't know either
only I do
behind the curtains
of silken grace
hung to sheild me from
the ramblings of madmen in the alleys of my demise

masks courtesy of Fellini and Dali's child

take my hand
I'll take yours
and make it rough
so rough you'll cry out through the dip
the dance floor will pucker
it's parquet parlance
will falter beneath our footwork
the hem of your dress
winking at boy's envy
as my torn shredded shroud
skates behind
oh behind
so sweet and nice
with grins that break faces
snickers that chatter about
and make fault lines blush
the keys rapidly pounded
white and black
like sophisticated expression
of something that the sophisticates
will never know
except in the parlours
of lust's edge
thin and sharp in order to cut
but wide enough to dance upon
as the betrayed ploy and plot about
with whispers intended for no one's ears
and messengers knee high to nothing
carry them about
as baggage from curtained
study larks
singing in the night
to kings and queens
who sit there wondering who
the hell takes up their floor
and the night shimmies on
as if to say
"sexy mother fucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass"
the lark flies deep into the fields
the youthful mouths sewed shut
and the needles pressed to mouths of babes
makes the wardrobe sparkle more
God the ball was good
God the ball was good

growing up

I have gazed into the eyes of angels
Svengali love of a child
wanting candy
testing waters
wrong or right
wanting everything on their plate
not knowing when to stop
gluttony of existance's
boundaries
with peripheral
hula hoops
of the imagery and splendor
found in the child's
creative
world
one that can only find peace
at that age
that time
before we get too caught up in
do's and don'ts
before all the dr. l's
and all the dr p's
before progression
before judgement
when all we have
is the addiction to the
peptides
swaying in and out to
the moons beck and call
dressed in top hats and tails
white glove caresses
across the brow
laying one into a slumber
envied by lonely women
and men who sleep alone

where is the nut?

one word titles never tasted so good
so good the sugar makes you seize
minds travel back and forth across the pond
to gypsy rythems only seen not heard
and something is growing from your gut
what could it be unsure as it's head is seen
nothing
more
than
what
you
want
it
to
be
and boy this poem did suck
the jokes on you my friend

tuition

grab 'em by the balls
sweet miss
you tell 'em where to go
and maybe just maybe
they might
your dirty dress
does not make you smile
nor do thoughts of where you've been
nor do the buzzings
of queen bees
as she kills off the hive's
young men
with drool flung high
and spittle drops
to concrete pleasures
that never once were
inside your dirty dress
with flowers
grown up from dirt
to bloom in lustfull suns
with rain kissing tongues
of little boys with pocket change
and full of brass
and poignant revelry
about battlefields
and battleships
that never once will cross thier minds
as they pull up
down comforters inside
a reality not afforded
to their violations
good night

Lincoln

marble eye madmen
cast down their holy stares
from granite windows no one cares
to even glance at
papers blow down streets somewhere
far away out of the
stares
of the marble eyes
empty bottles clink in sorrow
in alleys where the paper blows
like metropolitan
tumble weeds in a wind of
prarie lack luster
that never will be again
they courtsey
and dosi do
to songs in the heads
the minds of men
stollen by the grape
and still their eyes
are not marble
but the madmen
toss down dimes
spit and laugh
not knowing who has won the dance
with cardboard dancers
in a night filled with stares

tunnel vision

oboes sound out
like battle cries bellows
from wounded men
who long for wives
never again to be touched
the smiles of blond
children looking up in awe
wishing that the things
they do not know of
never spread out their crimson
picnic blankets
to feast on humble pies
and pigs eyes
and the horns of
something no one
had ever seen before
battles smeared in grey
bathed in the wine
of prophets they never will be
as the fallen men cry
like terse sticatto
fading the oboes to bathe
in pools of picnic blankets
underneath the sun
that no one sees
above the battlefields

pie's for Jack

ten black birds
seizure in flight
above my head
in day
becoming night
convulse
and
gyrate
I know of luck
and
need none of theirs

where was dianetics born?

The endless stare
of a blue clouded
morning of grey
the light that pervetedly pokes
it's ungly head through the curtains
making monday seem
more like monday
than it ever has
wishing the blanket of night
was still there with me
black and warming
with it's frozen seclusion
something I take comfort in
something that takes comfort in me
I wish the day had never come
and with that I wish for nights return

Wasted Paper

I hate doodles
all those little
smiling faces
smiling at no one
as the papers shuffle by
their googley eyes
telling me
inviting me
to check out their
squiggle hair
the scribble brows of emotion
as if I am at the UN taking notes
and looking at
nothing more than
the note pad
that upon it's top
says Kofi Anon

caramia

shit everywhere
and hold strong
like the wall
that holds your
mock art takes everything
as decades come
smile
hold a frown
over calamari and mussel
dinners
cascaded with sangria
and know that rosaries
will save the ones that need it
islands make sense
make things straight
straight
straight
solidify all what is
when it comes together
with the splinters
the glue
makes it something you
don't know and make it smile
i'm tired

confession

all the world has left the earth
chatting it up
calling it up
knowing that we are not any
part of the conversations of what will condemn thee
man and woman
kind
will save the world
the demons will dance amongst
literature
that is found to biblical
and scary
but that won't redeem you
for you still have opinion
which may
or may not
be set free
from the doom felt within the intestines of hell

michael landon, come save me now

thrown down your gloves
take a bite of what you must
eventually chew
have no fear of how you may react
or the ones you bite
drug yourself out to the point
that it does not
will not
matter
run away
turn away
i am here to save myself
not save the world
on the surface
it hurts all that are to be saved
but in the middle of the matter
you realize
that i must protect the stability
i know as truth
i know as home

bed time stories

it is funny how
phone calls become
nothing more
than an annoyance of reality
look at the cell phone babes
in their S.U.V. realities
running reds
dancing through stop lines
telling everyone
the toll is on them
ring ring
dance
and trolly about
the saxophone's
be-bop
and one will simply accept
that there are pauses
and the world's not
seen by the caller's pacifity
found through
a tall glass of whole, whole milk
with a cookie
baked by someone else that smiles
a smile so big to pay the bill
for their cell phone

burial song

widows dance in the darkness
of night
smothered in black dying
themselves without
a hope of renewal
without the straining voice
of demand
nothing comes easy
nothing will be attained
except maybe breakfast
and the golden
butter hashbrowns
that once she consumed
in a world that had breakfast
while her husband smiled
and she still can not
because she is a widow
dressed in death

new b-day song

broken hearts
are not like
broken horses
they bleed and hurt
and cry and die
they are not tamed
they are not saddled
they weep in and out
day and night
till the moon fucks the sun
wishing earth dead
no more light
no more dark
just ferris wheels
with smiles of little girls
who cry on their birth days

pre-school

look at that empty glass
last filled with wine
hating us all
as it out shines us all
and then i depart
from where you were
and the bus stop
in barren splendor
and hard gum drop glory
sits back in it's chair
holding me tight and hating the world
laughing as i die
i wish it would not
i wish i would not and
just hold onto
the little woman that makes me warm
and hot inside like buttered broth
it heals the soul and ties the shoes

breakfast in bed

take me by the scruff of the neck
love me
call me bitch
scratch my itch
hold me when no one will
dress me how you want
and then ask permission
toss me aside
as you toss yourself
play a record
i do not want to hear
dance in public
for all to see
say things that make no sense
as the guitars screech
and at the end of the night
as the sun makes it the morning
laugh while you call it day

free trade

old men
sitting in parks
wondering why men of younger days
would wear dresses in the night
even though they still look like men
and then one offers up
a game of mah jong
and they realize
this is better than Beijing
or so they think
playing mah jong in the park
their plaid suits make them sweat in the sun
and that is ok
because they are nothing more than
old men

bi partisan

fallen soldiers
in a war that never was
i fight with words
and hope bullets protect me
can someone baptize me now
protect me with the water
that is of holy cloth
time
touch
and blessed non-the-less
so quick are we to run to our guns
to run our gums
to shoot off at the mouth
to shoot down the other man
make him silent
tell him what you think
SHUT UP
listen
in silence
have a sense of awe
of humility
damn you
damn you to a state of
simple audatory consumption
learn
feel
feel what you are afraid of
accept that it walks this earth
and may know things that you do not
know that you are not always right
i know that i am not
maybe that is why i smile

nicodemus

shine so bright upon me
bright as sun could ever be
and still the darkness
all i see
dreamt to feel
dreamt to be
like all placebos
eternity
the gods shall shine down to you
in glistened silver
shades of sea
like soft phlourescence
once to be
and then the brother of
solidity
finds his way back home
between the madness
and twixt the sea
of shallow sense, security
many voices he shall see
and luxury will find it's way back home
home
a place of deep sincerety
and once thought of the place to be
scotch and water once the sea
please find my way back home
home
please find my way back home
the whores through darkened glasses see
all of you, all of me
everything that we could be
and still you find them home
committing suicide
you find them all at home

night beneath a fruitbats wing in f #

all strings dragged like road kill
to a death or finnality
that appears right
jelly jostle jizz love
wet sexuality
wrapped in a sweater of
existance never seen by most
the little men sing falsettos
little women coax in aprons they do not want
they do not understand
and
dance,
damn you, dance
to the sound of that
friggin violin
you know that coaxing sound
so damn high
so ....
crotch licking low
that only
your exsctatic screams could writhe
through, between, into
and yet the tone shows no mercy
and makes one not want to sleep
why not you
i hold you tight
in a night that will not let you go

l.a. breakfast

so close to death
it flavors your tonsils
it coats your throat
it closes it tight
a cardigan
you can't unbutton
one that
tastes your soul
in large bites
and strokes of suffocation
it wraps your face in plastic
steals your breathe
without love
without mind
no reprocutions
no consent
a mental
spiritual
emotional
rape
never mind the physical
take it for what it is
in orange county
it is no coffee additive
no cinnamon
no vanilla powder
no crazy flavored sugar
just blood spurting from your navel
in
alchoholic death
just blood shot eyes hoping to close
so you will not force them open
just lovers who sleep in the night
wishing you would hold them
in case they wake up
to have found you
shot
dead
by phil specter
in a glorious purple morning
of mourning
all wrapped in sheets of red
and left for the press to laugh at
regardless of right or wrong
and cell phones hang from trees
like decorations for christmas
yet santa or christ never call

h.s. riddle of now

frenetic lexicon
held close to one's heart
as it bleeds
and dies
it simply drains to nothing's
grip of empty
shattered glass
of a break in
in brooklyn
never in l.a.
too many bars
too much notariety
to let one
just shatter shards
and drift away
there must be signatures that lead one to believe
that advancement must come
here
there
and everywhere
to the dizzy point blank barrel of misconception
that's alright by me
not in my yard
my house
my neighborhood
hood
and certainly not under my sweatshirt
where they have been known
to want to be
with me

coastal california

the sonic change of one's self
as felt by the girl in the grass
in her tea dress
holding on for dear life
can i have some more?
and we all know
what happened to oliver
and the cut of the same cloth
tears
and
blood
shed
to the cursing shred of violin strings
as the heart was tore apart and split
earth
between
the moon and sun
child's cries
between
lover's screams
all tears
found in a night
cold from the breeze of a night
that has found the depths
of the sea and the salty lip it so callously holds tight
the girl holds tight and
oliver gets broth
but i remain as confused as i was when i wrote this

olympics in mission viejo

brown boys
maroon shirts
kicking a white ball
to and fro
underneath a colorless sun
reflecting
only the colors it shines upon
as humingbirds
have spasmadic
seizures above
drifting from red to red
finding necture
and happiness
in the smile
of a boy kicking the ball just right
and foiling his friend

matrix or messy meal

faces in crowds
blending and stewing
gumbo of mass produced
mardi gras masks
all the same
reality as seen through the eyes
of halloween
none of them tricks or treats
just simple mind puzzles
becoming so complex
that they do not know the answers themselves
i know him
i've seen her
then the puzzle piece paranoia comes in
is it his nose
her eyes
a famous persons
chiseled chin
an amalgamation of existence
tied up and wrapped in saran
like a banana and jam sandwich
hit with a cricket bat
and left as a mess
rather than a tasty lunch

tale of a woodcutter's son

day's break
and little boys play in the mud
soiling pant suits that never once
should have been placed on the frame of a man to be
but they play
the sun bakes mud to clay
the toys find brevity
in motion once found with fluidity
of what they once dreamt to be
and the small boys sensibility's
have left with a shuddered shoulder
lost again
with no light but shorts
not warm enough
not long enough
not bright enough
to light the way
from the darkness of the night
seeking to consume the lives
of little boys caked in mud
lost in the middle of the night
looking for thier toys
and the warmth found in a home
where mothers breast is the serenity
of what once could thoughts be
but now it never will
so peace is found in the dead of night
the cellos play and strange men lurk between the trees
looking for boys caked in mud

ever write a song?

twisting strings of vibrating
destruction coaxing ways into tender hearts
do you wish to die
is there a race
to destruction's palate in tastes of
compulsive erratic
indecision's insecurity
did something hurt that bad that it became your addiction
first and foremost
my friend, my dear dear friend
one of brethren's strength
with no tunnel light
no finish line
no splendor of goals fermentation
do you see me
do you hear me
or the tears i weep for the man i once knew
who has simply fallen down

no branches, leaves, or twigs just a decaying stump

i never once looked back
never once to sigh
or dance to a vermillion solilquy
how sharp the sycophants tongue
when one dances to nonsense
but i did not
i let you ramble
on and on and on
like church bells rung to the death of the world
and even though they all threw roses
i threw spit
down upon your hurried and harried soul
as if i never knew you
or what your tongue lashed out
concocted
to brainwash the innocents
with big hummle eyes of brown and blue
wishing that you would steer them straight
or at least correctly in a correct direction
you held them close in poisened hands
stinking of rank insecurity
and desperate need for acceptance
that the world would never give you
espeacially not this man
your long forgotten son

to blossom

with eyes closed
i lick my lips
and think back to when
it was not so important to be a man
a day when it was easier to be a penised girl
some sort of sexual artifact
that made mommy proud
gave her the self worth handed to her as control
but soon enough i grew
and so did my penis
much to her dismay
a man grew out of this girly bulb
one with confusion and concern
but a flower still
no mistaking the pedals
or parfume
or seasonal existance
that would upset her
the scent was musk
the petals throbbed in outside direction
and all said and done
i was there for someone else's picking
to be bouqueted
with other beauties
and finnally
appreciated without restraint

a day not so long ago

the perfumes seemed to waft and hang about
in the smoke
that danced on the strings
of the harpsichord
played with fierce rythmic splendor
it made the children dance
they laughed and danced and laughed again
virgins held thier mothers hands and hoped
men grinned
through wine stained teeth
that seemed more attractive then
than they would now
fathers leered wishing they could have the virgins first
and in trotted the violins
bows drawn back and forth
vibrating with sexual eruption with
gyrating baritones
orgasmic screeches
thrusting the hair across the thin little gentle strings
back and forth
as the children danced
and the virgins knew they would not be for long
while the men drank more wine
and the fathers wished thier way to slumber
next to thier jealous wives

bicentenial love

purple shards of refracted lust
shot out from cufflinks of silver
violet and blue and red and soft whites of light
telling me he was done
his arms lay still
the sweat on his brow slid slickly
to the edge of his chin
the music played on
his body did not shake
he lay at peace
his smile peeked around the corners of his mouth
and tried to hide as if i had not seen
i had done good
and it did not taste so bad either

how do you do's

scream
ever louder
more offensively
scream
when they ask your name
where you've been
what you are into
top or bottom
what school you attended
what's in your profile
if the return on your investment is proving bountiful
what the hell is that suppossed to mean anyway
shrug
shiver
shout
scream
scream louder
do not respond
do not have it make sense
do not make words out of the shout
just scream
and maybe the questions will stop
and maybe
the silence that follows will be
serene

charity

the devils talons crawl out
like bull ants
from the edge of insanity's sand mound
only the hole in the center showing darkness
the rest brown and dry and hot
with the showering of sun drops
raining down and spilling over my shoulders
as i kneel at the edge
perched to devour each black nail
like a thirst starved scorpion
ready to eat all that i can
nibble and chip away at the polish
that can not be removed
brimstone black number 666
polish of choice by
beelzebub's manicurist
like crusted blood it could not get darker
unless there was no light left
colors fleeing the field
like helmeted men fearing
the barbed wire and mustard gas streams
on a field in 1916
no crosses
no victory
no scorpion
just a man lending the devil a hand

some people rather be wrong than right or is it left instead of wrong

someone find my brain
i can not function
without the assistance of everyone else
how do you
wipe your ass
chew food
breathe
piss
know how you feel
know what is real
know what sane is
know if you are insane
i am tired of people
telling me these things
i leave my business at the door
when it is time to do business
i suggest you do the same
so we do not have to
tell each other that we are both wrong
all of the god damn time

now wait that was wrong

before dreams before sleep

visions of that band of orange purple peace
wedged between the upper lip of the horizon
and the lower lip of incestual clouds
cluster fucked above
never kissing the earth
that strip of colored silence seperating them
from erupting in a maelstrom of sexual denial
never knowing which side of my precious vibrant serenity
is right
or wrong
but when i close my eyes the breeze caresses my lips
and i know that that is where i can find soft quiet safety
i smile

bus stop blues

grey jelly skies
dirty benches no one sits on
crumpled pieces of peoples past
dancing away in the wind
self consumed robots
speed walking on thier missions
electronic devices masticating souls
reality tip toeing away from all that breathe
solitude found amongst the masses
conversation found to be
a bother
a bore
a very sedated chore
beds that keep you up
jobs that make you sleep
trains running late getting you there on time
pray for the lottery
curse the god who inspired it
light a cigarette
but don't inhale
sit at home and watch
the television watch you
lie about the truth
but be honest when you say you do not lie
the only reward in life
with the only justifiable instant gratification
is going to the bathroom
and i hear it's call a beckoning

tomorrow is february second

black socks
dire straits
straightened up
postured posterier
will that little mother fucker have a shadow?
i see mine all day long
6 more weeks of me
everyday
til the last one comes
will they bury me in those black socks
stand up straight and lay your old man down to die
with the pennies
bugles
bothersome boxes all lined in velour
too much dirt
to hide me beneath
don't plant flowers
the damn groundhog will eat 'em
don't chisel out the
tiny neat olde english letters
deep into the slab of granite
don't light candles
don't say prayers
just wear black socks
curse the fury little shadowed beast
and know
i am better off

distraction as seen by a man wanting a drink

the other night i scratched my nose off
i pulled that fucker right off my face
caught it in a hang nail
and shook it down to the ground
it missed the floor and hung from the mahogany precipice of a coffee table
that i never used for coffee
or as a table for that matter
the little glass mirrored squares inside it's wooden frame
allowed me a gaze deep into my mind
i thought for sure
would have bet my balls on it
that i could crawl into my own damn skull
what would i have accomplished if i had
what would i gain if i did
i tried
to fold and climb and claw my way in
like a speed freak going through the oragami rituals of yoga
bending contorting twisting and stretching
to no avail
nothing ever gets accomplished if you try that hard
nothing gets done
but if nothing is completed
then just maybe something has
the grey white pink pulp pulsating beneath the frame of my skull
really trying it;s hardest to think of how i could crawl in with it
make it warm
warm me up
it would all be the same
for it was my brain
my mind
my space upstairs
but it could not be done
my nose fell down to the rug
caught up in carpet bits
fuzz
hair
a crumb or two that had become vacuum refugees
coating up that bloody slithering stump of an appendage
like a friggin sprinkled cruller
it made me think of coffee
indeed it had distracted me from the proposed journey at hand
coffee sounded good
but the blood had seemed to stop spouting out
out of that gouge
that gorge
that bloody cave in the front of my face
and that ended it all
proving that you can never be inside your mind
or at least not long enough to survive

freeze dreams

what happened to monkey bars
arts and crafts
i want popsicle stick picture frames
what happened to the excitement of flying back and forth
from mommy
to daddy
oh yeah that was dysfunctional
what happened to wet nights
in hot cars
with girls who will never remember
what happened to bent nights
lsd and wooded dreams
writing benders
speeded up nights of delusion
naked beer pinatas of lust in a shower
dreams of a first marriage that was suppossed to be a marriage
what happened to family
what happened to friends that were suppossed to be family
what happened to me
to you
to me
to us
to me
to everyone
it all ended up being the remnants of milk
in the bottom of a glass
meant to refresh the unquenched thirst
of a five a.m. nightmare
that i have not woke up from
sleep paralysis sucks

where have you gone 610 jones?

you used to sleep in a car
your sycophants were little boys
looking for the perfect mushroom tea recipe
their eyes would light up when they spoke of you
your ears would bleed if they reacted to all the chatty kathys
a regular sewing circle about your
history
stature
statements
language
clothes
stories
and of course chemistry
and now you have left it behind
i can not find you
i can not reach you
i have never felt like one of the accepted kathys
and now i ask
god
oh god
where have you gone

appreciation

i used to write little pretty poems
to pretty little girls
all about my pretty little loves
which in turn became
poems of hate
clad in depravity and desperation
which led to poems all dressed in leather
some psuedo sickness of the sexualized twenty first century
yet here i sit
still trying to push and pump them out
to a crowd that does not read them
can not see them
would care less if they could
i think i do it for me
but there must be something else
it doesn't clear my head
or make more precise my thoughts
there are no smiles
no laughs
no frowns or cries
just simple words
from a simple man
who no matter how simple it gets
can still not be understood
at least to my liking

happy hour

fingernail scrapings in a eurethene skin
meant to protect the bar it once glistened on
dirty nails scraping names
initials
and dates
the etchings finding solice
behind dark sunken eyes
tired of life
tired of drinking
tired
just plain ol' damn tired
can men find there way away
will the women stop hiking their skirts up for those men
or
will the women start carving their effigees
and the men start wearing skirts
no pink cup here
i drink not from the pansy glass
knock 'em back hard
knock 'em up fast
make em cry
for my tears have been shed
too many times
wrap 'em up with bows and ribbons
put em under a tree
a twenty four inch tree
sitting on a bar

was it a dear john or dear jan or maybe just deer

tiny little minds
of gold and silver gilding
all seen through
a scene of everyone and you
without all of me
none of you will ever come back
all because of me
or so they say
mirrors can be the hardest things to look into
they are not the cloudy milky
crystal balls we all want them to be
we rather just see through our own
balls
if we have them
i can't even see through my own damn glasses
scratched and etched with each
passing of all that could ever be bad
a glimmer of good
found in the eyes of my woman
looking through them too
to catch my eyes
big brown
and courderoy
my irisis'
clutch my pupils tight
tight enough to still see her
and to tell the rest of you plainly
"please fuck off"

6th grade revolution

someone help the little boy
locks of greasy dependance stuck
down upon his forehead
clothes in shambles
torn here and there
not one damn smile found amongst the frowns of disgust
judging him day to day
telling him with their eyes
no good
too fat
stench of death and neglect
nothing to offer
never have a smile
from anyone including himself
left behind
like the tabs of paper scrap spooned in the curves of the spiral binding
of a notebook who's paper leafs have been recruited away into productive bliss
pulled out
picked at
strewn about the madman's desk
left in long forgotten ink wells of absurd existance
never even collected for discard
by the fragile little girl
who's glasses are too big
mocking her gentle cheek bones
with overbearing assistance
she still can not see
the paper shrapnel
the fat little smelly boy
who sits in his sullen waste
singing
lean on me

ymca would have helped

stubbed toes on quarry roads
swimming in the night
moon above
mocking and jesting
never being able to be touched
water
embryonic
to some just water to others
floats one above
where no on ewants to go
down down down
to depths
to fathoms
to darkness
to the cold cold
suffocation
of never having learned to swim

insomniac paranoia

sometimes ...
things feel good
sweat drips from your forhead
people speak louder than you would like
tears cloud vision
erections happen at unopportune times
smiles turn to frowns
or then turn to smiles again
people observe the obvious
words scribed should never have been written
vomit does not make it in the bowl
needles bruise the skin
warts turn out to be more then warts
noses clog and run at the same time
throats swell to levels of insanity
crotches moisten more than just panties
breasts deflate
careers end
lifetimes begin
feminists speak out
men shut their mouths
genitals are not what we expect them to be
sales end the day before we make our purchases
and sometimes,
just sometimes ...
we sleep just fine with only good dreams and consistant body temperatures
leaving us refreshed and somewhat
pleasant

simple truth of comfortability

my cat lay snoring
in all her glorious splendor
fat
retarded
snoring
i have my own blue collar working husband
but with
a tail
and a litter box
and a food bowl
wait there are no differances
and we all need blue collar husbands

your mother should know

i walked down the
road i once knew
when i was younger
the leaves were changed from the lies my mind had made them
differant the the fences that were lied to me before
i had made them what they were not
they had not changed
only my perception
of what they were had
become the truth
that they always were
sometimes the leaves fall in all the same places
they are always
red