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