---

Murder
 
 
 
 
i killed a duck today.
 
i backed over it with a
tractor.
 
i guess it was taking a nap.
 
    *    *     *
 
now, i'm a stupid
fucking
duck killer.
 
     *    *    *
 
broken duck neck and
flattened duck body.
 
a squish of red out of
it's beak like the squeaze of
a ketchup packet.
 
stupid fucking duck.
 
    *     *     *
 
i have lost a lot of
positive kharma today.
 
     *     *   *
 
i wonder how the
duck feels...
 
 
 
4.28.07
lake city

---

Shotgun
 
 
two men on the side of the
road, one is smoking a
cigarette the other is
scratching his
leg.
 
their car has a
flat tire.
 
they look at the
flat tire.
 
a semi truck going 70
miles per hour cold cocks
their station
wagon.
 
there is a 300 yard
skid mark, twisted metal, a
loud explosion.
 
the man with the
cigarette throws his
cigarette to
the ground.
 
the man scratching his
leg says,
shit.
 
there will be no
changing of
flat tires
today.
 
     *     *     *
 
she sits by the
kitchen window the
yellow sun on
her forehead.
 
she nurses the baby.
 
her thin lips straight as
a dime she says
oh, when
the baby sucks.
 
the baby is
teething her
nipples are
chapped.
 
     *     *     *
 
the light in el paso is
a heavy and
hot dust.
 
the hotel room has
a broken
air conditioner.
 
the couple are
fucking
again.
 
he doesn't care how
she cries, she
doesn't care if
he is an
asshole.
 
it will all be over
soon
enough.
 
forty dollars on
top of
the nightstand.
 
     *    *    *
 
the boy climbed up
the apple tree, he
grabbed a
red fruit.
 
it was sweet the
juicy meat
was warm the
sun
made me sweat when
i
looked up
at him.
 
i knew he
would grow
up to
be another
story.
 
     *    *    *
 
one moment pulls
the trigger for
another....
 
 
 
4.28.07
lake city

---

BAD PHONE CALL
 
 
i never knew that he was gonna used my shotgun, i never would've thought he would use it like he did, infact, i figured if
he was gonna use it it would just to get a rabbit or a squirrel or a pheasant, something he would kill, and eat later on.
 
that seemed okay enough.
 
and even when he asked me where i hid it, i had no clue he would do nothing but just shoot at a stump or shoot at the
ground, it ain't like he was a hunter, fuck i liked him enough, he
was my friend, it would not bother me a lick if he just shot at
the moon.  
 
fuck it, i trusted him.
 
     *     *     *
 
and when you call me tonight, and you want to talk to
our oldest, our ten yr old, who is not here, i feel some
crackling in the wind, some bad shit, some ugly feel i
have not yet shaken.
 
you want to drop off some pictures, some family pictures, so
our child can make a family album.
 
i feel like someone has just dumped a
load in my mouth.
 
same story, i trusted you.
 
     *    *    *
 
i wish my gun never killed a man.
 
i wish i never loved you.
 
    *    *     *
 
with him, i lost a friend and a gun.
 
with you, i lost my balls and gained an std.
 
    *    *    *
 
i miss my friend...
 
     *     *    *
 
i miss my balls...
 
 
 
4.23.07
lake city  

---

Serious Bling
 
 
 
four teeth pulled since september, today
marks the fifth one, today
must be a special day, some
sort of
holiday.
 
i don't know what's happening.
 
maybe i am getting less
worldly and more zen.
 
leaving this body for some
other special place like
 
subtraction.
 
     *     *     *
 
a bottle of vicodan just makes it
all that much better...ahhh...don't
feel a thing.  until i wake up
itching like crazy even my eyelashes
itch.
 
the blood gushing down my
throat, catapaulting me from the
dream of another river thru cleveland the
choking of gary, indianna, the
smog of detroit my tongue speaking
the pennies of
gumball machines.
 
it's times like these when the
hardest of hard ons appear.
 
the madness of
addition.
 
      *      *     *
 
if i had a nickle for every
semen stain....
 
 
 
2.20.07
lake city

---

BAD  CUP O' JOE
 
 
 
i have a starbucks' card.
 
it was given to me near 14 months
ago by the grandma of a polar
schitzophrenic child i
helped graduate from high
school.
 
he was a nice kid.
she wanted to say thankyou. i
appreciated the
gesture.
 
it was a christmas present.
 
it was sweet.
 
        *       *      *
 
this last week i went to
the drugstore with my
children.  they wanted to
buy 48 valentine's cards.  it
was that time of
year again for a
seven & a ten year old.  i
let them buy anything they
wanted.
 
of course, they bought the
most
cheapest pack of
massed produced valentines
they found.
 
they are my children.
 
we went out for dinner that
night.  once
again, i told them the
same thing, order
whatever you want.
 
they ordered a side plate
of mashed potatoes.
 
no, i said, really, order
what you want.
 
they ordered a side of
mashed potatoes &
chocolate milk.
 
sheesh.
 
       *      *      *
 
i used this starbucks' card for as
much as i could, it
was a ten dollar card. i
still had two dollars-fifty
cents on it. but
i couldn't find
anything on the
menu for that
cheap.
 
         *       *      *
 
no, i said to my kids.  really,
really order anything
you
want.
 
they looked at me like
i was insane.
 
they did not believe me.
 
i urged them on.  the ten
year old decided to test me, she
decided to order a
sprite with two scoops of
mint chocolate chip ice-
cream in a float.
 
i said, cool.
 
the seven year old
ordered the same thing as
fast as she could before
i changed my
mind
about dinner that
night.
 
       *       *      *
 
the owner of starbucks just
sold the sonic's nba team, he
made 70 million dollars.
 
     *       *      *
 
i educate teenagers with problems, i
make less than 20 grand a year, but
i got my tax refund back.
 
     *      *     *
 
i went to a starbucks this
morning.  i
wanted to use the last
two dollars & fifty cents on
my card. for a cup of
black coffee, if need be.
 
i said, i just need two dollars &
fifty cents of coffee. (no more no
less).
they thought i
was crazy.
 
it wasn't on the menu.
 
      *       *      *
 
my ten year old daughter left
me a heart shaped candy by
the mr. coffee machine on
valentine's day, it
said,
"gentle man."
 
 
    *      *     *
 
last night i threw a brick, as
high as i could, into
the stars...
 
...it landed by
my feet.
 
i stepped over it this
morning on my way to
work....
 
 
2.16.07
lake city

---

PORK & GOD

 
 
i fried up some pork tonight.
salt & pepper & flour & a cast iron pan.
fried it in lard.
added a butter gravy when it was done.
decided it needed something to cut the heaviness,
so i put
in
some tears.
 
and a lemon.
 
              *                *               *
 
you tell me god is named fred.  you tell
me this, because i tell you i don't
have no use for god, and
i don't.
 
but i might have some use for
someone named fred, why
shouldn't i?  i like the names
of humans i
don't like the
names of
gods.
 
fred and i probably go to
the same bar probably have
driven the same car might
have cried like i did when
we both realized no
one prays to us no one
kneels for our compassion no
one sees our
sadness.
 
god
just eats our tears and
is an asshole.
 
fred is just this
guy at the end of
the bar a
miserable
sonovabitch.
 
he can't save anybody.
he is having a hard time saving
himself.
 
fred is humble.
 
                 *               *              *
 
who said this?:
 
god should be made to sweat &
beg for the forgiveness of
humans.
 
fred would say this.
 
who said this?:
 
of course you believe in god you
act like you do.
 
you said this.
 
               *             *             *
 
sweet baby, i do not believe.  sweet
baby, it doesn't really matter, does
it?
 
no it don't.
 
            *              *             *
 
just a bunch of freds down here is
what i'm saying.
 
            *             *           *
 
i just feel like saying the word 'fuck.'
 
           *                  *            *
 
it says so much and describes so little.
 
         *             *              *
 
and all i want to do is say
thankyou.
 
you got a lot of fred in you.
 
you might've saved my life....
 
and i ain't the first nor
 
the last one yr
 
gonna do that for....
 
you've used yr fred wisely.
 
          *              *                *
 
you've made me a better fred
as well...
 
 
 
12.14.06
lake city

---

 Cat Poetry
(for s.)
 
 
 
i taught my cat how to dance today.
 
odd enough, it
wasn't my cat, it
was my nieghbor's cat.
 
my cat stays safely inside at
all times, it refuses
all of the treats i
give her to
persuade her to
go outside.
 
i come home with fresh
chicken breasts, salmon steaks, &
heavy cream.
 
no doing.  my cat won't
leave the safety of the
satellite tv nor the warmth of
the dryer nor the
glow of the am country music
station i have on, i have
on, all of the time.
 
my cat might as well be
a furry meatloaf.
 
she sits on my pillow &
says, "why?, why?, why?"
 
now this other cat, this
other cat, i often mistake for
my cat,
waits for my car to
roll up, she knows the
sound of the gravel that
my tires churn, knows
it is very much
different than other
tires.
 
this other cat knows.  knows
who i am.
 
this cat welcomes me home.
 
she says,
"how ya doing ol' pal, i
missed you."
 
i say,
"who are you?"
 
and then she runs off.
 
(that is the dancing part).
 
i go inside & make myself
an egg sandwich.
 
my cat still sits on my pillow.
 
"why? why? why?,"
 
she asks.
 
 
1.31.07
lake city 

---

Simple Poetry 
 
 
 
i am in the heat of
an argument and no
one is yelling.
 
it is beautifull, i
live by myself.
 
it is cold outside, a good
toasty 20 degrees and i
live in a shack with
no heat in the
kitchen.
 
the oven door is open &
500 degrees is the
right setting for me
in this
mickey mouse place.
 
i'm sweating right now &
i'm talking to myself.
 
what's the difference between
crackers and cake?
 
eggs.
 
this is funny.
 
      *      *       *
 
some sort of strange sty has
landed on the edge of my
lower right eyelid.  right
on the edge. 
 
it is a perfect place for a
sty to land, there is no way
to pinch it out.  if i
pinched it i'd get a couple of
eye fleshes with it.
 
i've tried the tweezers, but
omigosh, i just can't get a
grip.  i've even
tried the needle, but fuck
me, it is so scarey, and i am
so shakey, and it is
so goddamn close to
the eye.
 
i lay the needle down.
 
sty looks healthy.
 
getting more bulbous by
the week.  getting strong &
more sty like.
 
when i walk into the
pharmacy and get medicine
for my children i can see
the disappointment that
i ain't treating this sty.
 
the girls i meet at the bar are
always looking at my lower
right eyelid.  for a while there i
thought they were looking
deep into my eyes.
 
nope, they are looking at
this orb of pus near my
right eye.
 
they never call me.
 
     *      *      *
 
i gotta give the sty credit,
it found the right bozo to
land on.  it might live for
another ten years.  jesus,
if i was a sty, i would
pick this exact human.
 
    *      *     *
 
there's no argument
here.
 
 
1.11.07
lake city

---

Windstorm '06
(for j.)
 
 
 
his mom liked the crank.
 
it made her strong, it
made her happy, she was
able to lose the wieght she
always wanted she
was the life of the
night the babe of
the universe.
 
then she got fat, fatter anyway.
 
she couldn't figure it out but
it wasn't that important
anyway.
 
metallica was in town &
one of her boyfriends had
free tickets.
 
yeah baby, another night to
PAR-TAY!!!
 
      *      *      *
 
he was born in 1992, she
gave him up in the summer of
'93, her widowed father took
custody and tried to raise him as
best an old man can.
 
the kid had some problems, attention
problems, couldn't sit still, had a
foul mouth, & a huge
rage that followed him around
like a snowstorm.
 
his mom got out of jail when he
was in the sixth grade, sent
him a plane ticket to denver so
he could spend time
with her during christmas.
 
it was christmas eve & she
never showed up at
the airport.
 
     *     *     *
 
when he blows up he
spits, his eyes explode, the
windows tremble, the whole
earth sinks to
it's knees.
 
and he does have a
foul mouth--and this is
from a onetime crab fisherman--
and the air around him
sprinkles red dots
on the linoleum.
 
he likes to call me,
fuck you.
 
and once i called him,
fuck you, too.
 
nearly lost my job over that one.
 
     *     *     *
 
i took a chance, badly calculated, i
wanted him to hear himself, i
wanted him to hear a
part of his lyrics i
wanted him to
see.
 
instead, he was insulted.
 
imagine that.
 
a hurricane happened in the
great northwest
that day.
 
    *     *     *
 
a 15yr old boy twisted into
a fantastic shape, his
shoulders became a
pocketknife slicing thru
the rain soaked parking lot, his
rage became a comet that
decimated the earth
around him.
 
80 foot cedar trees were
uprooted, telephone lines were
snapped, transformers burst
like bombs.
 
no one had power or heat for
days &
14 people died because they
tried to use their outdoor
bbq's for heat inside of
their living room.
 
they suffocated because
they couldn't breathe.
 
     *     *     *
 
goddammit,
i'm gonna make sure this
kid graduates.
 
fuck you, if
i don't.
 
ain't no one taking
anymore shit.
 
     *     *     *
 
i'm just saying....
 
 
 
1.8.07
lake city

---

The Flight Of Birds
 
 
 
mike died last night he
was a drunkard who lived in
a wooden pallet shack behind
the warehouse.
 
the 80yr old renter of the
warehouse let him live amongst
the broken down vehicles &
the pigeons.
 
virgil is a nice old
man retired from the fire department his
old man was an auctioneer from
wisconsin virgil has become
an auctioneer living
in washington state.
 
virgil would give mike odd
jobs would bring him
breakfast in the morning would
ask mike to feed the pigeons.
 
virgil likes the pigeons, everyone
who knows virgil has decided
to like pigeons
for virgil.
 
virgil is a very contagious nice guy.
 
at anytime there might be
a hundred white and grey red-eyed
pigeons behind the warehouse.
 
waiting for mike to feed them.
 
waiting for virgil to feed them.
 
i would feed them if
virgil ever asked me.
 
he's such a nice guy.
 
        *       *       *
 
mike ran an electric cord from
the warehouse to his electric
coil heater in his put
together shack.
 
i've only seen mike drunk, a
very red-faced man with stubble &
maybe a little bit of
a smell, but he
was nice enough, as well.
 
he seemed optimistic maybe
because being drunk was his
goal and, what the hell,
at least he had a home albeit
a shack but it
didn't matter
a couple cans of
natural ice &
a belonging to
the life
of humans was
all that he
needed.
 
he smiled a lot.
 
virgil was nice to him.  
 
      *      *      *
 
probably mike was drunk when
the space heater turned over &
the red coils caught the shack
on fire.
 
mike burned to death
last night around
10:30pm.
 
virgil feels horrible.
 
       *      *      *
 
mike,
god bless you....
 
 
 
12.31.06
lake city

---

Why Poets Write At 2 In The Morning
 
 
check it out, it is
now the end of the
world and there is
no need to
pay rent.
 
fuck gasoline, let it
grow to 28 dollars a
gallon, it don't
matter no more.
 
and cat litter, one should
no longer care about cat
litter let the
cat shit on your
forehead.
 
and those thoughts about
suicide, y'know what i
mean, those thoughts
before you go to
bed those thoughts in
the middle of
the night those
thoughts that make
you scream when you
wake up.
 
fuck it.
 
yr a coward.
 
but it don't
fucking matter
anymore.
 
the world has answered
your prayers...
 
            *        *        *
 
gerald r. ford is dead.
 
 
12.29.06
1:24pm
lake city

---

Side Job

 
 
i was using a chainsaw & cutting
off the tops of ornamental pines that
were 20ft tall and it was raining and
it was snowing and i was on a
14ft ladder and the
wind was blowing and i
realized as a 45yr old over-
wieght man i shouldn't be
doing any of this, none of
this, fuck me.  i
should be in
paris.
 
cold & hard & i ain't a
young man no more.
 
my feet hurt.  my
brain hurts.  i am a
hurting type of
guy.  i
can't even feel
my fingers.
 
had to keep looking to
see if they were there.
 
a german shephard kept barking at
the property next to this.
 
dog hate dog hate dog hate.  another
piece of woodchip in my eye.  the
ladder shaking, my balance just
imaginary, i knew i
was going down.
 
asshole chainsaw kept
losing it's chain, whipping
it's 200mph loop off of the bar &
leaping towards my face. 
 
        *     *      *
 
there was a particular 13yr old
girl that i liked when
i was 15.  she was my
nieghbor.  sometimes, we
would sneak a kiss, sometimes
we would get so embarassed we
would just smoke
cigarettes instead.
 
we lived near a lake.
 
during those hotter than hell
michigan summers we spent
everyday at the lake.
 
from morning to darkness we
just hung out
in this warm water.
 
spend time holding our
breath underneath the world  
and
looking at each other trying
to make sense out of
our bubbling sentences.
 
we had no ideal what
we were doing.
 
we just kept looking
at each other under
the water.
 
             *         *          *
 
when you fall from a
great hieght one starts to
think.
 
first, you think,
uh-oh,
then you think,
i hope this is
gonna turn out okay.
 
now,
that gravity has
it's
grip,
ya can't do a damn thing.
 
'cept fall.
 
you throw all hatefull machines
away from your body.
 
you try to miss the barbed-wire
fence your ladder is
straddling,
 
you
wish for
inner peace.
 
you give up.
 
there ain't nothing one can
do,
anyway.
 
        *       *       *
 
i wore cut-off jeans and my
glasses for a whole summer, she
just had a pink bikini.
 
we didn't know what was
happening, but
the warm water was
our earth.
 
one day she brought tanning
lotion to our
summer.
 
i would only let her
put it on my
back because it
was such a powerful
lotion.
 
i told her i was not boy
enough to put it
on her.
 
i spent a lot of
time with my
body hiding
underneath the water.
 
         *         *           *
 
45 yr old men should
remember when they fall, it
would only make everything
easier.
 
it is not the landing, it
is the falling
that
is important....
 
 
 
12.28.06
lake city

---

Diary Entry No. 382.
 
 
 
a hoover flag is your pocket inside out
waving to the wind
 
hoover was a president.
 
he believed industrial "volunteerism"
would work because capitalists have a
kind heart
underneath it all.
 
that didn't work either.
 
the depression gathered steam &
the people became insane.
 
          
they made alcohol in their bathtubs.
 
how cool is that?
 
           *            *             *
 
a "peacekeeper" is a nuclear missile.
 
 
6.11.06
lake city

---

Diary Entry 385.
 
 
 
it is ten after two in the morning i
closed the bar, met a lot of freaks, a lot
of drunks, some strippers, a couple
of druggies.
 
we all got along fine.
 
i bought people beer, smoked
some, was flashed a time or two by
a six foot ll0 lb stripper.
 
she had some sort of key ring imbedded
into her bellybutton.
 
i played pool with a hunchback who is
actually quite a nice guy we
were born in the same year.
 
we liked the same music.
 
        8            8               8
 
the bar closed up and i
walked 13 blocks home looking
up at the full moon i
saw ernest borgnine's face in
the heavenly apparition and
i missed you.
 
fuck.
 
i don't miss ernest borgnine.
 
i miss you.
 
            9            9            9
 
doomed to the end i
must be.
 
but at least the moon looks
pretty tonight....
 
(ernest has his chops, too....)
 
 
 
7.12.06
lake city

---

Diary Entry No. 386.
 
 
 
"at the age of six i was tested with
a combination of terror &
quicksilver--the scientist was an
ape that had three hairs pouring
out of her anus and who
used an eggbeater to
measure my tongue--it took
only a half an hour &
then i swam home...."
          
                                --ernest rumsky--
                                  4.16.67/detroit

---

okay, so i'm an asshole &
my ex-brother-in-law says
everyday i lose another friend &
i'm thinking it is 3am and
i sure wouldn't mind losing
him right now.
 
at 4am i am covered w/a sleeping bag &
on the floor next to me he
is moaning and trying to punch the
tv screen, i cringe and try to
blank out the moans the
destruction.
 
i guess it worked because the next i
knew it was morning and the tv
was on the floor, a lamp was broken,
& he was snoring.
 
i stepped over him &
went into the kitchen to
start the coffee...
 
               *              *              *
 
quit acting like a flyboy, you
guys are so cool with your flight -
suits and sunglasses going up to
sky with your fart bags.
 
"fart bags?"
 
yes, when you go up the
gasses expand and then
you come back home all
depleted and you
kill the president, the
president's sister, &
the president's
puppy.
 
bastards.
 
                     *               *               *
 
because you exist, i will
kill you,
gerald morain...
 
 
 
12.3.06
lake city

---

STEP
 
 
i put 22 steel screws in the bottom of
my feet.
 
i can walk so much better now. almost
like a young man half
my size. 
 
getting to the store on these icey shores, that
seems important to me, my steel bites in
the ice seems important the
feeling that i can still
punch some bozo into
the next ditch makes
me feel good as
well.
 
but i'm only gunning for one man.
 
that's not as important it is
just a niggling fact.
 
i am a reject from some bad
western, it's not important, just
another fact.
 
i wish there was a two-bit whore around.
 
not important, just a....
 
i like that i'm more stable on my feet.
 
i can kick my ass like the
best of them.
 
i have 22 screws in the bottom
of my feet.
 
 
 
11.29.06
lake city

---

Extra Plate
 

she was married at 17 and
her husband was stationed in texas and
her job as a nurse was
to prep the dead soldiers flown
from vietnam.
 
she shivers when she tells me
how hard it was to
handle dead men.
 
rigor mortis stiffened them up and
often, as dead men do, their
penis would be erect.
 
she had to break the
man so he could be
put in the coffin home.
 
her husband was drunk when
she'd get home and
sometimes she'd
get a black eye.
 
35 years later she makes
a mean apple pie, the
flavor cripples me it
kills me
what it
takes
to make a decent pie.
 
it's all in how you
prepare the crust.
 
  
11.25.06
lake city

---

Adagio for Shit
 
 
i slept in today i got
up at 6am and i made myself
some coffee.
 
it was still dark it was
fall it had been
raining since the day
before yesterday.
 
in an hour i would wake
the girls up, make them
some breakfast, pack up
a lunch, stand outside on
the porch and
smoke a cigarette.
 
hope against hope worry
myself dizzy that they
could walk two blocks &
cross that busy street to
catch their yellow bus.
 
without nobody fucking with
them without nobody
running them over.  i
don't know how people
raise children with
out a
heart full of worry.
 
        *           *            *
 
the soldiers didn't even
knock they
smashed thru the
door
wearing the wrap-around mirrors &
the armor of robots yet
they were only robots in as much
they had an insincere
bedside manner.
 
there was sexual assault.
 
there were personal insults.
 
they made the children watch
their parents forced to
humiliation.
 
the mother & daughter were
made to go into their vehicle.
 
the father was left on
the floor.
 
one of the soldiers stepped
on an explosion he
no longer would have a
right leg.
 
he cried for his mother.
 
it was a fucked up situation.
 
     *            *              *
 
i called my work, said
i would be late.
 
walked the girls to the bus.
 
      *           *             *
 
the president of
my country says
it is okay to
torture.
 
and i have a
rotten tooth--
hurts like hell.
 
and civilization is
made by
acrobats.
 
            *            *           *
 
i plan to make pancakes tonight.
 
         *           *           *
 
maybe some whipped cream to
put on top.
 
          *            *           *
 
i paid for those soldiers....
 
 
 
10.23.06
lake city

---

Black Crow
 
 

the first day of summer my seven
year old makes a bird nest out of
cut grass and lays it by
my feet like an
offering from
the
innocent.
 
looks like a bunch of yellow grass.
 
next to my feet.
 
i tell her it is fucking great.
 
           *             *              *
 
she tells me not to use the 'f' word.
 
          *             *              *
 
i tell her it is okay when her father says the
'f' word.  he is a professional.  still,
she liked that i liked the mess of
dried up grass on my kitchen floor.
 
her mother will pick her up today and
i will have four days to figure out
what to do with this nest next to
my kitchen table.
 
should i freeze it?  should i put it in a
plastic bag?  should i throw it back in
the yard?  will
she remember?
 
               *              *                *
 
it is noon on the longest day of the
year and i am drunk.
 
what's gonna happen next?
 
will i rob a bank?
 
will i not rob a bank?
 
will i just look at pornography on the
computer and smoke three packs of
cigarettes?
 
i'm pretty sure i'm not gonna dig up
the lawn and plant tomatoes.
 
          *           *           *
 
my seven year old graduated from 1st
grade today.  my ten year old graduated
from 4th grade.  i was there.  so was their
mother.  three hundred elementary school children
and their 600 parents and 200 grandparents and
the odd 157 aunts and uncles and
i had to see the mother of my kids. 
 
imagine that.
 
she looked good.  a tight black dress.  i could see
some thigh.  crazy striped knee socks.  that
made me look for that thigh.  some wierd furry
half jacket.  and her stupid grin.
 
she's always smiling.  she always will.  she will
smile if she's in pain, she will smile if she's
angry, she's insane. 
 
she is not retarded.
 
and i will fight any motherfucker who says
she is. 
 
she can't help it.
 
             *             *           *
 
i'm hearing all of these birds in my
backyard, we got the brown, speckled, small, &
the ones that fly away and their wings
turn into fluttering pink roses.
 
i wake up my cat who is sleeping, oh
so innocently on my bed, and i pick her
up and bring her to the open door.
 
i push her out while she's still
yawning and tell her, 'go, do.'
 
'do it for the tribe.  eat some dinner.'
 
i feel good about this.
 
it's how i am, i
can't help it.
 
               *            *           *
 
now the crows are attacking, swooping, cackling,
and the world is afraid, it's only them from
now on
until
dusk...
 
the cat runs inside.
 
i miss my children.
 
         *          *           *
 
it is the first day of summer,
something's gonna happen,
it always does
 
          *          *          *
i'm gonna win the lotto i
feel it in my bones...
 
...ever the optimist.
 
         *           *         *
 
i give my cat a raw piece of chicken...
 
 
 
6.21.06
lake city

---

Alas
 
 
living in this aluminum tin can at the end of a
300ft rutted driveway, the scotch pine on either side, the
blackflies and deerflies constantly buzzing constantly
biting constantly i'm swinging my arms cursing as
i walk to get the mail from the
dented shotgunned pockmarked rusty
mailbox i reach my
arm in and
grab a letter
from you.
 
i don't like it and
i like it at the same time.
 
it is like having sex with an underaged teenager.
 
it is so absolutely wrong.  and mistakes will be made.
and i became a father without ever having a child.  and
the world sure did look good once.  i think.
 
what was i thinking?
 
i remember.
 
i wasn't really.
 
thinking.
 
                   *            *            *
 
the whitetails sometime come up to the
leaky outdoor faucet standing up like a
constant drooling soldier in my sandy lot.
 
they go for the clear constant drops that i
paid good money to drill for, having to
go at least 120ft to the artesian well.
 
the deer usually come during that grey that
is the 5 in the morning time when the
birds start singing.  sometimes i've fingered
my 16 guage and joked to myself they
are like 'sitting sucks.'
 
this is all i have, these stupid words of
mine, when i curse the horseflies while i
slit the gut cavity and the milkishly white
intestines fall out, plopping on the
ground like a pile of pinkish steaming shit.
 
this stuff that i do.  this waking up and
trying to remember the pain and ugliness and
gruesome dumb.  this is how i make myself
breakfast for three months at a time.
 
i shoot holes thru a living creature and
then i carve it up.
 
one day at a time.
 
 
                  *                 *                  *
 
 
behind my trailer is a small mountain of blue &
silver, empty, 'natural ice' beer cans. next to
those vassals sit the small mountain of
denuded mammal bones.
 
conquests of my consumption.
 
one has to eat, one has to drink.
 
one has to hear the motor of my rusty &
white freezer on the cinder blocks while
i read your letter.
 
                 *               *                 *
 
you write,
i am sorry i made you sad before and after
i left you.
you write,
i think you are a good person.
 
i think,
time for the natural ice.
 
              *                 *                 *
 
i wish i had time for two lifes.
 
the first for shooting holes in living creatures.
 
the second for understanding why i did that.
 
             *                 *                 *
 
thanks for the letter i
fuckyou very much....
 
p.s.  i say that with
great
gentleness.
 
 
 
6. 13.06
lake city

---

One Day Bad, One Day Might Be Good
(for Trevor)
 
 
 
i woke up in the dark.
 
the bastards kicked pretty good shit out
of me and i could tell my tooth was broke and
and something else in the face and the tin smell
of blood kept choking me and i
coughed for a long time and my ribs hurt and
every cough brought the bright pain in
my endless dark. 
 
it was like fireworks in a coffin. 
 
                *           *          *
 
hummingbirds beat their wings 100 times a second they
wiegh less than a u.s. quarter and
they can drink a pint of
sugar water in a
six hour period.
 
they are smaller than a child's thumb.
 
they have a two inch beak and
a three inch tongue that is thinner than
an albino's eyelash.
 
they fight each other like hell and they
sound like monster hornets.
 
they are beautiful and they scare me.
 
i have two dozen hummingbirds painted on
the inside of my kitchen walls they keep me
company when i drink whiskey at
8am in the morning.
 
they do not fly away when i vomit in the sink.
 
they are the christmas lights of my soul.
 
              *               *             *
 
after they beat me they dragged me to
some sort of basement the walls were wet it
was cold and there was a window that did
not show any light it was covered with a
metal screen.
 
the air from the window was refreshing although it
didn't quite smell right, it smelled like something
bad was happening outside of my basement.
 
like seals being beaten with bats or my
mother finding out i was not the good guy she
thought i was.
 
she found out i cheated, lied, hurt, and
stole. 
 
she found out i liked pornography.
 
it was an uncomfortable smell.
 
             *          *          *
going east from deadman's pass in northeastern
oregon one enters umatilla county the
mountains spread out into valleys and endless
plains and there is a motel on the old
oregon trail next to the "pen" cafe.  all of
the workers are from india they
are misaligned in one form or another, maybe
they are missing an eyeball maybe one leg is
three inches shorter than the other maybe they just
have a hard time looking one
straight in the eye.
 
maybe they suck cock when they should be
licking pussy, maybe they lick pussy when they
should be sucking cock maybe
it don't matter.
 
maybe they happen to be in the wrong place in
the right time.
 
maybe it was just a bad nightmare....
 
               *             *              *
 
they threw a birthday candle and a matchstick into
my hole last night.  i lit the candle and looked thru the
metal screen.  the wind was picking up and i
could taste rain.  i had to shield the flame, but
not fast enough, it went went out before i
could cough what i felt.
 
but i saw it.
 
on the other side of the screen were at
least two dozen dead rats
rotting.
 
the flesh the red the fur the maggots the death of
small rodents.
 
i jumped back 8ft and hit my head on
the wet wall.
 
i slept again.
 
                   *            *            *
 
i should've never checked myself into that motel.
 
the desk clerk had a lisp the maid had no matches the
groundsmen knocked on my door at 1am.  he
asked me to stop screamining.  i wasn't screaming.
i told him, sorry, wrong room, he walked away
unsatisfied, a broken redwinged blackbird in his
right paw.  he smelled like dust.
 
i hated this country but
i knew i had to
travel
thru
its
borders.
 
it is how things are sometimes...
 
         *          *           *
 
the feathers of a hummingbird are
iridescent.
 
they shine in complete darkness.
 
the next day
i'm hoping
will be beautiful....
 
 
  
5.27.06
lake city

---

Spare Change
 
 
 
i have a two dollar peso on my windowsill i
use it like a screwdriver to
take apart the used pistol i
bought in the little nickle.
 
it is a nice little piece although some of
the blueing is coming off revealing the
cold steel underneath but the
action seems clean & the
7 round clip inserts in the
grip easily enough.
 
i've never pulled the trigger, that
 
is for later.
 
when the moon is full and
i can't stand it no more.
 
when beer and cigarettes and little
children don't do it for me any-
more. 
 
i am not a pedopheliac.  i am
a beer drinker & a cigarette smoker &
i raise little children.
 
i live alone and all too often i
find the ceiling three feet closer to
my head i find the floor a
lot rougher than it
was before i
find
(when the children aren't here)
that
the television is my closest friend.
 
it is pretty and it don't smell.
 
not like me.
 
i wonder, what my friend, the tv, dreams
about?
 
it would be nice if it dreams about me.
 
it would be nice if it got lonely when i
leave the house.
 
           *              *              *
 
my ten year old tells me she sleeps with
her mother and her new boyfriend when
she is scared at night.
 
those are fucked times.
 
when i think about the world i live in.
 
i pick up the peso and throw it as hard as
i motherfucking can at the tv.
 
it bounces off robert deniro's forehead and
nothing happens.
 
             *              *              *
 
i won't do that today because i am too
busing making grilled cheese sandwiches &
helping out with homework.
 
my seven year old scraped her knee at school &
we apply hydrogen peroxide & neosporin &
i tell her not to pick it.
 
i will not see her wound for another four days.
 
i'm gonna miss that wound.
 
i will not be her father the
next four days while
it starts to heal.
 
            *           *            *
 
i will be a man that lives alone with a
two dollar peso on his windowsill.
 
 
5.2.06
lake city

---

Bad Thirsty
 

i ain't had but two beers and
they already showed up...
 
the kids were in the backyard,
bareafoot & chasing the chickens &
we thought they might be coming over but
one never knows if people are
gonna do what they says.
 
i sure don't.
 
i expect people never to do
anything anymore.  see,
i've kind of lost that
confidence.  nows, i
just try to move thru the
days and sleep the
nights.
 
trying not to think at all.
 
but come over they did &
they brought theys kids &
i was certainly amazed.
 
i hain't seen all those kids
since my wife left me over
a year ago.
 
never thought i would see
them again.
 
but my ex-wife's sisters brought
their children over.
 
and i cried.  yes i did.  i cried.
 
to see this old family once again.  eight
kids in this bachelor's backyard chasing
chickens and shooting the breeze.
 
what luck.
 
when they left they took my two
children back to their mother.
 
...and than i decided the
rest of the day i will be drunk.
 
                *         *          *
 
i like to dream nothing bad
ever happens to families....
 
4.12.06
lake city

---

View Statements & Make Payments At Your Convenience
 
 
 
the grass is green and wet and 4 inches high the
dandelions are half a foot tall & the 
honey bees are all over our ankles as
my six year old & nine year old are
playing with a foam plane in
the back yard.
 
i am sitting in a camp chair and trying to
figure out taxes on the laptop.
 
i am drinking budweiser.
 
i have to duck the drunken electric toy after every
three throws it
is okay i
am
up for it.
 
it beats filling out tax forms.
 
i am an animal.
 
i pee in the kitchen sink when no one is looking.
 
people like me shouldn't have to fill out taxes.  we
should be confined to small lots where we can
grow potatoes and corn, raise small children to
laugh and be honest, and drink warm cans of
beer while ducking insects and small toys with
propellers.
 
we ain't hurting nobody.
 
and we certainly ain't getting rich.
 
we're just trying to enjoy the smell of lavender bushes...
 
 
 
april 11.06
lake city

---

Debts, Circles, Surgery, & My Poor Fucking Children
 
  
the sinus cavity is connected to
the inside of your nose.
 
the stuff inside of it is
called mucous.
 
we produce two pints a day.
 
when we are healthy.
 
the majority of mucous
is swallowed and
goes into the stomach.
 
it mixes with the potato chips &
beer & bits of
chewed up bacon.
 
then, hopefully, it
leaves us and
eventually goes back
into a landing pad
called earth.
 
it is part of the beauty of life.
 
a cycle, so to speak.
 
from the earth the crops
grow what we need
all the good stuff
like potato chips,
beer & bacon.
 
a wonderful circle...
 
         *        *        *
 
my old man had a great idea.
 
he would charge us kids for
everything we ever needed.
 
shoes, luncheon meat, crayons.
 
he kept the amount in a little
notebook that he called,
"Accounts."
 
when we were small we got
credit against our debts by
doing our chores like washing
dishes, folding clothes, or
feeding the livestock.
 
our allowance usually ended
up to be 35 cents a week.
 
working double time one year i
actually was able to buy
half of the hand-me-down
winter coat from my brother.
 
my brother still owed long
after the coat was shredded from wear.
 
my dad's system was ingenious.
 
after us kids paid for his
funeral and granite marker we
pretty much figured our
debt was paid.
 
a complete circle...
 
          *          *          *
 
if your sinus cavity gets
impacted they do a procedure
known as slice, suck, & stuff.
 
your sinus cavity rests underneath
your face, under and above your
eyes, it is quite big, actually.
 
first they make a slit on the
lower part of your forehead, saw
thru the skull, and then they
vacuum out all of the nasty
dried up jelled mucous.
 
then they put your head back
together with whatever they
have, duct tape, staples, whatever.
 
and stuff, thru your nose holes,
wadded up pieces of cotton to
soak up the blood.
 
i hear it is an uncomfortable procedure.
 
but it is what one needs to do to
get healthy to get back to
the great circle of life.
 
to get back to the beauty of living...
 
        *        *         *
 
it reminds me of my divorce, something
somewhere was impacted and my
wife needed to do something to
get back to the beauty of living.
 
she did her surgery without telling me
she was sick.
 
i didn't even know she was a doctor.
 
she's recovered since then.
 
i'm still trying to get the cotton 
out of my nose.
 
when i sneeze my forehead splits
open and my grey matter spills
on the world i live in.
 
all these shitty words i call
poetry eventually become one with
the earth
my children watch amazed, their
words like my own; the
seven year old knows how to say,
"fucking bitch."
 
i'm gonna owe my kids big time
when they put me in the ground.
 
at 35 cents a week i better start
working double time...
 
         *           *           *
 
gotta get back baby
gotta get back to the great circle...
 
 
 
3.25.06
lake city

---

Bad Cheese
 
 
i had a slab of kangaroo thigh
salted it
left it in the sun
after a day in the desert it
was cured.
 
i learned that from my grandfather.
 
he was a fat man
with a red beard and pink cheeks and
and he smelled
like
cheese.
 
bad cheese.
 
he beat my mother until
she died and then
he started on me.
 
i was his mirror i
was his horse i
was his rage.
 
he hurt so bad.
 
a lonely scotsman with
a memory that wouldn't go away.
 
         *         *         *    
 
my grandma wasn't what you would
call a looker but
she did have tits &
a cunt & for some god
awful reason she did let
my grandfather into her bed.
 
maybe she was retarded,
i don't know.
 
my grandfather loved her but
he didn't know how.  he
thought that maybe if
he put a fence up or
traveled 200 miles round trip
with his pickup truck
bringing her home a ten inch
by ten inch pane of
glass for the front door,
maybe,
maybe he thought that
would be enough for
her love.
 
it wasn't.
 
she was 16yrs old and he was near 40
when they met.
 
she had a daughter, he just wanted
his wife.
 
she stopped sleeping with him and told
him the infant needed her attention.
the daughter was six years old and she
was still sleeping with her ma.
 
and then grandma left.
she left grandfather &
left my mother as well.
 
grandfather and mom must've
looked at each other long and hard
trying to figure out who to blame.
 
i can imagine those were bad days,
bad months, bad years.
 
the wind and dust curling around the
fence posts the donkey braying
because of snakes the
ten inch window into
the home all
smudged & opaque.
 
endless afternoons, sad mornings, the
smell of bad cheese
around both of their heads.
 
i was born somewhere in there.
 
like midnight interrupting the
flow of the morning sun.
 
            *          *           *
 
the only people i know are strangers
they kill each other for love
they hurt so bad because they
need it so much.
 
my grandfather died last week
good for him, it
was time for him to stop hurting.
 
his heart burst his callused hands
quivered his
pecker did him wrong.
 
in the bush it is easy not to
hurt anybody i
just need to eat some
red meat every three days or so.
 
satisfy myself with what i kill.
 
 
 
3.21.06
lake city

---

Conditions Set Forth Herein
 
 
Fred picked up the razor blade, wiped
his nose, and started on his
pinky toe.
 
the only way he knew
to clean his toenails.
 
he was an expert now.
 
         *                *                 *
 
everybody gets drunk now
and then.
 
be it jesus gambling war masturbation or
sometimes
simple alcohol.
 
everybody gets drunk.
 
(even fred) 
 
and sometimes they stumble
for the rest of their life....
 
 
 
3.19.06
lake city

---

Fukmei'mawinner
 
 
my luck has turned I
didn't expect it but
turn it did.
 
fuck me.
 
I am a winner.
 
took a bus to downtown last night I
had pocketfuls of cigarettes fist-
fulls of change new shoes and
a flask of whiskey.
 
I was on the money.  I
was shooting for the moon I
was looking for a little luck.
 
gawdammit.
 
40 minutes later I got to down-
town my bladder about to burst I
shot down an alley.
 
found an envelope with the word
"rent" printed with a red lead pencil.
 
the night's mail gave me 2400 dollars.
 
holy shit.
 
who pays 2400 buck a month on rent?
 
someone, I guess, who doesn't believe
in a return address.
 
poor bastards, but I knew it
was up to me to
spend this letter right.
 
yeah, right.
 
I was up to the task.
 
went to my old bar the bar where
I used to sneak in my ex old lady when
she was 17 and we
were going to have 14 years, two
children, and a future
life together.
 
fuck me this
bar is like a
childhood
home.
 
they don't ask for my I-dee anymore.
 
all this grey hair my ten year old says
makes me look like a grandfather instead
of a father might
have something to do with it.
 
I'm just an old guy with someone else's
mail.
 
a divorced old guy who drinks
all day and smokes three packs a day and
showers with a cup of freeze-dried instant coffee
to make the morning go faster.  a dumb
fuck who is old enough to
need glasses to
read the newspaper.  a
winner is
what I'm saying.
 
2400 bucks of love in
my heart what
a shallow heartless
dweeb I have become.
 
I can deal with it.
 
a round for everybody in the house!
 
mr. big is in the house!
 
drink up!
 
enjoy!
 
baby....
 
            *              *             *
 
....she is absolutely beautiful, slender, green
eyes, smart as a tack and she
remembers me from the
tree fort we made as a kid in
the oak tree in livingston county when
we were both nine.
 
no shit. 
 
and she is with her girlfriend and
her girlfriend likes poetry.
 
and her girlfriend has read my
poetry.
 
              *            *            *
 
what is going on here?
 
             *             *            *
 
some strange surreal parallel universe where I
was finally given the right door...
 
...door no. two, thankyou....
 
            *              *           *
 
a long crazy drunken night my car
parked halfway in the street when I
woke up and realized I didn't have
my wallet in my pant's pocket and
I ran to the car expecting the worse and
my wallet was on the front seat the
money littered like a green snowstorm on
the brake and gas pedals my
credit cards spread like a poker
hand amongst the snakes of
seat belts.
 
the doors unlocked.
 
everything was there.
 
everything.
 
          *           *           *
 
and last night I made love to
two beautiful
women....
 
....because I am good, lead
a good life, work hard, and
it was my turn.
 
I got lucky.
 
 
lake city
2.25.06

---

Do Snakes Cry?
 
 
there is a slender possibility that i
will kill a snake, save it's head, throw
it in the freezer, and take it
to the labs of university of washington...
 
...they will find there is an enzyme in
the snake's tear ducts that retreats
all forms of colon cancer...
 
...there is that possibility.
 
         *               *                  *
 
there is a day that has my name on it there
is a day i've might've missed here &
there, there is a day that might be
coming soon.
 
we shall call it happy the
happy day.
 
on the happy day one
eats all of the seven food goups gets
enough sleep--has a two hour nap--
from 1pm to 3pm, the children do
not fight, the bills are paid, &
there is someone around who
always wants to buy a
pizza or at least a
rental movie or two.
 
happy day is the
day of
happy.
 
enough said.
 
all the people in the house are  happy.
 
            *               *              *
 
it was kind of a stupid time we
were living in n'awlins and we didn't have
any money
 
we took an amtrak from seattle to
florida to visit my sister's family and
then we went to n'awlins and
our luggage was stolen.
 
i had no interview pants.
 
we had two thousand dollars somewhere in
the great northwest but
the keeper of the money kept forgetting we
really needed it.
 
it was the bucks we won in the lotto of
marriage and the presents were sweet but
somehow we weren't seeing it when we
needed it.
 
the mother of the wife kept forgetting to send
her daughter money.
 
anyways, things kept happening.  broke, stupid, not
the least of it.
 
bad day:  we finally got the emergency food stamp coupons                     & walked the 15 blocks to where we get the real food
stamps and while waiting in line our
pockets
were
picked.
 
the future mother of my daughters cried &
cried, she felt like she was at the end of
her rope.  she felt hungry.  i
could tell she wasn't kidding.  it
was rather sad.  the streets
in midcity n'awlins don't look to
nice, they looked like houses that just
imploded, melted, dripped in fungii, and
were broken.
 
garbage on the streets and sidewalks, arsoned
homes across the street from each other, the
essence of poverty like a blanket everywhere and
it wasn't pretty.
 
fuck.
 
families trying to keep it together, drugsters trying to
keep their scene, poor schtupps just trying to
navigate.
 
we just wanted to pick up our foodstamps at
the place.
 
the place.  even back then they had guards with guns
making sure everything went okay.  i mean,
there was a lot of hungry folk, hungry
for one thing or another....
 
              *             *               *
kendra was so sad when we found out
our coupons were lost.  i wasn't happy
either.  but we had flour.  and oil.  and
salt.  and maybe catsup.
 
somehow that doesn't work for
some people.
 
we made a cake, it
was deliscious...
 
            *         *           *
 
i don't have the energy to
do this thing again i
don't have the energy to
raise the kids from dots i
don't feel so good that
this guy makes strong coffee
in the morning and it affects
max's delicate psyche and
she says it makes her sick.
 
it is a horrible situation that
i must lose my kids half of
the time.
 
it is a horrible situation that
i must lose my kids half of
the time and
deal with it.
 
if i'm the only guy mad
about this situation i
am the jerk.
 
i must submit.
 
i must give up.
 
i must not pulse.
 
i must relax.
 
cripes!
 
   *       *         *
 
 
 
we survived n'awlins too....
 
 
lake city
2.22.06

---

Just Enough
 
  
the first naked woman i saw was in
oktibbeha county, mississippi.
 
she was a sweet girl who raised parrots but
didn't feel a need to keep them in a cage, they
flew like sweet dreams do--
from one room to another--and
sometimes, they left the home
and decided to live with the wild onions &
kudzcoo vines that are the nieghbors of
biting ants and feral cats.
 
mississippi will do that to you.
 
she wasn't trying to be sexy or
anything, she wasn't trying to win me
over, it was just late at night, the party
long since over, and it was a sweaty
night.
 
for golly gee she was working on her
master's degree and i was a 16yr old still 
getting on with my high school diploma in
those cold lands of michigan.
 
just visiting down south.
 
she took off her shirt and i
knew it was as easy for her as
brushing her teeth.
 
tieing a shoe.
buttering toast.
sneezing.
 
she was absolutely beautiful and
the nicest girl i ever met in my life.
 
              *            *             *
 
on interstate 55 going south from memphis one
makes a left on state hiway 82 thru winona and
after a mile or two, one will find a decent 
catfish cafe.  i usually walked this part and
could only afford the coleslaw but i
swear there is some catfish to be had.
 
            *               *              *
 
spent a lot of time on this road.  
rolling cigarettes and playing the harmonica.
swatting flies and getting thirsty.
jacking off in the ditches.
waiting for the ride to her home.
wishing this heat would stay with me
forever like the poison ivey rash almost
did.
 
goddamn, i think i was happy.
 
my thumb out and humming something a
teenager would hum.
 
like greensleaves or
bohemian rhapsody or
jimmy crack corn or
rudolph the rednose reindeer.
 
the air hot the wind warm the
moisture getting into my brain the
steam of southern green.
 
               *           *            *
 
the world smelled beautiful &
i was in no hurry.
 
anything that could happen would
be totally cool for the
boy i was...
 
...i didn't care if i ever saw a
bare naked girl again.
 
i'd be okay....
 
 
2.14.06
lake city  

---

Mouth, Luck, Give, & Sip....
 
 
the grapes are hanging on the wall the
cork rolls around the table the
wooden chair is on it's side on the
floor smoking
a cigarette...
 
there is a rip in the screen window the
rat gets thru at night, seems
to dance with the knocking toilet pipes and
that old two-step-hum-in- harmony
midnight refrigerator,
ah christ,
jerry is at it again, he sleeps
like a frozen beagle at night two
spilt beers form a wet spongey
pillow on the carpet underneath
his long grey-haired head and
he fucking snores...
 
...as i step over him to
get to the bathroom at
4:37 in the morning.
 
the rat running from the
medicine cabinet with a
tylenol in each hand.
 
              *             *              *
as a kid i used to believe in jesus
as a kid i used to believe in the virgin mary
as a kid i used to believe in santa claus
i never believed in the easter bunny because
i wasn't that sort of kid
but i did believe in the green hornet.
 
the green hornet was a cool as
shit guy who drove a black car had
a black leather jacket and wore
sunglasses while he somehow beat
the lowlife's at their game of avarice and
treachery.  i don't remember how 
he did all of that stuff i
was four years old.  all i
knew was
that he was cool.   he
had all the goods.  and
a good sound track.
 
            *              *              *
 
i live in a cartoon.
 
i drive a '69 black ford ltd, have
a black leather jacket, and got some
cool as shit dark shades i
fight avarice and treachery my
own way.  i
drink whiskey but
don't drive drunk i
spent 200 bucks at the
strip club last week but i
knew i only fed my hunger for
beauty not my hunger for
soul.
 
i bought my kids and myself a
deluxe badminton set and it is
waiting in the trunk of my cool
car for when they are done with
their half week with their mother.
 
i am planning ahead.
 
got grape juice and new toothbrushes.
 
got granola bars, cereal, & milk.
 
most of the whiskey is drunk up.
 
i'm looking forward to helping my
kids with their
homework.
 
            *          *          *
 
i only remember the four steps of
love but
i believe
in time
the other three steps will
come back to me.
 
i have faith the
sound track will follow....
 
 
2.12.06
lake city
 

---

I Washed My Hands
 
 
 sitting on a microwave typing on
a foot stool i gave
my coffee away today.
 
damn, i forgot tomorrow is
another day.
 
but that's alright i
threw away my cups and
dishes yesterday.
 
i am getting more naked
as i speak.
 
and my knees hurt.
 
but no more.
 
i won't fucking kneel no more.
 
it's a new year and
despite it's artifice i will
use it as a tool.
 
fuck me, i'm a gambler and
this luck should turn around soon
 
i lost my nuts last year lost
my wife lost my mind lost
my family
 
nearly lost my life.
 
lost thirty pounds found
poetry.
 
i got some hell to pay
 
but gonna do it smart not
like some bum i'm
gonna do it like
i know.
 
y'know, w/style.
 
        *      *      *
 
y'know, i didn't commit one
single felony last year and
i had every single reason to
do so.
 
i didn't kill anybody i
didn't hurt anybody.
 
and in my heart i knew
i should have.
 
but i didn't.
 
either because i was a
coward or i was to busy
trying to hurt myself
nevertheless i
didn't kill
one
stupid
fucker.
 
i'm kind of proud i am not
in jail right now.
 
         *        *           *
 
last night i went to a party i
arrived late about one-thirty in
the morning i was hoping
most people would have left
by then.
 
it was a party my friends
were having down at the end
of the block.  i watched the cars
arriving from my window i watched
my kid's mother arrive with my
children and her boyfriend.
 
i was invited but i did not
want to commit a felony.
 
 
i stayed home and watched the
party from my window.
 
i tried to stay interested in
poker on tv.
 
blood looks bad on carpets.
 
for three hours i thought about that.
 
and then i said, fuck it.
 
        *       *       *
 
and i went over.  of
course, my wife and her boyfriend
were in the kitchen and
my brother n law kept
blocking my way.
 
i went in thru another door and
i had an epiphany.
 
and i acted on it.
 
i told the boyfriend to talk to
me and we sat on the couch
together and i told him why
i thought he was an asshole.
 
but in a gentle, thoughtful, professional
way.   i made him listen while
he tried to interrupt.  and i
got it out.  he
started to
talk and
i
walked away.
 
half hour later i
looked at him still
at the couch and
he was crying.
 
i wished my kids,
happy new year and
i walked home.
 
         *       *       *
 
fuck me,
sometimes i do the right things.
 
not often,
but often enough.
 
it's a new year....
 
 
 
1.1.06
lake city

---

Pinch Me
 
 
i dreamed my children were happy.
 
they played in the mud and their
clothes were a mess their shrieking was
the combo of hilarity and absolute joy they
kept hugging each other and they
knew everything was alright.
 
the sun came thru the misty rain and
the kids decided they wanted to go
back to the house and eat collard
greens & pork fat & then take a
nice, long, restive nap.
 
they were waiting for santa clause.
 
maybe they would get a potato for
christmas maybe it would even
be cooked they
were so excited.
 
cartoons and candy all day, stay
up all night, throw the cat around
the furniture-less living room in a
friendly game of kitty volleyball.
 
i have to admit, their excitement was
contagious.  i longed to spike that
pooping cat for months.  i was hoping
that santa would pay the mortgage &
leave a nice amber bottle of maker's
mark next to our christmas lit
toaster we decided this year
to festoon with yule tide spirit.
 
check it out; the toast pops out, knocks
off the pink construction-paper star cut-out,
the cat jumps three feet, and attacks
the ornament, and my two girls and i
laugh and laugh and laugh when
the cat lands in the
saucer of margarine.
 
we pick cat fur out of our teeth when
we eat our cooked potatoes but we
don't mind a bit, it
was worth it.
 
cooked spud and margarine is,
simply,
quite fucking deliscious.
 
never forget the salt...
 
         *          *          *
 
when i dream i remember
everything when i am awake i
forget some things the
kids though need me
need me
to dream they
need me to
be happy.
 
the burden of holidays is in
real time, but, i
have to admit,
kitty volleyball certainly
appeals...
 
 
 
12.22.05
lake city

---

Clown School Graduate
 
  
there were days when the sand
stung so bad my eyes would bleed yet
if that was not bad enough there
were also those days when the rain
would not stop my skin would
wrinkle from toe to elbow my face
would turn into a yellowish
praddle.
 
that was a bad year, i tell ya.
 
          *           *           *
 
ringling brothers' college of buffoonery
located in sandusky, ohio.
 
what a joke.
 
well,
what a pratfall actually.
 
a slapstick, a shenanigan, a humdinger, a
pancake, a wacked out harbinger of
nutty things to come.
 
why didn't i go to henry ford trade school
like my dad wanted?  at least then, i'd
have some skills besides whiteface, light
the fart, and running in place.
 
it is true, i can flip a mean burger, six of
them at a time.  around the world and over
& under.  thru a burning hoop if
i needed to.
 
still doesn't get me laid.
 
enough.
 
i fight depression daily.
 
     *       *       *
 
the one class i had was special taught
by a sixty-three year old lady who
had a nice body.  she taught us ballet.  ah,
now that is special.  try finding size 12
ballet shoes at k-marts.  i used my sister's
tights because i was broke and i
think it was the first or second class when
we had to do some bar work in front of
a 20 foot tall mirror that caused
the crotch to split north and south my
package clearly reflected to
all those other clowns.
 
holy macaroni.
 
what a hoot and a holler.  i
felt so ridiculous my head almost
rolled off.
 
ashamed as a naked jaybird i
ran from the practice studio like
a tearful schoolgirl...
 
...with a silly pink codpiece bouncing
up and down between her legs.
 
      *         *           *
 
alright, so at least i tried.  college was
not for me.
 
niether was petty crime, working on
boats, running a pawnshop, teaching
retards, cleaning hotel rooms, smuggling
drugs, polishing bowling balls, painting
houses, planting trees, raising goats, panning
for gold, breaking and entering, modeling
clay, being married, selling my soul, selling
vacuum cleaners, raising children, scooting
out before i paid the bill, working at a
grocery store, drinking shitty beer,
winking at
my crazy life.
 
but
at least
i tried.
 
i could've been a contender.
 
      *       *        *
 
the north star, what is it? polaris? always
is so fucking far away.  it was
supposed to light my way.  show me where
to shoot my arrow.
 
alright, it is just a stupid star, can't
blame a star now can i?
 
my therapist, she has a nice body as well,
says i should take some responsibility and
set some boundaries.
 
alright.  i should've passed on the clown school.
i will never wear tights again.
 
that's as far as i've gotten.
 
so much work to do, so much work.
 
            *             *            *
 
some days i get so tired i don't even
want to wipe my own ass.
 
           *             *             *
 
tell ya what though, give me fifty-bucks,
a brown bottle, some smokes, a finely
tuned harmonica, a game of poker, a
naked lady who likes me, a naked lady who
likes me naked, a tail-less cat, my two children,
an amusement park with a rollercoaster, a
game of frisbee, the sun, a full moon on a
warm night, some good blokes, sharp
conversation, and a whoopie cushion.
 
and i'm totally cool.
 
           *             *           *
 
yep.

---

Peas & Carrots
 
 
i'm sweeping the floor of tonight's
dinner and the window is open to
let the smell of burnt peas & carrots
carry away to the rest of the
citizens of this uneasy city.
 
the frozen night spits back and
it is just cold in this house tonight even
if the oven door is open and the
coils inside glows orange at
450 degrees.
 
no one ate their vegetables tonight. 
 
how could we?
 
we were to busy playing poker and
scratching off lottery tickets.
 
my six yr old won 15 dollars, my
nine yr old broke even, and i
burnt the peas and carrots.
 
i have a coworker who hates peas
and carrots.
 
maybe her father burned them some
time in her young life.  that
would do it for
some of us.
 
i like peas and carrots.  they are
another opportunity to scarf down
salt and butter.
 
my father never made peas and
carrots maybe that is why i
still like them.
 
         *         *          *
 
it is a pickle to understand why we
move into the homes that we do.
 
it is a pickle why we still live there.
 
it is a vinegary acidic pickle that is
stuffed into our eye when we
realize we our kicked out.
 
we lose our vision and
curse a lot.
 
we are more wary about the
stuff we are about to digest.
 
we lose our appetite.
 
       *        *        *
 
the cold wind takes on
new meanings.
 
my mate and i were on the road
going south from jackson hole, wyoming,
and we were famished.  hungover
of course, broke natually, and
penniless like
usual.
 
it was june and it just snowed in
those crazy mountains colder
than shit.
 
a cowboy with a cowboy hat &
a cowboy rifle in his cowboy
gunrack picked us up and drove
us south to rock springs.
 
we got to ride in the bed of
his cowboy pickup truck.  we
were happy about the ride but
awfully soon we realized it
was to insanely cold, christ
we took out our sleeping
bags and huddled like
cockroaches next to
a rumbling radiator in
the crappy parts of
toronto.
 
there are crappy parts of toronto.  a
lot of americans don't know this.  cockroaches
live in canada as well.
 
anyway, hundreds of miles in the
bed of a wyoming cowboy's pickup brought
us to where we had to get out.
 
we grabbed our sleeping bags &
backpacks and we both hopped out
of the truck.
 
when my feet hit the pavement i
screamed.  my vision blurred the
brain went insane.  my feet
shattered into a hundred pieces.
 
no shit.
 
my feet turned into slivers of glass
that some highway convict/worker
would later sweep up and put
into a garbage bucket after
the spring thaw.
 
          *          *         *
 
we made our way to the first
church we saw hoping for a
little redemption a little rest we
checked the doors and found out
they were absolutely open.
 
fuck us.
 
that's when my mate told me he
stole a pistol from the cowboy's
cowboy truck. 
 
as far as we could tell it was
an empty church we kept
calling out, 'father, father, where
are you?'  we
heard nothing.
it was silent.
 
of course, he went to the charity
boxes, the candle offerings, anywhere
he could get some loose change.  i
went straight to the wardrobe and
grabbed me some vestments and
started preaching from the
empty podium.
 
fuck yeah, i felt like a child of god.
 
i pushed for compassion and dignity and
loved the heck out of the priest's
uniform and
thought
'i could do this.'
 
that's when the priest came in.
 
      *          *         *
 
jesus christ.
 
     *           *          *
 
what is the point sometimes?  you still gotta
eat your peas and carrots, mind your p's and
q's and keep going.
 
     *            *           *
 
years later, before my mate killed
himself he told me left the
pistol behind the altar.
 
what ya gonna do?
 
it gets cold everytime about
this time.
 
the wind still gets in....
 
 
 
12.4.05
lake city

---

PKmagazine--(interview, 11.08.05)
(for bv & koeze)
 
 
 
recently, i had a chance to do a short reading,(well one poem, well, one clean poem actually) on the student run station out of bellevue, washington.
 
the station started with a k, i'm sure.  a hip-hop, rip-rap, kind of station.  they were cool, i was flattered, it was kind of interesting.
 
before the reading they pre-recorded a short interview with me.  below is the partial result of said interview.  i hope i still have a job at my highschool.
 
            *            *             *
 
student interviewer:  why do you call yourself robbo?
robbo:  i like cheese.
s.i.:  you like cheese?
r.:  of course.
s.i.:  alright.
r.:  i like it melted or in tea.
s.i.:  tea?
r.:  warm tea, not to cold, not to hot.
s.i.:  okay. 
r.:  i don't like cheese in my socks.  never have.
s.i.:  you are a highschool teacher, right?
r.:  not in this nieghborhood.
s.i.:  but you work at a highschool?
r.:  i have a job, yes.
s.i.:  what do you teach?
r.:  social skills.  math, english, ged stuff, i talk a lot.  and perform.  i tell my kids to not do drugs.  i tell them how to stay out of jail.  i tell them to be cool.  to not fight everything.
s.i.:  i have read a couple of your chapbooks.  i have, and thankyou, a folder of your recent poetry.  you seem to spend a lot of time talking about drugs and anger.  you talk about transporting weed or 'mexican blonde' and stuff.  you talk about hammers and rocks and hurting, i guess, your ex-wife...
r.:  dude.
s.i.:  ...you don't talk like a highschool teacher.
r.:  well, ah, i make a lot of that stuff up.
s.i.:  do you do drugs?
r.:  nope.  drugs are a waste of time.  why do you think some people call it 'dope'?   drugs make you stupid.  enough of this.
s.i.:  have you ever been in jail?
r.:  i worked on a boat.  two or three months at a time.  from seattle to alaska.  and back again.  that felt like jail.  it was a nonsmoking boat.
s.i.:  have you ever been in jail?
r.:  no, those are just ugly rumors.
s.i.:  you have one poem called 'dibbleville' where you talk about jail...
r.:  i have many poems about cat poop as well.  let's move on...
s.i.:  you are not really a highschool teacher?
r.:  well, my students don't think so.  they think i am doing community service.  i don't dispell this notion.  i use it to my advantage.  i want my students to think i am different.  not the authority type person they're used to.
s.i.:  does it work.
r.:  i don't know.  they still swear at me.  but, i always figured that was part of their sickness.
s.i.:  sickness?
r.:  they are teenagers.
 
(space here, an editing thing) 
 
s.i.:  do you live your poems.
r.:  no of course not, that would be sad.
s.i.:  where do you come up with your poetry?
r.:  science fiction magazines, busstops, dreams.
s.i.:  do you really drink malt liquor from a bag when you take your kids to a park?
r.:  sheesh.  that is stupid.  let me tell you something.  when i was growing up there was always a great mountain of empty liquor bottles, half drunk beers, and ashtrays after the major holidays.  y'know, halloween, easter, the day they invented turpentine, etcetera.  i saw great madness and major love with my 400 people who came to thanksgiving.  my family.  i was taught poker by my aunts and uncles.  my older brother and older cousins would smoke weed outside of the house, freezing their nuts off.  my dad had a red face, my mom talked to loud.  we danced.  i would consume ten bottles of coca-cola in one night.  us little cousins would drink maple syrup straight up, no chaser, right from the refrigerator.  it was cool.  it was great.  i would love to do it again.  i'm sorry, what was the question?
s.i.:  do you drink in front of your children?
r.:  ah, that's rude.
s.i.:  you talk about it in your poetry.
r.:  let me tell you something about poetry.  it is personal.  it is also public.  but it is not to be confused with public confession.  there is creative original expression one is working for.  i would be a liar if i told you some of the stuff i write about does not come from human experience.  it does.  my work is about the human experience.  it comes from human experience.  but not necessarily is my brain a cottage by a lake.  or my soul torn from screaming demons.  come on.  i just write this stuff so i can get some...
s.i.:  some what?
r.:  respect.
s.i.:  have you gotten respect with your poetry?
r.:  well, my daughters have no problem bringing me beers from the refrigerator....
 
 
 
11.29.05
lake city       

---

Pornography
 
 
 
i swept up all the toenail clippings all
those crazy hardened chips of
my mind the speckles of
cheese i call my
soul.
 
i put it in a jar, labeled
it 'later' and then i
got back to
work.
 
i make things with the hands of
my brain i pour
glue in my innards and i
spackle the inside of
my eyeballs with fantasy &
introspection.
 
i date some of the most beautiful
women this side of
hollywood.
 
sometimes two at a time.
 
sometimes two at the same time.
 
i am the last one you would want
to ask for directions in
this mystery called earth.
 
outside of my stone everything
looks grey.
 
foggy like.
 
            *          *           *
 
so i met these two women at a
bar last night.  they were nearly cute
when we introduced ourselves they
were absolutely stunning when the
bar closed and we went to my
house.
 
i blasted out the barry manilow &
the john denver from my surround
sound boombox to get everyone in
the mood.
 
i busted out some girl scout cookies that
i keep in the freezer and i lit
a st. threresa candle that lives
in a glass tube.
 
glass tubes.
 
ah.
 
those glass tubes.
 
like the smell of burnt sweat.
 
everybody so happy.
 
so i told them the next time my
children visit me i would like
them to have a tree to climb on.
 
good enough.
 
we went on a mission.
 
the first
decent house we just walked into the
side door of the garage and, low and
behold, there was a chainsaw.
 
fuck, i felt like a lumberjack, tough,
hairy, and strong,
give me a fucking tree.
 
we found the fucking tree in front of
the coffee shop it's trunk the size of
the thick part of my thumb it
was perfect.
 
we couldn't find the key to the
chainsaw so we did the next best
thing
we went back to my house to
dance to jim nabors.
 
although
unfortunately
they were scheduled for other meetings and
by the time i got home it
was just me.
 
i didn't feel like dancing anymore.
 
i just felt kind'a tired, y'know.
 
before i went to bed i
brushed my teeth with a jackhammer.
 
         *              *             *
 
my ex-wife is coming over in
twenty minutes, we have to sign more
papers, and she is giving me a
pack of cigarettes (so i will sign the
papers). 
 
we always had a hard time
communicating.
 
i never understood that part....
 
 
 
11.29.05
lake city

---

my brain is being crushed.
 
 
sometimes one does not need a lot of words to aptly describe the situation.  for instance, like, now.  i am bobbing my torso and gritting my teeth and still, the pain will not go away.  i hear a hammering, no shit, a hammering a block away.  what is wrong with these people?  don't they know they are not supposed to work on a saturday morning?  bastards.  i am now weaving my skull around in a circle.  maybe i can slosh the pain out of my ears.  it is not working.  my toes twitch.  my jaw hurts.  i hurl the cat against the wall.  no good joe.  no fucking good.  mr. pain is still knocking at my door.  occupied, is what i say.  by mrs. pain, you fucking interloper.  no room in this bed.  not today.  i am fucking pain thru it's arsehole.  drilling the oil reserves of vibrant orgasmic ouch.  my rhythym is off.  i slam my fist into my forehead.  yes.  that felt less painfull.  i'm gonna do it again.  yeah baby.  again and again and again.  the pain comes all over me.  i am in a rainstorm of pain.  even my eyes are bleeding.  my teeth are crushed.  my tongue lacerated.  it feels respectfull.  i am one with the hurt.  the back of my knees tremble.  i can't even remember when i thought about the back of my knees.  the kneepits, so to speak.  alas, they're awake too.  trembling.  dancing to the bending of pain.  fuck me, this is to much.  i'm gonna try the fist again.  i am so stupid.  i should use a cast iron pan.  stars and tweetie birds swirling around my head.  a cartoon of pain.  i bob up and down.  moan for a soundtrack.  look at me, i am a pimp daddy rap gangster.  o. g., my man.  oldstyle.  from the heart of humankind.  the beginning of homo sapiens.  we've been doing this shit for 40,000 years.  rocking back and forth, trying to seperate the pain from the man.  the man from the headache.  a traditional two-step.  my fucking brain is being crushed.  it is leaking madness, again....  

---

Happy Birthday Present
(for chrissy burd and the angel)
 
 
 
today is black friday,
imagine that.
 
the day after thanksgiving being
the busiest day of the
year for merchants &
shoppers. 
 
people in line for 4am openings so
they can buy a flat screen tv.
 
camping all night in their rv's waiting
for walmart to open it's doors so
they can go into heaven.
 
the 50cent newspaper as thick as
two sunday papers filled to the
brim with adverts and inserts.
 
the giddiness of the thanksgiving sloth
the day before making the world
of amerika drunk like insane
christian monkeys.
 
that's a big ass hangover, i'm
telling ya...
 
            *            *            *
 
my mate and i were on the road coming
from michigan hitching
to n'awlins so we could catch
a plane to guatemala in order to
be our own rain kings and
start our own little
nice and fuzzy cult where
the natives would
worship us and
we would be
benevolent &
kind.
 
what can i say, we were in our twenties, &
we saved a boat load of money, 3000
bucks, from the weed, very shitty
weed we sold to the haliburton
oilmen in rocksprings,
wyoming.
 
we thought we were kings.
 
we were idiots of course.
 
why were we hitchhiking with
all this money thru the summer
of the deep south?
 
why didn't we take a bus?
 
we were idiots of course.
 
so here we were being
idiots of course walking
around I-455 around the
very hot and horrible town
of memphis in the middle of
july.  we walked around the
northern leg of the interstate adding
another 13 miles of hot expressway to
our journey to become gods in
central america.
 
no one would pick us up.
 
they did not know we were gods
in training.
 
the wind of  buicks and semi trucks
going 70mph hit us like the breath of
fire from a feverish god.
 
we were awfully thirsty.
 
a lady finally pulled over.
 
she must've been in her seventies she
drove a plymouth valiant and had
three other hitchers in her car.  she  was
dressed all in white had
white hair and her
skin almost glowed she
gave us a warm rc cola and
said hello.
 
we said hello.
 
me and my mate, not yet felons
yet, and the other hitchers seem to
think the same thing...
this lady is crazy.  it
was silent in
the car.  all
of us, i'm sure, dubious
kings of something or
other felt the same thing.
what the hell is this old
lady doing picking
up hitchhikers?
 
she let me and my mate off
on the south side of memphis a
straight shot thru the state of
mississippi and
she gave us both
a dollar.
 
it was the first time i
met an angel.
 
         *           *           *
 
when i write these words i
thank heaven it is not
black friday everywhere in
my cynical heart.
 
i'm going to a party tonight at
a crazy lady's house.  she makes
t-shirts with a silk-screened photographic
image of her face on the front w/
the word LOVE underneath it. 
 
it looks quite good.
 
she then donates the shirts
to the salvation army, goodwill,
value village.
 
imagine that.
 
another angel in training....
 
 
11.25.05
lake city

---

Alien
 
 
there must be some sort of target
on the back of my soul i get
all of these errant emails that want
me to meet christian singles, naked
farm animals, cheap viagra,
incestual pornography, and
illicit pharmaceuticals dealt from
third world countries.
 
it kind of makes sense to me.
 
if i was one of these sleezy spammers i
too would search for someone like
myself.
 
but how do they know that?
 
my email address is humancity for
chrissakes!  doesn't that conjure up
a small village with bucolic fields where
cows eat grass and burp methane?
 
a thousand small children around?
 
dogs and cats running between the
legs of grandmas and grandpas?
 
nope.  i guess not.  they dialed into
the 'other' humancity the one where
there are junkies on every corner and
sex with a donkey is justified if
your sister is watching....
 
christian singles?...waiting to meet
these type of people.
holy shit.
there are some lines being
crossed even in my own
expect everything
fart in the mouth of the
president type of reasoning.
 
christian singles?
 
do they give head?
 
religiously?
 
to beasts of burden?
 
       *            *          *
 
excuse me.
 
i got kind of excited there.
 
i mix up all of the messages.
 
even if they ain't for me.
 
         *           *          *
 
so this is the type of humancity
i live in i
peruse and write to ladies who
are felons serving time in federal and
state penitentaries.
 
there's a website and it is kind of
cool because you get a picture of the gal a
statement and sometimes the crime they
committed and how long they
are in for.
 
there are some sexy manslaughterers out
there i tell ya.
 
ah jesus holy cow i am
not kidding.
 
blondes, brunettes, redheads, drugheads,
grifters, check passers, dealers, prostitutes,
violent assaulters.
 
they beg for correspondence they want it
so bad i feel horrible that i have
limits.
 
drug crimes are okay.  nonviolent crimes not
bad.  manslaughter only if they have a good
and compelling reason.  and they must be
coming out of the big house in a year or
two.
 
jesus i've been writing these ladies like mad.
i send stamps and envelopes pictures taken of
me when i was 20 years younger.
 
fuck christian singles.
 
            *           *            *
 
unfortunately they don't get it either.
 
the humancity seems like a scarier place
than where they are.
 
i haven't gotten one letter back in
three months.
 
like there's a target on my soul....
 
           *           *           *
 
one gets used to this stuff.
 
living in the humancity is tough.
 
        *          *           *
 
i need a vacation....
 
 
11.14.05
lake city

---

Grateful Circus
(for jenessa)
 
 
i saw you in a clown show you
were wearing a red dress and
sliding down a light post i
believe i was pushing your
three year old back n
forth in a
stroller and
watching maybe
about three, four, other
kids.
 
i had a can of beer in
the stroller.  the august sun
was hot the beer got warm &
the show was just getting started.
 
you sang a song.
 
it was a nice song, a little sexy, a
little sultry, quite a
bit sultry, very
much camp.
 
it was a clown show
by golly.
 
the beer was almost
hot when i was sipping it.
 
your three year old kept
leaping out of the stroller and
wouldn't listen to
instructions.
 
niether would the other kids.
 
they were animals.
 
started gnawing on tree roots and
urinating in trash cans.
 
but then your act was over and
now you were in charge
of 400 children.
 
i got a cold beer, sat back, &
watched the show.
 
you made these animals into a
posse of bunnies or farm animals or
fairies or junior crips or something,
but
you got them to act in
unison.
 
they became a coagulated musical
of tiny people.
 
i was impressed.
 
you made an opera out of animals.
 
you produced the sound of music.
 
and everybody was happy.
 
           *                *                   *
 
i got to finish my beer and
was no longer nervous with
the taking care of children.
 
           *                *                      *
 
even my children.
 
         *              *                 *
 
i've known you for a long time i
have watched your face closely i
have a photograph in my mind of
a drop of sweat making its way down
the side of your head past your ear &
taking a dive into the ground while
you are doing three things at
once;
putting up a tent
pouring milk in cereal bowls &
trying to light a cigarette.
 
i have a photograph in my mind of
inside your mind and it makes me
nervous.
 
not because of anything but
because there is a lot of work
going on in there.
 
i want it to be easy.
 
you deserve easy.
 
this much work deserves easy.
 
                *                *               *
 
sometimes
 
i've gnawed on tree roots &
urinated in trash cans &
you were the last one to talk to me
before
i went to
work the
next day.
 
i will always appreciate that.
 
 
11.8.05
lake city

---

Another Night, Another Killer
(for jesse berstein and the girl at the coffee shop)
 
 
 
"clouds drifting thru the night
while the stars lend their tender light..."
                                                --boulevard of broken dreams--
 
 
 
on my dresser the alarm clock speaks
to me, 4:38 am.
 
i get up and pee the cat sleeping
on the pillow next to me, follows.
 
i get back in bed a huge king sized bed
with black satin sheets that cover an
acre of my dreams and i think i
am in the middle of the earth.
 
the cat catapaults onto the dresser
and knocks down the alarm clock it
falls to the floor inadvertantly turning
it on to a half static/half country music
and then i hear the sirens.
 
some car doors slamming shut a couple
screaming at each other,
'you prick!'
'you slut!
 
my six year old in the next
room coughing in her sleep totally
oblivious to the sounds of madness
that is our dark world
in the metropolis.
 
the sirens float away, the couple get
back in their car, squealed the tires, left,
the radio noise magically disappears, my
daughter stops coughing.
 
a space of silence here.
 
and then, the wind brings the
surf of the interstate a mile away the
smell of the sea further and
i can hear my arrogant cat
purring on top of the dresser.
 
of course
across the street at the used car lot
a car alarm starts its melody i
jesusfuckingchrist hate car
alarms.
 
what i need now i think is a
gun to shoot out all of the lights in
the city.
 
i think about stuff i should scream
about in the middle of the darkened
street;
 
I EAT SQUID
 
I HAVE AN ANTLER IN MY FOOT
 
DON'T CRUSH THAT DWARF
 
just to add to the orchestra.
 
of course i don't i
don't want to wake my sleeping
child who has a cold.
 
i wonder about things; will i
kill a man?  will i be happy?  if
i killed a man, will i be happy?
 
i like the taste of bacon.
 
is there cooked bacon in my future?
 
does that girl at the coffee shop think i
am cute?
 
is the cat my master?
 
and then
i guess
i fall asleep...
 
          *            *              *
 
wake up in the morning to
the sound of a garbage truck backing up....
 
 
 
11.10.05
lake city

---

Luck

(for darrin)
 
 
it is sunday noon in seattle the sun
just blasted thru my window and
i was nearly blinded after
three days of heavy
cold dark 
rain.
 
tornados in indianna and kentucky
earthquakes in pakistan
hurricanes in the gulf coast
tsunamis in indonesia
war in the mideast
riots in france
2 million dead a year because
of malnutrition
bird flu
george bush.
 
it is easy to be depressed and
i am not even talking about my
singular subjective troubles.
 
did i tell you my cat poops in
my chair?
 
ah, but the sun, the crazy sun
has just come thru my window &
my pooping cat(although, not right
now), has run to my lap and
is purring.  a cup
of coffee & a
cigarette &
i am humming.
 
i am humming 'greensleeves.'
 
i believe i am lucky.
 
     *     *     *
 
my cat did not poop in my chair.
 
    *      *      *
 
i am horribly afraid of coming
home and finding out i
am a stranger to
my family.  it already
happened once for the
mother of my children decided
she no longer knew me and
i was surprised so now i
think maybe the
next big thing is
my children will
forget the father who
yelled at them to clean
their room and they will
forget so happily.
 
note to self: try not
to yell so much.
 
      *     *     *
 
it's like coming into a grey wet town you
remember the streets you remember the buildings you
remember the bartender at ted's, the barber jo-jo, the
teenage girl clerking at the grocery store you
remember
this is home and
then you
go
home.
 
everybody always thought you were swell.
 
but there is no address for you, there is
nobody left you recognize, you realize
you
don't
exist.
 
except in your own lonely cottage by
the lake of your mind.
 
good fucking god you
have just
survived your
first(or is it the second?)
suicide.
 
and the sun blasts thru to
your brain thru your ears down
your throat and massages your
heart.
 
you start humming.
 
even suicide does
not totally kill.
 
fuck george bush.
 
 
 
11.06.05
lake city

---

My Left Foot

 
 
so i get back late from this party, i
mean late, like the next day, and
i've been calling my ex-wife telling
her i'm on my way i'm getting the
kids soon and she's cool with that, she's
already ordered a pizza, and
i finally get home and
don't have my
keys.
 
so i walk to two or three nieghbor's house's
trying to find a ride to where my
second pair of keys can be found and,
rich, he takes me, ferries me across town and
finally after a stop at the gas station for
some top tobacco i'm finally
home, even
two hours later than
what i said
before.
 
my ex-wife, she's cool with that, and
i thank her profusely, say i'm
sorry about five times and
i ask her "hey, do you just
want to keep the kids overnight?"  and
she says, "no, i have
other plans."
 
i hang up the phone.
 
      *      *      *
 
she used to be my left arm.
 
    *      *      *
 
it is really a strange realization when
you realize your wife of 14 years
simply tells you, "i have  other plans."
and you know it means
she is going to be with
her lover.
 
your left arm don't feel none to good after that.
 
you think you are having
another
heart attack.
 
     *       *       *
you slap yourself in the forehead and
say to yourself,
"wake up,
it's been ten months,
ya gotta keep
your
memory..."
 
and you say back
to yourself,
"oh..."
 
 
10.30.05
lake city

---

Camping With Lisa
 
 
i went camping the last three days, kind
of crazy i know, but holy cow, when
the chance comes ya jump on it. 
 
cold rainy northwest, going camping in the
middle of october, what was i
thinking?
 
ah, the weather was perfect, the trees
taller than the sky, the ocean a beauty
of blue and white caps, a fair wind off
the southwest, orca whales jumping like
black and white holsteins in a herd, seagulls
screaming and gathering orange rinds, napkins,
a stray cat meowing in the trees next
to our tents.
 
the luck was with us--just a touch
of rain, but not much. it
was fantastic.
 
max and i skipping rocks, sequin showing
me the tunnels in the nighttime underbrush to
take a shortcut to the bathroom, making
chocolate bar, marshmallow, graham cracker
's'mores' on the campfire.
 
sometimes i don't know how
to raise children sometimes
i do.
 
hit and miss.
 
            *               *                *
 
walking thru the campsites scavenging
up wood left behind i notice the
10/23 date hanging from the rearview
mirror's of camper trucks in occupied
campsites, and i think to
myself
simply:
lisa, happy birthday.
 
i love you.
 
     *          *              *
 
i saw 80 foot trees, i saw a squirrel
grab a hotdog from the picnic table, i
saw the sun, lovely warming sun, peak
from underneath a blanket of cotton
balls, orange pink yellow magenta drying
our wet socks hanging from branches.
 
max was wittling a stick by the
campfire, sequin was playing make
believe with her stuffed cheetahs at
the picnic table and i
was drinking an ice
cold beer &
frying up potatoes.
 
the raccoons peaking behind trees.
 
the sound of the ocean reassuring &
righteous.
 
the stars and nighttime chilly dew rolled
in like all that is great in
this wonderful earth.
 
a lovely hug.
 
absolutely beautiful.
 
i was happy to be alive.
 
         *         *          *
 
i got out my harmonica and
i played it.
 
i played it blue i played it black i
played it green i played it yellow.
 
i hyperventilated i got spit everywhere i
was in a fever my
forehead got wet with sweat.
 
i played you a song, lisa.  i
played it really soft i played it
really hard i blew the
harmonica as best i could.
 
my tears rolled down to my
chin & the music was strong, it
was for you.
 
        *        *       *
 
did you hear it? ....

 
 
10.23.05
lake city

---

All Things Great And Small
 
 
so what is it now? 9pm, 10pm? the
kids are sleeping in their beds the
cat just ran from the bathroom because
we both know it landed a cat-sized
log in the tub.
 
bad cat.  i make it nervous.  it makes
me nervous.  my anger is immense
when cat poops in
unregistered places.
 
christ, i gotta get rid
of the beast.
 
i think about it all the time.
 
poop sucks.
 
unregulated poop sucks more.
 
i put on freshly laundered shirts in
a morning hangover and find
two hours later the dampness and
strange smell i registered was
nothing more than
cat piss.
 
i thought it just wasn't dried
thoroughly and my messy brain
still had a bad nightmare left
from last night's
brain pan.
 
try telling that to the captain of
the bothell police force, the psychologist
of the highschool, the superintendent of
the school district, your coworkers who
are polite.
 
they just look at you.  and you smell
bad and they think, small and
dumb, like you
are just
a drunk,
lucky
enough
to
have
a job.
 
and you know, they
are right in so
many ways.
 
but hey, i
did not poop
on myself.  not
gonna either but
if that cat
does it again there
must be
a humane
society
for me.
 
i mean, really.
i just try to make it to work
on time.
 
and do a good job.
 
 
10.18.05
lake city

---

Sand.
 
 
i'm kind of reminded of the taste of sand how
it sits in your mouth and is gritty and usually it
wasn't invited into your home.
 
but it is your mouth so it
must be your home and now
you have to taste it.
 
you have to figure out what
you want to do with it either
swallow or
spit
but once the taste, one will
never forget it.
 
it is the texture that counts.
 
          *              *              *
 
i remember you as a monkey on a
bus going from one pole to another and
your eyes looking like a jacklit deer ready
to be shot in the forehead.
 
i remember you as someone who gave
good advice when i could not sleep, you said,
just lay your head down anyway, that
is rest as well.
 
i remember you as the lady who played on
stage, her tex mex accordion, to all those folks at
folk life and i made sure to put our first
daughter up above the shoulders
to see the good mother who
was great and cool.
 
i remember you as the girl who kicked a
guy at a halloween party because, he was,
simply enough,
an asshole.
 
i watched you from a couch on that one and
i knew, after twelve years, you
were still the one
for me.
 
         *        *          *
 
it is like a viscious snow storm coming
into your cabin and you are going from one
window to another window to keep it away
and then again
ya can't forget the door and all this crazy cold
bitter wind is coming thru and you can't
stop it.
 
christ, ya gotta make sure the kids are
okay, have enough blankets, ya gotta make
sure the matches don't get wet or the wheat or
the rice or the noodles or the powdered milk gets
wet and
this storm pounds and pounds and pounds trying
to get into any opening it can.
 
and then you lose.
 
everything is lost.
 
the cabin burned down when the kerosene
lamp turned over and,
of course,
all of
the horses ran away.
 
the sheep went to the mouth's of wolves.
 
i couldn't even find my kid's sleeping bags
after that.
 
                   *                *            *
 
but the storm had to come and
i had to be there to watch it and i
no longer want
to remember storms.
 
i bought the kids new sleeping bags.
 
and i still miss you...
 
 
 
10.17.05
lake city

---

Another Schmuck Holiday
 
 
a stabbing pain in my chest the
fingers on the right hand numb a
crushing headache the
bedsheets twisted around my
mortality...
 
             *             *              *
 
...it was a 125 miles to nogales me
and my mate stoked on mushrooms both
of us in hammocks strapped to the
ribs of a flatbed with a curved
iron skeleton for the canvas canopy he
began singing rudolph the rednose
reindeer and i vomitted repeatedly
underneath my swinging matrimonios
coffin a pool of red & green &
i guess i was in charge of
the decorations.
 
we had three kilos of bad
mexican blonde in our backpacks and
i was just a touch nervous about
the upcoming holidays.
 
they always made me nervous.
 
the trucker dropped us off on the
road outside of matomoros i
was feeling a little better but
mi amigo was looking none to
good he was all yellow i
knew his liver was gone and
fuck he had a mad dog smell
hanging all around him if i
could i would've put a hole
in his head put
him out of his misery.
 
we sprawled on the dirt shoulder
totally absolutely wretched as
the children from nearby shacks
poked us with sticks and
spat at our dreams.
 
127 degrees of pure
oneness.
 
we evaporated into
that hateful desert.
 
as we went into
heaven i still wished i
had one more stick
of tobacco.
 
i am such a schmuck.
 
it's that holiday thing...
 
          *               *              *
 
...i rolled over & turned
off the alarm clock &
lit a cigarette.
 
i got ready for work.
 
another schmuck holiday.
 
 
 
10.12.05
lake city

---

Welcome Home
(for mark)
 
 
i introduced my dad to our
visitor and i took my dad out
because the kids wanted to
see their grandpa again and
that was why we were
opening a tupperware container and
looking into a ziploc bag of gritty
ashes and bone.
 
dad.
 
then next came the '62 photo of
my father in his detroit police uniform
standing in front of the squad car and
then the stories i told for my children
and our visitor of
one of my dad's favorite tricks driving
up to a stoplight next to another
vehicle stopped and my dad
looking sternly at the car
beside his and then
he'd duck down and
come back up
wearing a
gorilla mask.
 
wacky cop humour.
 
whether it is true or
not stories like that
make me proud of
my dad.
 
the kids liked it too &
my visitor he is
a poet as well
said, if that was my
dad, the gritty sandy part, i
would eat him, i
would put him on my pizza, i
would eat my father.
 
i think my kids wondered about
this i think i
understood it i
think it is
nice to
have visitors.
 
my children get bored of their
father sometime and
i sometimes just want
to talk about
fathers.
 
sometimes the hunger is
solved.
 
it is nice to visit with
others.
 
i put my dad back on
the shelf and i knew
he liked the attention....
 
 
lake city
10.4.05
 

---

A Shopping Cart From Value Village
 
 
i've run the day down
i've folded the clothes
i've spent the couple hours at
the park while the
kids rode their bikes and
i sipped malt beer from
a pop bottle in a
plastic bag.
 
sequin plays with eight inch
plastic horses, max plays with sticks
and i know she wants a knife
for christmas.
 
i smoke cigarettes and
wonder.
 
i smoke cigarettes and
wonder.
 
i smoke cigarettes and
tie max's shoes and give sequin
my shirt because the wind is
cold.
 
        *           *            *
 
i wonder what a man is for i
wonder what a father does and
i am oft left empty in my
sad cheeked roaming.
 
sequin needs a horse.
 
max needs a tree.
 
i need a job.
 
we need a flight to tomorrow where
the sun is yellow and warm and
no one hurts.  i need
a flight to whiskey and
sex with a naked woman they need
a flight back to their mom and where
she laughs all the time.
 
they need a miracle as well
their mom as well as the
cat i curse when i step in it's
poo when i walk in the door.
 
a family of need.
 
their mom needs a head doctor.  the
kids need a nice empowering and
stable environment.  i
still need the whiskey and
a naked woman.
 
jesus.
 
i think i will be the only one who
doesn't get what they need i will
i'm sure just
get some old toast and
another heating bill.
 
stepping in cat poo is my constant...
 
it is my form of stability.
 
10.3.05
lake city
 

---

Good Soap

 
 
i bathed my children i
used shampoo i used
creme rinse i told
them this was a deluxe
salon treatment no
more tangles the
hair softer than a
butterfly's farts.
 
they liked that.
 
they never thought a
butterfly could fart.
 
niether did i.
 
it was a discovery for
all of us to
think about.
 
           *            *             *
 
i carry a hammer and a
rock in my car i
want to be prepared for
when i see my wife's
lover or
at least his
car.
 
for some reason this
is reassuring to me for
other reasons i
think i am getting ready to
make another
grave mistake.
 
the ashtray is overfilled the
kid's clothes are washed and
folded i got
toiletpaper for the week and
well,
the kids are clean.
 
and they ate more
than their share of
ramen noodles
tonight.
 
          *              *               *
 
sing and think of
simple tonight, sing
and think of easy
things, sing and think
of your kids with
clean hair your
kids with clean eyes your
bathing demeanor.
 
sing and think of
this good world...
 
this play acting sometimes
is a little bit more than i
can take.  sometimes it
is just the right
speed....
 
being clean never hurt anybody.
 
 
lake city
9.29.05

---

Good Afternoon

---

A Map's No Good
 
 
she wanted to check out virginia she
had no money she knew i had no
money but it
was okay cause she
knew i didn't give a
fuck.
 
virginia it was.
 
her mom served us up some
biege coffee and was happy that
i seemed to be a nice kid in
the same community college as
her daughter.
 
i told the mom i was studying
religion and
i was.
 
her mom & little brother waved from
the shell/u-haul/greyhound bus
pick up in coldwater, michigan.  we
both waved goodbye, checked to see
we still had our stash and the
bottle of schnapps in
her purse.  it was
gonna be a helluva
winter break.
 
cold wet banks of snow followed
us all the way down i-75 and we
got off the bus in ohio
figured we'd hitch the rest of
the way to save cash and
to say fuck it just
fuck it
to the world of
itineraries.
 
in the vagueland of ohio a
van pulled over in the dark
frozen night we
got in and
said hello to
our new
friends.
 
two men a pregnant lady and
her toddler and someone's grandma
all said howdy.
 
they were drinking and the men and
pregnant one was popping the pills the
baby was sucking on a
warm bottle of pepsi.
 
stopped at a rest stop and
everybody poured out, in the
man's john the men just said
fuck it and pissed in
the sink.
 
got back to the van and
the baby was still crying.
 
it was kind of cold with
the heat turned off.
 
we landed somewhere in
another part of the vagueland who
knows where it
is ohio always
a vagueland ohio always
pisses me off.
 
maybe it was cincinatti.
 
everybody drunker than shit and
maybe more, i
did not see the baby eat
anything but warm
pepsi for
200 miles.
 
pull up to the house the
men get out with flashlights and
do something to the front door and
soon we are all in
this completely empty house,
no furniture, no stove, no
refrigerator but the
furnace must be turned up
to 96 degrees.
 
dry and no good hot every-
body keeps drinking me and
my friend negotiate an
empty room where we
can crash.
 
we lock the door.
 
         *               *                 *
 
i really like this girl she is
a gymnast has long black hair and
likes drugs as well she
also
smells nice.
 
she don't really like me though
she thinks i am a nice boy i
wish we would we get married
instead she wants to marry a
doctor or lawyer and she wears
nice clothes.
 
imagine that she wears a
stylish fashionable winter wrap with
a fur collar while we
hitchhike thru
fucking ohio.
 
i still miss her.
 
            *          *            *
 
all night long there was the sound of
beer bottles being smashed the baby
crying arguments of such hillbilly
persuasion it was hard to tell who
was winning.
 
daylight came and me and her got
out of the room went into the
kitchen the baby shat in the
middle of the linoleum the
granny's face snoring into
it.
 
the pregnant lady was gone as
was one of the men.
 
the baby sitting underneath the
kitchen table looking at us eyes
bright but wearied playing
with his nether parts.
 
the baby said in
silence staring
"oh how i hate
ohio state"
 
the other man said, i'll
take ya to the hiway if
ya want.
 
we did want.
 
            *          *           *
 
that girl finally slept with me but
it was like
a
favor...
 
i don't like ohio either.
 
 
8.27.05
lake city

---

Good Tired
 
my favorite time is
when i eat bacon wrapped
around prawns and my
hand automatically reaches
for ice beer & i have
fifteen bucks left for
tomorrow's gasoline to
my work and
the skating trip my
children are going to
tomorrow at school and
i still have enough for
the snacks at the
roller rink and i
think i
should be
running
general motors.
 
everything is covered.
 
the kids are sleeping they've
brushed their teeth i let
them watch cinderella again and
everybody is full.
 
the fan is on because it
is still 80 degrees and the
cat keeps runnin up and
biting my arm.
 
it is a playfull hum.
 
so i put away the
hate for one more night it
wasn't useful here anymore.
 
what can i say?, she's their
mother, i'm their father, the
kids still need their sleep.
 
everything seems to be
okay now.
 
i made up the part about
bacon wrapped shrimp but
it sounds good and
it is time...
 
to get some rest.
 
 
8.26.05
lake city

---

yago


there ya go.
 
the toiletpaper has run out the
telephone bill is unpaid the cop
pulled me over for expired tabs i
gotta pay somebody something like
250 bucks.
 
i'm working 70 hours a week and
somehow i smoke top tobacco and
i have a
blister on the
top of
my middle toe.
 
look out the window it
is sunny and pretty and i
better go to bed because the
graveyard has killed me
once again.
 
no drug habits no rabbits in
hiding no new car or
nothing, just
gotta pay some bills.
 
i am fighting
for freedom.
 
my wife is free with
her new boyfriend my
pants are free just
gotta loosen up a
notch or two.
 
there ya go.
 
just another asshole on
the planet.
 
this is a nice place, isn't
it?
 
there is salt in my eye there
is silt in my ear there is
a jumping manic somewhere
underneath
my tongue.
 
the evolution of
a man who
used to
sing
out loud
in crowded elevators.
 
awake for 28 hours maybe
i will meet
you
 
in the before
life
and i
can
explain why
i cannot
pay
my way.
 
ah, jesus.
 
there ya go.
 
i'm going to bed now.
 
8.21.05
lake city

---

Bad Harvest
 
 
middle october, early morning, the
sun just starting to shake silver dew from
the leaves of the apple trees.
 
five hundred feet away the
columbia rolls on, five feet away my
lady sleeps on as i
sit on the milk crate roll
a cigarette add to the
tobacco flecks on the bare
wood planked floor.
 
it is chilly.
 
yesterday we picked eight bins, a
record for us, got paid that night after
we handed our picking chits to
the farmer, a
good guy, with a
wife and two kids and
friendly as hell even
though he keeps asking
us to go to the god-
house on sundays.
 
we keep telling him we
don't want no lightning striking
our asses.
 
went to town after we
got our pay, got more
tobacco, coffee, sugar, canned
beans & canned pears &
before we hitchhiked back
to the shack we decided
to go to the
wagon wheel tavern.
 
there we spent some time.
 
met a biker dude up
from bakersfield who grew up
in these orchards and played
football as a center in some
nearby town without a
stoplight.
 
this was maybe twenty
years ago which made him my
older brother but him old
enough to be her dad.
 
he was a nice enough guy, she liked
him enough, he paid her some
attention while i kept
paying for more whiskey &
gingerale for the guy i
was looking at in
the mirror above the
bar.
 
she wanted to go back to
the shack i
was still trying
to think on
the fumes of
kentucky and i
said, how'bout one more?
 
biker dude said no problem he
could take her back on the back of
his motorcycle if i
wanted to hang out for a
while.
 
sure, why not, i knew
she hated hitchhiking anyway, so
i said, go
and
thanks
biker dude.
 
she said goodbye.
 
           *              *               *
 
truth be known i
am a stupid man.
 
i forgot all of the groceries except
for this hangover and when i
walked the three miles back to
the shack i saw the
sleeping bag too
crowded
for
me.
 
i laid on the floor and
dreamed not a fucking thing.
 
         *             *              *
 
i decided to roll another cigarette for
her because she ain't yet learned
how to do it.
 
maybe today we will pick
ten bins and make
another new personal
record.
 
i'll wake her up in
a little while...
 
...it is still too
chilly right now.
 
 
8.20.05
lake city

---

There's A Banjo In My Head
 
 
julia you live in the desert and
i still live in that crappy apartment on
chestnut street.  i
still haven't replaced that
lightbulb in the refrigerator and
the fucking cat still throws
up right near the bed.
 
at least i got a new bed.  got it
at the sally, not too bad, but a
lot less bumps and tears.  it
rolls like a cadillac in
the middle of midnight and
the headlights are always
off.
 
not a lot of traffic though so
it really is pretty safe.
 
i bet you can really see the
moon where yer at, here, it's
still the bright lights of "bill's used
car lot" that shows the night.  do
you remember the multiple shadows that
xeroxed our naked forms on
the living room?  that bill, he
still has his multible lights.
 
do you still have the multiple
shadows where you live?
 
is the air fresher the mornings
easier the days happier?
 
i bet.
 
here i still hear the sirens at night.
 
the cat wretching up and, of
course, those
fucking shadows at
night.
 
it must be the quality of
air that makes one breathe
better.
 
maybe it is just a more
clearer shadow and
not so many of them.
 
what do i know?  i
work the graveyard shift and
come home when it
is sunnier than
shit, then i
run like hell to
close my eyes so
i can maybe, once
again, catch the
dream of
a nice journey.
 
sometimes
i dream the cadillac of
dreams
sometimes i
wake up
in the
middle of
my night
to the sound of
the cat...
 
 
8.14.05
lake city

---

Whiskey, Maudlin, & The Eternal
 
 
she urged me to go
to australia.
 
she told me she didn't
like to talk about stuff.
 
she said i was fat and
that her friend was cut.
 
she said i was a mixture of
whiskey, maudlin, & the eternal.
 
she never explained the last one.
 
i understood the whiskey part.
 
and maybe yeah okay i could
understand the maudlin.
 
what did she mean when she
called me 'eternal?'
 
she never told me.
 
she told me she made out with
her old boyfriend.
 
on christmas day we woke up
at 6am the
kids were still
asleep.  she
persuaded me to
go get her a latte in
a small towne called
marys--
ville.
 
i did.
 
i felt like a hero.  drove
past six empty espresso shops &
finally found one in
everett, a towne 40 miles away.
 
i felt like a hero.
 
came back with the
beverage and
she was happy.
 
two weeks later she
told me she was leaving me.
 
i was still healing from the
vasectomy, i thought, we
did together, i mean, it was
both of our
descision after
13 years of
marriage.
 
it was quite a shock i
got maudlin i
put two fisticuffs in
one of the doors.
 
five months later she told
me she looks at the pictures of
our history, drives to work &
cries.  she tells me she still wants
to be my friend tells me
she can't imagine why
i would want to be.
 
it makes her sad.
 
six months later she told
she had messed around a
bit and traded the fluids
before she left me.  she
told me she has the
herpes.
 
i needed some whiskey.
 
instead, i decided to
blow up a balloon a
very big balloon something i
could sit in while i
traveled above this
world i live in.
 
i went to mexico, thailand, &
indiana.  i didn't care i
just needed to float
above the
love of
the
eternal.
 
i get some things.
 
it takes awhile.
 
but, i do
get somethings.
 
wish i had some more
whiskey at times....
 
8.10.05
lake city

---

Bad Weather
 
 
white skye, about
fucking time getting
awfully tired of all
this sunshine.
 
day after day after
day of yellow hot, i
know, i am a sissy, most
folk like this eighty degree
weather, it reminds them of
happiness.
 
it reminds me of piss in
a cup.
 
i don't like it.
 
i don't like to go outside and
i don't want to stay inside and
i can't even read a newspaper on
my stupid balcony.
 
it's too hot and bright and i've
decided to live in shadows &
recreate the darkness i've learned
that is an
essential
ingredient
for
consciousness.
 
thank gawd for
the white skye.
 
it is something an old girlfriend of
mine hated, and now, it
is something i yearn for.
 
now, at least, and
finally, i
can sit on
my balcony in
polar silence.
 
i can flip the finger at
the world w/o guilt and
i can love my
darkness....
 
i can love myself a
little better as
well.
 
whiskey goes down
much better on
overcast days.
 
it seems i am where
i should be.
 
in some sort of
transition between
heaven and hell.
 
i am in michigan again....
 
 
8.10.05
lake city

---

Confession # 23 (for my bro)
 
a jackhammer pounds the air
into tiny nails.
a dog barks the hot cloudless day
three blocks away into
a closed up
ford minivan.
a jazz radio station plays on
the nerves of
strung out desire and the
pure pleasure of
time passing
eternally slow.
 
eternally slow.
 
did i mention how fast?
 
yep.
 
slow.
 
sequin sits on the floor and lines up
all manner of miniature animals
facing the window of outside.
 
max makes a map of a make believe
amusement park including toddler tower &
grown-up cafe.  it is very good
actually.  has two entrances and
two exits.
 
the cat lays on some
dirty socks in
the corner.
 
       *            *            *
 
soon,
i think,
i must put away my
assassin's uniform because
i am scaring
away
some of the innocents.
 
i don't scare my children.
 
because they do not know my
double life.
 
all they know is
i'm good at being a big man, taking
them to the lake, and
watching teevee.
 
i think my father taught me this.
 
he taught me dumb jokes.
 
               *              *              *
 
my problem or
luck or
vehicle, is
that it
is real time i
be learning
another dumb
joke.
 
i go all out in humor.
 
            *         *          *
 
i like to laugh...


8.5.05
lake city

---

OBLIMOV III
 
with these hands
i put a black plastic bag
meant for a six pack over
my head and
duct taped the opening around
my neck.
 
the membrane billows &
empties like a ship's mainsails
during an erratic frothy churned
night of storm.
 
the tape itches my freshly
shaven throat i
get weepy and all i
can see is a
harbor that smells like
the madness of
your cunt.
 
our 5yr old daughter comes
into the bathroom laughs
at the sight of her
father's head shaped like
a balloon
inflating
deflating i
hear her giggling & i
tear my face off.
 
she says, " aren't we gonna
celebrate the last day that i
am five?"
 
she says, "when i die
i want to be an angel because
lizard's brains are to
small," i
say,
"good for you!"
 
she says, "tomorrow
i'll be six!"
i say,
"good for you!"
 
she says,
"i wish mom was here."
i say
nothing
and follow
her into the kitchen
hoping to leave
the madness
behind
for awhile.
 
we decide to
make two cakes...
 
 
4.14.05
lake city

---

 Oblimov
 
 
the flowers
     that i've thrown
 on your doorstep
     were awfully pretty
 

yesterday
 morning
 waking up to the
 smell of your sex
 the tin of your blood
 singing
 
old man crouching in
 corner
 whispering
 holding a knife
 whispering
 coughing
 spitting like some do
 
     you were talking in your sleep
 maybe a dream
 a song maybe
 maybe a nice dream
 
a cat maybe
  purring
 chewing
 spitting like some do
 laying by your feet
 
the old lady upstairs
 coughing
     swearing
 the knife by her feet
 
     a song
 the cat talking
 listen
 
     my tongue has cancer
 it purrs
 if the flower's sweet
listen
 
     my heart on is lonely tonight
 
a song
 spitting & chewing
 old man
 old lady
 burying our first unborn
 in the toxic dirt
 behind your sister's house
 
     saving it with a slotted spoon
 from the toilet
 a small mass of bloody mucous
 
     the old man cold
 the old lady coughing upstairs
 the knife for later
 
    song
 
    sing
 
    whisper
 
    listen
 
the flowers on your doorstep
 
    step over
 
they were awfully pretty
 
    yesterday
 
    morning
 
we were just
   
    dreaming....
 
 
3.10.05
lake city

---

We Had It


there we have it,
the end of our romeo & juliette routine
you decided to adlib the script &
die alone
and of course
after that
i could no longer try
to kill you with
my love.

i never did like shakespeare anyway....



            *             *            *


Shoebox World


my kids are doing the "no touching
dance" for me.  max has a pink sequined
leotard & sequin has a gold lame' dress.  they
dance around each other dangerously, jutting
chins, throwing fists, kicking up handfuls of
hair...but they do not touch.  elves of broadway
capoeira as danced to bob marley's "no woman
no cry."

of course, i cry.

it is like there is a miniature world i carry
around in a shoebox my
forehead sweats &
my heart shakes &
there is no shelf for the memories.

the children dance the dance of ghosts.

but they sure are beautiful.

especially the children.



           *            *              *



Gone


so i lied,
i told you i bought the rose
today but left it in my car
but i give it to you anyway
because it is for you.

you did not lie
when you decided to leave me
but you waited to tell me
after you were gone
because anyway
it was just for me.

(you already knew)

now, i give you the rose.
now, you give me the
truth of your heart.

the rose
i took out of the trash
but i meant well.

your heart
is your heart
with a truth all its own
you don't mean bad.

it feels like garbage.

i still love you because
you are pure enough to
not know the difference

and you really
never knew if
you were really
with me
anyway....


2.17.5
lake city

---

it's like an epileptic monkey with a bowling ball in each hand.

the chemicals in my head and the chemicals on my table.

how the human skin machine can keep moving thru all this dust & debris, madness & beauty, laughter & real and imagined taunts, is just amazing to me.

i truly have become a geographic body of land.  i am the nation of japan and i can feel the cities smashing thru my core and the pacific ocean tickle my outer edges.

i forget what a human being feels.

nevertheless, i brush my teeth everyday and pay the rent.

play with my baby islands.

play the harmonica as well.

drink juice....

robbo)(

---

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