Archive for January, 2010


Wednesday, January 27th, 2010

Hooligans and flies flit about
and wonder at the color and size
of things that float above them
not knowing why or if it even matters.

Flowers and cars careen
in colors bent on swinging
while puffs of flour and sand
melt into the gathering dusk.

“Its time for lunch” said one
while another shouted “dinner!”
Who knows what may come up
after a breakfast of leaves.

If the podium of ranting
carries the font of knowledge
into the hearts and hearses
that surround our halls

Its high time that someone salutes
and bids welcome to the grunt
that heralds the fainting of the shrewd
in the temple of the curiously sane.

But why not wonder at the light
that passes over the soft hills and shelves
that hide the pleasant from the cool
and picks up the shadows of sins

Held deeply within the folds of tissue
that surround our nest and issue forth
a scent of cinnamon and creosote
on the greening of the sands.

Come forth now into the darkness
and feel the cold wind of rebirth
and wallow in its soft and comforting
blast of invigorating fire. Hold forth.

For the fourth time, come forward
and force the foreskin formulary of flint
into a furnace of fuming fallacy
and fall into glorious failure faintly.

ziggurat gas pump

Monday, January 11th, 2010

The ziggurat gas pump is lit by tangerine light.
My desert refuge is coming alive again tonight .

The tall dancing frog and the small singing dog
are partying heartily with that black rumbling hog.

White legs in shorts without clatter or din
are sitting on the corner shoveling stuffed pizza in.

Talavera birds,
not uttering words
in expectation just waiting for me to carve a craven notch.

But the sky like a painting licked into bible-picture might,
is setting the stage for a wonder-filled night.

I’ll settle my head
down into our bed
and let the glow of eerily pink light
start the show that erupts in my head each night.

Now that ziggurat gas pump in the tangerine light
has become words that pass on this comforting sight —

good night.

babbling on babylon – another kvetch

Friday, January 8th, 2010

Sometimes I feel like a gun without bullets, a cake decorator without icing
or, a broom without any dirt to sweep — a mason without a wall to build
piling up bricks and tools for that next big project that is nowhere in sight.

So, without an externally funded job, I start piling the bricks
into whatever seems to feel right at this moment, though right
isn’t obvious to my wandering thoughts. Shut up and go do something real.

But this is real isn’t it? Am I finally going crazy? Some would say
that happened a long while ago but, really — all artists and writers are crazy, right?

Some say I’m not crazy enough — too regular a guy, and so do I but then,
why am I sitting here doing this when I could be seeking the next thrill
elsewhere in this room, on this computer or in this stomach that awaits breakfast.

And, I continue to babble on.