Archive for September, 2010

forked tongue speaks of two-sided coin

Wednesday, September 29th, 2010

I’ve always prided myself in my affinity to differing camps
the intellectual and the down and dirty normality
to the enjoyment of drink and drug, the rewarding joy of physical labor
to the engaging discussions of rhyme and reason, of art and taste;
to the endurance of agonizing pain and demoralizing realizations;
to the lofty exhilaration of conceptual discoveries and spiritual quests
along with the defeats and losses that seem to recur without end.

I love the raw expression of joy and anger, of winning and defeat
the stultifying numbness of boring repetition and the thrill of revenge
the finding of friends and the gifts of lonely pursuits
the open discussions of inner most fears and the quiet reflections
on secrets closely held and never admitted.

But where does this leave me or is it carrying me
into the continuing maelstrom of this scattered and shattered existence
seeking a roost, a place of comfort amidst my refusals to accept it
along with my desires to fly past anything resembling a cage
into which a solace may be found but lost in this continuing turmoil
that I find so orgasmic in its chaos and juxtaposing energies
that to my properly addled mind offers a unity of life and death.

The two-headed angel speaks with a long and forked tongue
of the two-sided coin, the double entendre and the double-barreled gun
of the one-for-all and the all-for-one
becoming the one-as-all and the all-is-one
in the place where all roads lead to none
and the waning moon is the setting son.

So go fuck yourself and leave me alone
to find my own way past this overdue swoon
where the high-blooded hipster is bad-to-the-bone
and the struggling loser is a man-in-the-moon.


Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

The yellow barking of a hand saw,
the swirl of rubber on pavement
the squawk of the electric drill
over the riffs of Coleman Hawkins

The eternal running of those with wheels
searching for peace and a piece
that passes them with no understanding
but satiates for a moment their greeds.

Winds in the cords of dreams and memories
strum at the fibers in her neck and twitch
at her crotch while humming in her right ear
come back and move on in relief, sweet relief.

Settling in to the cacophony of dirigibles
slanted toward the pane onto the yard below
harmonizing in delight at the sound of birds
and the sight of squirrels hiding their faces.

Minds can think and even realize
but never recreate the realities that have passed
into oblivion and memory with scents of myrrh
and old fish trembling in ecstasy’s blight.

Lonely sounds bring comfort to the bridge
as airplanes and telescopes bend toward the night
into which pours the candles and blocks
that burn out of sight and darken our world.

But, the dawn brings a replay of echoes
over and under each other that weave into a piece
that plays its symphony to bears and doves alike
while the dreams for the other subside and fade.

Keep paddling and pushing, planting and burning
as the willow spurns the turtle, so does the swan
swim in the air that wraps its tendrils around us
bringing home that longed for effervescence of life.

breaking out

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

I’m not a drunk nor am I a drifter

I’m not a nasty old fuck nor a saint

I’m not poor or a man of considerable means

I’m not well read nor am I stupid

I’m not suffering from depression

I’m not angry at the world

I’m not mad, sad or particularly glad

I am too serious, on the outside at least

I am pretty loose, on the inside anyway

I am feeling a little stiff when trying to express

what lies wiggling in ferment inside my head


I think I’m living in a shell

one that looks good on the outside anyway

one that is a veneer of rule following

one that is acceptable to those around it

one that hides the real me inside it

one that only shows little bumps when pushed from inside

one that keeps the fire and sharp barbs in

one that I am constantly trying to break through

one that has taken on a life of its own

one that I compromise with to maintain balance

one that I plan to shatter before it smothers me entirely.


Inside I hate rules and directions given

can’t stand proven methods or routine approaches

I prefer the challenge of the unknown

to tackle on my own

without any directions

or rules to follow

nothing to do but lead myself

into whatever mess

and see where it leads

without any care for its end

or where it takes me.


It took me years to build my shell

years of training and practice

at looking like I fit in

at learning how to say

… not what I really mean

… but what will sell

at sounding like I’m educated

… by something other than my own experience

at coming off as credentialed

… by institutions I abhor

at appearing to be a part of a society

at smelling clean

at doing the right things at the right times

at not farting aloud

at not talking to myself

at being acceptable.


How can I be a poet or writer without being a drunk?

How can I capture your imagination without some pranks?

How can I sound credible without a little rancor?

How can I stop hiding my fire and sharply pointed sticks?

How can I break through my shell?

How can I even tell

when I have?


I’ve been a drunk at times

I’ve pulled some pretty awful pranks

I’ve spewed forth terse invectives

I’ve poked and prodded the mighty without shame

I’ve broken through my shell on occasion

I just don’t settle into continuing patterns

… by choice

I’ve been and done many things

and I’m seeing so many more to be and do.


So I feel like a chick

pecking at its shell

that already has some pretty big holes in it

hoping to chip my way through

so I can no longer hide

my real self inside.

I’m more than ready to ride

just got to let it slide.

rotting to perfection

Friday, September 17th, 2010

I used to feel like I was part of a mass movement for good
like a particle in a sea of positive elements all moving
in the same direction generally, each contributing
even though we are all very differently endowed.

Now I feel more like I am a piece of discarded refuse
in spite of my continuing contributions and activities;
a piece of rotting food on a pile of more rotting food
used only to fuel the vagaries of a few vultures and rats
who quarrel over the few remaining bits we comprise.

Politicians, bankers, generals, preachers and pirates
feeding their insatiable egos on the rotting remains of civility
and reasonable order, enjoying especially the mindless
scent of their misguided followers’ rantings and alms,
pushing them further into the greedy nirvana they crave.

How far will we have to rot here before we become choking
in our putrescence — how vile must we get to have an effect
that reflects the nature of our situation until it rightly gags
the devouring giants and hungrily-nibbling rats
toppling them into an abyss from which they again feed our growth.

Its probably just another example of the balance of everything
over time, repeating its rhythmic dance and my anxiety is nothing
but my part to be played in this tableau so here I am,
promoting being to the extreme, being to our limits and just a little
beyond since that is the essence of life — pushing and pulling.

Whoever you are, now is the time to act out, to hold no reins
and be a part of the life that surrounds us in this beautiful chaos.
Burn brightly from every orifice and do your part what ever it is:
devouring and becoming fatter yet or rotting and becoming putrid
enough to do the choking of those greedy bastards. Get up and dance!