The Mind Screen

a mental pain
the anguish


you step on
a bug

this part of
town is

tell this

we don’t

a mental pain
hardly can
define itself

in a book
the pain enables
one to
to the miracle

I tend
to the garden
of my sleeping
once hit
by a car
then miraculously
I pet him
along his side
to comfort him
his troubled breathing
(I know how this is)
I know a
few things he

one is
seems to
be falling apart

I awake
in the day
for early morning
writing sessions

I move about
in the flurry
of a high paced
often telling myself
even if I cannot
piece together
all my tasks in
the proper order
at least the idea is
to keep moving and
if I do so
it will all
mostly fit together

it is
not survival school

it is
survival skills

this is the tank

there, the piranas

in the writing sessions
I wonder if my
subconscious will
reveal to me
the truth of my actions
the aftermath
the math

mostly it reveals
as another writing session
jumbled words in a ball
thoughts come across
the mind screen
and type down

it is the despair
of life
that chases me
to the page
and I position
myself on the floor
sit still in meditation

for all of this
I even jangle the
psychedelic keys
that chime
and horror
red, green, blue
even some colors
that have not
been invented yet

the world
has been
upside down

each year
is harder
than the last
(I tell myself this after a long day and think “even if this is untrue I’m believing it; even if others scoff, just by saying it
I have poisoned the base of the tree.”)

the book has for me
is for my benefit/
when I come
to write
all the things I’ve
not thought about
while reading
spring from a box
perhaps the book
is a repair shop
a mental garage
to suspend
oneself (by hooks?)
and in
ten seconds
comes another distortion

The Heat

god it is so fucking hot
the sun is going
to cook us alive
in the next couple of years

don’t believe it?

anyway, it’s hot out

it is night and
it’s still hot out
I’m sitting inside an air
conditioned house

the place is
still blazing

July dreaming
of August

monday morning poem

door cold back
people watching
guy curb spit
smoke waft
condensation coffee
proper place you think you know
imagined space
perfect as you wanna be
how to manual
patience weed
ready to repair
haunting past
head thru glass
a mild attack
love for felines
are called cats
shred you with
spare claws
a WS (writing session, motherfucker)
check the mirror for fun
gambling is a disease
like some are addicted
to eBay
thought I’d say it
consult the tarot
then tell it
how you
really feel
(joking: “tell us how you really feel…”
is code for: “please shut the
fuck up with that.”)

“twenty pretty girls to carry them down…”

fab eggs
smash up the window side
drip drip
take a sip
it’s the straw
his word gun owner
is law

pass along the gift
don’t forget
append the bracelet

Up At The Counter

that year
they set up a birthday
party for me
my whole class came
and we filled up the
back of that restaurant
eating out of
cardboard boxes for little people
we were satisfied enough
One man
perhaps it was
his birthday too
came up to the place
remembering to
bring his gun
and was making
a lot of demands at
the register
he was in quite a hurry
and all the kid’s parents
were nervous
for their lives
oh he did
not bother to
use the door
on the way out
that was that year
in a sense
the beginning
I wound up running
through a few
windows of my own
I suppose out
of curiosity
I could not lock
down solid
on a favorite color
green red blue
black (black is not a color!)
they were all
good to me
my father my father was
absent minded (or absent) never spent
any time with us
a brother or sister was
not on the way
this was the depression
for me
the only child, my syndrome
so now when I face
I know what I’m doing
and when you and I
get together make each
other miserable
I wanna crawl back
into a quieted corner
not work any more jobs
I’m ready to retire
go up and sit in booths in the morning
and watch the activity
at the front counter