Outbursting out loud. Sneezing directly into my cat’s face. Sorry. He knows I’m sorry, knows I’m basically gentle, and kind. I feel like in another life he taught me these. Then I said, “When you know that your opponent is truly their own worst enemy, most likely there’s nothing you have to do at all. Watch others play themselves and fall into a thoughtful Kung Fu silence…”

Much to learn down the path. Something’s gotta give. We’re going to be shaken. The first set of problems is so subtle that if not recognized— being born, adjusting, cognizing—if untended, they nag you to the graveyard.

But I am bursting.

Ask me one of my many names. I am gone into the stream.


Then Everything

I come here not to be with people but to be around people. They call it many things, the antique district, hipster haven, that little death ridden road, etc. A good place maybe to watch them from afar. The wind carries the smell of bread. The wind spreads their smoke. Here it comes. And here come the high school kids, the type that have never seen a fight in their young lives, don’t say shit, don’t know shit, and are really loud. Spoilers of silence. People are being taught to be Americans again. It’s not the 90s anymore.

Will we take on seven days and nights of Bukowski’s rain? When I woke he was a little boy was throwing himself between his mother and father. “If you hit her again, I’ll kill you.” He spoke of the storms that never show their faces anymore. “We were trapped in our houses for a week straight and the men without jobs stared out the window waiting.”

Nice kids, I guess. My thing is to get annoyed like it’s nobody’s business. My silence is flattened. A modicum of excitement. A girl I think I recognize, then realize she’s just a girl worth watching until she’s gone.

Waiting on rain on lunch on gears to grind to their final hault. Then what? Then everything.

Did You Get To Be With Your People?

knees creak after that

they crack

that walking

up haunted house stair sound

broken on

two hits

like a fun house mirror

they twist like

your mother’s meds

get taken away

from her

family you


wanna be


what like did you

get to be with your people?

not this year no and glad


win some

and sometimes

we’re just

on our



it is a complicated life
we’d do best to slim down

we nearly burn our feet
sticking them
so close
all crashed
pressed up
at the fire

at the windows
our names
scraped in the frost

my, what
mighty thumbs

faces we imagine
staring back
through the dark
that come
to bring harm
the memories
and there are scars
a twine
wrapped around
cause a groove
so deep
ingrained makings
of disaster
should we
leave untended
that item
we know so well
but leave
there are plans to
to pretend it’s
alright fine
dandelion pine

father figurine
frozen model
blank stare
why struggle
the words in

we vanish
you look famished
we vanish from the scene


look so neat in a box

so still, bleed
for the seconds that add up
but this crowd shuffles out

quite quiet quietly
all on diets
all deminished
all dime store trickle soda fountain
plantain chip drip




An Outlet For Being

It is a rain filled morning. All through out sleeping it came down and now its mist is all over for the sour pleasure of the old men. In the coffee shop: “Whoever keeps tagging my bathroom better hope I don’t find out who you are…” Dirk’s. It’s a sad spot especially since the owl is gone, since the last hurricane. The place reminds me of the four demons sitting down and discussing their exploits over breakfast. “Hey kid, someone peed in my coffee…” It feels like everyone here is old and dejected. If you see it in this light you understand why a quiet hangs over. The music they’ve put on for two years has not come to anyone’s rescue. Frown for the camera. Overheard conversation. Dread. Shady character dead frame hide lie speak no thing of valor. Green shrub. Windshield swipe the flash. Delicate associations. You disgust yourself by the lies you tell yourself and go on doing so. Guilt pangs.

A wandering freak adds to the mix zigging in from the street talking to himself with a big overdrugged grin and making folks nervous, waving to the four Scotties, a mom and her pups. They are doted on, dressed for the chill and mist and worse on its way.

2012 gets the Hollywood treatment, meaning desperate people watch it from beginning to end and only feel more desperate. By the time all the popcorn is gone they’re slitting their wrists. “What should I do?” a woman writes. “My little dog is all I have in this world and I need to know when to put him to sleep.” This is a very real movie we’re in. You don’t need to, need to do that. The world does us in by it’s natural charm or by its self destruct. There is no human price tag or message you can put on it.

The appostrophy extends right off the K. See it next time you’re here.

In our bags we should carry apples, oranges, bananas, seaweed, and so on. Release the thought. What is the world, what is society coming to? Does the whole thing go away or build off another idea or… is there just a sudden crack in the sky and it’s raining blood and bile? Will the robots we build help us build better robots and we lift ourselves up by our bootstraps?

No turkey for me since I know you’ll ask. Why do you bother to ask? And no, no family to go to and be with and it’s okay this way.

The Burning Grasp

Quick to jump the gun. I’ll take your head off. I’ll latch on, find the groove, and begin to pull. Wrong like that. Violent in thought. I’ve some lessons to learn in patience. It comes out in what I wire to the outside. Mostly I’ve gotta hold on it now. But words are razor wire. “Words are a sawed off shotgun.”

It’s me but also you. Most of us do not walk around free from this feeling that we just gotta haul off with a sawed off. “I’m gonna make some mistakes tonight.”

You need to let loose of your burning coal. You’re harming yourself more than you know and then what seems like irreversable damage really will become so beyond all exagerating and flourish.

What Young People Talk About

instant access
instant attack
the drier tumbles the
set of bug bites
stomped on the curb gum shoe’d gumption
meditations for the surreal panic
to express oneself
caught in a state
the young man slumps
in his chair actually asleep
at the party
the saddest he can get
he climbs back up
in offices there may be
miniature personal triumphs
in an office somewhere we imagine
maybe all of life
the rest of it will be
nothing more than writing
notes for bottles thrown
out to sea for no response
confessing the worries
confessing transgressions
the stone never polished
into a mirror
so take them down
from your hands
dirt needs to be scrubbed
and scrubbed right

off and away from
poisons position themselves
snug in your system
you are titanic and slipping
down below surface

I ring a bell
it keeps in the air awhile

time spent doing
time spent tying a knot
time in review

A Day Grind

given a free coffee—
it was
just sittin’ there
thought you’d like it

yeah, I’ll take it

I’ll fake till I make it

sitting in
another shop
ain’t it pleasant?

yeah, enough to
make a ritual of it

this narrative
of mine presses forth
while we disgust
one another
while the world
spins like another

bad night

this second cup
could cause
my heart to
to a hault

but I cannot turn
flow service
beverage by
will of Providence

politely accept your gift
and wave
to your friends