Lunch Poem

my skin can’t be loving all this pizza
suburbs too far from downtown
get a life suburbs
get a life
city or the country
none of this in between shit

oh and put the soda back
you are too miniature

how’s it
the day going for you
don’t make me drag it out of you
or make me repeat
my fucking self

the day needs Midol
the day provides and takes
we become the old people
that the grave beckons
the ones we disdain
and cast to the shadow lands

if you stomp a fit and get what you want
then it’s really on them
on you later
on them now
there’s a poison to bring
a whole species to its end
it’s called ignorance


hours on end focusing on the glass screen
really it’s mind and more mind
it could be the same if you sat still
and closed your eyes
you’d find the joy and horror of
your lives and thoughts
the burning

years back I nearly spent
one hundred hours of meditation
in ten days near Dallas

it stuck with me
the lessons are still making
their way here
etching etching etching
like new experiences
those days of the holy silent vow
not allowed to read a line of anything
I thought maybe I could find a
pamphlet in my bag or a receipt, anything,
but no

so I grabbed rocks from the rock garden
outside the meditation hall
and brought them back to my room
and read

read them at night as I propped up
against the wall
peering into every detail

memories came

how are you, brother?
where did you get this scar from?
oh, a rain fell and you got scrapped
by the other rocks?
you got it from the others?
a wind drug you along?
you got caught under the door as it opened?
as it closed?

looking into the rock like craters on the moon
I spotted even bigotry and anguish
I went to a place and dedicated myself to
yet another staunch and maddening practice
to contact humanity and maybe something beyond it
what some of us may call Big Mind

thinking through—
we may arrive
if blessed
to the limits
of our materialism
and cast it back

encouraged to stay with our breathing
the one thing all of us have
meditation could not be
in and of itself holy
only if we discovered…
only if we stayed…
didn’t collapse…

I made myself a statue
but felt like an old house
creaking in the silent night
I would fall apart slowly like any other
and it wasn’t personal
it isn’t personal

It Eats The Item

back and forth
gum chew
write for four miles
and call it
a hallucinogen
the mind awakes
the mind bends
the mind manifests
doesn’t need
to grab a beer or a lite beer
just does it
look through the trees
to the crowds of
people holding onto their lives
screeching their cars along
side rails of winding roads
sparks screeching
now hold on

any little thing can
jolt and startle me
I’m committing crimes in
over-sensitivity half the time
don’t want to get hurt
and die quick or slow or at all
Chew all the gum in
the world tonight
I read you clear
you’ve got news for me
that you got FROM me
you wanna feed it back
I’ll turn around and sound it back
Mack attack
where’s the stash?
we had to move the stash
her yellow dress is lightly dangling
over her remarkable body
she looked over to me and said
I know you’re looking
and I’m glad you are

I am a wolf tearing the jungle apart in my teeth
you are in a moist jungle
and a predicament at that
my teeth sharpen as I stick my head out the window
of the Camero and grind them against the highway
going a hundred
my family doesn’t read any of this
because they don’t care for this kinda thing
well good for them I guess I guess I guess I guess
fireball nation
hallucination you get to see past
what is there to what is ALSO there
and that’s some funny shit
blood held together in the merciful tourniquet
run its course
lap the track
tall glass of vegan milk
and lemon squares
like disappointing pancakes
if you’re waiting on pancakes and
someone hands you a plate of
goddamn lemon squares
it’s gonna make you mad
and we can’t have that
it eats the item
it calls you a hack
it’s not lying
it’s saying a truth
driven home
on a straight line
logic after zig zag
so long it’s taken to get here
so long to you
so long into the night
we make a diving into

Riding Back in

Courier, curry. Do these guys know what they’re doing? It’s all this kind of time race. And you make fit your moments into it, into the container. If you hope for something you just might be given something else, but when you stop hoping, that’s when things start tasting flat. Cast removed from arm, you call with good news and good vibes. Roaming charges were built in a day. I send you a thought without paying anything. Read my eyes and the corners of my mouth for a clue. A novel about gambling and trains rising from tunnels.


This term “soldier” or “soldiering”… it ain’t so fucking grand, even metaphorically speaking, because the metaphor connects back to blood and tanks and guns and running over motherfuckers. Just because this is used in hip hop, and therefore modern culture, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be checked on to see if in fact a different metaphor would be more appropriate. Life itself can be hell and a hell of a thing to go through but such associations only keep you locked down in there and the next thing you know you’re dead and for someone else’s cause.