Saturday, December 21, 2013

Blood Pressure

God forgives but I don't know what or what for or how often
I hang very little art in my home because of this -
I don't feel so secure
But there is reliable old oatmeal in the morning and OJ
and I take a taxi to work because I am not an early riser and
I do feel a great degree of North American guilt for
being such a whitey but maybe it's my one vice and
like I said I lash myself with the guilt which let me tell you
ages me

I probably net out

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Dinner Table Confessions

I am a bad man, 
not because I have done anything bad but
because I rarely do enough good for
And I lie to myself
Pass the milk

Monday, December 9, 2013

Ordinary Day

Meditate on the ordinary day,
like a bell that rings for
a hell of a lot of no good things to say I
need things and I need a sense of needing
things and I need to fill time like time is all
there is which is a truth more than anyone

Calendar love dialogue, my lover is a page
turning calendar, my lover is Next Sunday,
His day, His night, His throbbing morning with its
asshole birds, giving me a Tylenol and a pillowache,

I am the King Crab on the ordinary day, I am the
hungry skeleton who profusely bleeds his every swallow of soup and
drink of lemon water and is so incredibly frustrated by it.
My frustration is ordinary.

Saturday, October 5, 2013


Boy shivering dogweed alone in
your office in your dim nut house with
the curtains all chewed on and your
cat in the freezer under the chicken beside
the ice packs beside the boy who
watches the food constantly who
might be your son you
have a car but have forgotten how to
drive it sometime this year after taking to reading
so much on the floor face up at the ceiling
seeing not-these skies but
others with foreign stars but half familiar
clouds because you've had that water before Michael
Emilie Joanna Dylan water and almonds and
crisp apples to taste and reflect upon while rusting a
day at a time and anyone who tells you aging is graceful is
a liar and a crook and sometimes

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Sex Dog Landslide Because You're a Drunk And It All Starts Off Okay But Gets Bad Then

Cosmos face cosmos astral skin taught and
stretched across my everything that I can
see for lightyears of held breath lives of literally
everything that blankets me and my
do-you-get-it gasping every

Do you get it

Skin buzz water on hands grow numbing
creep to full organ feeling
overload who's humming who
is singing His name because
"what else could this be" right?

Jumpstart clit maybe car battery sex to
vagina-tit-face-tongue hand hold
sleeping bliss-out I'm so happy I'm
so uncontrollably
freaking out guys I
am on a drug? I
must have seen a face his face his
forest his kingdom in rocks and streets in
our monuments to him which are his
monuments to him because
he moves us with
fine threads and subtle hand
gestures and lifting and occasionally
dashing her or him to a wall or a
catastrophe or a meal or a
embarrassing mountain lion incident
while on vacation with some camera around
your neck in the Alps and
Deus Ex Fuck poetry chapbook on the plane home with
some missing hand or a bloody stump or pissed pants or
too many small liquor bottles in coat pockets and
making an ass out of yourself and thinking this is
some smoking-cigarettes situation like the plane is in
1969 and it's okay again to sexually harass the attendants and
grab her ham with your fucking asshole pincer and your leering
fuck-rapist grin like you own her gender and her sex and
there's some welcome doormat to her temple and her
sisterhood and you have this right and you
have some fucking carte blanche you

Friday, September 20, 2013

The Names of Things

"We should strive to know the names of things,
to call them what they are
and to act accordingly."


I am a courageous young thing a
cowboy and a crimson king a
nightwater pool a synthesized melody an
indian in summer corn watching the
migration of calcium from the leg bones of
a fawn a
desert spider on a turtle's back a
jackrabbit a yawn to laydown to
longsleep or crowfood and marrow
unfamine to form some depression in
the dust to become a sort of a bowl to
wait for the monsoons to come to be
filled for a while and
become a small ocean for a
few snakes a scorpion a desert fox a
cowboy and a crimson king but
somewhere along I lost my courage
when I capped her ass I
fucked everything in the desert sun I
wore her like a hide and serenaded
no one with my idiotsong like my
spurs meant anything because they were
silvershimmer and steelsex and horsespeed
until they weren't anymore

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Recognition of Home

I am an antenna for
detecting everything that might be
you anything who is my
path A>B to
born then
really born to actually live you are a
gateway or a transporting godhead quietly
swallowing the chosen boy warriors and
giving them the gift of guns and nets and
this is your power and in you or even
near you I fall to pieces in the
dissolution associated with
returning to the source.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013


I said I'd never be another church boy with
a broken spine I said
we ought to spend time near the grass and the
shade of tomorrow's catalpa and drink more
water and I promised myself I'd ride my
bicycle every day but it rusted and
I didn't take enough care of it
I said I'd write to you often and
despite myself I said I'd still pray
but that never happened and I
forgot cursive and the paper crumbled and
my desk became a stiff place that no longer
seemed warm I
lost myself when I crossed Walt Disney and
Walt Whitman and that has gone on for years I'm
always tired and there's a constant quiver in
my arms and gut like orgasm craving ache but
there's no pre-teen gift for me to remember my
caving and no chest to crawl into and
no human to inhabit and I left some
soup on the stove but it became
dusty and filmy and the windowlight burned a
hole straight into the pot - a cup a carrot a dish a
plane a place to seek a new name, one of Twelve
to choose from but I'll always be
because I always fall asleep eventually

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


make sure that before you know a thing, that it is
And if it isn't known yet,
you have to make sure
it's the truth."

Saturday, August 31, 2013

His Every Other Thing

Look for him at him for hours at grey unfocused living-spaces trying to find him and trying to find his face in his everywhere body

How do we find his love amongst his every other thing

Barn Cat

Scratch your face until the genius is a bleeding
nothing and a wreck and a baroque painting of a
virgin scratching her face too until the barn cat is your
house cat in a corner in a sun spot taunting birds with looks
that say "I still know how to get you"

Sun Afternoon

Tall house shadow love the tops of trees and
among root finger creep my brother sister sleep

Dog, no name dog, just dog,
follow me see me on dirt ramble I
pruned the bushes all afternoon in the
sun until He pounded me too much
and small water and a little bread
helped a little but didn't mend my
threadbare garments or my
broken back

Resolution lay with the

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Early Salesmen

Fixers started selling their skills in mysticism,
thus began the commodification of God.


Oh holy body of Him or skin of
lamb your blood is a milk,
uproot tree spine bent to carry
a few fish to dry and to feed a
An elder dozes parsing the
real life with shivering
eyelids and sexdreams, who
takes a pine needle tea
then to
nurse some sympathy pain or
maybe extract some
blessing from His green

Keep looking for Him.

Promised Future

Fox like a bone like a trade-in crown like a boss like a frown
like circling on a bicycle on a beam in a fever under a hat and
hung on a hook
above the bed
deaf baby cleft lip grieving under a cross and to a
crucifix and in straight lines to straight lanes to
lemonade water sacrament staked crush

Arizona, twist my diamonds to facetted fuck until my
supple wristflesh is dry paper and then
blow me like crumbled prom queen 

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Commodity Twenty Thirteen

Career mouth piece, sixty hour week conjurer suck
it into your cancer gut until a black steak
pounds your crackling heart
to me because you
didn't cook it
long enough

But you shot the moon in its fucking eye and staked that claim and told the
whole world what you wanted which was
some sort of temporary cover for
being a lost boy

really there's only a naked beautiful black boy teenager or
some sort of innocent and though we
know the outcome he
is still only

Bacon Grease

Who is or was or has a black frame full body and
a teenage love and a body that bangs LOUD re
verberating off teeth and concerned moms who
drank a little bit of water sipping from a cup to
progress to a hearty meal and then
full glasses of whatever until an earth
shattering dumb sets in and
paralysis of everything important
happens until
only hunger is the animal and then
then what
empty your pockets fuck find
something to
fill guts dude fill
until a self impressed yes-man says
I am satisfied with my
efforts so now I'll rest

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Can't Sleep for Dreaming

I know that to start being materially successful, I need to stop hating North America and buy into these worldly specifics.

But can I sleep at night living The Dream?

Friday, March 8, 2013


That thing that'll make you stop believing in God
is too much Catholic school.

Because We've Lived Before

My withered wife my gnarl root hands
dance partner lover and fucker time
companion who's seen my
skin paper and thin and break apart and become
smaller pieces of paper that get buffeted into
uncomplicated vortices of breath memory
our child daughter before
her legs broke open and she became a distorted mirror
wife mother weeping womb you are a food
for us a pear or a pomegranate seed and
always milk and meat and the
horse that brought it through the
January snow by the banks of
some dream creek in a book in bed in
one of my many past lives.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


How to do my prayers and in my eyes
do some sort of sex to Him and
in perfect elocution deliver my sorry's while
looking the Golden Boy some
model of chastity of
church whites of un-
impeachable character and
fondling myself and
sweating heavily about it and
thrice crossing constantly like it's my
fucking job to be safe while she
sucks me and my
persecution mania and
these heavy brow strangers all
leering christ like thick shadows sea-
liner-size or bigger, and I
loosen my collar, have to,
my hands puff, she's bobbing
like some rapist piston and I
swallow one two and pass out

Drown A Dog

Sleep queen, queen of soil you are
more beautiful than I, I
fold my hands in silent shout in
nowhere protestation in
doubt in deed in between
orgasms of self I put out
a cloud of prayers hoping
two or three will be answered, and
that one of them is murder is
nothing to concern anyone.

Monday, February 18, 2013

On Trying

If I'm bad, at least I'm honestly bad. So yeah, I can sleep at night.

Friday, February 15, 2013

Sick sick sick.

Rich kids, white kids, 
rich white kids
pow pow pow.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Outside a circle

What will outlive me, everything, God made it that way, everything,
his story and your children and the brick and steel of our
collective chugging dream forward into

What will outlive me everything I ache now outlive me everything my
life's work is a

What will outlive you father, what will, there are a number of white seagulls
dead in your cellar and they will outlive you what

What will outlive me

Monday, February 11, 2013


Just because you can, doesn't mean you can.

Saturday, February 9, 2013


Sometimes I feel like the Ellen Degeneres show is just a shell game, or a sugary liquid medium by which we are fed some sort of sedative which allows the North American monster to slip into our homes and our wallets and our stomachs and our gas tanks while we are slowly absorbed into our carnivorous couches, fading, fading into virtual existence, spiritless, fat, oh Christ so fat on the decadent nutritional emptiness of Western secularism. 

Ellen you heartwarmth monger, you seller of ignorant bliss, you feelgood pimp, I salute you and your cunning machinations, or perhaps simply your brokerage of this Great American Decay.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Horse Farm

If horses run fast, why does glue run slow?

Friday, February 1, 2013

"Hey David,"

"She's so sexy but I bet she's a bitch or a black hole
or worse, some no sex before marriage Catholic."

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Broken Rituals

When sex is the process of
climbing up the mountain and
falling off the other side.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Daughter Prayer

I am a daughter and a diamond and an angel of infinity and a
fawn often but equally often a hunter and a wolf in that order because
the computer is everywhere now so don't entertain a foolish nostalgia or
any dumb romance don't
lie lie lie
unless you intend to sleep


Kiss your mother with that bird around your neck you
son of God who is a thunder cloud a
clap of earth static a humongous stone
head who spits guns and guns who is an open
mouth who is the man hating goat man who is
a long coat dog pissing into itself pissing all
over itself who is wide eyed always to
great self consciousness even in a
dream who drinks furiously and becomes
furious who took a baseball bat for a
son and a peach pit for a daughter in
holy excellence and in ghost presence
took take three silent moments to
remember that
I am everything

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Be Present

We loved big birth too much for
Christmas day sad telephone calls I
don't lose my composure often I
say my prayers I
gift my children through
these thirty years I
am a sober patriarch I
in this end lose to
cancer I
curse the healthy
young backs who are strong
backs for
trains and unfitted link back
directives but not directions which
are like dreams but not dream real not
dream real not
anything like the

Tuesday, January 22, 2013


I am a dog's uncontrollable hunger,
A drooling mouth, giant
fucking teeth.

Sunday, January 20, 2013


Who would not divine the 666 sonnets or
trace back to Eden to a fleshy coil and
spill their spit upon soil for
good luck and faith and trust or

Who was a dog almost always, a
human with a rumbling stomach with
hands and
I suppose some mechanical mouth in there
just for the details.


Suicide and a lifetime of idle are
the same thing.
There is no difference.
If you are only existing to exist,

Tuesday, January 15, 2013


There is no "this is how it works," and anyone who tells you so is trying to sell you something.
Don't trust them - they are a snake or a religious man or both.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Kill us Now

When Hollywood makes things just to make things...

Monday, January 7, 2013


Whose coal eyes unto thee
make three covenants of
chastity and faith and hungry
trust who must take milk or
be a homeless wreck, a
stray dog a lamb before
wolves whose mind has
gone gone gone gone whose
eyes have clouded whose
dry finger bones are a
crumbling city block a
book of lives a
book of lives whose
old shoes speak whose
cat one two three
is and is and is a
noble guardian sort of whose
crucifix is a crooked woman who
never learned to tie their laces who
hid from books who
never learned to plead his
cases who
took unto himself too much, whose
pork belly had a mouth North
America wound like an infected
dog's eye, put it out
put it out


What to say or
who to love or why I
trust the
god above he fed me
corn mash chunks of
fat he
hid his son inside
my hat he
boiled his entire
and called them fragile sinners
food he cared for
broken winged birds he
cut his heart up into
thirds he
took he takes all his
supply he
cannot will not never
die he
in his holy vision god
is god of god of god of
god he
owns my flesh my
bitter steel he feeds me
crust and crumb and
heel he feels he feels


like everything that's
earthly real he
spins me for days in my
bed like seasickness is
itself my head he is
stomach he is
great he
eats what I leave
on my plate he
is my father he
this universe he
is this
masculine fuck he
ruins woman somehow
keeping her under
under table and
sucking sucking his
emptiness and keeping
his hunger under
the table where
his evil sleeps under
the table where
the dogs fight for bones under
the table where some infant
is a boy god in training smashing
playtoys like soldiers in
hate sickness and
what thing is this what
table have we set what
meal must we eat or have
we been served what
year is this what
orbit am I in what
gravity that
gravity is this love of
christ god what plane even
is this then that I
feel everything every

Friday, January 4, 2013


Visions through veil of unearth, a moon sail fall I
stood tiny tall through visions of the iron cross I
kill a daisy or a dandelion with every thrust and
every sad song I
gained her trust I
gained her trust I

am going to hell.

Black tea nightbeams and unseamed dresses I
unlearned a lesson in faith or forgiveness or I
in brooding indulgence took too much I
took too deep I kept I
keep too much of her I

am going to hell.

Mother what love was that? I
cried out every night to empty room I
pissed my tomb sheets for rescuing hands but
found only darkness kissing.

I was in hell then.

To walk with three black swans and
childsoldiers holy, broken eyes then,
to fulfil a destiny of meaninglessness, infinite
cruel arbitrary,
to pray for a saviour,
Jesus gunslinger steelfist knight I

dream about hell.

 When will I die?