poemsTogetStonedto

red & green make black

2005-07-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

when head
was a truck
under a bus
broke up
weed on
the dash
when the roof
came off
at the doors
was a convertible
sticking nugs
in the glass
when hanging
fingers from
the sarlaac pit
figuratively figured
not Boba Fett
was the juncture
when red & green
formed to form
black & nobody
threw rocks
but

A Recently Found Revision From The Desk Of Francis Bellamy

2005-06-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

I pledge allegiance to the United nipple clamps of androginy,
to the silver dollar States of smothered in syrup.
to the birdseed under my radiator
doing jumping-jacks with the oscillating fan of America.

I pledge Red
allegiance to the White
phillips-head screwdriver of my Blue
precocious youth.

I pledge allegorical to the United

k-holes of allegiance,
to the return policy of the genetic States of orangutang,
to the come on down your the next contestant of America.

I raise my right hand to the passionate
lips of piranha, to the pasty white thighs of my desire,
with my left hand on the bible
to synchronized swimming in an elevator,
to the rent-a-cop of my sanity,
to the fraternal order of bolt & shift,
to the ancient art of mouth-fucking.

I prefer autonomy to the United

hallucination of cannon's being dragged through a cornfield,
to the zoetrope States of hand-cuff your litany to a bus,
to the BURN MOTHER FUCKER BURN of America.

Eating Razors With Tomorrow

2005-06-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

At nine:
cut into the skin
under my rib
with a rock,

pulled out my spleen
& buried it in the mud,
there were birds
in the mud eating worms.

The pilot light in there oven went out.
So I fixed it.

We ate fried worms and for desert
I stuffed the birds in the hole in my chest.

A few days before nine
my Grandmother
showed me how to sew.
So I sewed the birds where my spleen was.

The constant fluttering like a dunken
barn-dance under my organs became
the burning anxiety of glass houses in a rock fight.

At nine I threw down the teddy bear and picked up the black hole.

At nine:
ate razors
& spit them out in the dreams of my laughing fist.

At nine I was playing an axe
strung with fishguts
& the never-ending bliss of tomorrow.

Modus Operandi

2005-04-18T16:57:00.000-07:00

I was a really well behaved child,
walking up to old woman, I'd say
"hello, I'm a really well behaved child"
they would smile "Oh, I bet your mother is proud.
For some reason, when I do this now, noone thinks my mother is proud.

When my wife became a member of the family my cousin said
"to make it official you have to pick an addiction".
Like it had been on her mind already,
my wife quickly responded "Gambling".
I feel a little suspicious about the way she looked at "Me" while saying "Gambling".

I used to work with this kid Geoff who drank his own piss,
he heard you are what you ingest and wanted to be himself.
I'm meeting him Wednesday for coffee,
I heard he now amuses himself by licking the sun.

I was an easily amused child,
doing the dishes was one of my favorite games.
I don't remember what it was about dish washing I liked so much,
but to this day there's something about the green gop
of Palmolive coating my hands that feels like fun.

For fun my wife goes into high priced furniture stores pretnding to be remodeling,
she has the staff show her fabrics and match colors, just to make them work.
It has been said she has managerial skills. I say she needs medication.

I had a dream about a folding chair and a mega-phone.
Sitting in the chair a voice came from behind me asking that eternal question
"If a shipper smashes a glass vase
unloading a crate of them into a housewares store
did that glass vase ever exist?"
I've been napping all weekend trying to get back to the dream
so I could ask if they got a signiture upon delivery,
but you can't expect that type of confirmation from a dream.

Freddy Crack Vs The Walking Contradiction

2005-04-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

"I came back as a bag of groceries accidently taken off the shelf
before the experation date"

With "They Might Be Giants" blaring from my bedroom speakers
the artist formerly known as Freddy Crack wakes
me up at 8am with a plate of pure E. We snap a few lines then drive
into Boston so Fred can sell mushrooms & ecstasy to this kid Boomer
(who will sell me an once of brown weed for $80). This went as well

as you would think a meeting with a kid named Boomer
would go: we got the pot & the money & we left
in Fred's 1970 Buick Riviera, where he hands me a pile of mushrooms
while we're moving down 93N in Dorchester
only now it looks more like rte 2 in Belmont (if Belmont
had all these bright lights & beautiful buzzing sounds).

"Did a large procession wave their torches
as my head fell in the basket, that was everybody dancing on my casket"

WhenwegethomeFredfillsthegerbilswaterbottlewithvodka
IhookuptheAtarisowecanplay"Stampede"
&thephonerings: ourroomateMichaelisontheline&ashestartstalking
tometherecievertransformsintohisfacethechordsalldanglingdown
fromhischinandhesays"Dude What Are You Doing"WHATAMIDOING!
I'vegothisfaceinmyhandbutIdon'tquiteknowhowtoexplainthistohim,

so I just let his head keep talking while Freddy Crack & I heard cattle & smoke shit weed.

"Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do"

artificial sweetner

2005-04-07T17:23:00.000-07:00

I've spent my life feeding the people I love so many lines
I'm begining to feel like breakfast.

I have a suitcase with so many compartments
when I go on vacation I end up wearing the same clothes

over and over again, because I get confused by the choices.
I've spent the past week keeping myself

from screaming at telephone poles
parked cars & the kid down the street

that tapes birds together.
42 years old & He Still Tapes Birds Together;

chucks them off the curb, feathers fly in a fury
of wing & blood (very similar to the insides of Mama Cass

at the time of death). But I'm off the point, watching it dance
like darting needles over the water on sweltering hot N.H. days,

all I can manage are street lights & bad jokes about dead people.
I must be putting to much milk in my cereal.

I Don't Even Like Cereal:
haven't a bowl since the third grade when I puked into my Super Golden Crisp

(at 9 years old that's equivalent to an alcoholic, rock bottom,
the only real difference is what you puke up).

How High Can You Get Before Wrapping Yourself In Plastic?

2005-04-07T17:11:00.000-07:00

thought i saw new york in the grass
under a jersey barrier on memorial drive
dancing blade to blade wondering where
the music left off

a cat comes out of the yard with a pigeon in its mouth
tries to tell me something but I cant understand it

Your Neighbors Yard

2005-04-07T16:59:00.000-07:00

We walk home from the store
and I try to convice you to have sex with me in your neighbors yard
(what a date I am baby; crab grass

& pebbles up your ass!) You refuse;
tell me I'm dirty, complain about being horny
and look at me like you want me to fuck you on your neighbors lawn

(3 cruisers fly by, sirens racing, protecting, serving).

In A Downtown Hotel

2005-04-07T16:45:00.000-07:00

A few years back, Jack and Dean picked up a hooker;
3am drunk my daisy. When they were through

her father rapped on the door & cried "I forgive you
my sweet angel". Still undressed, she replied, with her hand

again on Jack's dick "I'm everybody's angel now, forgive yourself"!

Is There A Doctor In The House?

2005-04-07T16:25:00.000-07:00

...this dictionary is a waste of time;
no room for electrocution, nevermind blank pages.

In this neighborhood I write about
the young boys tie sneakers together
throw them over the telephone wires
signifying loss of virginity. The parents
think it means they're drug dealers
& call the cops. In a raid of houses
the boys sit with smiles as the pigs reach
with blue arms into g-spot socks
finding there was never a need
for the sneakers in the first place.

Everything happens for a reason,
the way baseball & laundry bleed valium through a place where a son with no
seatbelt murders his mother & guts her blue swine fuck. There's nothing left
to understand after you've hit that curve!

Post Optimistic

2005-04-07T16:12:00.000-07:00

*******disconnected from synaptic lashes
over-dubbed five seconds behind
a cycle of spasms & speech
the plots unfolding backwards
halls upon rooms upon halls
of wire & want twisted
with knowing with rusted steel
humming mutilated mutation
* at a pitch that sounds like narration
* at a pitch that sounds like avoidance
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*evacuated from their houses
*given a cot & a spot in the field. the infected

secrete a thick oily mucus
rub dirt & vasoline

after days of greys and greens
the cracked crusted substance
dusts off flesh onto floor. the infected

drop on knees draw lines
in the residue crust
saliva drips from their mouths. the infected

scratch beyond lines residue emit a symbiotic falsetto
******descend into the divides center******
the field fills with turquoise horses looking for God but God's
not here there's only this divide spitting out this tree
bark saturated with mucus oil drips off the branches
pools around the edges******the solution has become
a diseased river****** the horses perch at the point
believing the sound is the voice of God they follow the lubricated
******echo vibrates from the divide******
*
*
*
*
*
*
& in that doll house
lies a table like a saint
crying, plastic horses,
the muse and the nightmare
sitting pretty, quiet.
*
*
*
Climb from your casket
& give us a kiss:
I wanna sit in mind fields
& watch each other masturbate.
*
*
*
& you will know when we get there
my pretty child, my sweet, for the door
will open and breath******

Opium Dens Are Heaven (for Jim Carroll)

2005-04-07T15:58:00.001-07:00

heaven is an opium den in midnight
suburbs & it speaks the native tongue

on the side of the road in the dirt
a dead dog; attracted like flies
children poke at it with sticks.

survival says to stay on the porch.

the mail comes.
another check is written.

Ari

2005-03-31T19:15:00.000-08:00

When I'm alone I can taste you like salt cascading
down my neck. Desire is an angel with poison arrows,
she knows her targets intimately & kills w/o

discretion. This is not about desire but
there's something in your air that makes me need!
No use for lungs the drums in your hair keep me, taste them

on your neck---drink---melt to last thursday night: we're
driving around 2am (Malden 3x over) what was said never mattered
it was more like a dance, a movement.

Reduced To Art

2005-03-31T18:44:00.000-08:00

& I will

build towers to watch you ride horses through our bed.

& I will

guild frames for the pictures of you painted on the inside of my skin.

& I will

stretch my flesh like a gallery. I will walk my days raw for you.

Replace

2005-03-31T18:42:00.000-08:00

I’ve started chain-smoking
to replace you. Every time
I dream of pressing my lips to yours,
another cigarette. There are no dreams
of a cigarette; nothing special about
each one. You simply inhale
and release.

The Pot Diaries

2005-03-26T17:16:00.000-08:00

I pulled the weed from Hunter's top drawer,
pushed the soap and grapefruit boxes aside,
then threw his desk out the window (it landed
in the front seat of Thompson's '67 El Dorado
like it had a few stories left in it).

I began breaking weed up
on the toilet seat cover, when in walked Dr. Gonzo
in a hot pink bathrobe & fly-fishing pants,
Tequilla bottle in one hand
cattle-prod in the other, singing
the star-spangled banner in pig latin.

I handed him the joint, told him Aristotle
said "the law is reason devoid of compassion".
He lit the joint with the cattle-prod
exclaiming his produce guy says vitamin C
is essential if Iwe're going to maintain this pace. Reaching into
the fridge, he pulled out a copy of "The Great Gatsby"

Without exhaling, he described
the time he met Aristotle at a bus stop
across the street from the United Nations.
Over a ham-on-rye, Ari handed him this leather bound
edition of the Fitzgerald classic.

Taking back the joint, I explained
I meant the philosopher not the billionaire tycoon.
Undeterred by the truth he handed me the book,
proclaimed “ no matter what they say I am not Deep Throat
(this is a rumor started by Wenner to boost magazine sales)".

Though Duke did intimate smoking a joint with Deep Throat,
Paul Begala & Ben Stein in the oval office
during Clinton's first innaugural address,
“the only right way to cover a Clinton speech”.

Suddenly Hunter S. stumbled downstairs,
jumped in the Cadillac & said something under his breath
to his desk, before the duo disappeared into the desert.

Dear Miss Milton Academy

2005-03-20T09:03:00.001-08:00

Dear Miss Milton Academy,
Don't let them get to you! When I was in highschool
giving head to the hockey team wouldn't have made
the top ten list, never mind the six o'clock news.
The head cheerleader, Suzanne, did herself
with a frozen hot dog, it defrosted from the heat of the friction
and broke off in her box. Her friend Angelina banged six dudes
at a movie theatre, lined up in a row, sitting in their seats watching
Sleepless In Seattle. If Meg Ryan had done this
it would have been a far better film.

And then there was the kid who stuck his head in the oven to get high
off the fumes, while he was sprawled across the kitchen floor, naked
his mom walked in. Lewis now sells cars for VW. And we can't forget
my personal friend Jay, who jerked off in the back of class
while we were watching Romeo & Juliet, then flicked his DNA
on the back of Michelle "The Bird Girl's" head. He's a high school history
teacher (nobody ever asks that question at a job interview).

Today at the bank I gave my cash and deposit slip to Elizabeth Donnelly
I've seen this girl eat old chicken out of the trash on her way to school
more than once, and today, I handed her my money.
Michael Tucker was a cat fucker, now he's a general contracter.
My ex-girlfriend's friend Tara liked her boyfriends to stick a Guiness bottle
in her ass, specificly, a "Guiness" bottle. These days she's a mental
health professional. Their other friend Jen had sex with half of Lynnfield
so she could still go to the same parties as her heroin addict ex-boyfriend.
She currently plays the part of Cinderella at the Magic Kingdom.

The coke dealer Issiah, got a blow job from his sister Amanda, by accident
at a house party. She was in the bathroom, sucking off every guy that walked
in, when along came Issiah. He's a mailman and she attends PTA meetings.
Not once has any of this ended up in the minutes of these meetings.

And as it turns out, maybe you would have made the top ten list,
but as aweful as it may be, believe me, ten years from now,
the people that work for you won't know anything about it.
So fear not young vixen of Milton Acedemy,
soon enough some teacher will nail a student and we'll forget all about you.

All My Best,
Jeff Taylor

PS
my phone number is 555 - 5469

Zeno's Half-Way Theory Or Why There Has Been A Rash Of Whitey Bulger sightings

2005-03-15T08:15:00.000-08:00

500 bricks
down the path
fron this half-
brick my left
sole rests on
there's a lantern
cracked 500 milli-
meters in length.
I know cause I
counted. I got on
hands & knees
held eyes open w/
toothpicks to make
sure I maintained
an accurate count.

The 1st brick felt like a toaster -only louder-
more romantic about the way it leaves things.
I could tell by the way the edges had worn
by the way the red was pink that it had taken
the wrong shape somehow -that this brick was
meant to be a kitchen appliance.

2 - three - 4

The 5th brick was held together by mortor slapped
across the exposed wide side in a way
I could tell the work had been done just after lunch.
The 6th brick was so covered in smut I could hardly
tell it was there. A woman in a blue pants suit was standing
on the 7th wondering why my gate was a crawl. She
had a fake tatoo of a cross across her left foreman -the top
part of the yellow vertical line had flaked off in a way it looked like
a capital T. I told her my last name is Taylor -but this puzzled her
further.

eight - 9 - ten

An 11 is two 1's put together -a couple of the loneliest
numbers on a date. It rained yesterday & crusted
a worm to brick 12. I picked at it. The worm came off easily.
When I tapped on the 13th it sounded hollow -like maybe
Whitey Bulger was hiding under there. Before I got to 14
a mosquito flew in my eye & was squished to death w/
the squint of my lash. I almost skipped ahead to the 15th
while I was pulling pieces of broken toothpicks from under
my skin. I dripped blood on brick 16 -pooled & crusted
into my eye- the plasma proved to improve my vision.

50 - seventyfive - 100

Suffering from seperation anxiety 101 cracked a clean
split when I rubbed it w/ my index finger. Romance
means nothing to bricks -heartless fucks everyone of them.
102 was painted blue -it reminded me of the rubber
ducky from Bert & Ernie. Y-E-S
was written on 103 -wiping the dried blood from my right eye w/
my left forearm- I scratched T-E-R-D-A-Y into 104 w/
a piece of glass. 105 had on the suit Napolean wore at Waterloo
-I don't know how they got the blood out- but I've never
been one to romanticize the truth. 106 housed a burnt out roach.
The 107th brick smelled like a chick -but never a second time.

onefifty - 200 - threehundred

#307 was once licked by Abigail Adams during a game of truth or dare.
The 308th brick has a family history of being the 308th brick.
His father was the 308th brick in the 283rd battalion during the Korean War.
His grandfather was originally intended for the Berlin Wall
-but was accidentally redirected to a blood bank in Detroit. 309 is wanted for murder
-she switched places with 412 (who had an alibi for the evening in question).
413 used to be an extra on The Banana Splits.
414 wets the bed.
I know this kid who used to date this girl
who saw brick #415 pass out at 32 Flavors last night -it's really serious.

475 - foureightyfiive - 495

On the 1st Thursday
of every month 496 serves
food to the homeless at the soup
kitchen on Essex Street. Brick #497
-not unlike my grandmother- hides
bottles of apricot brandy all over
the house. 498 walks like an Eqyptian.
Brick #499 has been the chief
financial officer for five
bankrupt dot coms. 500
is the # of Spree one person
can eat before puking.
500 was Nelson
Reiley's SAT score.
The summer of 500
was a great year to
vacation in the Fertile Crescent.

The woman in the blue
pants suit grabbed the 500th
brick and swapped it with the 105th
-but this is Boston Common not Waterloo
& if there's 1 thing I've learned it's not to
trust anyone over the age of twelve
that has a fake tatoo.

The Barstools Know Her As The Prom Queen

2005-03-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

(scratched into the barstool)
I've read her legend.

TAMMY GIVES GOOD HEAD 389 - 0862

& now (having known the geometry of her numbers)
she appears to me in patterns: through last call lights

(ruffled & pink) with her hair at the right height she
looks like an angel lips poised to sing the Glory.

Through the dashboard lights
I can see why they love her.

When I Stopped Remembering A Ladybug Stepped Out Of The Air Conditioner

2005-03-13T17:50:00.000-08:00

The voice over the radio hasn't changed in as long as
I can remember. That bullhorn tongue
-As Loud As WALLS
-as sure as monday morning.

A month from now the only thing we'll remember
is pulling down that election sign (for no reason):
Gin & Everett playing in traffic
being chased through projects (five dudes
with a half-sign looking to tell us
what they stand for).

THE VOICE OVER THE RADIO HASN'T
CHANGED IN AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER!
Ecstatic static:
supportive as hepatitis blankets:
the moment you get out of bed there's noone around who thinks you matter:

nothing left to do but curl up with the viral fabric
that taught you social graces: taught you the voice over the radio
doesn't matter (in cloistered rooms) where
ladybugs step out of the air conditioner
w/ sonic hour glasses.

Is There Time For A Cigarette After You Die?

2005-03-13T17:24:00.000-08:00

Is There Time For A Cigarette After You Die?

A waiting room;
fuzzy white couches,
blue lights, lounge acts,
lava lamps and ash trays.

Your caught up at the bar (late)
drinking cheap port with Jack,
until the house lights come on,
waiting for the band to break,
and there’s time
to sit there and think,

was it all worth it?
Is the white light all hype
(like the work-place break-place)
bad coffee and no smoking?

Red velvet ropes
keep souls like cattle
(not knowing) ushered
to the end,
waking up
(no cigarettes)
crying in your mothers arms.

Dogs See In Black & White

2005-03-13T16:43:00.000-08:00

My Dog's Name Is Not AMERICA
(but she did climb on a table she couldn't get down from).

Now she knows -everything- smells the same since
the engine started; scattering the dust in a way

she looks clean. Till a good wind hits
& the smell is like you're wearing a shinny green suit

on Euro-night; there's bottles breaking all around
-but all you know how to do is scream- Do You Wanna Feel This!

"DO YOU WANNA FEEL THIS"!
From edge to edge, My Dog Has Walked

only to find a man in a hat on a hill
selling a matt to kneel on & a hole to hide in.

Newton Street

2005-03-13T16:30:00.000-08:00

My brother and I new
a kid who was afraid of cheese.

After school
armed with American;

we would chase him
pound him with chunks of dairy

until he cried for his father.
But dad never came!

We would listen to him cry
into the door, open it

& run.

Short-Cut

2005-03-13T15:48:00.000-08:00

When Pete asked me
if I thought we should take the short-cut he knew
I said yes,
but only because I figured
there was still going to be ROAD involved!

The street cuts left (we don't)
over the curb, through the over growth
-the car slides down the hill-
Pete hits the brakes, cuts left.

I"M STARING AT A BIGWHEEL! Realizing

we are stuck in the Backyard
Of An Apartment Complex In NEWTON;
Walled in by A Swing-Set, A Sandbox,
Buckets, Rubber Balls & Bike's With Training Wheels!

WHAT THE FUCK!

I'm out in the wet grass
trying to lift this Sandbox that's WAY to heavy
for MY drunkin ass to lift.

& now these Fathers are coming out of there Houses
& I have to explain to them, that the road was wet
& we lost control coming around the corner,

Even Though That's Not What Happened At ALL!

& if they could just help me get this sandbox
out of our way, we'd be out their yard in no time flat.
Either they believed me
or just wanted us to get the fuck out of their yard,
but they moved that sandbox

& we hit the horizon & I asked Pete about the exact
wording of his initial question, specificly "SHORT-CUT I KNOW"
What came out of his mouth was,
"I thought that was going to be a -Different- yard".

Milking The Cattle

2005-03-13T15:00:00.002-08:00

Crusted to the bathroom mirror
the toothpaste
looks like Condaleezza Rice.
All the hairs on my head are out of shape.

Our exit strategy is to beat a dead horse into the ground
until it shits all over us: dangling in front of you, pretend
it's covered with butter.

*****

To make (butter) you let raw whole milk sit out
for 24 hours. Seperate the cream off the top.
Let it sour. Steadily churn it in a wooden barrell.
Drain the buttermilk. Mold what's left into sticks.

***

I spend the hours between 6am & 8am
stabbing myself in the head with a (straw), but
regardless of how thirsty

I am, Iran & N Korea
have nuclear weapons programs.
I am whittling a statue of a tree

on fire. Expecting me
to speak, the woodchips
gather around my feet.
But a diatribe is rarely needed.

*****

Talk Clean To Me

2005-03-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

We speak unseen
Listerine. Blow up
On YOUR WRISTWATCH!
I left the lights on?

Forty Years Ago
(Your Bedroom Lights). I
LEFT THEM ON?!

Imago Mouth

2005-03-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

6am

insinerated (extrapolated)
as if a caterpillar

12pm

Dig a hole. Take off your clothes.
Put them in a box. Bury it.

6pm

The attic is
full of moths &
it’s getting dark.

12am

as it is: perceive

6am

((F—k
((((F—k(Fuck)F—k
there: I said it((
((((f—k

12pm

Work your toes through the soil. Take
a deep breath. Shut your eyes. Exhale.

6pm

There are bugs crawling
through your hair &
it’s getting hot.

12am

perceive: to insinerate

6am

insinuated (sensuated)
if as a cocoon.

6pm

My mouth is
full of moths &
now I can see.

12am

conceive: to extrapolate

12pm

Spray gasoline on the spot. Light it.
Fold arms & legs together. Inhale.

6am

**************))
**************************)))
**************))
******))))

12pm

Exhale. Remain insinerated.
Remain ( erect ). Remain extrapolating.

6pm

The attic is
full of moths &
it’s getting ((((***********f--k)))).

Subliminal

2005-03-13T12:57:00.000-08:00

The letters on the billboard don’t spell anything!

Each letter is an island
full of people who want to kill you.

The (islands) are the moans of a grumpy lover;

she woke up on the couch (above the
shoulder of the highway) jumped down off the billboard
-out onto the road- (groaned pigments & decibels)

cut off 6 inch piles of hair onto the pavement
-every three feet- for twelve miles.

The letters on the billboard are the walls of a maze

the mice stopped trying to figure out. After being fed
6 pills -every 3 hours -for 9 weeks

(the mice) ate through the walls & hurled themselves
into the space between the text.

The mice are mothers!
The walls can tell the difference in season!

They know when you’re trying to figure out what shape they are!

(The walls) are a fifty year-old personals ad rep
who asks you to lie
on the couch -tells you- you have

3 messages
-72 matches-
& 0 possibilities.

The letters on the billboard will look different every 3 seconds.
They are unpronounceable metaphysical theories that talk out of turn.

They are (letters) that couldn’t possibly be written
clearly enough to be understood. The theories

are a fuel-injected tight-rope act
(that flips & whirls in ionic haze)

-a butterfly with drastic wings-
that only exists (out of the corner
of your eye).

The Disenfranchising of Lyle Street

2005-03-13T12:45:00.001-08:00

ants sink in spit (taken
by the dirt) the sun’s coming
down like rain.
I use my lies as tools

when you want something (becomes
another layer of skin) forget how you look
w/o it. there’s an ant
crawling on a yellow curtain

soaked in taking (coming down
like rain) the morning curtains
are drawn like revolvers.
I’m sinking in sun:

taken by the spit:
coming down in layers:
I am wet with revolvers (coming
down like ants) swimming

in my taking. there has to be
a better way to say this:
this is (exactly
what I want to tell you)

Stitches

2005-03-11T16:58:00.000-08:00

(without a word) A man walks up to you -cuts out his tongue-
then holds up a sign asking
for the last word you heard. You think, "board games
at a time like this, no no no no". (remembering what to do)

You take a deck of cards from your back pocket
& deal a quick hand of Black Jack (still thinking
not talking) “This should help us get down
to it, that is, if you where meant to know.”
The man with a mouth full of blood turns over two fives,

& taps on each one, once. (realizing he was not
meant to know) you pick the cards up off the ground,
carefully -sew his tongue back on- hand him the deck
& walk away. (oddly enough) You still see him
-the man they’ve since called stitches-
running four-card monte on that very corner
(you can only assume) he’s still waiting for the answer.

He Is Where He Was When He Left To Get There

2005-03-11T16:30:00.000-08:00

The clockman
has bad brains
and a nice suit;
he picks lilacs
with vice grips (plants
the roots in spoiled
meat) &puts them in
boxes stacked
one on top of another
The bricks of a maggot
building This is where
I live A tower of mold
grown hair turned
purple &blue he licks
clean& spits in my
face Burning
my eyes into diseased
filters of hours& light
(I chew into medicine
&mix with whiskey)
Carving the concoction
as the 13th hour into
the chest of the clockman
(before he forgets why he
knows me) The Clockman
comes home from work
blood gurgling in his
throat (His wife cries
uncontrolably) He says
life is a funeral my dear&
I haven't the tears
left for my own blood (So let it
be said it's all been said)
but that dont mean
shit to a whore when
the gonnereah sets in
&love is a toothless corpse
left to wither in messianic
secrets (Consequences are
dreams for those who have none)
Let it be said no
matter what the cost!

Glass Colored Smoke

2005-03-11T16:20:00.000-08:00

When they sparked it
(like a contagious accent)

-indigo breathe in a duct tape jar-
saturated like an innovative gas mask

(They opened their lungs)
like an un-hinged door

a grenade in a glass of water
-a 5/4 jazz experiment vibrating through an echo chamber-

When they opened their lungs
(like a hydroponic hand shake)

dripping with insinuation
-the fragmented spasms of an idling chainsaw-

(They contracted their innards)
like the symphonic ignition

of a fluorescent permanent midnight
-poppyfield jackyls in expressive regression-

When they contracted their innards
(like the exhilarating exchange of a sandpaper suit)

-the vasoline diamonds of an indignant sun-
the insinuated rejection of brown

(They anesthetized their patterns)
like an exhausted tongue

filaments in ramshackled acceleration
-the fragmented spasms of an idling handshake-

(When they anesthetized their patterns)
like a contagious accent

-dandelions in a glass colored smoke-
a seafoam fist dripping with midnight

They sparked it
(like the agitated sweat of an aching gland)

saturated like an innovative chainsaw
-a grenade through an un-hinged door-

Pulling The Switch

2005-03-10T18:54:00.000-08:00

Nolan and I are on Cleveland Avenue more stoned than Mount Rushmore
switching the lawn ornaments from one house
with the lawn ornaments from the identical looking house next door.

He’s infront of #43 dismantling the strategicly placed
ceramic troll, frog & mushroom display,
while I’m at #45 uprooting the arrangement of
John the Baptist, plastic deer & a welcome to the Tanners sign.

*****

George W.
Bush
gave
the order
for
military
action against
Iraq, saying
he
had evidence
proving they
possessed
weapons of mass
destruction,

***

We find a dirty mattress in the trash
that (as Nolan can atest)
makes your fingers burn numb when you touch it,
I believe this is evidence proving we have to
throw trash in the back of the 86 Ford pick-up parked
in the driveway, then cover it up with the previously referred to mattress.

*****

then W.
switched
our
militaries
purpose
for
occupying
Iraq
to being the
creation
of a strategicly
placed
oil
baring
free
nation.

***

Nolan takes a bachgamon board from his backpack
sets up the black & white pieces on the table
of this porch we’ve decided to occupy, as I pack a bowl.
Both of us not quite sure if we should be here,
(but neither of us willing to admit it) we smoke and laugh,

*****

“ The Tanners
are gonna
really be
fucked up
about this
when they realize
what
went on
when they
were sleeping!"

Instant Karma Car-Bomb Or Howard Stern And The Creative Process

2005-03-10T18:44:00.000-08:00

AT a red light
SOMEone looking INNNter-rupted &
VAAAAAGguely female comes to the window
ASKS if she can WASH your language

(then wraps her lips around the tail pipe)
Afraid your PHOnetics have become syyyyyRUPy
and your eNUNciAtion has conTRACTed ALien limMB SYNdrome
-you write everything you think-

BREAKFAST fire eNGine
(that woman had a real nice brush) turn left violets
try this for your diamonds covered in VIOLINS &
the silhouette of a CANDLEstick

The frequency of nuerological activity causes you
to PULL THE CAR OVER to preVENT
the comPOSITION from deCOMPOSing
into an INterIOR MONoloGue
with the ending milked-out-into-clicks-and-beeps

ANGRy HAIr
punNNGGgenNTt POIGNNnnantT SHIFTED DOVE CANNON
driftwood pedestal? platonic blowjob.

Realizing as the FCC guidelines suggest
the more exhaust one intakes the less apparent their gender

& after experiencing the finite possibilities of paper
you MOVE the MARK of your MARKer to the interior of the car
carving a vagrant rossetta stone into the seats-ceiling-windows-dash

eVASive APHIds VIbrATE a VAcuum VAse
exHUBERant LUBRIcant VAPid TRAFfic
I am the worlds foremost authority
on my own opinion: BACKdoor cum STAHL (Instant Karma Car-Bomb)

Fed up with the anDROGYnous BLOVIating
EMinating from BElow the Back BUMPer
you abandon the vehicle -shake scraps of paper from your lap-
& set task to flesh; writing on arms-legs-face-chest

ASsoOCciAtion AssAssinAtion AGnostic FAnATic
oBituary ssluT Arbitrary BlumPkin (deviated handshake)
watching your skin bLUR WIth WORds you notice the instructions have been left:

1. PuT the feLT TiP to your sofT PalaTe
2. mIX iNK and diCTion INto A pATHoLOGICal LOTtioN
3. FilL your mouth with the IlLicit LIquid
4. GarGle Till she can TelL WHat you inTEND

could've if would've

2005-03-10T18:33:00.000-08:00

The U. N. should've got a blank flag and colored it in together.
People should talk in permanent marker.
There should've been a dead fly in a pool of milk
a wheel barrow filled with a burning bush & a bucket of water.
It should rain all day everywhere so we can see through everybody's shirt.
I should perform this naked. I should get arrested.
I should quit writing and get back to
work. Confused dead languages should be irrelevant.
This poem should be translated into 1,000 dead languages.

10x42

2005-03-10T18:15:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna pack a bowl
cause the J-O-B is F-U-C-T.
I'm gonna crack a blunt
cause morning glories are useless in the afternoon.

I'm gonna spin a spliff
cause George Bush. George Washington filled a pipe
cause he crossed the Potomic.

I'm gonna pull some tubes
because behind me there's salt being
tossed through the air.
I'm gonna burn a dank nug cause GO FUCK YOURSELF.

I'm gonna put a pin in a piece of hash
cause someone spread egg shells all over the floor.
I'm gonna sit back &
get stoned cause somebody else will do it.

I'm gonna fashizzle my nizzle
cuz the grizzle is izzle
in this part of the hizzle, bizzle.
I'm gonna Pass The Duche To The Left Hand Side
cause I've been hoping fences for to long to not already have hit the grass.

I'm gonna take a puff off the piece pipe
cause I'm both an Auto-bot & a Decepti-con.
I'm gonna keep killing brain cells
cause one of these days I'm gonna catch the one I've been hunting.