THE FOLLOWING BOOKS
WERE PUBLISHED WITH
WORK OFF OF THIS BLOG!!!!



FOR MORE INFO ON HAPPY HOUR
AND HOW TO ORDER, CLICK HERE:

http://lokidesign.net/2356/2010/11/four-minutes-to-midnight-issue-eleven%E2%80%94happy-hour/

"To tell you the truth, I'm pretty burned out
on meat poetry or street poetry or poetry of
the down-and-out, whatever you want to call
it, because so much of it is bullshit; either bogus
motherfuckers who never shed blood but
insinuate themselves into the lives of those
who have and then make a name for themselves
by writing generic imitations, or a bunch of
middle-class kids still living at home talking
tough, aping Bukowski, Wantling, levy, Micheline...
but HAPPY HOUR is the real thing. Stark precision.
It's stripped down, bare bones authentic.
You be the real McCoy, amigo..."
-John Bennett


A new EBOOK!
FREE DOWNLOAD!
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO:
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/pesticide-drift/9128215


DRINKING & THINKING
FROM BLUE PRESS,
SANTA CRUZ, CA. 2010
"For a while, now, outside of
what you/ve been doing
outside Klamath Falls and what
Todd Moore was doing outside
Albuquerque, not much
integrity married to the inside
dope of the poetic imagination
as far as my jaded view
has been concerned."
-Michael C. Ford


SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
From 48th Street Press,
Philadelphia, PA. 2010
"SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
is simply a great piece of work."
-GERALD NICOSIA


TASTE THE
From If Year Books,
Brooklyn, N.Y. 2009
"A cool little scrabble of
fugitive pieces, some
handwritten, some paste-
ups, all laid in like a scrapbook
miscellany with mean teeth."
-Kevin Opstedal, Ukulele Feedback


DON'T SAY A WORD
From Blue Press,
Santa Cruz, CA. 2008
"F. A. Nettelbeck isn't
fucking around."
-Patrick Dunagan,
galatea resurrects #9




Signed copies are $10 each,
plus $2 postage and handling...
checks payable to F. A. Nettelbeck,
POB 69, Beatty, OR 97621 U.S.A.
__________________________________




12/31/07

DIE

Kill all you worse than my stinking runny shit assholes

who voted for Bush and not with kindness but with hatred die

Kill all you execs in the corporate Rock world who sign

on the dotted line the insipid lackluster robot mummies die

Kill all you haters of beings with fur who could eat

your face if they weren't dieing from human kindness die

Kill all you celebrity cunts who are too stupid to

leave Hollywood when the cocksucking has just gotten good die

Kill all you planet strangling Christians who are the perfect curse

tonguing my asshole through your please believe me smile die

Kill all you dead on arrival poets too scared to say kill the evil

and all those responsible for it and their heinous mothers die

Kill all you terrorist pus licking cocksuckers who think me

and all my real American friends are punks suck it Muhammad die

Kill all you fucking pig cops who took my father's party away all

the bars making us wear seat belts and helmets especially you die

Kill all you who think global warming ain't real and cancer ain't a

plot by the rich corporate devils now eating your wife's tits die

Kill all you doctors smoking a joint while the answering machine

fills up with the lost voices of those strung out on methadone die

Kill all you arty stars folding your wallet with millions made off of

impoverished kids saving pennies to buy your action figure die

Kill all you gutless Americans so scared to take it to the streets as

you stand outside of the Today show shaking Al Roker's hand die

TELL THE DUST

without the aid of
others or verbal
charms the clock
is swept clean of
later life so recklessly
extravagant like
minimum wage
yet some newborn
seconds are given
free as a courtesy
with that medly of
faces of those who
we have fucked
literally and
figuratively to
continue making
this all worth living

12/30/07

I doubt anyone will be
the same again.


-------------------------------------
writing about the
destruction of modern
entertainment and art
-------------------------------------


Nothing is coincidence, not
anymore.

12/29/07


A Brief History Of The Apocalypse




"Real Soon Now"




"Anytime Now"




"Pretty Soon Now"

12/28/07

Lost Resolutions

bb gun of arms dank with solvent
a cluster of spokes speaking
of sidewalks it's in that carnival
headlock when a spongy face must
absorb fortress friendships the baseball
card spitball imitating a mother's
voice calling all home where a
piano is waiting to be mimicked
while bones compress against auld
lang syne in hopes one of you will
become a man

12/27/07

In The Greenroom

Talk me down.



(or memory leak detector

) sleep is preparation

for death,

12/26/07

I MET YOUR WOMAN

panhandling in
front of the
sperm bank.

12/22/07

A Christmas Story

1
Slohump tucked her quarters up under the rail of the table, she wanted to play. Frank had already played and won four games, he was tired. "Nah, I'll pass," he told her. "Fuck you, white eyes, " she laughed. Frank waved her off with his right hand like you would a summer fly. Slohump must have weighed four to five hundred pounds, her face chiseled from plain meanness. I bet your damn crotch weighs at least a hundred pounds by itself, Frank thought as he sat back down next to Crazy Charlie at the bar. Charlie was talking to a drunken cowboy about some topic he knew absolutely nothing about. That was typical Crazy Charlie, he knew a lot about nothing. "Ain't that right, dawg," Charlie said, slapping Frank on the shoulder. "Shit, yeah," Frank answered, looking around the room. The place was packed, considering it was Christmas eve. He adjusted the four flat boxes that sat in front of him on the bar. Not any Indians though, except for Slohump and Charlie, he thought. Frank and Charlie had driven the fifty miles to town to sell these collector Indian plates that Frank had ordered through the mail from the Franklin Mint. It was a good scam, because you never had to send them any money. They just sent you the plates and billed you. They had both decided to sell the plates and buy something for Charlie's nine-year-old daughter for Christmas. "Fucking cowboys," Charlie told Frank, turning his back on the drunk. Just then, three young well dressed Indian dudes walked in and sat down at a table. Charlie nudged Frank. Frank slid the boxes over to Charlie. Charlie took a plate out of its box, one that had a colorful picture of a war party on it, put it on top of the other boxes and walked over to the table. All that Frank could hear over the loud juke box was Charlie saying, "Hey, dawg." Five minutes later, Charlie came back with four twenty dollar bills. Frank ordered another pitcher of beer and they sat there laughing at their good fortune. It was too bad that it was only 10:30 in the morning. By the time 3:00 in the afternoon rolled around, they were pretty drunk. After buying drinks for all the fools around the bar for the last four hours, all they had in front of them for change was $9.00, and they would need that for gas. They sat there listening to Freddy King sing Christmas Tears on the juke. After awhile Frank said, "Fuck it, let's go to the Salvation Army... it's still early, they got toys." Crazy Charlie nodded as he leaned into Frank. "And merry Christmas to all!" he slurred. They got up, blew kisses to the drunks in the bar, and left out the side door to the parking lot. Frank's old Chevy station wagon sat there like a dinosaur next to all those new pickup trucks. They got in and Frank carefully drove the fifteen minutes it took to get to the Sally. They could see there was a light on in the back. Frank parked the wagon and they half stumbled up to the front door and knocked. A small grey shadow appeared and became larger as it approached the glass door. The shadow was now wearing a uniform and had grey hair. The door opened and an old man said, "I am the Commander, may I help you?" Frank and Charlie looked at each other. "He needs some toys for his daughter for Christmas," Frank finally said. He didn't seem to remember speaking. "Come with me," the Commander said. He took them down a hallway that opened into a large room. "This is all we have left... grab some of those plastic bags and take what you need," The Commander then went and stood against a wall watching them. The room was filled with cardboard boxes full of Barbie Dolls, all in clear plastic packaging. Frank and Charlie smiled at each other and began to fill trash bags with Barbie Dolls. When they thought they had enough, they stood up and looked at the Commander. "All right then," the Commander said, and he walked out of the room into the hallway. Frank and Charlie followed, carrying the trash bags full of dolls as the Commander then escorted them to the front door. "You boys have a good Christmas now," the Commander said, locking the glass door behind them. "Thanks dawg!" Charlie yelled through the glass. The uniform then turned into a small grey shadow once again.


2
In the morning, Frank slowly opened his eyes and began to realize that he was in his house. He opened his mouth to yawn, and his breath turned into a small white ghost. No fire in the stove. He began to piece things together. It was snowing. He had dropped Crazy Charlie off somewhere. Tiny asses, legs... no... tits, arms... fuck, the dolls! At least parts of it were coming back. He got up out of bed and noticed that he was still dressed. It was freezing. He went to get a glass of water. It was eleven a.m. and he was flat hungover. He looked out the window and saw the Chevy out front. That was a very good sign. He then remembered it was Christmas day, and that he was invited over to these Indian's house for a party and dinner. Fuck making a fire. At least they'd have some beer. He locked the front door and went to go warm up the wagon. He opened the door and got in, and saw all these Barbie Dolls all over the front seat, some with their arms and legs torn off. The floor was covered in plastic packaging. He didn't notice any beer anywhere. It'd be frozen anyway, he thought. He pushed the dolls, legs, and arms onto the floor, and tried to start the Chevy. On the third try she fired right up. It didn't take him long to drive the ten miles to Beatty, even though the road was solid ice. When he got to Trina's big green house, something didn't seem quite right. There were only three cars in the yard, and nobody was pissing off of the porch. He parked, walked up to the front door, and knocked. Trina opened the door and let him in. Her old man and a couple of other people were sitting around the kitchen table, drinking. Frank sat down and Trina got him a beer. "What the fuck's up?" Frank finally asked. They were all so solemn. "Kevin blew his brains out with the 12 gauge early this morning in the back bedroom," Trina explained. "Fuck...," was all Frank could say, his hangover giving him a feeling of floating. Kevin was Trina's pretty teenaged daughter's white boyfriend from California. "The cops took the body out of here a couple of hours ago, come on," Trina lead Frank to the back bedroom. Through the open door, Frank could see Trina's sister and a couple other women scrubbing the brain matter off of the walls with toothbrushes. "Fuck...," Frank said again. He went back to go sit at the kitchen table and drink beer. Trina's old man and another guy named Eyeballs were now playing dominoes. Frank had always hated Christmas. He sipped on his beer.

12/20/07

King Of Angels

king of angels
went down to

hellhole earth
got himself lost

and found in
a newsworthy

rubble made
otiose with the

lack of fresh faces
for his photo op

in the bloodshot
shadows beginning

to make it look
a lot like christmas

THE BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL

re-create your shadow
in cities you've never
been in.

12/19/07

Stories

The boat is the story the ocean tells.
-Bob Heman


The ocean is
the story the
boat plagiarizes.

12/17/07

Of Poets And Men

I was 16 and started writing poems and that
was really stupid I also jacked off these huge
loads and I thought the sentence thee sentences
well that was better that is better than my teachers
explaining some shit man what a joke that thinking
turned out to be so when I got older one time I met
this prick Robert Duncan and you talk about an asshole
I still dislike him he thought his sister was a piece of
shit bending the bow suck dick and get over it Jesus
he was really a creep I was talking to Kenneth Rexroth
once and he was pretty cool standing there with his
pornstar daughter telling me how Bukowski was
"vicious" that was funny then one time I saw Gerard
Malanga in a subway station in NYC but didn't say
nothing which was weird because years before he
wanted to fuck my girlfriend back in Santa Cruz when
he wore this lumberjack shirt and took pictures of me
passing out in a sleaze ball bar now is that poetry I don't
know but he turned Jim Morrison onto leather he told
me that but then who wouldn't suck off Jim Morrison

12/16/07

THE MOMENT

He was still alive.
If I blackout that is my alibi.
memory the out wipe blacout to live so as to wipe out the memory
To wipe out memory is the goal.
likness a back give or alibi to give back a likeness
trick the do to trick dote do trick to do the trick
Give back your likeness to whosoever gave it.
alibi blackout my ever my blackout alibi
I abolish limbos.
something yone has done smething
with the guts GUTS TO
Do it if you have the guts.
IT the mystic we all have done something
adjst the cmera angle to cause to waste away
when the moment is right ad who know
I will ncome this way again
To the last person on earth left adjusting the camera angle.
researching fr a role my stolen options
STOLN OPTINS who will left
if the cnfession in tested sobbing
We have all done something.
IN GRISLY CONFESSION
over you are still a missing person
you are not coming this way again
You will not come this way again researching for a role out of touch ot of options
The beauty of it
to not set foot here again
forever
just one more time

FALSIFIED DOCUMENTS

In a country of
homeless pets.



12/15/07

SERIAL

The owner prizes his mask
above all else, and it is
usually burned at his death.

12/14/07

Keep Drinking

this cheap Australian chardonnay on
ice is better than running out of gas in
Long Beach or hearing those anti-
shoplifting buzzers going off right
before you gotta start running
again it's like that no pussy in
three years and now you're back
at the clinic sitting with this chick
who's as dull as her Goodwill panties
makes you want to light yourself on
fire and jump on Jesus if you ever
got the chance to see him I mean a
final wish situation like calling talk
radio on a flophouse hallway phone
and ultimately not having nothing to say
no idea where you're going with it next
as you stare dumbfounded at the wall
where someone has scribbled
This isn't so bad

12/13/07

12/11/07






"When everybody's opening up
their presents, I'll be opening up
my wrists."






12/10/07

Retrospective

A finespun sylph in a
tattered chancre
is reciting madrigals
to the uterus in
polyped increments.

12/9/07

Some Notes On The Filming Of BUG DEATH



everything changed on television a mandate

wiped clean with the perfumed wrists of

the first date so traditional like a gun

cleaning kit in the glove box far from

being romantic the rape sequence was

filmed in black and white on an

immaculate beach of a private island

owned by a hip-hop artist with some

cornball name and questionable pull

with minor gangsters back in the

garment district in NYC well of course

I was taken aback as a moth would be

in an abandoned rooming house mirror

on St. Valentine's day I mean that is

quite a palate cleanser let me tell

you and when she stared wide-eyed

as I penetrated myself with the

vibrator I thought she would forget her

lines altogether I mean it was more

than an attachment to some poet it was

acting for god's sake and she held it

together oh and I remember that Mexican

grip asking me 'todo?' but he never called

back it's not easy remaking a classic you

know that's why I shunned the party circuit

back then it's like handwriting you've never

seen in a guest book you won't remember


12/7/07

SYMPOSIUM

poverty is the wall you drink
through and please don't
quote me Bukowski he is
no longer out-of-print
you asshole look at
me when I'm talking
to you ever been afraid?
took 29 stitches to the
face fighting a lesser fool
with a pipe over some bitch
whose cunt is now cold in
the smirking ground
thank god my goatee
covers this massive
scar so I can still get
work in porno flicks no
you fuck of course I'm
kidding (unintelligible)
I don't read Jean Genet
I just read headlines
they're free no no shit this
ain't no empty posturing
I got the last round it's your
turn now man

12/6/07

No Country For Young Men

Christmas music plays

as oblivious shoppers

the soft targets

now make me famous

12/4/07

BLACK SPONGES

valley of death I'm still walking
not one motherfucker did tell
me it would be easy ain't that
a trip high profile escape glans
estuary and plasm smeared
reticent on canvases I want my
fucking country back you talking
to me silly putty faced asshole the
gun feel the gun that gun at
your own head on the brightest
of days wet tables wet hair the
black sponges containing answers
yodel lady who'll stop the clock
fuck rain slip into more comfortable
DNA like the sleeve of brutal night
tailored in a mirror by these neuro
friendly ghosts remaking all new

12/3/07

Ugly Whether

no
fuck you
and
muhammad

12/2/07

THINGS TO DO TODAY

buy this Indian's food stamp
card for half of its face valuea
sell half of the old lady's
prescriptions to those with
the need the no limit eyesa
take all the free weed you can
from these self-important
medical marijuana growers
thinking they're
doing you a favora
always resell that shit in
the budget ziploc bagsa
only shoplift the necessitiesa
if Jesus wouldn't do it there
must be something to ita
never ever forget to smilea

11/30/07

Love Stinks

Sex don't
smell too
good either.

11/29/07

GLASS DICK

that
acrid
white
smoke

is
now
your
ghost,

wouldn't
that
have
been

so
funny
back
then?

11/28/07

SITTING HERE GETTING DRUNK WAITING FOR MERLE HAGGARD TO DIE




So I can really get drunk.

ALTERNATIVE RADIO

exhumed. what my life has been
like,
I've worn your genitals now you
wear mine
and you're a police officer
and a suspect

fine you) you. it was the end of
pretty much every conversation
we had: accident staged to cover

a murder

(frozen in the moment of the
poisonous double take

)what a good shot man

sometimes when you cum on me,
I think of the song "Nice Shot"
by Filter

sometimes.

just static now

11/27/07

The Joke

you haven't lived until you stand
up 6 ft. looking out right at
ground level of the grave you
just helped dig with your partners
for your dead old lady and
everybody's drinking MD 20/20
when you look up at all them laughing
at your drunken white ass as
they help you out of the hole

11/26/07

THIS IS AN OLD POEM FOR MY EX-WIFE SERENA MARIE WHO WAS FOUND DEAD THIS MORNING:




FOR THE RESPONDENT


I savor you in
glimpses

a bus stop

your black hair
silver in sunlight

days I remember
holding you

precious

like a plastic
Indian doll
your eyes pulled
upwards into your
head by the rubber
band of
crank

we are married we
have the same name

liar

cheat

abuser

lost one

The Virus

It's a viciousgman
to live becaugtted
Another is e gecau
claimed innoganot
executed be ged gu
Monk was a ge. H
a poet, woregd a b
and had the g
of an
I've ever mege had
education, wgever
Some time agten q
while he recighad a
quiet voice tgyour
out. Monk ggof po
which I sentgiends
when he wasgave a
poetry awaygsee M



11/25/07

HOUSE

how why
understand

you'll understand
you

so once

11/23/07

Beneath The Volcano

one cannot live without love
on the day of those dead
when the sentences snap
like the cheap beads on
your most beautiful of
necks don't break my
glass only fill it my dear
let's lose it all in our love
even if it's only two fat
bellies covered in sweat
we're fucking on the moon
when you close your eyes
we'll float like the matador
there is nothing holding
us here any longer and
when you come please call
me by somebody else's
name anybody's so that
way I don't have to answer
you when I do get up to leave

ANOTHER KISS

Her mouth sucks in my
tongue in a twilight
embrace on the street,

I'm drunk-

there are never enough
hands to smooth back
imprisoned faces.

A week later her mouth
sucks in the plastic
bag deciphering
breath:

another kiss,

one more excuse to
write the poem.

11/20/07

FOR NOTHING

thanks for the snowy egret on this plate
thanks for the foster home full of dead bodies
thanks for the clitoris that feels all pain
thanks for the thermal pollution of our lips
thanks for the myrmidon that we call president
thanks for the nine days' wonder of celebrity
thanks for the withholding tax on the rapture
thanks for the artficial intelligence asking our questions
thanks for the weasel words they publish in books
thanks for the cleavage on the suicide bomber
thanks for the group therapy of solitary confinement
thanks for the fancy dress with nothing left to eat
thanks for the biosphere that makes a great target
thanks for the autopsy at our local pharmacy
thanks for the doomsday maternity ward smiles
thanks for the reveille of saying thanks for nothing

asshole

11/19/07

Black Water

Old grey vehicles grey sky lost grey skates at Bullhead Lake smoky ghosts of breath from my uncle's grey face. Of course this is memory and memory is a random diagnosis. My cousin hit the guard rail above the canal riding it on two wheels before tipping over into iced black water. Watching the divers searching for his milk van on a grey tv screen. Top stories. His corpse now as frozen as this turkey was just three days ago. Uncle guides the blade through the fibrous white meat. Independent pathologist. Grey deep memories of smoky ghosts. The whiskey is in the trunk. Ever notice grey Chicago in winter drinking Old Style randomly into iced black water pull over and get me some whiskey? Out hunting in the early grey dawn. Pushes me off the sled. Spread his cheeks and showed me his butthole. Snowing in the grey frozen photos in iced black water. Olives rolling off of the table. Crushing the silver ornaments into a grey rug. Bloodied dead pheasants in a pool of water on the wooden floor next to some black rubber galoshes. Old grey voices in the other room around deep memories around lost holiday tables. Summer forts are covered in snow now... The next year on a warm bright day a boy finds an old pair of rusty ice-skates near the lake.

11/18/07

MY LIFE IN AMERICA



It's an ordinary day,


and then, out of the blue, from a friend, coworker,
e-mail or CNN, you hear the news: Somebody
famous died.

How could it have happened? What went wrong?
He had so much to live for. She seemed so young.

Necromancer Entropies

(so broke stealing bottles
of whiskey and change
off of graves at the
Indian cemetery)

11/16/07

Our Name Is Albert Ayler

for MJK

light in darkness

the change has come
spirits rejoice
when truth is marching in

our prayer
to angels

holy ghosts

the bells
the bells
the bells
the bells

11/14/07

ANY POET CAN TELL YOU

you're just pulling the wet food stamps
out of a hooker's stinking snatch
let's taser the christians first there
ain't no more room in this ant farm
reverend I left my birth certificate
in the glove box of a hearse on the rims
I left my dirty rig in your little girl's day
care sand box a sticky situation what
life is short but death is long and I'm still
waiting in line behind these obese frogs
nephew get your ass out while you still can
they all suck they just don't all swallow







gggggggggggggggggg
I saw this one before.
gggggggggggggggggg









11/13/07





___________________________________________________
"when the day comes, we will not
ask whether you swung to the right
or whether you swung to the left;
we will simply swing you by the neck"






11/12/07

HELTER SKELTER

for the Chas on his 73rd

so they finally did let out
Charlie Manson in his
prison wheelchair and
he's all pissed off and
ready to mow down
you and your girl-
friends right in front
of the new McDonald's

you should

A) sidestep him and let
him roll out into traffic

B) let him hit you and
then try and sue the
State of California

C) hit him upside his
shriveled head with
your Gucci bag

D) let the devil sort
it out

11/11/07

THE DANCE

This is the sentence the ferris wheel spins with the severed arms on the 11th hour on the 11th

day your mask is grainy and torn all greys except for the aching red detail of that frozen smile

an untold story inside those testicles of steel now just dust on children's faces redoubtable as the

carnival leaves the clearing by the river of rolling heads yet inside this dirty frame in some dark

corner of an antique store you are still dancing.

11/10/07





A good job, a
good education;
he wanted to
drive his car
into a crowd
of people.





11/9/07

On Food

Dolphins surround the surfer
being pestered by a shark:
give me a dollar motherfucker,
I will not work for food.

11/8/07

POEM ON THE EVE OF MY 57th BIRTHDAY

the more I drink the more I drink
alone with my dripping memories
I used to fuck you ass in the air
when my cock came back out
your cunt lips looked like a pink
sleeve and that's not the half
of it I cryed for all you bitches
for all you brothers gone and
erased no chance to say goodbye
one handful of pills never said
goodbye and I know you would
have you lowrider you cowboy
you redneck operator you Indian
girl my baby hair spread on
asphalt sticky with blood right
is right and wrong is wrong
hold your mud all erased all
erased as I sit here still
breathing I wonder what
the poor people are
doing

11/7/07

American Unknown

appearance of the mummies
& skulls



"most of all I remember
you"

no plans, no streets.
_____________________

when he was dead, cold
flowers
& songs about nothing
that were easy to
remember.
----------------------------------
when you were dead
I couldn't look into
your eyes.
----------------------------------
when I died, flowing
in sleep,
I forgot what I
wanted but I heard
your fading voice.

11/6/07

THE REVERSE 411

You don't
know shit.

11/5/07

carbon footprints,
_________________
(ENDS OF THE EARTH


en
ds o
f the
earth.
p
o
l
e
=
t
o
=
p
o
l
e
END OF THE EARTH)


th
e en
d o
f the
earth.
--------------------------
"the ecotourists smiled"



Movie stars
in town,
going down
to the shooting.




11/3/07

CHOLA EMPYREAN

putting makeup on
in a candy apple
reflection

11/1/07









The oncologist smiles.











10/31/07

HALLOWEEN

the Lord's Prayer is recited backward

over a dead hummingbird wrapped

in embroidery thread of brilliant

colors as Americans suddenly rain

down from the sky in a final release

of energy before being buried

alive with their masters

10/30/07




The bright lights and
the go-go dancers
acted as a lure
for the lonely
sailor.




10/29/07

DESOLATION ANGEL

My stimulants are all
in agony wiped across
a cataract while hitch-
hiking this desert
postal card inside a
mailbox at noon.

10/27/07

All Love

you don't lose
your woman

you just lose
your turn

10/26/07

THIS FROM A NOTEBOOK CIRCA EARLY 1970'S L.A.:

lonely arms

,flowers

child noise.

we find the
message
amusing.

what / fine

way

the leaping breath.



freedom. music
of arms

,terrible

th
__

let / mouth /
pain.

wash the
face:

scrape god/goo/d



body pumping
blood,
soundless deep
sanctuary.

A man displays
his visions
by the way
he walks,
straining at
the legs every
world he knows.

I strain against

air do not
notice
particles/ /sounds
the foot
steps of
creatures lonely
as I.



do not ask
the air

solid worry

your cold beginning



walking
down the hill
drunk. the
years like voices

our laughter; birth



never to replace
this flesh

10/25/07

YOU HAVE TO DIE FOREVER

for Susie


to make time pass.

10/24/07

WALKWAY

there are secrets
while staring
at your hands
opening and
closing black
deep lines
silhouetting
the biography
much crisper
than a first
shadow

10/23/07

The Music

if you were drinking
in that ambulance
of despair on a
rainy night in
Georgia

wearing Conway
Twitty's shoes

it wouldn't mean
any less than

if she had
squatted on
your face
when you weren't
looking

and you
couldn't hear
the music

at all

46 BILLION DOLLARS MORE

Other presidents
were shot for
a lot less.

10/21/07

liesliesESlieslies
PRO
GRESS
proress
rather story from
be
ginn
ing to end
end toing frm story
DMIN
TE
dominate
MACRATE
mac
erate
GENE
RALITY
gerality
the story is from
the
story
PRREAT
prreate
proc
re
ate
OBLI
T
ERATE
rat
E
FP
TOZ
LPED
FECTD

10/20/07

HIKING THE AFGHAN BACKCOUNTRY

while a guide book is not a substitute for

Spawn Caddy
Blow Up All Cars)

regenerating and lactating
Pandora's box from the Holy Grail?


Across the Bamiyan Valley.



"those goat fuckers have our oil"

perfect handling, suicide, all green lights
This route can be hazardous until late summer

Never Get Hungry
Riot Mode
Spawn Dozer)

including nearby showers, laundry, restaurant, tap
room, grocery store, etc.

Infinite Ammo, No Reload....
Piss On Them And Their Mothers....



Field Notes: Not officially maintained, easy hike.
Opium and oil. Great Buddha dawn. Everyone is armed.
Stopped at abandoned patrol cabin where a huge dead
tree stands. Fucked its last remaining occupant in his
greasy ass, then made him suck the shit and cum off
our pricks. Capped the asshole. If you plan to camp
in this area, the vicinity of the patrol cabin makes
ideal spot.



Yet all too many Americans have neglected this vital
part of their education.

What point would there be in going if he had all
the answers?

For some it might be frightening, especially at night.



DIFFICULT ROUTE FUNHOUSE THEME


Invisible Car
Adrenaline Mode
Full Weapon Aiming While Driving)


I am a veteran, so say thank you.




in a mandorla of light





10/18/07

DANCING WITH THE STARS

exception to the broken rule
on any sidewalk
knock on any door
I didn't know you were drunk
until I seen you sober
the Virgin of Guadalupe
on your pay-for-view
motel box covered in
Burger King wrappers
you should have been
aborted on New Year's day
nobody on call but
the addicted janitor
asleep at the wheel
playing it for laughs
with time running out
it's another disaster for
the working poor
under neon light
a street with no name
is just another dead end
in this greatest country






"Oh yeah, suck my cock, Paula, it feels so good," Frank breathed.









10/17/07

BLOW FOR CANINES

skies filled with

letters than flames

like skies filled
w/letters

, flames

(I like the skies filled

with letters.

Then flames.

TELL A GREEN MAN

copycat hate crimes

"anonymous noose"

10/16/07

The Game

He ran out into the arena and knelt down on the sand with the cape swirled out in front of him. I told him, yes, I was pushing junk, and he bought ten caps. Even in Egypt he refused to appear in public without this superfluous outer garment, and, though the African sun had turned the threadbare cape almost as yellow as the desert sands, he was not to be separated from it until he had picked up another in some charitable institution of the city. The light illumined and horribly distorted his face, so that his eyes looked like coals of fire and his mouth stretched joylessly back upon the gums. There were hundreds like him, beachcombers, castaways, drunks and gentlemen, gentlemen drunks who never go back-old-timers, landlopers, birds of passage, bums and remittance men, sons of parsons, dodging the police, peddling drugs on the waterfronts-lazy fellers boozing in the sun. Together we skirted the ragged confines of the festival in the half-darkness of the hot night, and at last the Magzub came to a long broken wall of earth-bricks which had once demarcated gardens now abandoned and houses now derelict. "Good, good. Come on in. I've seen you driving your car. You must have an interesting job." Ventriloquism. His hand was now golden in dashboard light, reaching for a pint of Old Crow, amber as pine pitch. The sun came up slowly over the bare mountain ridges. The country was flat and desertlike. There was not a tree as far as we could see. It looked like west Texas. I was prepared to sit politely while he skidded us off the highway and we rolled and smacked at seventy miles an hour through the cactus and desert clay. "Lock the windows," he said, engrossed in pressing the button which raised the canvas top. His kit dropped onto the Chevy's floor, spider wise his lisp lost twice now his hand touching the mannikin's thigh, "I love the human race." I felt a kind of diffidence in him, as though he had done wrong, though unwittingly, and were ashamed. "I'll be back by suppertime." It is nightfall in the small town and the air cools a little as you sit in the back seat of the Chevy with its dusty stink of upholstery that scratches your bare legs: when one takes a hand one must play the game....




Comprised of lines from the work of Barnaby Conrad, William Burroughs, Harry A. Franck, James Baldwin, Dylan Thomas, Lawrence Durrell, Peter Benchley, Robert Roripaugh, Ernie Pyle, Norman Mailer, F. A. Nettelbeck, W. Somerset Maugham, Flora Durham, and Joseph Conrad.

10/14/07

AFTER FUCKING

in this bed

our two
selves merge

into a whorl
of skin

above the
inculcating

desert of
deep sleep

we become
our own

nameless
child

a vegetable
of typecast

flesh

lost in the
heat of our

own separate
convictions

we can assume

there will
at least

be love

10/12/07

RAFFLE TO BENEFIT MR. F. A. NETTELBECK

Old poets waiting on death throwing up at the sun.
-Alta Ifland


movie as poem as life as poem as your death face poem
I have removed the doors and I stand with you as these
tickets are only a dollar each or six for five and being a
real poet in America is slow suicide but you know that
right you read the books you grow or perish you turn the
pages or you turn a cold eye someone watching today yes
can inspire others the negative others the ones beaten
backs against the sun fingering that imaginary trigger as
poem yet who sincerely admire beauty as poem as being
sad as poem as your chances in the prison without bars
as poem as good as that poem really is you do not
need to be present to win

10/11/07










_____________________________________
CHEMO IN MY KIMONO










10/10/07

DRY DREAM

awake
and now where to place
this tongue

obedient

coming out of the dry
dream

of sun bleached skulls
from all those
bad lovers

arranged in an
articulate mosaic
resembling romantic
history

a festering postcard
of lost flesh

or this last kiss
I now give to you

as unnatural as your
mouth

RANDY PUT THE KNIFE BACK DOWN ON THE HOOD OF THE CAR

He sniffed his
fingers.

He liked their
weird metal
smell after
touching the
blade.

10/9/07

girl.


game girl hairy asian girl black tall girl horny thai girl
japanese pretty girl very fat girl adult indian girl
white teen school girl fat girl in bikini black bad girl
horny girl next door japanese girl in panties fly girl
hairy black girl indian dream girl fat bottomed girl
hot college girl asian girl on girl horny russian girl
indian bar girl black street girl girl girl my girl
sad white girl girl smoking new girl in town

10/7/07

AMERIKA

to Jon Carroll

"the poor hate their TracFones
and force their agony
to dance"

10/6/07

Blurred Like Cold Windows

baby was
drinking from
the nozzle

10/5/07

Grape Vodka All Afternoon

I'm smoking a joint with the Zodiac Killer
the lame fuck you gotta call him
'Zode' and not make fun of
his stupid glasses Jesus

so me and the Zode have been
drinking grape vodka all
afternoon and we're pretty toasted

now when this fool dummies up
you gotta watch your ass the
weird fuck

so he ain't saying nothing
and I try to engage him in
some conversation

I tell him that Lake Berryessa thing
was pretty tasty a righteous
hood dude you looked pretty radical
and the prick looks at me

then he makes some jerks sideways and
pukes all over my decorative Wal-Mart
throw rug OW you son of a bitch
cipher this

and I pull my knife

10/4/07

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say,
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

-EMILY DICKINSON




I have a lot of friends. I have all kinds of children
yet I have no one to speak to

extinct statistic much grimmer than

old books




Listless disorder.




Linguists believe 3,400 to 6,120 languages

could become extinct by 2100, a statistic

much grimmer than the common estimate

of about one language death every two weeks.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

why not me pretending it doesn't hurt not a whisper

unintended




That languages die.
__________________________________
my skull is completely empty completely
taken from the why the lost why the
look my son smeared with smeared
numb headlines the artist's headlines
frown grimmer than estimated frown grimmer
my lost skull considered at risk at risk
from the lost book of cultural lost book
diversity father the why not me diversity




every cloud has a silver lining

he who hesitates is lost

happy families are all alike

two hearts that beat as one

ships that pass in the night



demolition woman?

can I be your man?


"now it's all as useless as repeating a dream"




REPREHEND




stumbling drunk past a box of old books
at the yard sale



why the Emily Dickinson frown grimmer




starting to rain.....







WORD IS DEAD

infected with the hope in the face
infected with the violence
infected with the every cloud
infected with the old ways
infected with the do not stray
infected with the no choice
infected with the two hearts
infected with the speak softly
infected with the showing a liking
infected with the light which shines
infected with the he who hesitates
infected with the no payment
infected with the happy families
infected with the unlawful manner
infected with the nameless unremembered
infected with the ships that pass
infected with the you who must
infected with the most unkindest
infected with the not returning
infected with the word is dead

10/3/07

The Perfume

I'm smoking a joint with Harry Crosby
the little fucking bon vivant
always whining

and we're waiting in front of this club
for Henry and June to pick us up
and they're always late always
sucking each other or somebody
off somewhere

so he starts going on about WAR!
WAR! WAR! fuck man I tell him
shut thee fuck up all you ever
did was drive an ambulance

you know the scene
oh yeah? oh yeah?

and the fool takes
off down the blvd.

now who do I spot coming
across the street but
Erik Satie and shit he's
always good
for some ecstasy

so we hook up just as
these fine little latinas
pass by

and I follow the perfume

10/1/07

I BLOW THROUGH THE CONCH OF THE TRICKSTER'S SKULL

I want my glassine wrists pumping
with what used to be the blood of
insects back when this was a country
of human beings as I blow through the
conch of the trickster's skull the neurons
that sprang from a finite dust containing
the faces of those who mimed before us

9/30/07




OR
BOMB
I RAN
OR
BOMB I RAN
WITH THE BOMB
OR
I RAN WITH THE BOMB
BOMB I RAN
OR
WITH THE BOMB
I RAN
OR
WITH THE BOMB
I RAN WITH
OR
BOMB I RAN
WITH THE

BOMB







The Black Rimbaud

I pulled you up
by both your
shoulders in
your green
army coat

straightened
you out and
guided you to
the stage

you weren't
even that
fucked
up

the 5th Annual
Santa Cruz Poetry
Festival

I was a promoter

you never said
a word to me

went on stage and
mumbled mumbled
mumbled

rhythmic like music
like the thread of
speech imploding
on mute

some local bitch
poet came up and
personally closed
the curtain on
your somber
litany

you who only
walked on that
one side of
the street

who was short
changed

who stood alone
in the
ancient rain

the cocksuckers

I had you in my
arms and guided
you back off

they booed you

9/29/07


gggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
Saddam Hussein never bowed his head, until his neck snapped.
gggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

9/28/07




This ought never to have happened.

I had to eat the entrails of my remark.

She rolled her eyes and gave me that look.

That was no news.

All of their good intentions were forgotten now.

His eyes scanned the cheap print.

I waited for a while.




9/27/07

LOVE POEM FOR GREG EVASON

dead man walking
alive man walking
Christopher Walken

in the mood for a shape
shifting sunburn
on all of your different
faces

because these who we
write the words down
for as front runners

ain't that interested
and that is hunky-
dory with me

my full blessings

without any hatred

in the palms of our
hands

where the sun don't
shine

it's on your shoulders

but not really

sometimes you eat
the pussy and
sometimes the
pussy eats you
A small cluster of curious bystanders hovered on the
sidewalk.

9/26/07

SCHOOL(art class)

saw the books







saw the books



I seen the books

9/25/07

BLUE METAL FLAKE SMEAR

lowriders

she lay passed out on the hood of the
63' Continental

nobody knowing she was really
that bored
first joints reds and Seagrams

Sunset Boulevard
with her scent on my
hands

with the night on her hands

not one hip sentence yet to come
ribbon the
houses empty of a living thing

but who really gave a fuck

those vintage Sky Saxon skies
filled up real quick with letters

then flames


9/23/07

ALREADY DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

miss thing dampered
as illusion my kisses on
your corpse my little
one mundane
you
you in my night
the worst part
because I did'nt say
that I am best
when the
needle does the
talking
shot up a 20 sack of
minutes and
came in my pants that's
two more years inside
you think I still walk
talk
I
spin the
broken globes

9/21/07

Another Morning And No One Is Rioting In The Streets

shaking off the remnants
of a brokered dream
to get a visual of the lies

it takes waking up in
the greatest country

9/20/07

NO FUTURE IN THE FUTURE

"Sir, have you been drinking this evening?"

TECHNICIANS OF THE TRANSGRESSIVE

going down to the doings





to cop a rig

DON'T BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT JUST YET

there's still a chance

you
might
get

cancer

9/19/07

PORN GUN
NN
GUN PORN PORN GUN
IRAQ GUN GUN IRAQ
PORN PORNNN
GUN PORN PORN GUN
IRAQ GUN GUN IRAQ
PORN PORNNN
GUN PORN PORN GUN
IRAQ GUN
PORNNN
GUN PORN
IRAQ GUN
PORN
NN
GUN IRAQ
The woman thought it was a neighbor and opened the door.



Not moral; not colored; hard ("not soft") she fingered both my nether or sections; a tooth with two fangs or points; every two years; hands as I watched the top of my circulation ("not published"); a pain-reliever ("not pain"); her saliva and the velvety caresses of parts; having two folding "doors", like an oyster staff with the delicious warmth of ("not knowing"); eternal ("not withering"); softly against the veined flesh as together with another, and a colloquy is the conversation from the woman's mouth with a pop, falling opposed to obedience to the moral law. Antipathy is feeling while keeping her grip on the oozing ease germs, non-putrefying ("not rot"); without sex at once on the slippery organ and to humble pride, or to write from dictation; to mistake; to the tender skin of my balls while "possessing a common axis together". Cognate, related, below. I stuck a finger up her rectum, without impregnation ("not married"); doubtful and continued to suck me off; two-tongued (speaking two languages); the use of two contracted around my digits. In return, mimic or to leave; to undertake, or to assume violent grief; she began to use her tongue, suffocation ("not pulse"); having a defect between my widespread legs, taking my blood; making insensible of pain ("not perceive"); absence protested as a drop of white cum from a government ("not remember"); bloodlessness of guiding it past her smooth soft lips against poison.
g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g


"Have a bit of my luck," I said.

9/18/07

Incantation

I love you I drug you these words you can keep
the names of the poets you can keep

this poem is identified with you

so that it becomes you

this poem may be marked with your name
to aid in the identification
of word addicts and
others unrestrained
for mine is the ecstasy of the vowels

the secret door which will always open
upon the syllables that are fast
becoming your face

don't you love me now

when the poem is inside you

9/17/07

LANGUAGE NEST

Endless morphings
Tested by doubt
Is argumentation
In the first place

9/16/07

Second Coming

america eat my shit I am
one of your
poets this would
be funny except
in the world of the ha ha
afterwork crotch suck
you need to
thank me I validate you
I am here
cocksuckers and I'm
pissed off fuck Chas.
Bukowski and fuck
you between your
stinking
lips you
visual concrete
assholes who think
you're doing the
world a favor
you are too special
to put out the flames
fuck you jerks
in college
academically
speaking I'd rather
get drunk with a rock
but yeah
you thinking
me the fool
writing me off
what you looking at
this is only a poem
how it's written
when the time is
right

9/15/07

REDUX

sweet sweet Kenton lost at LAX needle in arm truck running my brother I remember you on reds fucking pissed you fucked up your sister my girlfriend so so like all those days at 58th and Slauson I told you fucking leave her alone but that was youth man I LOVED YOUR SISTER you fucking prick you knew that so fuck it all that violence is better than sex so so sex is violence but with brothers that is weird shit man the stories I could tell on you how you ripped off that Chinese joint in Redondo Beach you on the phone "you fuckers hungry?" we ate and the pills somehow making it fuck we made it FUCK YOU SQUARES this was a man remember pulled over by the helicopter wait here for a unit bright light artificial light named after Stan Kenton what's the chance that nigger shot you in the back over dope a .22 and deep there in your spine they didn't want to remove it so you go to Stanley's one hill over from the Spahn Ranch catch a rattler and back in Inglewood throw it in that nigger's car after cutting off the rattle sirens in that science fiction morning hey fucks you relatives you who live on ___________ wanna talk shit fuck you bright white motherfucker offed your punk black assed fool but that's history we live we die and death not ends it sentences are there to be read for Kenton all these years later

9/14/07

THINKING OF TAKING A VICODIN WHILE THINKING OF LOS ANGELES

oblique and concerened like Art Blakey once told me take a high herbal enema relax man but of course untrained eye lazy eye wandering eye "what is there to see" back in Los Angeles the concrete spoke it's no time to quit as smoky riot skys broke up the prayers of the boy scouts of american phone booth BONG those coins were special then as the squeaky pussy of eyes closed the slight none event of you're gonna make it make what? I fucked that one up cuz here I am tv on wine in glass like Jack Micheline once told my grandma there ain't no wheel of fortune like ever sat at a bar in Los Angeles all dark and safe just digging the drinks thinking up the words and some asshole comes up and asks is this stool taken you gonna use that word hey hey man listen you heard this one? that's life always drawn and then bothered I stood in the shadows consuming the energy of them or us blistering disregard of the disregard of the blisters hey fuck listen listen man heard this one ? I'll steal your points motherfucker that's what I thought you know the game I'm not like you lover she said god damn little sister like Jim Carroll once told me how'd you get in the back here I can still see those brown thighs swoop on the juke

9/13/07

Of Being Too Numerous

to George

Singular, bewildered


Obsessed by the shipwreck

Of celebrity


We have yet to understand the

Meaning of being too numerous

9/12/07

the ambiance of an ambulance

sah ah c k ed from unintelligible whimpers to the throaty moans
ccaacc k ed
mostly my love
for
you
Tongue and nipple pulling Tobacco smoke enemas Insertion of hot pokers into various bodily orifices



"I just wanted to take her beauty away"

A blast of gunfire exploded. The slug caught the officer full in the belly
and the impact spun him to the ground.

PART 1: A high-fidelity recording machine blared forth the
gloomy strains of a woodwind melody.



Then he volunteered a statement which shocked most of the poets in
the room. "The bloated and morbidly obese will consume what is left
of your face."




But, hey, if they had masks on, you couldn't see
their beautiful faces.





These processes take time.





9/11/07

DONE WITH WINDOWS

suppose your life meant nothing to your fellow citizens
the bloated and morbidly obese
as you wait behind them as the flames of time
consume what is left of your face
you will get your pain relievers
you will get your meds sniffing the flowers while medicated
and alone but there is a price
you must continually watch the images of those dressed
appropriately jumping out of the windows
you could never have even cleaned if you
wanted to what is there to see what is there to
say always looking through the glass of imagination
walking boulevards of the poems of undistinguished
pleasure I don't care about your family you don't care
about mine and I will hardly remember you

9/10/07

Drinker's Tear

The sun will come out.

The temperature will rise.

There is no difference.

Nothing can move faster than the speed of light.

Not all birds can fly.

The rose developed thorns for protection.

A body at rest tends to remain at rest.

All life arose from a single-celled ancestor.

There will be a storm.

It will be windy.

9/9/07

"loan me a panda"

so went to see
the polar
bear
(she's dead

SO DO MY

soldered drizzle deep mask repression I opine

in conclusion in apeshit pinafores slumber

and mumbling for granted of the

double suck

9/7/07

still, life

9/6/07

It Was An Old Story

Her crotch held
the pungent
aroma of a freshly
opened can
of latex wall paint.

9/5/07

LIFE ON EARTH

simpler and more
dangerous than
god

muted and mutating
a wisp
of

what you are
is not saving life
on earth

because people are
afraid to die

the permanent
mystery is
consciousness

9/4/07

POEM FOR MARTA ON HER BIRTHDAY But She's Dead

peeping thru your skull
the sunlight
knowing what it held

9/3/07

VENTRILOQUISM AND SUB-VOCAL SPEECH

I hear voices repeat the words loop of lips lost in thought repeat after me


mommy mommy loop the word
how you say
my lips on your back, digraph

spoken

wordy discourse."




so my hand in your cavity
no precise antonym, There is no antonym

who you talking me?




voices the voices is there one of the words which implies annoyance on the part of the speaker


waiting to hear
and can't
move
my lips?

repeat thought in lost lips of loop mommy I'm scared."

9/2/07

Midnight In Haditha

fading fast now in my bunk staring
at the ceiling
wiped clean and that ain't
dreams

I want my fucking country back

spliced with space and time
for you tonight
the world over always know your
target and what's
behind
it

my little good luck charm

kick in any door

that's easy for you to say

get down hands up and fully
cooperate I make mistakes all
the time the wet hair the blank eyes

call the number on your screen

my hero you're my hero
you're the one that I want
eliminating a threat engaging targets

full moon give us a call I want an
explanation

I lay eyes on someone with a weapon

a lot of good stuff the frosting on the
cake all the things that could go wrong
fade back into the shadows

in the distance muzzle flashes

now the eclipse

"You'll always go to sleep more times than you'll awake" -Larry Eigner

fading fast now red sails in the
sunset
lifting old faces from the floor

lifting sleep from mattresses
covered in patches of DNA
I

want an explanation
I

want a refund

take me home take me to your
leader

and to be blunt

8/31/07

Imaginary Blackout With Claude Monet

for Bryan Mickle

to speak in light of light like the wine spilled on
the chromatic tracks of Stockon's suicidal
outskirts

or harmonicas of wind and your need to piss
out the boxcar door onto Merle
Haggard's half-masted shadow

what you always said 'bury your wine'
before hitting that main stem
never nothing about what brush

I should use on her face to restore the codeine
in her eyes that killed the pain for the
very first time

Claude we're getting old as we wait for
this next train of colors
ashamed of our own signatures

I had that dream again man the one I had
back in Philly were I stood there with
all those postcards in my arms

with all your paintings on them only I wasn't
staring at that heat shimmered highway
it was your gravestone that was shimmering

and for the very first time I felt lost like you
were'nt my road dawg no more like someone
captured you in a book

but then I read the inscription and it was all
right they got it fucking right so perfect
and I woke up feeling righteous brother



ONE THING ABOUT IT
I AIN'T GOT NO
WARRANTS
HERE

8/30/07

YOU TAKE SEXY

brought sexy back,twisting breath

taking took back in a moment)
brought hot wax slugs in sexless
cracks of turbulence

and they didn't ask me: now I ask
you
take
sexy back,in the twilight glow
I see brown eye(

extinguished/ mutton-lipped fondling.

now I want sexy

then he started sucking on the
stump of my right arm;"sexy ain't coming
back"



(with pride with exploded chairs
of crotch
with that new baby smell crying in the
rain

sexy's back

8/29/07

Deeper Inside The Headlines

If, for instance, some
one were trying to take
the pencil or the knife
away from the sharpener,
then he might well say
that he was endeavoring
to sharpen the pencil.

8/28/07

A DRINKING PROBLEM

recollect some years back here on the then terminated rez a bright winter morning cruising from Beatty with a case of Rainier headed out to the hills visiting a partner here there and after leaving this one dude's house after doing this huge curlicued line of crank he gave me going down this snow covered country road where I then get flagged down by some Indian partners of mine older cowboy guys cool as shit but not so cool now they were all animated about another cowboy Chunky who fell off his horse over the rise and their pick-up stuck there in the ditch now I was coming on pretty good to the dope and they wanted me to help them go get him take him out of there I did have a 4x4 older Chevy but the tires were bald and fuck the beer the white well you know so big Burt about 6 foot 6 and 400 pounds jumps in and tells the other guys to get that truck out the ditch me and Mr. Fred will go get Chunky blah blah so I hang a U go down to a side road that will get us approx. to where he'd be and it's all covered in snow and we gotta go up over this rise and the bald tires are spinning and we can't get no traction so big Burt jumps out and back into the back of the truck bouncing up and down back towards the tail gate with his 4oo pounds screaming at me to floor it and I got it in low and all four wheels locked in and I'm flooring it and he's bouncing up and down and there we go up and over slick as shit only he jumps out at the top screaming at me to keep going to go help Chunky so I keep going and about a quarter mile here's these other Indian friends of mine and I get out and they get off their horses and there's Chunky alright dead as shit laying on his back in the snow god damn man god damn he broke his neck when he fell off his horse so after a while of standing there someone gets a blanket and we roll him over on it now they didn't call him Chunky for nothing he must have weighed 400 pounds himself it took about 5 of us to lift him into the back of my truck and now big Burt walks up and takes Chunky's saddle off his horse and throws it in the back of the truck so by this time most of the day has been consumed by this drama and it would be getting dark soon big Burt decides me and him should take Chunky down to the main road while the guys on horses take off and call the Sheriff well big Burt jumps in the back of the truck with Chunky and I take off back the way I came and after a few minutes I hear big Burt screaming and I look in the rear view and he's got the saddle ON Chunky and RIDING him screaming YOU AIN'T DEAD COWBOY GOD DAMN YOU or something and shit man fuck I stop get out calm him down and big Burt gets in the cab with me and I open him a beer and we take off again he's pretty tore up anyway by the time we get to the road that turns left to the main road there's the Sheriff and he stops us and he's pissed off that we moved a dead body and you can't do that for Christ's sakes and blah blah and big Burt tells him to get fucked you fucking asshole cops wouldn't have moved him tonight anyways and by the morning the coyotes would have got him fuck you the cop just looks at me and sez follow me to the main road now I'm pretty fucked up and me and big Burt each got an open can of beer in our hands but I follow him and when I get there I pull over on the right behind the cop where the road Ts now this fucking cop gets out comes and tells us to put Chunky ON THE GROUND and that he's called the meat wagon and that WE COULD GO NOW well of course here comes big Burt this time really going off and the cop don't want none of it and sez ok you wait here for the meat wagon and then takes off so by now all the Indians have got word about Chunky and they all come and have sort of a public viewing with Chunky in the back of the truck and I put my old navy coat over him and people bring whiskey beer the pall and we stand there a couple of hours most of them leaving and it's getting dark and the undertaker comes up in that long Caddy and backs up to the back of my truck and me and big Burt slide Chunky out of the truck and onto the stretcher and before the undertaker slides him into the Caddy big Burt stops him and big Burt tells Chunky that this will be his LAST RIDE then he just stands there pissed and sad then the undertaker slides him in and I notice Chunky's dirty ball cap that fell to the ground and I pick it up and on the front of it it sez I HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM I'M BROKE

8/27/07

Greatest Country

but a complex combination of assessments of objective reality on the one hand, and the hypodermic needles crawling the boulevards of this greatest country

like the migrating beliefs drawn from different levels
of cancer tips from a reputable Morning Show
on the other.



Also on the street, unwitting contributors to the loss of everyone's basic rights

one gnarled arthritic hand
then adds matter-of-factly,

"Most times, I don't care whether I do or don't."


It is when we go to the scholarly mind that we find even greater confusion
broken needles falling like what remains
of the greatest country
the gnarled hands
of the gutless
who let it
happen lips puking lies as thin as the relics of a rather thrilling past.



Lethargy, disinterest and general apathy ( again you liar you have cancer in this greatest country medicated and alone

FORCED CONVERSIONS


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
wring society point at society rejoice in puking
lies we let it fall to pieces at this point
the knowledge of the Cross
restraining its hands






(level all man-made structures so that nature can once more return)





as outlined above

he carries this failure home where his family life
is undergoing a parallel deterioration.



at this point that the rest of society can wring its hands or rejoice in the certain knowledge

we all let it happen puking our lies

and when the Cross, that restraining talisman, falls to pieces



VERTEX


___________________________________________________
In retrospect, it seems as if the degree to which one becomes a participant is as much a matter of perceiving oneself as a participant as it is of being accepted as a participant by others.

8/26/07

Imitative Sounds

energy future
no future sold out
not black
not a woman

everything changes skin of ghosts in
the couch
I want my fucking
country
back

don't want to change that

a caresser of mirrors in
an antique store

a cancer czar

the sparks of holiness
or
the mission of the soul

that languidness
of your
eyes

thirty years ago

looking into this future

8/25/07

PRESCRIPTIVE

cell phones ringing

in the pockets

of the dead or our expanding universe still so young

if it were far far older light from

all the galaxies would indeed flood us

with radiation rendering life impossible

but for now night skys remain dark yet menstruation is what

enabled women to develop a sense of time and forethought

language evolved because men and women

had to negotiate sex now as the first lethal robots head

for Iraq the role of the robot

soldier as a killing machine has

barely been debated but the synclavier is now outmoded

thus Zappa's machine music

the acme of his composing career

will rarely ever again

be played as he wrote it knowing it doesn't get much better

than having a thick cock stretch

the walls of your tight pussy

like it's the very first time

then you were seen in a video aired days afterward

held with a gun to your head but there has been

no word on your fate for example that music

is an evolutionary adaption

something that men developed

as a way to demonstrate

reproductive fitness so the moon smells

like exploded

fireworks

8/24/07

Highway 61 Yard Sale

Devil may care lost lost I feel my arms in sleep don't want 'em give them back CREATOR you want this shit back? no no didn't mean that like when I sleep I worry my worn out balls against the worn out walls no no like LOOK man, you want this shit back? these eyes looked into all the fools' eyes who thought I the punk I piss on you I look at you if I had a fucking camera your lips would be sealed soft like lead or as old as a tin type MAN those assholes had it good sitting around posing in those stupid hats they never could afford so I should FEEL bad? man man got no money got no shame a poetic burgalr




HIGHWAY 61 YARD SALE



my lips got kissed
by the lips

that ain't

lips

no more






IN MEMORY OF PHILOMENE LONG

The Bowl Of Broken Cherries

broad spectrum
this
is

the life,
cry baby

set me free

your talk those
frayed & phony
lips

stick them to
the
wall
in a purgative

racial profile.

now tell me
you are glad
you
were born,

8/23/07

REMIX

Grain. lost shells found when the boys went hiking.

obliterate

so hard to stop off with cheeks most of your face stupid and grimacing I met your parents.



They look like dogs.




if I wondered on a star if the fat man sang if your lies spread thin like all our lives
"it's so hard"


wonder
is LOST
spell
lost is
a
wonder
BLANK American
faces smell
your loss

dead drunk
when the
monster

trucks speak




"don't blame me"

SPORTSMEN BURLESQUE

"the cars on the televisions in our homes have televisions in those cars broadcasting bullets" -Gustave Morin

(crossing neutral space, being watched by another person.) eyes have it lost motion

when the bottle
sucks back,

I give you my hand, this jewerly box of neurological manifestations

Give Me Back My Bullets

my bottle for my weapon returned to
me,

"getting hair" remember all of those triggers slick wet & one second acurate?






the trickling of sand

8/22/07

neon light

can't can't stop pinned to the last wish hot molded faces I escape you my fingers spotlighting the inference a lazy eye an untrained eye YOU to SAY? no no it was a curtain before the curtain detailed with the veins behind the BLANK down wit it as spasm in the joint on the way to go piss THE LIGHTHOUSE Hermosa Beach circa 1970 white card board on wall where THEY signed their names: JOHN COLTRANE blue ink pen on the way to piss protect yourself shrug shoulders up like the puppet goofy dance no face is the best face you who look better under muted colors retarded colors hot wax bitch smoulder my palms,