Another Bottle Turned Purple

I'm smoking a joint with Jesus H. Christ
you know the motherfucking Savior
and he's sitting there changing
bottles of Evian into fortified wine

so I tell him can't you make any
better shit than this even at Wal-Mart
this fucking water ain't cheap
man damn

and he looks at me with that calming
dip-shit smile he has and that pisses
me off so I try to rattle his cage

I ask him so where'd you park the
spaceship and who's watching
the rig this time Santa or the
Easter Bunny asshole

but that don't phase him one bit
he just fucking glows with that decaled
face he's got what a lame

then he hands me the reefer and I sit
drinking another bottle turned purple
wondering who he's got on the Super Bowl

After The End Of Poetry


those
who
create
meaning
are

those
who
benefit
the
most

from
the
destruction
of
meaningful

things

While Drinking Hurricane Ice

some kind of
fucking bird
sitting on a
snow covered
branch of the
choke cherry
tree outside
my window
just looked at
me took a gray
runny shit then
flew back out
into the blizzard

DO YOU
REMEMBER
WHERE
YOU WERE
WHAT WERE
YOU DOING
I SORT OF
REMEMBER
YOU COULD
DO WELL TO
REMEMBER
DO YOU
REMEMBER
DON'T EVER
FORGET THE
DAY DO YOU
REMEMBER
WHERE YOU
WERE AND
HOW YOU
FELT OF
COURSE YOU
REMEMBER
WHERE YOU
WERE WHAT
YOU WERE
DOING DO
WE EVEN CARE
ANYMORE I
REMEMBER
COULD YOU
PLEASE JUST
TELL US
WHERE
YOU WERE I
REMEMBER
SO CLEARLY
YOU COULD
DO WELL TO
REMEMBER
I FORGOT TO
REMEMBER
DO YOU
REMEMBER
ANYMORE

DEMOCRACY

an elector
craves the
burger

enhanced by
advertising
before

supernumeraries
blow Iraq off
TV

Bukowski Cut-up

"Europeans deserve Bukowski."
-William Burroughs, in conversation


1
and the birds come
down to pick out my
eyes it does seem a
miracle to see anybody
alive strange eyes in my
head they wait on death
I keep practicing death
things are good as I am
not dead yet laughing at
nothing and here come
the armies ta ta ta kill
myself or love myself?




2
smell porkchopsin a Philly bar
was in a barfornicate like mad
symphony music nowout to crap
I hate the artsdead on a sunday
a new can of beergo mad or even
and I criedthey play Bartok
oh my dear godanother drink
bellies hanging outto his radio
rose with a cursedays like this
pick up the skirtdie a little earlier
and the weepingthe last pink sun
dying is justifiedpansies in a glass
now I am a manworms laughed
the virus holdsand I didn't care
all has gone awayradio playing
fish-green beerI watch her butt
white dishtowelpoem is a city
talking of deatheats my heart
another placebeat again feel




3
sunlight
wall
sunlight

doors
getting haircuts

I drink
I drink
and death

sham, man

XANADU HOEDOWN

I shot a scarecrow


and hit a man

HODAD STRUT

human donor egg

"as you should
never exist"

TO A BROTHER

for JMR on his 62nd

waiting in a long line of
memory to get one
glimpse of you back then
handsome and half drunk
in that LA sun more crimson
than the Red Mountain
we drank lifeboats of our
poems smelling like panties
the drugs just an
afterthought and
criminology a subject
yet to whisper our names
how many highways
shimmer now with the
runaway ghosts stretched
out before us like one
long solo they ain't
looking back why should
we look back not much
time left now man it's
just another hangover
another small time hustle
check out her ass there is
nothing left to prove
it don't mean shit
to a brother

El Payaso

Yo llevo el abrigo de mi hermana.
Ella tiene una aguja en la mano.
Da lo mismo.
El circo es muy divertido.
Yo busco gusanos.
Ella esta escribiendo en su brazo.




The Clown

I am wearing my sister's coat.
She has a needle in her hand.
It doesn't make any difference.
The circus is very amusing.
I am looking for worms.
She is writing in her arm.

RECESSION

I withdraw
from my
poverty into
the skeleton
of my child

I wear its
gorgeous
jewels

do kiss me

AGO

and also past of past parts
of and or past past parts of
past and past parts of and
or past of also and parts of

NIGGER DAY

I ask the guy
who's pumping
gas

where I
could get an
alternator
in this town

it's nigger day
he informs me
ain't
much open

then he spits
as he walks
off toward
a carload
of much
more
conscious
Americans

and I head
to the
nearest bar

they never close

Scolding The Love Child

it is the luck of those run out of

mourning to escape the similar

mystery of advocacy in a grave

new world of uncontested voices

forfeiting that luxury of discovering

where this trail of tears does lead

RUNAWAY
GLOBAL
SPECIES
EXTINCTION
THROUGH
INCREASED
COMPETITION
FROM
THE
GROWING
HUMAN
POPULATION

DADA DID IT FIRST

to Hugo Ball

be careful
what you
shoot out
your cock

COWARD OF BABEL

tongue licks
tongue
are
remaindered

each clonal
sentence of
what
literature

Ant Man Bee

I'm smoking a joint with the late
CPT Beefheart you know that esoteric
fucker Don Van Vliet the artiste
when the asshole starts growling like
a wolf talking shit he claims to be poetry

well later for you fool I french kissed
Wanda Coleman I know a little bit
about that shit myself homeboy blah blah
I ain't backing down you dig

so I tell him about when I was 14 and I saw
him on the Lloyd Thaxton show on KCOP
holding up a beef heart in front of the
camera before going into 'Do-Wah-Diddy'
I thought that was pretty lame and how
he looked like a wannabee Pachuco
in those Trout Mask pics and where did
he disappear to anyway

well motherfuck he growls at me damn
weirdo back down so I crush a complacent
yellow jacket into the coffee table with the
butt end of my beer bottle and look
right at him and smile

WHO'S

Who's fucking over who's fucking over you?

FUCKING

OVER

Who's fucking over who's fucking over you?

WHO'S

FUCKING

Who's fucking over who's fucking over you?

OVER

YOU?

"We
don't
trust
the
government;
we
don't
trust
the
armed
forces.
It's
a
happy
day
for
me
if
we
have
water
to
cook
and
bathe
and
some
electricity
at
9 p.m.
so
I
can
watch
Oprah."

HER
BLOUSE
LOOKED
AS
IF
THE
BUTTONS
HAD
BEEN
RIPPED
OFF
AND
HER
BRA
HAD
BEEN
YANKED
UP
EXPOSING
WELL-FORMED
BREASTS
TO
THE
MORNING'S
FROST

El Astronauta

El radio toca suave.
Es raro.
Yo quiero hacer el papel del
astronauta.
Yo veo la estrella y expreso
un deseo.
Un muchacho pobre no tiene
muchos juguetes.




The Astronaut

The radio is playing softly.
It is odd.
I want to play the part of
the Astronaut.
I look at the star and
I make a wish.
A poor boy does not have
many toys.

INTUITION


He died mysteriously and violently.
She was eminently approachable.
He became adept at fighting.
She was in a panic of terror.
He shook his head.
She was with her crowd and dancing.
He could see that he had been right.
She shot him that afternoon.
He ran furiously out of the barn.
She interrupted him.
He went in.
She had been afraid to come near.
He was talking nonstop.
She sounded tired.
He refused to believe the fact.
She obeyed with unexpected readiness.
He had a few books he had stolen.
She didn't lift her eyes from the pages.
He was naked to the waist.
She crushed out her cigarette.
He had often thought of his loneliness.
She smiled at the tension in his voice.
He trembled.
She handed the megalith to him.

ggggggg

Blank as fuck.

for John M. Bennett

HERE TO BE MONSTERS

for Theo Green

hidden meanings
are unraveled to set
their petals upon your
face which the shamans
could descend into the
nether regions of anal sex
and vaginal intercourse
from behind no magic here
because an illiterate adult is
extremely common and
other privileged beings
can squirm to enter the
sky through the bruised
blood of those who have
experimented with
bestiality and incest
I can already see the
flames dancing on the
crest as it was derived
from a mask originally
and has today lost most
of its satanic associations
the dirty talk during sex
stored up in the kinesthetic
sensibility of the artist who
can now rise again to
darken other nights

Unstable Part Of The Dream

deep in sleep when the fear is
quelled and absurdity obliterated
I'll be speaking to you in an
unstable part of the dream to find
out what your death is really like
if you can still recall my breath
on your thighs now imparted
through endoscopic dust or if you
would just like to go out drinking
riding around in memory of when
life meant nothing and we didn't
care if we ever woke up

THE END OF BELLIGERENT WRITING

for Amandla

If you don't pay the cost,



it will cost you the Earth.

Long Gone Daddy

inside the origami
of an antique
Phillips 66 map

changing color in
the beatnik dusk
the blue line

of a highway that
no longer exists
collapses like a

vein in a roadside
rest room stall now
slated for demolition

Here we are now,
entertain us.

Police cruisers were parked protectively
near corpse of poet laureate tossed
from highway overpass.