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.
__________________________________




12/30/10

Bang A Gong

to Paul Harrison

3 or 4 bottles of tussin
and a couple vics I'd
be good to go taking
down a bank on new year's
eve all those fat tellers
already dripping juice
in anticipation of that
greatest night of pre made
margaritas and maybe a
dildo stuffed with coppertops
if the greaseball they
came with keeps singing
fucking karaoke as the
clock strikes twelve but the
last time I borrowed a
pistol the crankster got pissed
because I didn't even
blow my brains out just kept
writing insipid poems and
he trusted me man and that
was his first mistake so
if you ever do get a piece
just put together the puzzle

12/29/10

SANCTUARY

1.) Chimps peer in a mirror.


2.) What you find in the autopsy.


3.) A glimpse of Barcelona.

12/28/10

Combings

"...and I seen the
revolution on
pay-per-view
in some sports
bar in Terrell, Tx
high on biker
crank with this
Okie broad with
some sweet camel
toe who thought it
was one long
infomercial but it
wasn't shit not like
the new Walmart..."

12/26/10






There are no new grounds left to exploit.






12/22/10

Carol

I got a lock of my dad's
greasy hair in an envelope
the undertaker guy gave
me and I got a pair of soiled
panties from my dead old lady
I used to sniff and jack off
onto with that little poofed out
crap mark and I got this little
notebook page Allen Ginsberg
scribbled some shit to me on
when we read together and I
got a blue heron's beak and
skull my kids gave to me that
they found by the river and I
got Miles Davis' autograph in a
frame right there on a wall that
I own and I got about a third left
of this half a G of Evan Williams
and I got your Christmas hanging

12/13/10

THE FUTURE OF BOOKSTORES AND INDIANS

...he's (Nettelbeck) a fraud
of an artist and a fraud
of a human being.

-bukowski.net


I also used to go on these runs
to Powell's Books in Portland
years ago with a little stubbie
pencil with an eraser before
it all went computer and when
nobody was looking I'd change
the prices on all these army
green covered ethnology books
on the shelves about the Indians
printed by the US government
ca. 1900 from $150 to $3 each
then buy them and bring them
all back and sell them to this rich
old white lady in a wheelchair in
Weed, CA and make damn good
money that I would piss away
with my Paiute girlfriend on beer

12/10/10

James Moody You Wrote My Life

A saxophone
solo with
words.

12/9/10

SOME FINE DAY

two sides of a globe
of faces like
globes

never been there faces

like clots like
round moons over
endless sleeping cities

faces

like that camera
doomed to get it
exact

faces

you'll watch the clock
& it'll watch you &
that will be the
meaning of
time

12/2/10

A FELON'S DREAM GIRL

dead flies
inside the
monster
truck

11/27/10

From The Tear Stain Lounge

the angels don't give no
change when you pay
your dues so hang onto
that box of wine and a
few favorite photos it
won't get no better just
because you're in the
club and a university
has your shitty poems
locked away in a climate
controlled room some
of your best friends are
dead and this ain't the
same country you went
junkin' with your grandpa
in so you might as well
stay and listen to a few
more sad songs the wars
and hatred will always be
king but because she was
your first choice and you
ain't with her that's what
makes the jukebox play

11/22/10

Go Read A. D. Winans

I can recall
back in the day
when I payed
attention to any
of that pop bullshit
I read this thing
in the LA Times
where Beefheart
was claiming
"I can't even buy
my old lady a
nice coat, and
where is that at"
and I've always
remembered that
when he opted out
so I am telling you
my bitch is flat
fucking freezing

CLEANING GRAVE

a couple of hours this
late May afternoon
the hot wind blowing
dust through the
headstones at the
Paiute Cemetery

I reshaped your mound
with rake and shovel
after discarding the
faded cloth flowers
and broken vases
to replace them
with others of vibrant
color and gemlike glass

one more year and I
like to get a few days
jump on the Memorial
Day crowd who come to
clean with their picnics
and unflavored talk
and be alone

just you and I and the
wind

how the hot earth of
your grave feels like
your breasts and stomach
as my flat hand
molds the heap

remembering the many times
just like this you and I
cleaned the graves of
your children and unknown
relatives who perished
on the now long gone Rez
in back seats of grey
black cars clutching
onto precious bottles
that held the miracle

we were sometimes half
drunk ourselves and those
nights my flat hand
would mold your flesh
before you took me into
you the soil of graves
on our hands mixing with
our sweat creating the
finger paintings of
our lives our love

now I kiss and tongue the
heart on your headstone
before standing up
ceremoniously with a
quart of Miller's in
my hand proud of my
work

a Janitor at the place
of the dead

always having to turn
and walk away towards the
places of the living
where only memories can
conquer the dust and
these tears mean
nothing

11/20/10

Jitterbug

loraze)
pam

11/16/10

Time Without The Word Time

you the
I
am

somebody

if things
have
names

11/13/10

If Today Is Your Birthday


You're only
dead once.

11/9/10

IMPERMANENCE

rise to civilization

it is written out

moments
born of
recollection

of forgotten tasks
of holidays

the drawn out clarity
of the sad song

the integrity of
others swarming
around the broken
doll

in so
many words

we will have another

as the night folds
around intoxication

and the anxious
ages wait

11/8/10

CROWDED MIRROR

closer to possible closure

"God is still a liar"

11/6/10

What I Can Remember At 60

reciting the psalms
from a Tijuana bible
with a Prince Albert
tin full of pot in a
Pendleton shirt pocket
on a handjob backseat
night under a towering
screen that lit up her
purple eye shadow
with some extravagant
bloody gunplay before
any of us had ever died

11/5/10

FOR THE BEER

picking up my
Indian partner
at his place
today

waiting for his
sister to get
kids together

my human dullness
standing in the
living room of
the double-wide

finally he says

looking up at
walls of photos

this picture here
of me and all my
partners only
two of us left out
of the six

others died from
drinking

this here my brother-
in-law with the
two deer dead

here's my nephew

dead

my other partner here
drunk dead his whole
family in a car wreck

fucking dead

then his sister
comes back in

says yeah you and Fred
will be up there dead

in'nt it

and we all go out
together for
the beer

11/1/10






SOME

Some will dress up as the deceased.






10/30/10

All About The Blues

a walking dead looking
derivative foreign ex-
junkie rockstar whose
estimated worth is
about $250 million US
gave a talk yesterday
about his new memoir
Life at the New York
Public Library and the
general fucking public
had to pay to get in

10/28/10

Wasted

I'll punch out a beer can
pipe with this broken
pocket knife made in China
no carburetor but save
that little aluminum pop top
ring for some cripple who
needs a brand new wheel
chair and ain't that a fucking
head rush in this once
greatest country when I
can't hardly even walk myself

10/27/10

10/25/10

The Screenings

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


pan-modal freedom.)




to name the symbol(s) they see,

10/21/10

AMERICANIST WITH 10 ITEMS OR LESS

WE'RE COMING, MOTHERFUCKERS.
read the words on his T-shirt

emblazoned across
a picture of the
Statue of Liberty
giving the finger

we stood in line
at Fred Meyer's

he stared in anger

"Who's coming, man..." I
asked half buzzed

"You know, fuck those
rag-heads..."

his eyes were fixed on
the invisible enemy

"I can dig it..." I
told him

he picked up his
plastic bags full
of various and sundry

I set down my two
twelve packs of HIGH LIFE

I was going to my
first time Bob Dylan
concert at the
Jackson County Expo

I had won the tickets
on the radio

it was now three
days into the bombing

the salesclerk wore
a little American flag
pinned to her blouse

"I hope he does
Blowin' In The Wind..."
I said softly

"Pardon me?" she said

"We're going to
win!" I laughed

"You're damned right
we are..." she looked
at me then slowly
counted my change

10/16/10

As The Googlebot Crawls Our Pages

fucking around online I looked
up this dude Clay Tober I used
to know through his brother
Gary who brought him around
here to the ranch a couple of
times years ago and this fucker
was an old school Nashville
recording artist a straight out
bad ass Son of Hank with the
records and songs to prove it
"My song 'Okies and Crime Don't
Pay' is burning up the charts in
Oklahoma!" and he'd come playing
his guitar singing his righteous shit
handing out 8x10's and his tapes
and concert posters and this one
time Gary was going to go back
and live with him but we were all
drinking and Gary was escalating
pretty good so Clay sent him on a
beer run and after he split he took
me aside and told me just tell him
I had to go I had to go and then he
left in his conversion van with the
Tennessee plates and now today I
learned he died around '06 and
that tore me up so I'm sitting here
listening to his The Gladiator Pit
with my all time favorite country
song on it A Wife Just Like Mine
remembering when Gary mainlined
some shit in front of the Mission in
Klamath Falls and died in about 10
minutes a few weeks after his old
lady got burned up in a trailer fire
on table land and I called Castle
Records in Nashville to leave Clay
Tober the message and I'm sure
they told him but it really don't
matter it don't really matter at all

10/12/10

Road Kill

there are no lyrics to a long dry
fucking slow blues at Griffith
Park in hot rain tongue burdened
by her mouthing sentences of
hair so implicit you'll write it all
down later after Jim Morrison
picks you up in his blue GTO with
ripe avacados on the dashboard
and Wild Man Fischer passed
out in the back seat under a copy
of the Freep heading to Wallach's
Music City to buy Charles Manson
a reverberating banjolele on a lark

10/10/10

NIGHT

for Mick

freeways of night;
soul voices, young
in rhythm/
in sense,

stolen from fools.

(this American night
captured in song
by black girls
in high heeled shoes)

or engines of night.

"I'll treat ya, baby."

or bus drivers of night,
drivers of night,
of night-

curbing & arteries
& cities & cars
& swollen night
enveloping homes
of the laughing
dead...

the radios of night
across America
signalling the
streets to
breathe!

neon of night &
silhouettes;
the inexplicable night,

the tears & joys
& night of nights,

of one cement ribbon
& a heart,

of eyes injected
with the ragged
horizon,

of the last
intelligible spoken
word!

10/9/10

There Are More Things

for Kevin Yuen Kit Lo

If he were alive,
John Lennon
would be 70-
years-old
today.

If I were dead,
I wouldn't be
writing this.

10/6/10

What $50.00 Will Get You In 2010

1.
We were sorry to hear that car trouble prevented
you from attending the Petaluma Poetry Walk.
I'm afraid that since you were unable to perform,
Poets & Writers will need the check for our portion
of your fee back. I wish we could pay you anyway,
since I know you incurred some expenses in trying
to get to the event, but unfortunately our program
can only support readings that take place.
When you get a chance, can you mail the check to
the address below?
2.
Since you already cashed the check, I won't pursue
the issue. If you receive a Poets & Writers grant in
the future, and I hope you do, please keep in mind
that it is contingent on your reading or performing.

10/4/10

BANQUET OF CONSEQUENCES

sober and defeated

"prior to his speaking"

10/1/10

Already Suffering

on our way down to Mexico
the dark ribbons strangled
all those poets who awaited
translation while I watched
her take a piss in some scrub
and thought put a cross here

9/29/10

Do the people believe

in (1) U.S. victory

(2) annihilation of

enemies?

Would they (1) support

(2) join (3) fight on

the side of (4) work for

(5) sacrifice their

lives for U.S. troops?

The enemy shall lose

the war.





Now humanity faces collective
death: the loss of a future
for the entire race.

__________________________
CUSTOM SLAUGHTER

"in a heartbeat"
-----------------------------------------
better to be to better be
to better to be better be



Whatever makes you ask
such a stupid question?


The Poet's Re-
ply to Critics

A Training
for Outlawry

Mud-bespat-
tered, Bruised
and Bleeding

Devoted Serv-
ice to a
Wretched
Population
__________________________




Yahgan Woman Making
Medicine Charms)






afraid of the dark pedestrian.

in which city is the
sacred face,

the first or earliest rose.



___________________________
tracing forms torn from art in
horror
pronounce, ravaged limbs
word fragments
across shapes
of starving children, explain
one silhouetted mouth
a religious currency
the black circle
target,
smile.

"I feel a whole new world of
feelings and information
opening up to me"
___________________________

test the senses.




A fossil dinosaur skull is really
a rock in the exact shape of the
original bone.




With Pen
and Camera

Bringing Men
and Land To-
gether

No Hope
in America

How the First
Stanzas Were
Written





SOMETHING ABOUT
GOING HUNTING
FOR HUMANS





exciting intriguing breathtaking
sleep "Best
legs twitch in blasting dreams
new character, good. we'll
see"

9/26/10

Remainder

so you really start to fucking wonder
when they shake your hand like
once this shit insurance salesman told
me when I was 17 while my mom
was cashing in the life and accident policy
she had on me for the bucks to leave
my abusive old man this fuck with his arm
over my shoulder takes me aside and
says you know you are of age now and will
probably get drafted and die in Vietnam
tell your mom she shouldn't do this she'll
need the money later and I was still
respectful back then to adults but I fucking
blew up on this asshole and I threw off
his arm flopping it behind his back making
him groan in that cheap suit coat and I
wanted to gouge out his eyes and should
have but I just told him fuck you and
kept on walking from their wars altogether

9/22/10

BLOOD

to the memory of Kenton Paul Marks

on 58th St.
off
Slauson

in front
of a
liquor
store

this black
kid calls
this black
kid

blood

as I go in
for the six-
pack

with all
eyes on
whitey

I'm bloodless

& I'm still
alive

9/20/10

Breathalyzer Latitudes

Clit to butthole and
then back up again,
but I'm too fucking
drunk and that ship
has sailed with all on
board feared lost.

LIKE WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS ONCE TOLD ME

"In case of a 'Hey, Rube!' situation."

as he packed away the double
edged dagger into his grey flannel
suit coat, along with the weighted
blackjack;

"You know what that is don't you?"

I nodded yes as we all walked out
of the hotel room into the early
evening air, headed to an
auditorium full of people.

9/18/10

RIDING MY HARLEY THROUGH THE NAM

for the comedian, Andrei Codrescu

I was there when Nixon blew Elvis
and Sticky Fingers drew the
black ink from headlines

still the same

a rhythm denotes the sign of
the times on more expensive
car stereos

if I called it nigger music
would you cry?

fuck you

the jungle sweats as Tom Brokaw
licks my balls at base camp

letters home to my hippie prick
brother in a rock band smoking
boo that ain't shit

here's to us Double Veterans

Triple Veterans!

who then fuck and kill ourselves

rolled up in a free blanket at the
Stand-Down in Medford, Oregon

this fine Hispanic bitch TV
reporter asking how do you
pronounce your name again?

ragged it's been years glass
broken glass it's your window
and I've just driven through it

the skulls and leather

a string of ears flapping in the wind

listening for no particular voice

it could be yours

9/14/10

TAKE SO MUCH

the need affords
you because you
can't afford shit

9/12/10

Gold Heart Locket

sometimes I cry while milking the moon
or getting milked myself at the end of the
long bottle her hair in hand cupping my
balls like a nest or sometimes I'll hold the
skull like a smile and oh man right there that
is the fucking worst the last time you see them
that grey matter emulsion of memory washing
over the streets filled with an even more
intense future heartbreak of souls locking you
in as sexual meat a crap shoot of who's going
to stand by you forever friends forever with the
cartwheeling unborn all vying to be your corpse

9/10/10

(I Said) No Matter

no matter
what color
you are still
just another
asshole to
deal with

9/9/10

MEANING OF A WORD



We Stopped at Perfect Days

We stopped at perfect days
and got out of the car.
The wind glanced at her hair.
It was as simple as that.
I turned to say something--

-Richard Brautigan




and it defined


and the ghost

9/8/10

Dead Man's Curve

dual control electric beach
blanket draping the warm
6.9 diesel this cold Oregon
late summer's evening like
pounding spent 12 gauge
shells full again with glowplug
sunset sand or slashing her
wrists to start another period

8/31/10

8/29/10

Lucky Now And Then

so after the reading she came
up in those caramel eyes and
blah to the blah I gave out
another free book that if she
kept for 30 years she might
be able to sell to augment the
cost of her three mandatory
minutes on The Department
of Human Resources' suicide
machine but anyway later at
the bar she had claimed she
was on Monsters Of Cock and
let's party baby so yeah yes of
course fuck yeah yes another
drink please and that was
scary shit but I quess if you're
a woman you might as well get
totally reamed out and stretched
apart because it is a specific need
but I just like to run the shallows
first then nudge there up against
that hilt gyrating my fat drunken
ass a little bit enjoying myself
because I'll never get to be on any
Subatomic Elven Cunt I just put
out stupid little booklets of poetry
hoping to get lucky now and then

8/27/10

Shadow

they always have told me
you're gonna get it
asshole and you know
what I fucking got it but
I'm still here to talk about
it and it ain't shit just
another shadow crawling
the wall of impermanence

8/23/10

I Hear You Son

long long road of
darkness got no
end 6 plays for 25
cents whiskey and
whites living out a
suitcase general
delivery City of the
Dead Angels 3
fingers measured
across her notch in
tight jeans mister
can I sit on your
hog living in a lie
under an asphalt
sun because the
ticket never really
exploded it just
burnt our hands

8/19/10

Only An Expert

living out here in the country
I'm somewhat forced to listen
to a lot of the crap on NPR that
comes out of Ashland and this
evening I had to laugh because
Laurie Anderson was on with
her signature insipid shit and
once again it reminded me of
one time visiting John Giorno
in early 1980 NYC when a
couple nights before that I got
to see her perform somewhere
I can't remember but I was
telling Giorno that all of that
amazing technical stuff she used
was totally wasted because she
had absolutely nothing to say
and I knew she was his girl he
put her on one of his records and
all that but he fucking agreed with
me and said he told her the exact
same thing and that was very cool
so anyway tonite I changed it to
some Mexican channel before she
could finish and I opened another
cold beer right as those Tejano
accordians took me hacia abajo

8/18/10

The Greater Extent



NEW YORK - New Yorkers raced against time
Friday to reveal the secrets of a mostly intact,
18th century sailing ship found in the muddy
foundations of the World Trade Center re-
construction site.

8/12/10

LAST BLOG IN AMERICA

nothing to be done here
I regret it all now living
like a fool because of words
you should see my shoes
split open at the top I
couldn't become a janitor
again not in these I couldn't
be a janitor again in any
shoes and you got to be able
to run to shoplift in three
years of dicking around
on this blog I sold ONE fucking
book off it and I'm shit tired
of explaining what that means
to me figure it out the rest
of you cocksuckers I am
pinning you right through
this white screen like a sniper
when you're stuck in traffic
turn your head look sunflowers

8/7/10

Dissembler's Apprentice

all of my life I've been
a flea market/swap
meet fucking SOB and
it's been like being in a
brotherhood not too
many secrets are disclosed
just like with the carnies
but it's all a dying art now
upping the price depending
on the customer's mood and
you're riffing because all of
the shit came out of a goodwill
box or someone's sidewalk
trash can just like when I was
9-years-old selling with my
grandpa in this big open field
with all the others teaching me
you can't regift the grifter

8/5/10

The Taste

now this is one thing
I did consider back
in the halcyon day of
mailing your poetry
submissions around
to the different mags
was taking that SASE
you sent along with
your shit and putting
poison or LSD on the
flap a fucker would
have to lick then close
to seal it along with
your rejection slip but
I didn't go that far I
just wiped it up and
down my filthy ass
crack or dragged my
encrusted dick across
it and that was it
so only I knew what
Small Press editor
should get a taste of
Nettelbeck and which
one would actually end
up fucking liking it

8/4/10

Slight Sunning To Front Cover, Minor Staple Rust, Scarce, $500

if you can't
go on
you can't
go on
that
I'll go on
bullshit
is only
to impress
bartenders
and social
workers
maybe the
occasional
skank
at an
open mic
but
my honkie
dig
that big
picture
if you're
tearing off
your
shirt pockets
to wipe
your ass
in an alley
in the
rain you'll
sure as
shit get
some
fuckhole
to publish
your first
chapbook
of poems
so at
least then
for
awhile
you'd have
toliet paper

8/2/10

Owl Dance

years ago I took my
Paiute girlfriend and
her kids to the pow
wow over there at
the Stronghold
where Captain Jack
pissed all over what
back then was an even
more uptight white
America with their
grace and Christian
revulsion ending in
the Modoc War and
the parading of his
severed head around
the country in a jar of
formaldehyde but at
least the badass
motherfucker had
popped a cap into the
skull of a U.S. General
and that's the kind of
shit that I can get into
so anyway me and the
old lady were pretty
hungover and she was
dealing with the kids
and I was sitting on a
stump four rows back
into the crowd staring
at the ground and they
had called an Owl Dance
and the next thing I
know I'm staring at a
pair of beaded moccasins
and I look up at this
beautiful Indian girl about
13-years-old in a buckskin
dress who just chose me to
dance with her and she's
motioning to me to let's
go and I was too fucking
sick and I told her baby
girl I can't I can't and
she was adamant but I
couldn't do it no way and
that's a major insult so
she started crying and
ran off into her mother's
arms way across the field
and that might be one
of the only times I ever
felt shitty about being a
drunk but it's funny I
still kept on drinking

7/31/10

It's Got Nothing To Do With You

that's why I
wrote poetry
in the first
place

7/24/10

Collection Plate

(A Cadillac full of rainbows
in this Okie's cluttered yard.)

7/18/10

BENNIE MAUPIN

what's left of
last night's
bonfire Sauza
& a scratched
CD of Bitches
Brew can only
mean one thing

7/15/10

No Particular Place To Go

I would leave LA for instance in a
NY minute and wake up in Chicago
in a chair with a TV bolted to it playing
an old black and white movie with some
idiot telling his mother he is on top of
the world and I mouthed that phrase
on top of the world and it sounded pretty
good until my quarters ran out and I heard
the loudspeaker say they are loading at
Gate 9 so I dropped the empty poorboy
of American port and stood up to face them

7/13/10

Going Down

it's always something
but it never amounts to
nothing if memory is your
slave then sleep will harbor
faces who count the modulation
of bones a perfect tongue-tied
sentence for in the morning when
she'll fuck you again only if you pull
out and shoot it on her stomach into
neat little puddles of some of our luckiest

7/5/10

Those Who Die

to Harold Norse

those who die
before they
live are too
poised for tears
but will always
make the cover
of Us Weekly
so it takes a
real fucking poet
to understand
we are all really
dead already

7/3/10

PATRIOTS

my favorite 4th of July
was when me and my
high school buddies went
to go camp up on the
Kern River out of
Bakersfield and right
before you hit those
boulders and the "how
many have died this
year in the rapids" sign
you'd pass that big
arche on the left that said
HAG'S PLACE and
we shot it the finger and
hit that joint for the 18
mile or so treacherous
ride it took to get to
this beautiful creek that
ran into the river where
we set up all our stuff
and dropped some acid to
get fueled for the big
fireworks display at Lake
Isabella that night
where a couple hours and
miles later at dusk and
not quite peaking we
witnessed some local
high school football team
blow themselves up
lighting the shit off this
barge in the middle
of the lake killing half of
them and all the screams
got us out of there back
to camp where we set
up about a hundred
candles all across the
creek on all the rocks in
the water and in that
surreal light talked
about what we'd do if
we ever got drafted

6/29/10

Turbidity Fatigue

life of
predicament
not
adventure

6/23/10

Moment Of Goal

drinking from gutters
wearing the pretty rings
made of spoons those
with no living expenses
keep gagging on as an
antedote to hunger

6/22/10

Kill Them

if you shoot someone
make sure you kill
them that leaves
only one witness the
cops will tell you that
just like writing the
poem but so far no
one has been that
good I told you that

6/20/10

FATHER SON UNHOLY GHOSTS

or yet
another
waste
of cum

6/11/10

Sisters Of Mercy

the bitch you used
to fuck when your
old lady pissed you
off is dead now in
her Goodwill lingerie
of cervical cancer and
it's all not like it used
to be that wife is gone
too with a lovely guy
who's got a bigger dick
so she said but the asshole
is past the used part that's
all the first is the last
to take one small step for
mankind and you're that
dude motherfucker this
useless fuck tonight on CSI
ain't got nothing on you

DAVE VAN RONK

don't look
twice it's
all fucked

6/6/10

Odium For Morning

I see the insane
the Americans
brutalised raped
as children why
ask me I see
nothing it is a
lie to be spiritually
correct the big
game is on can't
talk now do you
remember me
I'm slitting your
throat just to
wake you up

6/5/10

Quality Of Life

your Happy
Meal won't
stay down

5/29/10

Dennis Hopper's Eyes

the Man is at
the window

5/26/10

LIKE FLESH COLORED

used to be a
Crayola crayon
color now they
call it Peach

5/20/10

5/14/10

Spade Cooley Eyes

The bitch you got,
is the bitch you got.

Surprise, Arizona

Goodbye,
Rosalita.

5/11/10

DEEP SHIT HORIZON

an updated projection
map proves catastrophic
is scarier than chronic for
photogenic oil coated birds
when it's only the enablers
who smile for the camera

5/8/10

All I Could Tell Him

my grandpa was just a fucking
railroad bum came over from
Germany slept under viaducts
marking his crib with a charcoal
Swastika by the yards there
in Chi Town a tough motherfucker
in highschool I used to hold my
dad another tough son of a bitch
an LA Iron Worker some nights
Jim Beam drunk crying about how
he never even knew him how as
a kid he had to go pick up potatoes
that fell off the cars down by
the same tracks where his dad
got his head popped open like a
watermelon and all I could tell
him was it's all right and I really
believed it until now when I
look into my daughter's eyes

5/7/10

Seven Minutes

your ass has spread but
it's dog style so it only
adds to the excitement
as he fans out his hand
on the small of your
back thumb in butthole
pumping your way out
of poverty for at least
those seven minutes
it takes to collect
anybody's debt

5/6/10

NO
WORD
ON
IF
NO
WORD
ON
IF

5/2/10

Amends

in the shadows of
the shadow of the
mystery there is a
pistol and a soiled
pair of panties that
might say different

5/1/10






SUBWAY EYES

dark
woman's
legs, there

are no
voices
you could
understand:

swaying
heads
nodding
approval-

under the
streets
like
agreeing
worms.


NYC June 78






4/29/10






Amid several
of the thicker
streaks, four
gray whales
could be seen
swimming
in the oil.





4/24/10

Meaning Of Time

those who shall
never be forgotten
are forgotten now

4/21/10

AMERICA

you should try
and get here in
your smudged
newspaper
makeup with
amyl nitrate eyes
your dark skinned
myths dropping
into midway dirt
along with your
bikini panties
if you can read
the hobo signs
in those Simon
Rodia stilettos
you got hanging
out the boxcar
door while every
town that passes
by plays God's
little recorded
voice sounding
something like
that funhouse
laugh only the
Outsiders will
still remember

4/20/10

Breathing

Vader
Vadrbrth
Weez Baby
Normalbs
Breath
Lung
Crackle
Breathe Mask

4/18/10




The taxidermist smiles.




4/15/10

Ambulance On Hope Street

I'd soak my harps
in a glass of tears
but those 13 Hohners
and Lee Oskars in
that sweet black
case are in hock in
Klamath Falls, OR
and have been for
the last two and a
half years $18 every
other month like
giving blood because
I can't get them out
I'm constantly broke
and my soul partner
Greg Hall sent them
to me just one more
of his beautiful gifts
and he's dead as shit
so I can't just let them
go but I sure as fuck
can't play them now
either it's unconditional
love and very doubtful
that someday I will
ever survive on words

4/14/10

The Longest Bar In The World

should have been her
outstretched arms
with the Christmas
lights still on outside
in the trailer park
where it's 87 degrees
at midnight when a
faraway radio stuffed
full of enough real
poets could have told
you there never would
have been a last call in
those pretty blue long
gone Trailways eyes

4/11/10

Most Gods Never Learned To Kill

pulling the top rubbery
layer of your life off out
the emulsion tray your
existence now on the
backside of your dreams
seems pretty complacent
compared to sex and death
or your need to get drunk
and scream through the
streets at night when
religion works the best
with everyone afraid to
dance in forged flesh under
the hunter's moon only
to say goodbye again

4/10/10







TEAR GAS AND RUBBER BULLETS)






4/9/10







That was an incredibly
painful
sentence to write.






4/8/10

The Terror The Terror

Senor Blues lights his
shoes afire during the
last flight to nowhere
on lonesome Planet X'd
in that Nike commercial
for the big game no one
will ever see if the blessed
omnipresent Sky Marshal
has his way or your nurse
doesn't change the channel

4/5/10

Will

another thing I remember
is way back then the now
present Poet Laureate of
Santa Cruz had asked me
to house sit his pad there
in Bonny Doon right down
on the river not far from
that great bar The Lost
Weekend and I thought
why the fuck not and I fed
off his snob pity because
at the time I was living in
my car avoiding the pigs
on Capitola Rd. not able to
write any damn poems so
I went to meet the dude
and got the keys and he
showed me how to feed the
dogs the cats where to put
the shit out in the compost
pile where his typewriter
was and I kept nodding my
head fuck yeah man and
then he got to the part about
oh and don't bother
trying to find my dope
or my booze I hid all
that shit pretty good
you'll never find it and I
said fuck no man no I just
want to write so after he left
it took me about one day to
find his tequila his beer his
bourbon his wine his weed
his pretty righteous hash
and it was a glorious week
consuming every fucking
thing he had stashed away
listening continually to that
one sweet Rodney Crowell
song 'Til I Gain Control
Again on his system but all
good things do soon end so
hours before the time on the
date designated he'd get
home I neatly stacked up all
the empty liquor bottles on
the table left all the roaches
and his hash pipe in the
ashtray and took my leave
to go back living in a car
without even writing one
single shitting word

4/4/10



from: AMERICAN DIARY

so the morning of Oct. 21 after
twenty-six blood transfusions
Jean Louis Kerouac died in St.
Anthony's Hospital of hemorrhaging
esophageal varices a classic
drunkard's death on fucking
Dizzy Gillespie's birthday
and ain't that America


4/3/10





eone else.)


the missing, new, was found, the killer
scribed her actions to the edge of nearby
others in the trade "I knew that man with
light selves in the living Victim of the car
Ever since I met Maria de Lourdes the
corpse is is terrible." Then, loquialism
which, an rival, to this writer from of
some of the men of the indirect quo via
to cope with the (The latter phrase said,
"I fell for him this was my true Maria, be
strong enough brutal giggle. They had
called sited the missing blooded murder
persons at the stalled aluminum police
files, but no loosely translated, over
two years ago, killed," he said




3/31/10




BIG BLACK CAR

spreading her

lies
spreading her

legs



3/26/10

Beatitude

a drawing of
your hand
is not your
hand but it
will satisfy law
enforcement
when bitch
slapping yourself
not realizing
Soupy Sales
died long after
Richard Brautigan
dipped his radar
gun into a glass
of orange juice
there in North
Beach around the
time you shoplifted
that copy of Book
Of Dreams just to
impress the one
and only girl who
ever had a bigger
dick than yours

3/23/10

Be True

playing along with the
shadows more human
than you want to be
nothing to drink so
there is an abacus of
pills not really quite
the same thing but it
will tally the right score
if you count those odd
dreams a prerequisite
for ever waking up

3/18/10

PLANTING FOSSILS

art and science

"on lies on top of
lies on top of lies"

3/13/10

Not Tonight

bad poetry always
reminds me of bad stand
up comedy especially
at readings where it's so
fucking serious but still
pretty funny to watch the
audience sit on the edge
of depression listening
to that monotone crap
praying for the punch
line never realizing they
are going to need all those
precious minutes the
last hours before death

3/11/10

DISCLAIMER



Not Responsible

For Anything

Prayed To A God

I Don't Believe In

3/5/10

Pesticide Drift

you may die a
week after you
read this exactly
the point of not
giving a fuck
lose someone
find yourself
only for a
moment then
it's the blood
clot wine the
porcelain white
pinfeathering
up off the plate
into a dodo's
flight past where
another pair of lips
already mouth
your name

3/4/10

Glossary For An Outskirt

mercurochrome
drying on her
broken doll's eyes,

3/2/10





THE LONG GONE LONESOME

Haggard fishes a plastic
M&M container of weed
from the pocket of his
camouflage shirt, shrinks
low on the seat and lights
a black glass pipe.




2/27/10

Don't Touch This Poem And Nobody Gets Hurt

Burroughs was
twice the man
Bukowski ever
thought himself
to be & men die

2/26/10

ABOUT LIFE

forgotten passwords,
fuck me hard

"we lose our
appetite for God"

2/19/10

Next Life

airplanes into
buildings
into towering
flames into
raw video into
live feeds
into a next life

2/18/10

BULLFROG BLUES

Jim Morrison's
favorite band
and Rolling Rock
painted label
longnecks still
don't mean
we're going to
live forever.

2/14/10

INSENSIBLE VALENTINE

Mr. Spermatozoon
will dance for you.

2/11/10

Outlaw Poetry

Pablo Neruda's books
are usually next to
my books if they had
any of my books in
a bookstore near you

2/10/10

VOICE-OVER

landfills full of
cellular phones

"to one far away"

2/8/10

The View From Inside a 1968 Jim Beam Arizona The Grand Canyon State Commemorative Bottle

dissect the whisper and it could
be all of your dreams come true
with one last quarter in hand to
see an emaciated coyote trick you
into humanity there behind grey
black chicken wire holding back a
beer piss because 5 minutes later
when you do whip it out to relieve
yourself behind the weathered
plywood HERE IT IS sign it'll
smell like last night's dank pussy
and you'll have to pretend you
still have such a long ways to go

2/4/10

BIRTH

on Kevin the Opstedal's 54th

birth is being torn by the roots
from a cloud of squid then thrown
into a stainless steel bowl of cherries
where inadequate conversations
sound too much like the sexually
transmitted literature of common
men who never quite realize there
will be no services for the next 75
years give or take a few bad miles
through the churchgoer hospital
corridors all because a real poet left
the owner's manual out in the rain

2/1/10

It Makes No Difference

suicide may be painless if
you're cleaning that hunting
rifle a little too close to your
head but that's the pussy
way draw all the pain out first
from those who were fucked
over heart limb and soul their
only piece of ground a shoulder
on the littered lost highway
where biological children can't
even piss without getting a citation
torn out of pages from the book
that whoever touches shall never lie

1/30/10

GUN SHY

pubic bones,



trance music

radio

1/27/10

Fossils Show

(the infrastructure
of tomorrow

LAST DRINK

another

1/26/10






NEXT
WE
ARE
GOING
TO
MEET
SOME
PEOPLE
IN
HAITI
WHO
HAVE
NO
REASON
TO
HOPE




1/24/10

All The Things You Are

one of the
most abundant
and richest
of world
commodities
is cum
that more
likely than not
turns into
some poor
motherfucker
staring at
a wall
aggravated at
having to go
out to the
department
of human
services
in age-old rain

1/21/10

She Only Took This Many Pills
xxxxxxxxxxx
________________________

1/18/10

Last Hope

April of '68 I was 17 working
at a Shell station on Florence
in Inglewood when King Jr.
got killed by the same U.S.
government Obama now
works for so I quess change
does come sing hallelujah
but I can remember the
bell ringing going to get this
guy some gas in that stupid
company uniform and out of
the car comes this 6' 5" black
motherfucker who throws
me up against the pumps then
punches me screaming it's
over for you white fuckers
that was your last hope
and he gets back in his ride
and takes off and I'm holding
my bloody nose bewildered
because I hadn't yet heard the
news and what the fuck was
that all about anyway but now I
know and believe it or not I still
think they should have given
the day to Eldridge or Huey

1/17/10

TELEVISED STENCH

beating newsmeat
to catastrophe porno

"impact your world"

1/15/10

"When You're Out Of Schlitz..."

for Chris Byck

long as I can remember
my old man was always
sipping on a quart room
temperature set on some
kitchen table end table
coffee table picnic table so
when he died of an aneurism
at the Hotel Royal in Santa
Cruz a couple weeks after
that earthquake with the
same warm quart of Schlitz
in hand he just took a pull
from it was cool that the
inmate he was partying
with had capped it off half
empty before the meat
wagon came to give to me
later with all of his other
shit which I then brought
back to Oregon where about
nine months after that a
partner talked me into
opening to drink up as
tribute but we almost puked
so went back to the 16 oz.
bottles of Rainier that
weren't much better though
at least they were cold

1/12/10

Furtherance

the tiny red and blue capillaries
inside my face all blown out from
alcohol unfolding up to my eyeballs
like a service station roadmap they
used to give out as a courtesy to
those people who never got lost





This page intentionally left blank.







1/10/10

SHAPE SHIFTER IN A FUNHOUSE MIRROR

they begrudgingly inform
me it took awhile
but you finally
succumbed to the brain
tumor

turned your head to a
different wall no one
else could see and
became one of your dolls

motherfucker I loved
you so

all these years & I
still have that xerox'ed
copy of our entwined
hands & drivers
licenses we made
at the Safeway machine
on the way to the clinic
after coming back from
pawning my saxophone
for the abortion money

the asshole made me play
it for him because he
thought it was stolen

I remember squawking
out some slow groove
& that was it

your precious face

our child would be in
his/her mid-twenties
by now

I had to stop for proof

1/9/10

REQUIESCAT FOR A SOUL MAN

One day we took the city
bus from Santa Cruz,
up the coast to Davenport.

We brought along a gallon
of red wine.

Jack knew some woman who
lived on a cliff
overlooking the ocean.

She made these life-size
porcelain pig heads.

She let us in her studio
and there were all these
tables with pig heads
on them.

Ferlinghetti was there.

I was getting pretty
buzzed.

Jack was giving Ferlinghetti
shit for not publishing him.

At some point, Ferlinghetti
left.

Jack would always tell the
story about pissing on the
shoe of the publisher of
Grove Press at some ritzy
party in N. Y. C.,
back when Jack was still
young and good looking.

That's why Grove Press
never would publish
him, he'd say.

We went outside to go piss
off of the cliff.

I told Jack, piss on my
shoe, asshole, that way
I can say Jack Micheline
pissed on my shoe.

I started backing him up
towards the edge of
the cliff.

He pushed me away,
making that wry face
of his.

I kept it up.

"O. K., you fucking
prick...", he said.

Jack Micheline
pissed on my shoe.

1/4/10

The Deal

late 60's there in Venice on
the strand at Steve Richmond's
bookstore and candle shop I picked
up a free copy of Bukowski's broadside
The Genius Of The Crowd printed by
mimeograph on a legal-size piece of
white paper stinking of incense which I
had to sell over 20 years later to a book
dealer in Berkeley who probably sold it
to some cult asshole who would never
understand that sunny summer day
when it sealed the deal folded up
in my faded rear pants pocket

1/2/10

Bitch Slap

I wouldn't
fuck
her with
your dick
he
told me
not
realizing
I already
fucked
her
with his