pubic bones,
trance music
radio
1/30/10
1/27/10
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
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
1/18/10
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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