will be the stupidest
motherfucker but
happy in ignorance
with chill-bumps on
the arm and a brand
new moleskin filled
with incorrect spelling
because the truth isn't
really true if you tweak
it a little for Zyzzyva
just for the contributor's
copies to throw on the
bonfire that night all
instinct fails
6/30/08
WHY?
because Hank 3 saved country music
because Oklahoma is not OK
because Opstedal saved Nortena surf poesy
because Milwaukee's Best is the worst
because Jesus saved Blue Chip Stamps
because no check is in the mail so I'll come in your mouth
because I saved this last dance for you
because Elvis was never ever the king
because you didn't save that stinking snatch for me
because nothing could ever be the same again
because you can't save me from drowning in a sea of liquor
because I don't remember reading I Remember
because I won't save anything except the bones
because Will Smith is not really an actor
because not even God would save this country now
because who really gives a fuck if you're going to die anyway
because you didn't save the instructions to your defibrillator
because Robert M. Petersen wrote: "many-peopled desolations"
because why save anything now
because no one ever told me there was a war going on
because I never have saved the best for last
because Hank 3 saved country music
because Oklahoma is not OK
because Opstedal saved Nortena surf poesy
because Milwaukee's Best is the worst
because Jesus saved Blue Chip Stamps
because no check is in the mail so I'll come in your mouth
because I saved this last dance for you
because Elvis was never ever the king
because you didn't save that stinking snatch for me
because nothing could ever be the same again
because you can't save me from drowning in a sea of liquor
because I don't remember reading I Remember
because I won't save anything except the bones
because Will Smith is not really an actor
because not even God would save this country now
because who really gives a fuck if you're going to die anyway
because you didn't save the instructions to your defibrillator
because Robert M. Petersen wrote: "many-peopled desolations"
because why save anything now
because no one ever told me there was a war going on
because I never have saved the best for last
6/29/08
Blood Alcohol
the thread of these
drunken cities
towns where the
dream is over
and another has
just begun in
the brotherhood
of the insane
in a handful of
change under
an oblique sun
down the tracks
of chromium where
my grandfather's
brains are splattered
dreaming of lost
Chicago because
the suburbs are
crumbling next to
the yellow dandelion
with our hearts in
a boxcar while I
shatter this empty
bottle against the sky
drunken cities
towns where the
dream is over
and another has
just begun in
the brotherhood
of the insane
in a handful of
change under
an oblique sun
down the tracks
of chromium where
my grandfather's
brains are splattered
dreaming of lost
Chicago because
the suburbs are
crumbling next to
the yellow dandelion
with our hearts in
a boxcar while I
shatter this empty
bottle against the sky
6/26/08
6/25/08
WORDS WILL COME
I could watch you hurt yourself with the prism of
lost years that illuminates this orthopedic shadow.
lost years that illuminates this orthopedic shadow.
6/24/08
SUN UP SUN DOWN
don't think about it too
much that is how you
fuck up because the long
crawl of time requires no
explanation when you're
born to lose falling off a
mountain indefinitely like
anyone will ever figure it
out we'll be here awhile
with an index finger raking
up and down oscillating lips
much that is how you
fuck up because the long
crawl of time requires no
explanation when you're
born to lose falling off a
mountain indefinitely like
anyone will ever figure it
out we'll be here awhile
with an index finger raking
up and down oscillating lips
6/23/08
Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits
for George
The seven words you should
never use in a poem.
The seven words you should
never use in a poem.
6/20/08
Dogs From Hell
so I got this job driving the
tour bus past 5124 De Longpre Ave.
and I'd put this joke shop fake
rubber puke on the floor and these
lames from Beverly Hills would
flat love it and tip me big time
because it made them want to go
write poetry at least for 15 minutes
until it was time to do somebody else
tour bus past 5124 De Longpre Ave.
and I'd put this joke shop fake
rubber puke on the floor and these
lames from Beverly Hills would
flat love it and tip me big time
because it made them want to go
write poetry at least for 15 minutes
until it was time to do somebody else
6/19/08
DON'T YOU WORRY 'BOUT A THING
suppose you had a real life
with the pussy
and god
because you ain't
Chasin' the Trane you
don't even read Jack
Micheline asshole
and he was my friend
so if you ask me who
is the greatest poet
that depends on how
drunk I am and how
the bitch reacts to
being a bitch
when she tells me
I'm a bitch
but
that ain't true
because to love
everybody you must
hate yourself
so imagine
Jack Kerouac bleeding
all over your
notebook when your
inner voice says you don't
even care
and that is so true
with the pussy
and god
because you ain't
Chasin' the Trane you
don't even read Jack
Micheline asshole
and he was my friend
so if you ask me who
is the greatest poet
that depends on how
drunk I am and how
the bitch reacts to
being a bitch
when she tells me
I'm a bitch
but
that ain't true
because to love
everybody you must
hate yourself
so imagine
Jack Kerouac bleeding
all over your
notebook when your
inner voice says you don't
even care
and that is so true
6/18/08
American Postcard
when the ghost train whines across
hollow eyes when ciccadas speak
Texarkana sentences when the hands
of a waitress unbutton his grease stained
jeans in the back of no memory when
the radio plays a hobo song inside a locker
at the Greyhound station at noon when
the children find a brown body in the alley
next door to the Hotel Grim when the pink
meat of the watermelon splits obscenely
open when the one mosquito lights on a
cheerleader's smooth bare ass when you'll
turn to alcohol where the weathered
metal sign says Cool Inside
hollow eyes when ciccadas speak
Texarkana sentences when the hands
of a waitress unbutton his grease stained
jeans in the back of no memory when
the radio plays a hobo song inside a locker
at the Greyhound station at noon when
the children find a brown body in the alley
next door to the Hotel Grim when the pink
meat of the watermelon splits obscenely
open when the one mosquito lights on a
cheerleader's smooth bare ass when you'll
turn to alcohol where the weathered
metal sign says Cool Inside
6/17/08
6/16/08
I'm Buying More Ammo With My Economic Stimulus Check
in memory of Tim Russert
it's your Wal-Mart nation where the fat
women sing inside their nacho cheese
colored skin before the undulating flat
screens as crisp as diet cola and as bright
as the spandex that covers those stretch
marked cheeks so you can sure bet this will
be a credit card purchase because this time
the revolution will be televised live on digital
tv and not to be outdone they must spare no
expense in being part of broadcast history
it's your Wal-Mart nation where the fat
women sing inside their nacho cheese
colored skin before the undulating flat
screens as crisp as diet cola and as bright
as the spandex that covers those stretch
marked cheeks so you can sure bet this will
be a credit card purchase because this time
the revolution will be televised live on digital
tv and not to be outdone they must spare no
expense in being part of broadcast history
6/13/08
FATHER'S DAY
here is to my two dead
children the ones these
women had aborted
because they figured
out fucking a poet who
ain't worth a fuck and
poor ain't like making
$80.00 a night in tips at
The Red Onion because
your artist ass is sublime
in a stupid scanty uniform
to these jerk-off suits or
that your ex-husband has
set you up because you
already have kids with him
so you can now write your
weak poems while fucking
half The Catalyst every
friday night but women
decide who lives and dies
anyway especially when
they have you pinned riding
that half a foot of destiny
yet I do remember one made
me pawn my saxophone
on the way to the clinic while
the other was wearing this
huge pad over her cunt when
I brought her home and she
had me fuck her in the ass still
hot and nasty through the
tears because a poet is king
children the ones these
women had aborted
because they figured
out fucking a poet who
ain't worth a fuck and
poor ain't like making
$80.00 a night in tips at
The Red Onion because
your artist ass is sublime
in a stupid scanty uniform
to these jerk-off suits or
that your ex-husband has
set you up because you
already have kids with him
so you can now write your
weak poems while fucking
half The Catalyst every
friday night but women
decide who lives and dies
anyway especially when
they have you pinned riding
that half a foot of destiny
yet I do remember one made
me pawn my saxophone
on the way to the clinic while
the other was wearing this
huge pad over her cunt when
I brought her home and she
had me fuck her in the ass still
hot and nasty through the
tears because a poet is king
6/12/08
6/11/08
6/8/08
Bring Me The Head Of Fred Nettelbeck Sr.
Sam Peckinpah died
at Centinela Hospital
which was at the end
of a cul-de-sac and
right next to our house
when I was 14 and me
and my buddies would
go watch these beautiful
young mothers nurse
their babies when we
went peeping because
the whole joint was
as big as a motel and at
ground level so then we'd
also go through the trash
and find these used
rigs which were very
mysterious and creepy
with that feeling of disease
but we left them alone and
I remember once this one
guy pulled up completely
covered in blood from some
job site accident and they
wouldn't let him in and my
dad walked over so pissed
off kicking at the door until
the Inglewood cops came
at Centinela Hospital
which was at the end
of a cul-de-sac and
right next to our house
when I was 14 and me
and my buddies would
go watch these beautiful
young mothers nurse
their babies when we
went peeping because
the whole joint was
as big as a motel and at
ground level so then we'd
also go through the trash
and find these used
rigs which were very
mysterious and creepy
with that feeling of disease
but we left them alone and
I remember once this one
guy pulled up completely
covered in blood from some
job site accident and they
wouldn't let him in and my
dad walked over so pissed
off kicking at the door until
the Inglewood cops came
6/7/08
I Hate Life
if you are too drunk to fuck you
also can't quite write the poem that
Bukowski would jack-off to or a real
poet like that vaginal pimple Mr./Ms.
___________ or whoever the fuck
would with their smooth faces and all
the facts straight when they crap them-
selves a little bit just to be published
because the whole world is almost dead
and it's a little more fucking that will
straighten us out so I will try to go deep
on the down stroke inside you holding
back shooting the good news that the tiny
pliable skeletons will only scramble the
eggs if I give up on all this shit and that
won't ever happen because I hate life
also can't quite write the poem that
Bukowski would jack-off to or a real
poet like that vaginal pimple Mr./Ms.
___________ or whoever the fuck
would with their smooth faces and all
the facts straight when they crap them-
selves a little bit just to be published
because the whole world is almost dead
and it's a little more fucking that will
straighten us out so I will try to go deep
on the down stroke inside you holding
back shooting the good news that the tiny
pliable skeletons will only scramble the
eggs if I give up on all this shit and that
won't ever happen because I hate life
6/5/08
becomes)
I took the gun_____him. (off, from)
_____________________________________
...hot very young girls used
autos ridden dirty dog style
elizabeth hurley nude bj's
wholesale...
GLOBAL MOURNING
The End of Oil
---------------------------------
SIGNIFYING DOMINION
---------------------------------
Be prepared,
Poetry is about
to die.
(durable goods or naturalism of death)
"I wish I was in the audience."
Mala Noche
antique flowers
are pressed
between the
covers of your
decaying books
while the lips of
ghosts strain
against the
albumen of
a nightmare
are pressed
between the
covers of your
decaying books
while the lips of
ghosts strain
against the
albumen of
a nightmare
6/4/08
6/3/08
6/2/08
A Night In The Beat Museum
the outsider writers have no income and too
many chapbooks in boxes in closets of the air
many chapbooks in boxes in closets of the air
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