(Untitled)

Hapless and drunk
Romantic and weak
Breastfeed on dreams

Manically lazy
Devoutly fearful
Constantly stumbling for attention

Determinedly selfish
Inscrutably ambivalent
Precisely circumventing

And always whining
Whining
Whining
Whining

Full and Upright

The only thing I remember clearly
Is that he didn't recline his seat back
Not once
Not once in a 5 hour flight
Probably 35, 40 maybe
Probably brown hair, no beard
Probably wearing a cheap suit
Reading Time or Newsweek
Never saying hello
Or even acknowledging the living body crushed beside him
Doesn't watch the in-flight movie
Doesn't look out the window or listen to music
Orders a ginger ale with no ice
His peanuts remain unopened for the entire extent of our relationship
He sleeps rigid, no pillow, no hand
His dreams are like a newspaper
Black and white, boring,
And ultimately, disposable
Meanwhile, I have to piss
But I wouldn’t want to impose on our friendship by asking him to move

You Are What You Eat

Wreckage, Havoc, Bloodshed, War
they conjugate themselves each
morning in my Alphabits cereal.
I eat them just the same as the gibberish,
noun, verb, gerund or participle
without regard to context
grinding them to powder, chewing
ten left, ten right and swallowing
down to let my stomach do to them
whatever it is that stomachs do.

You are what you eat is a tired
old cliche, but I think it anyway
as I lift my hand off a smushed fly.

(Untitled)

damn,
wish I was a shark,
then I wouldn't have to
give a fuck
about anything

Bones

It’s the bones again
the rocks bathed in sulfur
then it’ll be the bones again
bones to dust
worms to kings
the dead nourish the living
provide stepping stones and stools
to rest our drowsy tails on
then it’ll be the bones again
the skeletal haunts of halloween’s dreams
singing that its what’s inside that counts
when what’s inside frightens us most
it’ll be the bones again
bones to rocks and rocks to dust
and dust to trees and trees to rocks and
it’ll be the bones
a dried out husk of a world no longer a float
exhibit b at infinity’s murder trial
the bones
then screams of silence

Greetings to My Muse

Don’t take that tone with me.
Your voice looks like
a bruised fist
that’s grown pathetic and
shrill from too many
hours barking at your
mutt for growing thin and
bald with mange. Who
wakes you at pitch black
noon so you can step
in her freshly laid shit
and curse while you
feed her a warm can
of raw, rotten cow liver.

Don’t try to intimidate me.
I’ve seduced, bedded,
fucked and murdered prettier
lies than the charming
gobs of spittle you are dribbling
on my stylish suede shoes.

Don’t pout, please don’t.
I can see right through
you and into the apartment
across the road where a
little boy contemplates
his first pubic hair
and dreams of a life
just like yours.

Here’s ten bucks. Now
fuck off.

The Salty Dogs (for Bob Dylan)

The salty dogs are out to get me again
To chew me up in their jaws again
And spit me to the cold cement
Break me for not wanting their trends
Their rules, their songs, their thoughts, my friend
It shakes them so and their minds begin to bend
And the dark shadows that spill all over them
Grow rabid over their dying gems
Which paved over living with something pretend
Something built to lock us all in
To crying and sighing and lying over nothing
To dying and buying and not asking why and
What is a court without someone jesting?
You might not see it but laughter's a blessing
So much pain in the world that no one’s addressing
So much uselessness that takes all our attention
Like who’s popular, what’s popular, how can I get more popular?
I can just repeat what other people think is most appealing
But it’s not really thinking when others thoughts you are just repeating
I get wrapped up so tight that I’m in a ball kneeling,
Screaming “So much damn talking and so little meaning!
Too many tabloid superheroes and not any real ones!
Too much teaching and not any learning!
Too much looking and not any seeing!
So much building and not much creation
That it leads me to fear for the good of this nation.”
And I keep being told to sit and be patient
Wait for your turn and always be gracious
Say please and thank you for what you are getting
But I look out the window and I begin fretting
About the lives that so many people aren’t living


So I’ll sell my car and head for the hills
Forget about my salary and burn all the bills
Sequester myself in nothingness and spaces
Make love to the world in brand new places